Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Drops of crimson splashed on silver, the color vibrant in the light of the moon. The image had a kind of twisted beauty, but Vara couldn't appreciate it. Not when it was her blood that stained the snow from silver to red. More drops of her life force splashed down from her wounded body to the snow below her and she stumbled, almost falling.

'Talos curse that snowbear!' she thought angrily. The thought reminded her of the attack, bringing her pain to the front of her mind. She cried out as her body burned in agony. Her numb hands felt blindly for the healing potion that should have been in the pouch she wore at her side. She found nothing. With a groan, she remembered that she had used the potion hours earlier in a feeble attempt to heal her most grievous wounds. Vara called upon her magika but managed only a weak pulse of healing light that faded as quickly as it had appeared.

The snowstorm picked up and as the wind blew stinging shards of ice into her torn and bleeding flesh, Vara realized that the only way she would survive was if she made it to the nearest city. She was close, she knew, but the storm blinded her, leaving her barely able to see her feet, much less the outline of a city.

Her foot caught on something, and before she could catch herself, she fell into the snow. The cold overwhelmed her senses, and for the briefest moment, she felt no pain. She was tempted to lie there forever and let the snow consume her, but her sense of self-preservation won out. She pushed herself onto her knees, leaving bloody handprints in the snow, and then stood. Her legs shook and she knew that they wouldn't be able to support her for much longer. She took one unsteady step and then another, slowly making her way through the frigid snow.

After what seemed like hours, but could only have been a few frozen minutes, Vara felt her booted foot hit the stone. The storm cleared for the briefest instant and she realized that she was now standing on the bridge to the city. Hope filled her and quickened her steps, although she had lost too much blood to move any faster than a shuffle. The wind seemed to force her back as if it had a personal vendetta against her. She pushed on. Inch by frozen inch she made her way to the large doors she knew stood at the end of the bridge.

Somehow she managed to make it to the doors. Her vision was swimming and her legs trembled so powerfully the entire world seemed to be shaking. She reached out for the handle of one of the doors and tugged with all her might. It would not open. Exhaustion, blood loss, and the freezing cold had robbed her of her strength. She opened her mouth to let out a despaired cry, but her body didn't even have the strength to do that. Her legs collapsed and she fell into the snow. The cold was all she knew before the darkness took her.

When Vara woke, she was warm. The frigid cold that had embraced her as she had lost consciousness was gone. Before she could wrap her mind around this miracle, another one presented herself. She slowly realized that she was lying in a bed with a warm blanket draped over her and a cloak that wasn't hers around her shoulders.

She looked around the small room that she was in. It was mostly bare, the walls decorated only with a few sconces to provide light and warmth and a single blue banner with the head of a bear. She was in Windhelm then. That was the city she had been trying to reach, but she hadn't been certain that she had made it. Her memories of what happened during the snowstorm were hazy at best. She did, however, remember her wounds.

Vara peeled back the blanket to examine the numerous cuts and gashes she knew she had collected, only to find them bandaged. Almost her entire right leg was bandaged as were both of her lower arms and hands. She could feel strips of cloth wrapping around her lower back as well.

Turning the blanket in her hands nervously, Vara pondered the many questions she had. Where in Windhelm was she? Who had cared for her? Why had they cared for her? What did they expect in return? How had they found her before she had frozen to death in the blizzard? Her questions didn't seem to have an end.

She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps in what she assumed was the hall outside of her door. Her ears, trained as they were, detected three people. From their footsteps, she tried to determine what kind of people they were. It was a trick that her father had taught her when she had been younger.

The first had a quick and light step and was likely not burdened by heavy weaponry or armor. A hunter, mage, or citizen perhaps. His feet were placed precisely; he had walked these halls many times. The second had loud footsteps that were almost violent in the way they fell. This was a man of war who marched forward and did not look back. The third person's step was a mix of the previous two, and yet something entirely different. His footsteps were heavy, but they were not loud. The fell with purpose. Vara could tell that this was a man who stood tall in his word and deed. His stride was confident and assured. Perhaps he was a prominent figure in Windhelm. Or maybe he was simply arrogant. That was as much as Vara was able to glean before the door to her room opened and the three men walked in.

As she had guessed, the first man was a mage. His features were worn and furrowed in what she suspected was a constant state of irritation. He immediately moved to one corner of the room where a small table stood and began to work. Vara wondered if he was the one that she had to thank for healing her. By this time, the other two men had walked in. One was a soldier dressed in furs and had a large battle ax strapped to his back. He was undoubtedly the man whose steps had fallen so heavily. The third man was different. He exuded confidence, from the stride she had heard a few seconds ago to the way he stood as if he was the most important person in the room. His eyes swept over the small space and then landed on her. They were a startling grey. She met his gaze and held it for a few seconds before looking away, suddenly embarrassed at her current state. She pulled the blanket closer to her, hiding the many bandages that adorned her body.

Vara was saved from further awkwardness when the mage approached her, a goblet in his hand. "Here, drink up," he commanded as he handed her the goblet. Vara eyed the contents and swished them around for a brief moment. Once she was certain it was only a healing potion, she drained the goblet in a single swallow. Immediately, her wounds began to burn and tingle at the same time, a familiar sensation that came with the accelerated healing that magic provided.

"Thank you," Vara whispered as soon as the feeling subsided. Her voice was scratchy from lack of use. The mage only nodded dismissively and turned away, mumbling something about being a wizard, not a priest. Once the mage had moved, the other two men approached her, the soldier standing slightly in front of the other.

The soldier eyed her warily, trying to determine if she was a threat. He obviously decided that she wouldn't be a problem in her present state and moved back to the doorway. Vara wondered if the soldier was a guard for the other man who now stood by the side of her bed. Her thoughts were drawn away from the soldier and to the man at her side when he spoke, his voice deep and powerful.

"When I found you in the snow a few days ago, I wasn't sure your eyes would ever be opening again. It's good to see that Wuunferth was able to remedy that.". The mage, who Vara figured was Wuunferth, snorted softly in the corner and continued to measure out bandages.

Vara turned back to the man at her side. "Thank you both for saving my life, I am in your debt," she declared bowing her head to the man who had rescued her.

The man only nodded, and from that simple movement, Vara could tell that this man was used to command and power. Who was he? Who had Vara indebted herself to?

Before she had a chance to ask her questions, Wuunferth approached the bed, bandages in hand. "Alright Jarl Ulfric, out you go before you undo all of my hard work," Wuunferth ordered, not looking at the other two men as he helped Vara into a sitting position. The man at the door said something in a gruff voice, but Vara didn't hear it. Her mind was occupied trying the fact that Ulfric Stormcloak had saved her life.

Her brain was drawn back to the present with a sharp burst of pain as Wuunferth began to unwind the bandage around her lower back. She let out a hiss and clenched her hands into fists in the blanket. The mage said nothing and continued to unwrap the bloodstained cloth. After an agonizing minute he finished, the red and white bandage now a crumpled ball at the side of her bed. Her breath was stolen once again when Wuunferth began to apply a cool paste to her wounds. A sigh escaped her involuntarily at the feeling, causing the mage to snort. A small part of Vara wondered if snorting was a second language to the man, but found herself too engrossed in the sudden soothing that had entered her lower back to ask. He finished up quickly and rewrapped the wound.

The process was repeated for each bandaged wound, and there were a frightening number of those. As Wuunferth worked, Vara let her mind drift, partially in an effort to ignore the pain, but mostly so that she could try and remember everything she knew about Ulfric Stormcloak. Her mind led her to one of her earliest memories.

Vara smiled as she walked through the streets of this unfamiliar city. Her father held her hand as her mother went to different stalls, bartering goods with the merchants. Her attention was drawn from wonder to another. There were so many people and sounds here! It was so different from the gentle quiet of the forest.

The crowd suddenly parted as a man and a child about her age walked into the market. A pair of guards stood on either side of them. "Father, who are they? Why are there soldiers?" Vara asked her father, looking up at him with curious eyes.

"Shh, Little Cub, that is the Jarl of WIndhelm and his son, Ulfric," her father answered in a respectful whisper. The pair passed them, and Vara's father bowed his head in respect, but Vara was focused on Ulfric. He seemed so serious. Maybe something bad had happened to him.

Vara drew herself from her memories. It was only later that she had realized that that day in the market had been Ulfric's last day in Windhelm before going to study with the Greybeards. Despite the way she and her family had lived, removed from the world, anytime they had gone into town, her mother had gotten all of the latest information. Looking back on it, Vara realized how strange her childhood had been. She had been separated from the world, and yet a part of it at the same time. Now she was fully involved in the world, whether she liked it or not.

Wuunferth finished rewrapping her last wound and moved away from her bed. "Thank you, Master Wuunferth," Vara said. She could tell from the way that the mage's hands had moved that he had done this for her more than once while she had been unconscious.

The man surprised Vara by giving a short chuckle, not a snort. "Please, it's Wuunferth. I don't need a title to show off my skills. If your one of those superstitious idiots we have in town, you could call me Wuunferth the Unliving."

Vara nodded. She had been raised to be respectful of everyone, no matter their status. "In that case, thank you, Wuunferth," she said with all sincerity.

"You're welcome," the mage replied with only a hint of the earlier irritation that Vara had heard in his voice. She had a feeling that that exasperation was always there, no matter what had happened.

Wuunferth cleaned up the room, removing all trace of the bloodied bandages and healing poultices. While he may have claimed not to be a healer, Vara had a feeling that the man knew more about the healing arts than he let on. Once he had finished, he turned back to Vara and fixed her with a stern look. "Don't you dare move from that bed until I say you can, or I'll give you a taste of another kind of magic you won't like. Also, don't exhaust yourself answering all of the questions Jarl Ulfric will have when he returns. I don't want to have to spend more time healing you simply because you won't let your body heal itself," Wuunferth ordered. His voice was stern, but Vara had a feeling that his bark was worse than his bite. Nevertheless, she nodded in understanding. Wuunferth snorted and shook his head before leaving the room.

Vara fell back onto the bed with a long sigh. She had been traveling to Windhelm even before the bear had attacked her, but she was wondering if that had been the correct move. So far, the Divines seemed to be telling her that this was all a very bad idea. After all, how often is it that a person falls asleep in a tree and wakes up with a snow bear trying to rip them to pieces? Vara sighed again and shook her head. She couldn't have stayed in the woods where she had lived anyway, no matter what ill omens she had received, not with what had happened too… 'No!' Vara shut that train of thought down forcefully, shoving the memories that threatened to emerge to the back of her mind. They were too painful, too fresh. It had been two years, but the pain made it feel like yesterday.

Unbidden, the image of fire rose to her mind. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she was suddenly glad that the men had left. She wiped her tears away, using the edge of the cloak that was laid across her shoulders. As she did, she wondered if the cloak belonged to one of the men who had been in the room earlier. Unsure about how she felt, but unwilling to move the cloak and sacrifice the warmth that it offered, she curled up and pulled the blanket over herself to ward off the cold. Her eyes drifted closed, and she fell asleep. Her last conscious thought was a quiet plea for a peaceful rest, although she doubted her memories would allow that.

Chapter Text

The world was quiet when Vara woke. She listened closely for a few moments but heard no sounds coming from outside of the small room she was in. For a little while, she simply stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts wandered for a while before she began to feel restless. She sat up carefully, making sure that she didn’t aggravate her wounds. The movement wasn’t as painful as it had been earlier and she silently thanked Wuunferth for his continued healing.

Once she was sitting up, Vara looked down at her bandaged hands. Her pale fingers moved slowly as she bent and unbent them. It would take days of training for them to regain their dexterity, a fact that Vara noticed unhappily. Despite their lack of flexibility, her fingers itched to do something.

Slowly, Vara called upon her magika. Sparks of electricity flooded into her hands, pooling in a crackling purple light. The magic was nowhere near as strong as it usually was, but Vara smiled anyway. Magic was comforting to her; the flow of power seemed to connect her to her past. Without thinking, she began to weave the sparks into an elegant design. Her fingers moved of their own accord and formed a web of electricity in the air in front of her. The image had no pattern yet seemed to mean something. The magic faded away with a quiet hiss. Her fingers had just begun a new pattern when the door creaked open. She stopped her magic, but not before Wuunferth had walked into the room.

The mage looked at her for a long moment before moving once more to the corner of the room and began to prepare the supplies he used. For a few minutes he was silent, and Vara wondered if he was planning what to say to her. He was a magic-user himself, so Vara doubted he would criticize her, but she couldn’t be certain.

Eventually, Wuunferth spoke. “I’ve never seen a mage in Skyrim who can weave patterns with magic that way. Even the professors at the College of Winterhold prefer their magic to be practical over beautiful,” Wuunferth said in a tone that Vara couldn’t decipher. Was he judging her application of magic? Was he complimenting her? Or was he simply commenting on the fact that she was different? Then he continued, “Magic is power, but it is also beauty. Sadly, many people in Skyrim, in this city, can’t see that. It’s good to see someone who can.”

Vara nodded. “I agree, Wuunferth. My father taught me to appreciate magic in all of its forms. He taught me how to weave sparks. My mother would often encourage me to create new patterns whenever I was anxious or nervous about something.”

Wuunferth smiled slightly, an expression that looked somewhat out of place on the man. In that smile, as odd as it was, Vara saw an understanding. She had a feeling that the mage was someone that she could trust. Despite his exterior, he seemed like someone who wouldn’t judge her simply because she was different.

The mage redressed her wounds, which were mostly healed, in silence. Once he reached her hands, he explained the process of making the salve and how to apply it properly. Vara listened closely and committed his words to memory. She always preferred to be independent and care for herself, so she appreciated the knowledge.

He finished his work and cleaned up the area around Vara. Once he was done he turned back to her. “Ulfric will likely come by soon to ask you some questions. Don’t let him wear you down,” Wuunferth turned to leave. He reached the door and then paused for a moment as if he was debating whether or not he wanted to say something. He turned back to face her. “Be careful what you say. Ulfric is a good man, but even good men have their blind spots.”. Vara nodded. Nords were a proud people, something she would know. There were lots of things about her that weren’t exactly typical of a nord.

“Thank you, Wuunferth, I will keep that in mind,” Vara said. The mage nodded and then left the room, the door closing behind him softly. Vara leaned back against the pillows and tried to prepare herself to answer the questions that the Jarl of WIndhelm would undoubtedly have.

A few minutes later the sound of confident steps could be heard in the hall outside of Vara’s room. She sat up a little taller and fixed the door with a steady gaze as the door creaked open, revealing Ulfric Stormcloak. The Jarl stood in the doorway for a moment, his eyes once again sweeping the room before he stepped forward.

“Please, sit my Jarl,” Vara said, gesturing to the chair that Wuunferth had placed next to the bed when he had been tending to her wounds. Ulfric sat in the chair, and Vara could tell from his posture that he was used to a throne.

Ulfric studied her for a moment before speaking. “I have a few questions for you, but only if you feel strong enough. I don’t need Wuunferth after me because I slowed down your healing process.”

Vara smiled at that. She could easily picture the grumpy mage yelling at the Jarl in front of his court, not caring that Ulfric was busy with something else, and chastising the man like he was a boy who had misbehaved. “I feel fine, my Jarl. Ask me any questions you have, and I will try and answer them.”

Ulfric nodded and then began his questions. “First of all, what is your name? Galmar keeps calling you the ‘Snow Woman’ but I have a feeling that isn’t the title you prefer.”

Vara laughed softly and shook her head. “No, it isn’t. My name is Vara Oaken-Song.”

“Oaken-Song, I recognize that name. Did your family live in Windhelm once?” Ulfric asked her.

Vara was surprised, she didn’t think that a Jarl would know his people so well. Maybe he was bluffing. Either way, she answered saying, “My mother lived in Windhelm before she met my father. She was a healer, Jalanna Oaken-Song. Once she and my father married, they moved away from Windhelm and became hunters. They returned to the city every few weeks to buy supplies and sell their catches.”

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. “I remember your mother. She healed me once when I was very young. I believe I had fallen from the roof of the Palace and broken my arm. Your mother was very kind to me.”

“She was a kind person and could never turn anyone away,” Vara replied with a sad smile.

Ulfric’s brows furrowed. “Was? I’m sorry to hear that she is gone. May I ask how she died?”

Vara closed her eyes briefly before speaking in a tight voice. “My mother and father were killed by the Thalmor six years ago.”

Ulfric’s eyes widened slightly and he bowed his head in respect before speaking again, “I apologize for reminding you.”

Vara shook her head. “Don’t be. Please, continue your questions. I’m sure you want actual information, not my life story.”

Ulfric studied her for a long moment and looked like he was about to say something else. Then he shook his head slightly and continued his questioning. “Wuunferth told me that your injuries were severe. You were asleep for four days. What attacked you?”

“A snow bear. I had fallen asleep in a tree since I didn’t trust that I’d be safe if I slept on the ground. Apparently, it didn’t matter either way, because when I woke up, a snow bear was shaking the tree. I fell and the bear jumped on me. By the time I managed to stab it, I was nearly dead myself. I barely managed to make it to Windhelm.”

“Considering the state you were in, that was an impressive feat, Miss Oaken-Song. Was Windhelm your original destination?” the Jarl asked her, and Vara had a feeling that they were nearing the questions that the man truly wanted answers to.

“Yes, my Jarl. I’ve lived as a hunter all of my life, but I wanted to visit the city my mother grew up in, perhaps start a life for myself. I thought I might see the Stormcloaks for myself.” Vara responded.

“Where are you planning to stay?”

It seemed like an odd thing for a Jarl to be concerned with, but Vara answered anyway. “I plan to do odd jobs, perhaps hunt, in order to pay for a room at the Candlehearth Hall, at least until I can find a more permanent place to stay.”

Ulfric nodded and seemed to think for a moment before he stood from the chair. “Thank you for answering my questions. I will leave you to your rest.”. Vara merely smiled at him, a sudden surge of exhaustion coming over her. The Jarl left the room, his the sound of his booted feet fading away as he strode down the stone hall and away from her room.

“Well, Ulfric, what do you think?”

Ulfric sat down at the long table and swirled a glass of mead around for a moment before he answered his old friend. “Her name is Vara Oaken-Song. Her family is dead, murdered by Thalmor. She came to Windhelm to start a new life.”

Galmar grunted in reply. “A refugee in need of aid. How many more of them will come to WIndhelm?” he mused.

Ulfric shook his head, knowing his old friend didn’t mean anything negative by it, especially since the woman was a nord. “She seems different than the others, somehow. She needed our help, and we gave it. Maybe we can get something in return,” Ulfric thought aloud. Something about the woman struck him as being off. He wasn’t sure if it was the good kind of different or the bad. Perhaps when she was healed she would be able to prove herself.

“If she is a true nord she will settle her debt, whether we ask it of her or not. There are plenty of things the rebellion needs to be done; I’m certain we could find something for her,” Galmar stated and Ulfric knew that the general was already planning what mundane tasks he needed to be done. Clothes mended, food cooked, and so on.

Ulfric shook his head. “No, Galmar, not the rebellion.”

The grizzled man sent him an inquisitive glance. “Do you think she’s a spy? If she was telling the truth, her parents were murdered by Thalmor. Was she lying, or do you think she’d go and work for those forsaken elves?”

Once again, Ulfric shook his head. “No. She was telling the truth. She did mention something about seeing the Stormcloaks for herself, but I’m not sure she wants to join. Something about her doesn’t match the other recruits. No, let us see if she will work within the city for a while. If she proves herself then we will decide whether or not to recruit her into the rebellion. I need only true sons and daughters of Skyrim.”

Galmar nodded slowly. “With the war, our forces are spread more thinly than I would like. The guard is half the size we need to protect Windhelm and the Palace…” Galmar trailed off and Ulfric smiled. He could see the gears turning in the general's head.

“We will see, my friend. First, she needs to heal,” Ulfric stated as he rose from the long dining table. It was late, and he was exhausted. With the war taking up so much of his time, some of the matters of the city were too often pushed aside. He had spent all day today addressing those problems. It pained him to see so many things wrong with his city. If he couldn’t rule a city, how could he expect to rule all of Skyrim? He quickly shut down that particular train of thought. This was a time of war, and that meant that some matters would be neglected. They were important, but winning this war and freeing Skyrim from the oppressive chokehold the Empire had her in was a far greater task, one that demanded his full attention.

Ulfric shook his head vigorously and pushed open the door to his bedroom, dismissing the guard who stood by the door as he did so. Galmar was a good friend, but he worried too much about Ulfric’s safety. If an assassin were to try and murder Ulfric while he slept, a single guard wouldn’t do much to stop them. In any case, Ulfric was more than capable, with or without a weapon in his hands.

His thoughts swirled as he shed his formal garments and changed into his far more comfortable sleep clothes. A small voice in the back of his mind laughed softly. Even after all these years as Jarl and as a Jarl’s son before that, both of which required him to look formal at all times, Ulfric still wasn’t comfortable in the attire he wore. And now he was fighting to become a king. He briefly wondered if Talos had ever felt similarly before he laughed at himself for his thoughts. Talos was the god of men and the hero who founded the very Empire that now forgot him, he had larger concerns than an uncomfortable outfit.

Ulfric rubbed circles around his temples wearily. These thoughts were obvious signs of just how stressed and exhausted he was. With that thought, he climbed into his bed and pulled the covers up. His eyes drifted clothes and his swirling thoughts slowed to a halt as he fell into a sleep, deep and peaceful thanks to his pure fatigue.

In her room, Vara stared at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep as much as she wished that she could. Her mind was racing and not even her magic could calm her thoughts. She was lying on a bed in the Palace of the Kings, only breathing because of the kindness of one Ulfric Stormcloak. And that scared her.

Jarl Ulfric was well known as a passionate man who loved his country with all his soul. Even the Imperials had a hard time denying that. But Ulfric Stormcloak was also known as a cunning man. He had kept his talents with the Voice, the powerful and ancient power only few could master, a secret.

Then he had dueled and killed High King Torygg with it. Vara wondered what his cunning would mean for her. Despite the somewhat sheltered life she had lived, she was no fool. It was rare in Skyrim that someone did something for another without expecting something in return. The question was, what exactly did Ulfric want from her, and would it be a price that she was willing to pay?

Vara let out a long sigh. Whether she wanted to or not, she would repay her debt. Her parents had taught her to never become indebted to anyone, and if she was, to repay that debt quickly. Seeing as she hadn’t had much of a choice with the first part, she decided to make sure that she succeeded with the second part as best she could. Vara shook her head and closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to subside. Thankfully, they did, and she drifted to sleep.

Chapter Text

The next few days dragged by as Vara healed. As soon as Wuunferth told her that she could, she was up and walking around her room. A room she quickly discovered was far too small for her. She was a creature of the woods and being trapped in a small stone room was driving her to near insanity.

Sparks danced all around the room as Vara weaved an elegant pattern in the air; she had been working on it almost all day, and the magic filled the room. In one corner was a great bear, standing on its hind legs. In the center of the room was a large tree. The sparks that formed its branches spread across the entire room, enveloping the ceiling in a blanket of interwoven electricity. The magic bathed the room in a purple light that Vara found strangely soothing. She sat on her bed, the last place in the room not covered in sparks.

The magic wouldn’t last much longer. Her father’s sparks often lasted for a little over an hour. For reasons that she never understood, hers typically lasted about three times that long. As she watched, the bear in the corner fizzled and slowly faded away. The branches began to disappear as well, dissolving from the trunk outward in the same pattern she had created them in.

As the last branch fizzled out, the door creaked open revealing Wuunferth. He crinkled his nose and sniffed the air. “What were you doing, Vara? I can smell the magic.”

Vara laughed and waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, Wuunferth. I was only weaving magic.”

The wizard raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “And that’s why the entire room smells like ozone?”

Vara shrugged sheepishly. “I may have woven a tree that covered the room?” she half stated half asked.

The mage shook his head and mumbled something about ‘young magic’ before moving to Vara’s side and beginning to undo the bandages wrapped around her. Vara helped him, and soon every bandage was off, crumpled into a pile beside her bed. When she looked down, Vara saw, nothing. Her wounds had finally healed, after over a week. Logically, she knew that that kind of healing should have taken at least three weeks, but her restless spirit made it feel like the healing had taken literal ages.

Wuunferth examined the places where she had been wounded with a critical eye. Vara looked herself over again and noticed a long, thin scar running from just below her knee to her ankle, where one of the bear’s claws had cut her especially deep. The scar didn’t bother her. She had plenty of them decorating her body from various mishaps.

After a few more minutes, Wuunferth stepped back. “As much as I feel like making you stay here for another week, you’re healed. I asked Ulfric to send someone over with some new clothing for you as well as a good meal. After you’ve changed and eaten, you should find Ulfric. He’ll likely have something small for you to do to pay him back,” the mage stated.

Vara nodded in understanding. She had expected the Jarl to want something from her. “Thank you, Wuunferth. I owe you my life,” Vara told the wizard who had spent so long healing her.

Wuunferth snorted dismissively. “There’s no need to thank me. My restoration skills have drastically improved over the last ten days thanks to you,” Vara cold hear the sarcasm in the man’s tone, but it didn’t sound harsh or rude. She had a feeling that this was Wuunferth’s way of showing that he cared.

Smiling, Vara rose from her bed. “I still owe you my life. Maybe I could show you how to weave sparks to repay you?” she suggested. The wizard had done so much for her; she would feel guilty if she didn’t give the old man something.

Wuunferth shook his head. “No. That is a skill that belongs to you and your family. If you truly want to pay me back, you can stop by every once in awhile with potion ingredients. I have a feeling that you have a good eye for them.”

Vara nodded. “I will.” The wizard gave a small smile and then left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

After Wuunferth had left, Vara cleaned herself as best she could. The small shift she wore did little to protect her from the cold, and no that she was no longer wrapped in her blankets she was shivering. She carefully draped the mysterious cloak around her shoulders, once again wondering whose it was. She had a feeling of who the warm cloak belonged to, but she didn’t like it. She sat down in the chair Wuunferth had been using and gazed at the door, waiting for the person who would be bearing her new clothing and her food.

As she waited, Vara thought about just how far in Ulfric Stormcloak’s debt she was. The man had saved her from the snow, carried her back to his Palace, provided her a room, asked his personal court wizard to heal her, provided her food, and was now giving her a new set of clothes. A deep sigh escaped her and she leaned back in the chair, a headache already forming as she wondered what the Jarl would require of her. Even if all he had done was drag her from the snow she would still have owed him her life. The question was, how much was her life worth?

Vara was jolted from her thoughts by a hesitant knock at the door. She opened it and was met with a young man, likely around sixteen, holding a bowl of soup in one hand and clothes stuffed under the other arm. Vara took the food and clothes gratefully and thanked the boy, who blushed a bright red before scampering off.

She set the soup and clothes on the small table and glanced back and forth between the two. The outfit looked warm, with fur pants and a fur shirt, similar to the kind that she wore while hunting although this set didn’t look quite as practical. The outfit also included leather boots that looked to be just her size. She briefly wondered if Wuunferth had taken her measurements while she had been unconscious, but decided that since it had gotten her warm clothing, she didn’t care. The soup smelled delicious, although it was possible that in her hungry state anything would smell good.

Vara debated which she should do first, eat or change. In the end, her hunger won out and she scarfed down the vegetable soup so quickly it burned her throat as she swallowed, but the pain was worth it. The food was warm and just as delicious as it had smelled.

Once she had finished eating, Vara changed into the fur clothing. The furs were softer than she had thought they would be, and she let out a soft sigh of satisfaction as she slid them on. She pulled the leather boots on and found that they fit perfectly. Vara hoped that the Jarl hadn’t had them custom made, as that would put her even farther into his debt.

Vara glanced around the room to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything behind. The action was pointless, as she hadn’t brought anything with her. Shaking her head, Vara turned to the door when her eye fell on the warm cloak that lay discarded with her other clothes in the corner of the room on the floor. She picked it up gingerly and placed it on her shoulders. She hesitated for a moment before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway beyond.

The air outside of her room was colder, and Vara had to pull the cloak closer to her slim form as she walked down the stone corridor. She was glad she had gotten directions from Wuunferth a few days ago because she had a feeling she could wander these stone halls forever without finding what she was looking for if she didn’t know the way.

After only a few minutes of walking, Vara found a wooden door and pushed on it hesitantly. It swung open easily and revealed a large room. At one end was a pair of large doors that Vara knew opened onto the snowy city, but the other end was where her attention was drawn. Sitting on a carved stone throne was Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. Once again, Vara was struck by how confident he looked. It was as if he had been born to rule, which he had been in a way. He lounged on the throne with an almost lazy air, but Vara knew that if she could see his eyes, she would find intelligence and cunning there. Taking a deep breath, Vara approached the throne.

Ulfric watched as Vara Oaken-Song strode toward the throne where he sat. She seemed confident, her shoulders held firmly and her gold-green eyes focused on her goal, not darting around the room like a skittish calf. But Ulfric could also sense the apprehension in her step.

She came to a stop in front of him and bowed low, her long white hair falling in front of her shoulders as she did so. She held the bow for slightly longer than was necessary, but not long enough for Ulfric to think she was groveling. For a woman who had lived all of her life in the forest, mostly separated from society, she seemed well versed in this matter of the court.

“Jarl Ulfric,” the woman said in a respectful tone. “Master Wuunferth said that you asked to see me. Is there something I can do to repay the kindness that you’ve shown me?” Ulfric appreciated that the woman didn’t dance around the subject the way others who approached him often did, no matter what it was they were supposed to be discussing.

“There is. With the war, I have few people that I can spare to address the needs of my subjects. I ask only that you help three of my people, and I will consider your debt repaid,” Ulfric replied. It was a plan, a test even, that he and Galmar had decided upon. Galmar had bet that the woman would not perform the way they wanted, but Ulfric had more faith. He was very curious to see just how Vara Oaken-Song would do.

Vara turned to leave, but Ulfric called after her. “I have paid for a week’s stay at the Candlehearth Inn for you. Simply tell the innkeeper your name and you will be provided with a room and food.”

Vara tilted her head and frowned slightly. “I mean no disrespect, my Jarl, but how can I repay you if you continue to aid me?”

Ulfric smiled and then gave a quiet chuckle. “Well said. Consider this a gift.”

Vara bowed to him again. “Very well, my Jarl.”. She said before turning away once more and walking out the large doors. Ulfric watched her go with a satisfied smile. She had a feeling that Galmar would owe him a drink before this week was over.

Vara flinched against the harsh wind that assaulted her the second she stepped outside the Palace. The sun was beginning to sink, and there were shadows clinging to the sides of the buildings and it was steadily getting colder, even in the brief minute, she stood outside the doors, deciding where to go. The wind blew again and Vara decided that it was too late for her to try and get anything done, so she headed for the inn.

She thanked the gods above for blessing her with a good memory, while it was often a curse, this time it was not. She remembered the streets of Windhelm surprisingly well, although she didn’t really need to use that knowledge just yet as the inn was just down the way from the Palace of Kings.

Vara stepped inside the inn, sighing gratefully at the warm air that greeted her when she did. She had lived in the wilds of Skyrim, so she was more than accustomed to the cold, but she also knew to take any warmth that she received. After all, she never knew when she would have that chance again.

After a moment’s hesitance, Vara walked up to the counter. The woman behind it smiled at her kindly as she said, “Hello, dear. What can I do for you this evening? Perhaps a good meal or a warm bed?”

Vara smiled back at the innkeeper. “A warm fire and a good drink are all I need for now, although I may take that room you offered later tonight.”

The woman nodded, pulling a bottle of mead from under the counter. “There’s a warm fire upstairs and good song too, miss-”

“Oaken-Song,” Vara supplied, “Vara Oaken-Song.”

Vara could see the light of recognition in the woman’s eyes. “Ah, yes. The Jarl’s men said you would come by. I have a room ready for you just down the hall whenever you need it, and just give a holler for any other food and drink. It’s all taken care of.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Vara said with a grateful nod before she took the mead bottle off of the counter and headed up the wooden steps. The room above was even warmer and filled with a buzz of chatter and the sound of music. A small smile appeared on Vara’s lips as she settled herself in one of the chairs.

The atmosphere of the inn was comfortable. Looking around, Vara could pick out the visitors to Windhelm. A dark elf in fine robes crouched in front of the fire with a bottle of exotic wine. She was likely a sailor on one of the merchant ships that had stopped over at the city for a little while. Vara looked around the room and tried to pick out the people who had lived in Windhelm all of their lives. That was most of the patrons, she noticed. They sat with an easy air, one of habit. The serving girls made their rounds to the same people and spoke in familiar tones. These were likely people who came to the inn every night and had been doing that for years.

Then Vara looked for the refugees. They seemed to be only dark elves, hugging the edges of the room, as if they were afraid of being noticed. There were only three dark elves in the room, not counting the bard, which Vara found odd on a busy night like this one. She shifted her attention to the faces of the nord patrons as they lazily swept the room, and noticed a disturbing pattern. Most of the nords, especially the ones who seemed to have lived in Windhelm for all of their lives, would grimace or curl up a lip slightly in distaste whenever their eyes passed over one of the shadowed elves.

As she watched what was happening around her, Vara decided who she would be helping. If the entire city treated the dark elves the way these few were treated in this inn, with suspicion and disgust, then they would be the ones who needed her aid. She wondered if Jarl Ulfric knew about the division that she could see in the population of this city. Surely he could. After all, all she had had to do was look around the inn for a few moments. Vara nodded to herself, she had her goal.

Chapter Text

The next morning Vara woke early, only just after the sun. The inn was mostly quiet; most of the patrons had gone to sleep only a few hours ago. She ate a quick meal before she left, drawing the same cloak around her shoulders once again before stepping into the cold.

For a moment she stood and gazed out on the city. The snow that had blanketed the city had melted somewhat, leaving the city a patchwork of white and grey. Vara gazed at the sight for a moment before turning away and heading to the area that she had overheard patrons in the inn call the 'Grey Quarter'.

The stone streets looked...sad. That was the only way that Vara could describe the wear she saw. The streets were dirty as if no one had cared for them in some time. It was a startling change from the rest of the city. The houses were also worn, some even had holes in them, and she could hear the wind whistling through the gaps. How could people live here willingly, and why didn't they try and improve the area?

Vara headed to one of the buildings that looked to be in a better condition than other ones that surrounded it. The sign above the door identified the building as the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Vara pushed the door open carefully.

Inside, the air was surprisingly warm. A dark elf behind the counter looked up immediately and Vara could see his eyes narrow. "Get lost, nord?" he asked with a sneer. "I thought your kind didn't like dirtying your feet here."

Vara was taken aback. She knew that there was some tension between the nords and dark elves, but she didn't realize that it was this serious. How had Ulfric allowed his city to become this way? "Peace, my friend. I am a visitor to Windhelm, and I hold no hate for your people."

The dark elf surveyed her with a skeptical eye, but eventually nodded and motioned for her to take a seat at the counter. "I apologize for my words," the man said. "My people are not used to kind words from nordic strangers."

Vara nodded. "I understand," in reality, she didn't. How could one group hate another so fiercely based on their race alone? "However, I'm not a nord. Not entirely.". Vara parted her white hair to reveal the tips of her pointed ears. "My father was an elf, my mother a nord. My name is Varaduilwe Oaken-Song." For some reason, Vara felt that this elf would accept her full name more readily than her nickname, unlike Ulfric.

The elf regarded her again, a different look in his eyes now. "I'm Ambarys Rendar. Welcome to Windhelm, sister. May I ask what drew you to the City of Kings?"

Vara laughed softly. That seemed to be a common question. "Necessity and familiarity. It's a long story, but in a way, Windhelm is home for me. I came to see if I could make a living here."

Ambarys shook his head. "You won't find much here, although you look enough like a nord that they might let you do things they won't allow us dark elves to do. Give it a decade or so and you might even earn some respect," he stated with a bitter laugh. Once again, Vara found herself wondering how this hatred could be allowed to thrive. Then the elf narrowed his eyes slightly. "I hope you're not here looking for work. I can barely pay to keep this place open, I can't afford to hire anyone."

Vara shook her head quickly. "No, I'm not looking for work. I am, however, looking for a way to help."

Confusion decorated Ambarys's face before it turned into a defensive scowl. "I don't need your charity. I may not be rich, but I am not a beggar, willing to grovel for a few septims.". The man's ruby eyes glinted angrily.

Vara held her hands up in a gesture of peace. "I apologize. I did not mean to insult you. I was merely wishing to lend a hand."

For a few moments there was a tense silence, but then the dark elf let out a long sigh. "There is something you could do, not for me, but for a friend.". Vara listened as Ambarys told her what she could do. Within the hour, Vara found herself on the road outside of Windhelm, magic crackling in her palms as she hunted a snow bear.

Her last encounter with a snow bear had not gone too well, something Vara remembered vividly, however, she had been caught unawares that time. This time, she was ready. Ambarys had told her that a friend of his had been out hunting in order to provide for his family when he had been attacked by a snow bear. He was barred from seeing the healer, as she had been busy healing the soldiers of the Stormcloak army. The elf was now crippled, and his wife barely made enough to keep them sustained. Ambarys seemed to think that killing the snow bear that had wounded his friend would provide the family with some measure of comfort, and Vara agreed.

Based on the description that Ambarys had given, Vara was fairly close to the cave where the bear lived. She stepped carefully, her eyes and ears alert. She could see the cave now, a dark hole in the mountain, surrounded by blinding white. She entered the darkness slowly, the sparks casting a blue light on the cave walls. Vara cast a spell silently, another trick her father had taught her. There wasn't much point in hunting with spells if the prey could hear you. The spell glowed faintly on the ground. Vara skirted it carefully and cast another a few feet ahead. They were her backup in case her other spells failed.

Vara approached the dark shape that she knew to be the sleeping bear carefully, making sure her feet made no sound as she did so. She aimed carefully, before letting a bolt of powerful electricity into the bear's hide. The creature roared loudly in pain and rose. Vara sent another powerful jolt into the bear and then ran to the mouth of the cave, carefully avoiding the runes she had placed on the floor. When she reached the mouth, she spun around, pooling all of her magika into her hands. She no longer tried to be silent. The air was charged with electricity, and Vara's hair floated in a nonexistent breeze as if it had a mind of its own.

The bear was charging toward her at terrifying speed when it stepped on the first of her runes. The magic exploded into a powerful burst of magic, stunning the wounded bear. Vara took advantage and shot yet another lightning bolt at it. The bear roared and shook its shaggy head before running towards her again. The second trap went off. The bear fell over, the magic too powerful. Vara poured all of her magika into a wave of electricity that rolled over the bear. The white fur crackled and hissed and Vara heard the sickening sound of the creature's eyes exploding.

Vara waited for the electricity in the air to disappear before she approached the now dead bear. She drew a hunting knife from her belt and began to skin the animal after declawing it. The process took her a little over an hour, but she didn't mind. She also harvested the meat and fat of the bear carefully. Once she had finished and cleaned herself up, she cast the most useful spell her father had ever taught her, a spell of featherweight. Instantly, she was able to carry everything that she had harvested, which should have been impossible.

By the time she made her way back to Windhelm, the sun was past noon, closer to three. Vara's stomach rumbled insistently, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since her small meal that morning. She ignored the feeling and continued down the stone street until she came to the cornerclub again.

"Ambarys," Vara said as soon as she stepped through the door. "Where does your friend live? I have a bear for him."

For a moment, the dark elf only stared at her for a few moments, before he exclaimed, "By Azura! Did you track down that monster already?"

Vara laughed lightly. "I'm a hunter, Ambarys. Tracking beasts down and slaying them is how I survive," she pointed out as she shifted her weight to her other leg. The featherweight spell was beginning to wear off; she should probably get the bear, or what remained of it, to Ambarys's friend.

Ambarys didn't seem to have a reply to that, instead, he shook his head. "Follow me, I'll show you where Reyyl and his wife Ninesea live."

Vara followed the elf out the door and back into the cold wind of the street. They walked past a few houses, all of which seemed as if they were one strong storm away from falling over. Once again, Vara wondered how people could live like this. The thought was pushed to the back of her mind as Ambarys gently pushed open the creaking door.

"Ninesea," Ambarys called. "there's someone here I think you should meet.". A few moments later, a woman stepped into the room. Vara could tell that she was relatively young, even for a full-blooded Dunmer. She should have been in the prime of her life, but Vara could tell that the woman's beautiful features had once been even more so. Her face was now lined with worry and her eyes seemed empty as if she no longer saw the world around her the same way.

Vara stepped forward and held out her hand. "My name is Varaduilwe Oaken-Song."

The dark elf shook her hand as she said, "I'm Ninesea. Ambarys is a good friend of my husband. What brings you to our home?" Vara admired the fact that Ninesea could be so courteous. It wasn't hard to see the dark circles that were under the dark elf's eyes or the way that even her ears seemed to be drooping. Vara wondered when the woman had last slept.

"I heard what happened to your husband and I thought that a bear fur and fat might be able to help in some way," Vara replied holding out the items. Before Ninesea could turn her aid away Vara added, "They are from the beast that attacked your husband."

Ninesea looked from the furin Vara's hands to her face and back again. "Thank you, Miss Oaken-Song."

Vara smiled gently, "Please, Varaduilwe or Vara is just fine."

"Well then, thank you, Varaduilwe. My husband and I are in your debt."

"No," Vara said, shaking her head slightly, "you are not. All I would ask of you is that you help me help others who are suffering here."

Ninesea held Vara's gaze for a long time, and Vara could feel those ruby eyes searching her for an explanation. She must have found one, for she nodded. "I will help you," she said in a soft voice. Vara wondered if this woman felt as Vara herself did. Dunmer were a proud people, Vara knew, maybe with the help of one, she would actually be able to make a difference. "Please, I'm sure my husband would like to see you.".

Vara spent the rest of the day with Ninesea and her husband Reyyl. They spoke of many different things, among them the state of the Grey Quarter. She found that the dark elves had an interesting view of why the Quarter was in as bad of a shape as it was. Ambarys seemed to blame the Nords, specifically Ulfric Stormcloak, for

not allowing them to live anywhere else, but Reyyl had a different opinion. He had said that while it was true that Dark Elves often didn't have the same opportunities as Nords, their current state was their own fault. He told Vara of the pride that all Dunmer seemed to possess and how it kept them in the Grey Quarter. They were too stubborn to improve their surroundings. That would mean admitting that they weren't good enough in the first place.

The crippled man's honest words made a strange kind of sense. It had Vara thinking about her own life, and her father, who had also been a refugee with nothing. If it weren't for her mother, Vara doubted that her father would have been able to swallow his pride.

When Vara finally left, the moon had risen high in the sky. She immediately felt guilty for keeping Ninesea and Reyyl awake when they had both been obviously exhausted, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Instead, Vara headed back to the inn. It had been a long day and tomorrow would be just as busy. Before long, her debt to Ulfric Stormcloak would be paid.

Ulfric sat on his throne listening to Jorleif talk about what was happening in the city. It had been a long day, and Ulfric would be lying if he said that he heard everything that his Steward was telling him. His attention was drawn when he heard a name. "Jorleif, what did you say about a newcomer named Vara?"

Jorleif blinked at the interruption for a moment before saying, "Ah, yes. Vara Oaken-Song. Apparently, she spent the day hunting a snowbear. She was seen carrying its remains into the household of a dark elf named Reyyl."

"Reyyl. That is the elf who was crippled when he was hunting, correct?" Despite what others might think, Ulfric knew the people of his city and what happened within it. He simply couldn't do much about the negative things that did happen.

"Yes, my Jarl. His wife, Ninesea now supports the both of them. I believe she works in the fields of one of the farms outside the city walls during the day," the steward replied.

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. What was Miss Oaken-Song doing? Ulfric knew that she would begin to repay her debt immediately, he had been able to see that determination in her eyes, but he hadn't expected her to go to the Grey Quarter.in all honesty, he had figured she would run a few errands for shopkeepers in order to satisfy her debt. He would have to keep an eye on her.

"My Jarl?"

Ulfric blinked, clearing the thoughts from his mind. "My apologies, Jorleif. It's been a long day." The steward nodded understandingly and Ulfric thanked Talos once again for giving him such good men to be by his side. He didn't know what he would do if he had one of those puffed up politicians as a steward.

"That it has been, Ulfric. Galmar told me of the new batch of soldiers that came in this morning."

Ulfric chuckled dismissively. "They aren't soldiers yet. Right now they are little more than farmers. For some of them, the only weapon they've held in their lives is a butcher knife. But they have a fire in their blood and strength in their hearts. What more can a leader ask for from those who follow him?". Jorleif didn't reply, but he didn't need to. It was a question that Ulfric often asked, and each time the answer was the same. Nothing more could be asked of his men but a heart that was willing to fight for the land that he loved.

Chapter Text

Vara gave a deep sigh and stood back, admiring the work she had done. In the glaring light of the winter sun, the Grey Quarter was illuminated. The houses shone with snow on the rooftops and fresh wood on the walls. Vara had spent the last three days helping wherever she could in the Grey Quarter. Some had refused her aid until Ninesea had spoken to them in that soft voice of hers and explained what Vara was trying to do. Most of the dark elves accepted her help after that and some had even provided her with ways to help others in the Grey Quarter.

For some people, help meant patching the walls or roof so that the cold wind of Skyrim wouldn't whistle through their house. For others, help meant talking to the people they worked for and asking for better working conditions. For many, help meant only listening, listening as they told their tale of how they traveled from a desolated land to Skyrim and stopped at the first city they reached. They told Vara of how optimistic and prideful they had been, only to find that the nords did not respect the ancestry of an elf born into a Great House. To them, it meant nothing. To the elves, it meant everything.

Some of the Dark Elves believed that everything that had happened to them was the fault of the nords. They believed that they deserved better, and it was only Nordic oppression that kept them from bettering their lives. Others admitted, often in the same soft tone Ninesea had used, that their current state was as much their doing as it was the Nords. They said that there were problems that were caused by a lack of care by the Nords without a doubt, but most were the effect of too much pride and an unwillingness to try something new. Vara listened to each person who spoke, and she saw truth to both sides. Something needed to be done about the state of the Grey Quarter, but she couldn't see a way to make that happen, not on her own. She needed the support of someone important, someone like the Jarl. But that would never happen.

Regardless of whether or not she could help the Grey Quarter further, Vara needed to pay a visit to the Palace of Kings. She had more than completed the task that Ulfric had given her, and she needed to ensure that her debt was paid.

Ulfric surveyed the men in the courtyard with dismay. He knew that these men were little more than farmers, but that didn't change the fact that they were going to be the ones fighting for the freedom of Skyrim, and their form was terrible. Many of the men moved slowly, as if it took their bodies a few moments to catch up to what their brains were telling them to do. If he had to, Ulfric could have fought and slain them all with one hand tied behind his back, never uttering a single word. It was depressing.

"Don't worry so much, Ulfric. They'll whip into shape soon enough; all the others have," the gravelly voice of Ulfric's close friend spoke up from next to him.

"Under your direction, my friend, they'll have little choice in the matter," Ulfric stated. Galmar was well known, even to the Empire, as being a general who could make a soldier out of anyone. "I simply fear they won't be ready soon enough. War is on the horizon, and I worry that I will have the blood of these men on my hands for sending them off to fight a battle they cannot hope to win."

Galmar gripped Ulfric's shoulder. "They will be ready, Ulfric, and they will fight, and those who fall will join the throng of Sovngarde. They couldn't ask for a better fate.". Ulfric didn't reply, but turned his attention back to the courtyard and the men in it. One man, in particular, seemed to be doing poorly, and as Ulfric watched, he stabbed himself in the foot with his practice sword. Ulfric sighed heavily and rubbed his temples, where a headache was beginning to form before waving for the guards to take the man to the healers.

"You have a lot of work to do, my friend," Ulfric stated dryly. Galmar shrugged, the bearskin he wore over his shoulders moving as he did, and then strode out into the middle of the courtyard and began to bellow orders and instructions.

Ulfric sighed again, his frustration escaping in an agitated breath only to be breathed in the next second. He turned towards the door that led back inside, but as he did so, a figure caught his eye. He turned back around, focusing on the figure and saw that it was a woman. She was standing off to the side of the courtyard, watching the men train. Ulfric's first thought was that she was a citizen who had wandered into the back courtyard on accident. His second thought was that she was a spy, a thought he dismissed quickly; he had guards stationed at the two entrances of the courtyard, so she couldn't have entered unless they thought she belonged. So who was she? The woman wasn't facing towards him, and all he could see was the outline of her profile.

The thin layer of snow on the ground crunched under his booted feet as Ulfric made his way around the edge of the courtyard toward the woman. On the way, he was almost hit by no less than four different trainees, all of whom quickly apologized. He waved off each apology and offered words of encouragement, but on the inside, he was becoming more and more certain that these men were going to get themselves killed.

Finally, Ulfric made it over to the woman's side and saw that the woman was, in fact, Vara Oaken-Song. "My jarl," she said, nodding to him respectfully before turning her attention back to the men training in the yard. They stood in a silence for a few moments both watching the men in front of them. After a few moments, Vara broke the silence by saying, "The problem is their stance. With those stances, they'll never be able to control the power that they are trying to use," she paused then blushed slightly and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "My apologies, my jarl. I did not mean to insult your soldiers."

Ulfric waved the apology away. "You're right. These men are farmers and have only been training for a few days; they haven't learned yet that their feet are just as important as their fists," Ulfric stated simply. He made a mental note to tell Galmar to review proper stances with them tomorrow. It wouldn't do to have soldiers falling over on the battlefield because they didn't place their feet properly before they swung their battleax.

There was silence, other than the sound of men cursing under their breaths and metal clanging against wood, for a few more moments until Ulfric asked, "How did you find yourself here, Miss Oaken-Song?"

Vara started, as if she had forgotten his presence for a moment. "My apologies. I came to the Palace to find you, and your steward directed me here. The soldiers distracted me."

"So I can see. Why did you need to see me?" Ulfric asked. It was rare for someone to seek him out if he was not on his throne, people would often simply wait for him to return rather than try and find him. He had a feeling that this was only one of the many things that made Vara Oaken-Song different from others.

"I completed the task you gave me and repaid my debt, if you will accept my payment," Vara replied. "I aided your citizens as you asked."

Ulfric nodded. "Jorleif told me that you were hunting a bear a few days ago for Reyyl and his wife Ninesea. May I ask why?"

"I hunted the beast that injured Reyyl," Vara explained. "I hoped it would give them some form of closure."

"Did it?"

"I believe so, my jarl, but there is no giving back a life that was taken. Reyyl did not die, but his life now consists of his house only, as he can't walk very far."

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. "Who else did you aid?" he asked. He did not doubt her word, but he wanted to hear her reasons for helping the people that she did.

"Sorisi Meloth, Madsvin Rarara, Teryysa Galrethi, and Adilond Ieniran," she replied immediately.

"Why?" Ulfric asked simply. He tried to sound simply curious, instead of sounding like he was interrogating her. In reality, he didn't know why he was asking, but he had a feeling that the people were all connected somehow, besides the fact that they were all dark elves.

For a moment, Vara hesitated, then she said, "Sorisi needed his roof patched. I'm not a carpenter, but neither is he, so I did the best that I could. Madsvin arrived in Skyrim only a few days before I did. He asked me to find the knapsack he had carried with him from Morrowind, and I did. I know what it is like to lose all you have. Teryysa needed an escort as she traveled to her husband's grave outside of the city. I couldn't leave a woman without the ability to visit her husband in her grief," she paused for a moment and glanced at Ulfric's face before looking away again. "Adilond needed minor healing that I provided. I helped him for purely selfish reasons.". She didn't expound any further, and Ulfric didn't press her; she had already surpassed his expectations.

"Your debt is more than satisfied, Vara Oaken-Song," Ulfric declared. He turned away from the white-haired woman and back to the men in the courtyard before adding, "If you plan to stay in Windhelm, I have a request that would put me in your debt, if you accept.". Vara tilted her head in curiosity, and Ulfric took that as a sign for him to continue. "I would like you to visit the Palace every now and then and listen in on meetings between my advisors and I. I feel like, as an outsider, you will have a different view. After the meetings, I would like you to share your thoughts with me.". Vara looked stunned, and Ulfric took her silence as acceptance. "I'll see you tomorrow night," he said by way of goodbye and then walked away. Galmar owed him a drink.

Vara watched Ulfric Stormcloak disappear from her view, too shocked to move. The jarl wanted her input on matters of the city. Hers! Why? Once again, Vara couldn't help but wonder what Ulfric Stormcloak was planning. He had to have some kind of motive. Vara shook her head, her loose hair falling back into her face. There was no use in worrying about it now. Instead, Vara began to walk back around the courtyard toward the gates she had entered through. She had to see Wuunferth.

The wizard was mumbling to himself when Vara walked in about ingredients he needed for a potion. "Perhaps this will help," Vara said from the doorway, causing the wizard to lift his head from the alchemy lab.

"Ah, Vara. I wasn't expecting you to come by for a few more days," Wuunferth said, standing from the table.

"I came by to tell Ulfric I repaid my debt. I also brought you a few herbs I found yesterday," Vara said with a smile, pulling out a plant from the satchel at her side. Wuunferth took the plant and examined it closely.

"Bloodgrass. How did you keep it fresh?"

"Ice. I encased it in ice as soon as I picked it and then thawed it out before I walked over to the palace," Vara responded.

Wuunferth nodded and placed the plant on a shelf next to his alchemy lab. Then he turned back toward Vara and gestured to a chair. "Take a seat," Wuunferth said. Vara did so, and the court wizard turned back to the potion he was making. As he worked he asked, "How did your conversation with Ulfric go?"

Vara thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose. He asked me to sit in on a few of his meetings and give him my opinion on things afterward," Vara said. "I don't know why my opinion would mean any more than the opinions of his advisors though.". Wuunferth snorted in response.

Wuunferth finished the potion he was working on and placed it carefully on the shelf before saying, "Ulfric can see that there is something different about you. He wants to keep you close while he figures out what that is," the wizard spoke in a thoughtful tone, with only a trace of his usual sarcasm.

A frown crossed Vara's face. "There's nothing special about me."

Wuunferth raised a bushy eyebrow in disbelief. "You're a half-nord orphan whose parents were murdered by Thalmor. You can cast more complicated magic than most wizards in Skyrim and you've lived in the woods for most of your life. Yes, there's nothing special about you at all," he stated, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Vara shook her head. "Being an orphan whose parents were murdered by Thalmor is becoming increasingly common and most hunters spend their lives in the forest. The fact that I am a half-elf means nothing; if anything it will anger Ulfric. As for the magic, it's hardly the kind of thing the jarl would want in his strong nord army," Vara said dismissively. If that was all Ulfric was looking for, Vara didn't have anything to worry about as far as his motives went. Wuunferth only snorted again before changing the subject to different alchemical plants that he had seen and used. They spoke for another hour or so before Vara stood.

"It was good to see you, Wuunferth. Are there any plants in particular that you need? I'll try and bring them to you the next time I find myself at the Palace," Vara asked. Wuunferth rattled off a list of a few things, which Vara wrote down. After saying goodbye to the old wizard, she left the Palace and headed to Candelhearth Hall. It had been a long day, and she was eager to crash into her bed.

Ulfric grinned as his old friend grumbled and handed him a mug of mead. "I told you she would turn out to be something special, Galmar," he said.

"So you keep reminding me," the grizzled general replied. "I still don't understand why you asked her to sit in on the next meeting. We know almost nothing about her. How can we be certain that she won't spill our secrets?"

"Relax, Galmar. The next meeting is only about the plans for the New Life Festival. I doubt that would be of any interest to the Empire. Besides, I don't think Oaken-Song would do that.". Galmar didn't say anything in response, but Ulfric could tell his second-in-command wasn't convinced. "Patience, Galmar, patience. Vara Oaken-Song may turn out to be an asset to the rebellion in ways other recruits are not.". The thought brought up the memory of the conversation Ulfric had had with the woman earlier that day. "By the way, have you gone over proper stances with the newest batch of recruits yet?"

Galmar shook his head. "Not yet. They need it, but I haven't found the right way to teach it to them yet. This batch has less military experience between them than the recruits normally have. They don't understand why standing around is going to help them fight."

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. "I might have an idea."

Chapter Text

Vara woke from her dreamless sleep slowly. As she came to her senses, she heard an insistent knocking on the door. She grabbed a tunic from her dresser and quickly pulled it over her head, causing her sleep-tangled hair to become even more knotted as she did so. She shook her head inwardly, knowing her appearance must be terrible, and then opened the door. A soldier stood on the other side. For a moment, the man stood there uncertainly before saying, "Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak requests your presence at the training grounds as soon as you are able, ma'am."

Vara rubbed her temples wearily. Wasn't the meeting sometime tonight? Why did Ulfric want to see her now? She sighed and said, "Thank you, soldier. You may tell the jarl that I will be there in half an hour.". The man nodded and left.

Vara closed the door, resting her head against the wood. It had to be barely five in the morning, judging by how tired she was. What had she gotten herself into by coming to Windhelm? "If I had known that coming here meant being attacked by a bear and getting up before the sun, I would have stayed in the woods," she grumbled to herself as she pulled on warm trousers and her leather boots. She brushed through her long hair and, after a bit of deliberating, braided it. If Ulfric wanted her to go to the training grounds, she would likely want her hair out of her face. She just hoped the man wasn't trying to recruit her. She agreed with his cause, but she wasn't certain she was willing to fight for it yet, not until she knew more about its leader.

After grabbing a sweet roll from the counter, Vara left the inn and headed to the Palace. She entered through the giant doors and slipped through the great hall to the back of the Palace, where two guards stood in front of a gate that led to the training courtyard. "My name is Vara Oaken-Song. The jarl is expecting me," she told the guards, who were a different pair than the ones she had spoken to yesterday. The men nodded to her and opened the gate, allowing her to pass through before locking it once more.

The courtyard, which had been full of the sounds of metal clanging against metal, fell silent as she stepped onto the cobblestone. Vara ignored the men who were staring at her and made her way to the middle of the courtyard where Ulfric and another man, Galmar was it, stood. "My jarl," Vara greeted, bowing her head respectfully to both the jarl and Galmar, who Vara suspected was a general in the Stormcloak army. "You requested my presence."

Ulfric nodded. "Indeed. Yesterday, you watched these men train and you remarked that their footwork was lacking."

"I apolo-" Vara started, but Ulfric cut her off.

"There is no need. You were right. These men need training, and I would like you to train them," the jarl stated in a tone that made it sound like a simple request as if he were asking her to name the Divines or count to ten. It was not a simple task, but there was a look in Ulfric Stormcloak's eyes that made Vara swallow her protest.

"Yes, my jarl. I ask only that you allow me to teach them the way that I was taught," Vara requested, thinking of some of her early memories. Ulfric nodded and turned toward the men who had gathered around.

"This is Vara Oaken-Song," he stated. His voice was no louder than normal, but the deep sound rolled through the courtyard anyway. "You are to listen to her and obey any direction she gives you. She is going to show you just how much good standing around can do you.". The men looked confused, a few whispering to one another, but no one spoke out. Then Ulfric turned back towards Vara. "Galmar and I will watch from the side. Good luck.". Vara took a deep breath and then turned towards the recruits.

"Footwork is important, vital even, to your success," Vara began. Her voice was louder than the jarl's had been, but it didn't carry the same weight. She idly wondered if that was a trait one could only have if one had royal blood. "You may be able to swing a warhammer with enough force to knock off someone's head, but if you don't place your feet correctly, that same force will hurt you as well as whoever you are fighting."

Vara heard more grumbling among the men. She doubted they would believe her without proof. She pointed to a man who looked to be about her size, which made him thinner than most of the others. "Come here and stand across from me," she ordered. The man, who was really just a youth maybe seventeen winters old, obeyed and stood across from her. "You are going to stand there in whatever stance you know, and I am going to push you over. You may move your feet, but not your hands". The youth looked confused, and she could tell he didn't believe her. Nevertheless, he fell into a stance and raised his hands up to guard his face.

After a quick glance, Vara strode forward until she was only a foot away from the recruit. Then she pushed his unprotected side and the man stumbled. She pushed again, and he fell. Immediately, the men who were gathered around them to watch began to laugh. Vara shut them up by saying, "Do you think you can do better?" One by one, she had every man stand in front of her and one by one, she knocked them into the frozen ground.

Once they were standing again, their pride bruised but otherwise fine, Vara said, "Do you know why you fell? I am thinner, weaker than you, but you were the ones who fell. None of you moved your feet. I told you that you could, but you didn't," a few of the recruits began to nod, starting to see what she was saying. "Now it's your turn. Make me fall."

The men came and tried to push her over, but Vara shifted her feet to match each blow. A few times the larger men caused her to stumble, but she quickly found her footing again. Eventually, the men gave up and stood back. "There is a stance for every angle that your attacker may come from. There is a different placement for each swing. You may be strong now, but with the right footwork, you will be able to put more force into a single swing than you ever have. Are you willing to learn?" Vara asked, challenging each man with her eyes.

A man in the back of the group spoke up, "Aye," he declared. Slowly, other voices joined his. Some agreed grudgingly, others eagerly, but every man agreed. Vara smiled slightly and then went to work.

Two hours later, the men were paired off and improving one another's technique. Vara had taught them a few basic stances for each weapon they would be using. Some caught on more quickly than others, and Vara had placed those men in charge of helping the ones who didn't quite understand yet. Now, she stood back and watched.

Vara heard footsteps and turned to see Galmar standing there. "They will need more training of course," Vara stated. "But I hope I was able to help.". The general said nothing, merely looking over the men as they practiced. The silence grew, and Vara began to wonder if she had done something wrong. Maybe she shouldn't have been so demanding. The soldiers took orders from people like Galmar, not her.

Finally, after several tense minutes, Galmar spoke, "I've never seen anyone teach like that," Vara couldn't tell if the general was disapproving or merely commenting on the difference, so she replied carefully.

"My father taught me similarly. He didn't let me touch a blade or bow until I was able to stay standing for at least two minutes while he tried to push me down. He didn't tell me what I needed to change, so I spent the first week in the dirt. I figured you don't have that kind of time."

Galmar nodded. "These men are needed on the front lines to patrol our borders in two months.". There was silence again for awhile before Galmar said, "You told Ulfric that your father was a hunter," the general turned to look Vara in the eyes. "What hunter knows this?"

"You want to know if my father was a military man. My answer is that I do not know," Vara said in a soft voice. "My father did not speak of his past often, and when he did, it was only in broad terms. Perhaps he was a soldier before he met my mother, or maybe his father was and taught him the same way he taught me," Vara shook her head as she repeated, "I do not know." Galmar studied her closely for a few moments before grunting and turning away to watch the trainees. Vara took that as a sign that he believed her.

Eventually, the general strode out into the courtyard among the men and called them to attention. They quickly broke away from their partners and fell in line in front of him. Then he began to speak. Vara took this as a sign of her dismissal, which she was grateful for. She felt strange training soldiers for war when she had never been in one. Vara slipped from the courtyard quietly, nodding respectfully at Ulfric Stormcloak as she left.

Once Vara was out of the Palace, her feet carried her to the Grey Quarter. Before she knew it, she was knocking on the door of the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Ambarys opened the door and gestured for her to step inside. Vara did so gratefully. When she had been training the recruits she hadn't noticed the cold, but now it seemed that the cold would cause her to freeze in place, never to move again, if she didn't get out of it.

"What brings you by, Varaduilwe?" the dark elf asked once she was inside.

"My stomach. One of the Jarl's men woke me this morning and demanded that I go to the Palace as soon as possible because the jarl needed to see me. I barely had time to eat a sweet roll!" Vara complained. Ambarys chuckled and placed a mead in front of her along with a plate of bread and venison. Vara dug into the small meal with gusto, stopping once to thank Ambarys before tearing off another bite of bread. The dark elf simply shook his head with a small smile.

Once Vara had finished, Ambarys cleared away her plate and then sat opposite her. "What did the jarl want with you?" the elf asked, and Vara thought she might have detected concern in his voice.

"He asked me to help him with some of his recruits," Vara stated simply then added, "He also asked me to sit in on a meeting tonight and offer my opinion afterward. I don't know what he expects.". Vara shrugged lightly.

Ambarys tilted his head slightly as if considering something. Eventually, he shook his head and said, "I don't understand nords, and I understand Ulfric Stormcloak the least of all. Who knows why that man does anything? Just be careful, Varaduilwe."

"I will be," she reassured the elf with a soft smile. "What do I owe you for the meal?" While Vara had been helping out the elves of the Grey Quarter the past few days, she had also done some hunting and sold her catch to a vendor at the market. Tomorrow was the last day of the week Ulfric Stormcloak had paid for at Candlehearth Hall. She idly wondered if she should have charged the Jarl for the time she had spent training the recruits. Oh well, it was too late to do anything about that now.

"Nothing, it's on the house. Don't argue, child," Ambarys added when Vara opened her mouth to protest.

"I'm not a child, Ambarys," Vara insisted. While she may have been young, she had only seen her twenty-third winter, she had had a few of the experiences of someone many years older.

"Perhaps not," he murmured in a musing tone, and Vara wondered what was going on in his mind. The elf had a fiery temper, something Vara had seen firsthand on more than one occasion these past few days, and she knew he was likely considered a young adult in the eyes of other dark elves. Yet he too had lived through experiences of someone much older. Perhaps it was their spirits that had aged, and their bodies simply hadn't caught up just yet.

The conversation turned to other topics, and the time passed comfortably. A few of the other residences of the Grey Quarter came by for a drink and a hot meal, and Ambarys chatted with them about the going ons of the city. Vara sat back and listened, talking with a few of the elves herself and accepting their thanks for her work in the Grey Quarter, although doing so made her feel somewhat awkward.

Before Vara knew it, the sun had begun to sink in the sky and Vara had to leave. She made a beeline for the Candlehearth Hall, realizing that her tunic was still dirty from earlier this morning. Her cheeks burned as she realized that she had almost gone to a meeting with the Jarl looking as if she had been rolling in the dirt all day.

Vara ducked into her room and quickly changed into something more appropriate. Silently, she thanked Ninesea for insisting that she but some new clothes as she pulled a fresh green tunic on. It was slightly nicer than the one she had worn earlier today, but Vara knew she would feel self-conscious in it anyway. Once again, she wondered if coming to Windhelm was the right idea. If she had stayed in the woods, she wouldn't be worrying about what to wear to the Palace of Kings right now. Although she would likely be worrying about where she would sleep tonight and what she would eat and how she would stay warm. Right now though, those seemed like much simpler tasks than the one she had before her. She slipped out of the inn and strode quickly toward the Palace, hoping that she wasn't late.

Vara opened the large doors of the Palace to find the great hall empty. Faintly, she could hear voices coming through a closed door to her left. Guards stood outside the door, and she approached them. "You must be the one the jarl was waiting for," the man on the right said. Vara grimaced inwardly, she was late. The guard opened the door, and the voices immediately fell silent.

Ulfric looked up from the paper he was studying as the door opened. Vara Oaken-Song stepped inside, looking somewhat nervous. Her confidence reappeared almost instantly as she straightened her shoulders and sat in the empty chair at the table. She nodded respectfully at him, which he acknowledged with a slight nod of his own. Then he began the meeting.

For the first few minutes, the group talked about the logistics of the event. Who would provide what, how it would get here, how much it would cost, and so on. These were the types of discussions Ulfric knew were necessary, no matter how mundane they seemed. Then one of the advisors, a man whose family had lived in Windhelm for generations, spoke up.

"Who will be allowed to attend the New Life Festival?"

"Everyone. It is a celebration of life, and everyone, from the beggar to the merchant, has something to celebrate," Ulfric replied easily. It seemed an odd question with an obvious answer.

Then another advisor spoke. "What about the grey skins and the lizards?" Before Ulfric had a chance to even open his mouth to reply, another man spoke up.

"They can't be allowed. This is a tradition of Skyrim, of nords! What will they do, thank their heathen gods and drink our mead?" he asked, and the others murmured their agreement. Ulfric said nothing, instead, he looked at Vara. The white-haired woman sat silently, but Ulfric could sense an anger about her. Her thin eyebrows were drawn together and her lips were set in a firm line, yet she said nothing.

"The Festival is not for a few months. We will decide this matter later. For now, we will focus on ensuring the Festival can run at all. Hroggir, have you heard any news from the priestess in Whiterun?" Ulfric asked, steering the conversation into more navigable waters. The man replied that he had, and the council spent the next hour discussing the different performances that had to be arranged.

Eventually, when almost everything had been settled to Ulfric's satisfaction, he closed the meeting saying, "Thank you for your time. If any plans change, please inform my steward and I will do the same," then he stood, signaling the meeting's end.

The advisors all filled out, except for Vara, who remained sitting with a thoughtful look on her face. Ulfric took a seat on the other side of the table across from the woman before he asked, "What did you think?"

"I think that you are a man of action, my jarl, but you are also a capable diplomat," she replied. "You moved through the agenda quickly and effectively, but took your time on matters you knew were important to those present. You also changed topics with ease, directing the conversation where you needed it to go."

Ulfric raised an eyebrow in surprise. He knew that Vara was insightful and paid close attention to her surroundings, but he hadn't expected that kind of an analysis from a woman who had spent most of her life in a forest, removed from the matters of a city. This woman was becoming more and more of a mystery. The more he learned about her, the more questions he had.

"I'm a soldier first and a diplomat second," he admitted. It was a trait he often worried about. When the Stormcloaks were victorious, he would be crowned High King, but would he be the king that Skyrim needed? Ulfric pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and focused instead on the conversation at hand. "But please, tell me what you thought of the plans for the Festival."

An emotion flitted over Vara's face, but it was gone before Ulfric could identify it. "The plans seem to be stable. You might want to have more local entertainment sources though. There is tension in the air and war on the horizon. People are traveling less and less."

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. The war had not begun in earnest yet, but there had been a few skirmishes and Ulfric knew better than anyone the strain that a war would have on trading and traveling. He also knew that the prize of freedom was worth any cost. "I agree, but you're avoiding the mammoth in the room. I saw the look on your face when they said the dark elves and argonians shouldn't be allowed at the Festival. What do you think?" he asked, leaning forward to look the woman in the eye.

"Speaking frankly, my jarl, I believe that it would be foolish to deny anyone entrance to the New Life Festival," Vara stated, and behind her calm tone, Ulfric could sense a passion in her words.

"May I ask why?"

Vara leaned back in her chair and seemed to be debating what to say, eventually, she said, "There is a rift in your city, Ulfric Stormcloak. You fight for the freedom of Skyrim, and this festival is a celebration of life and the freedom of it, but you forget that Skyrim is home to more than just nords. Are nords the only ones who can appreciate life? Are they the only ones who can protect their freedom? Are they the only ones who deserve that freedom? This decision will tell your citizens how you answer those questions. It may be a simple festival, but in reality, it is so much more.". Vara's voice was quiet but passionate, and Ulfric couldn't help but feel impressed. It was rare for someone to speak so boldly to him and so frankly. It was a refreshing change.

"Thank you, Miss Oaken-Song," Ulfric said and nodded to the woman, dismissing her. She stood from her chair and for a moment, she gazed at him. Then she turned away and slipped out the door, closing it softly and leaving Ulfric with a swirling mind. Vara Oaken-Song was something different indeed. He just wasn't sure if it was a good kind of different. Either way, Ulfric Stormcloak had a feeling that he should keep the woman close; she would be important.

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, Vara began to fall into a sort of routine. She moved from her room in Candlehearth Hall to a room in the cornerclub. Ambarys had offered it to her at a heavy discount, but she had paid full price anyway. In the mornings she would grab a quick bite to eat before going out to hunt in the forests near the city. Then she would return and sell her catch to one of the vendors at the market before helping out around the city any way she could. Once night fell she would return to the cornerclub and sleep. It was a simple way to live, but Vara found she liked the routine. In fact, only one thing, or rather one person, threw her off. That person was Ulfric Stormcloak.

Sometimes a soldier would show up as she went to the market or while she was walking around Windhelm, helping the people, and tell her that the jarl requested her presence. It threw her routine off and unsettled her. In general, Vara was a fairly confident person and that often showed when she interacted with the jarl. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, although she made sure to be respectful when she did so. It was only after she would leave the Palace that the doubt would crash down on her. What if she had said the wrong thing? What if she had said the right thing the wrong way? Had she been respectful enough? Had she been too respectful? Despite her doubts, Vara continued to help the jarl whenever he called on her. She wasn’t sure why.

Today looked like it was going to be an excellent example of that already. She had just stepped into Windhelm, the creatures she had killed on her hunt slung over her shoulders when she heard someone clear their throat behind her. Vara turned around to see a young soldier shifting nervously on his feet. “Excuse me miss, are you Vara Oaken-Song?” he asked nervously. As she nodded, Vara wondered if this boy had ever been sent out by the jarl alone before. It certainly didn’t seem like it. “Jarl Ulfric ordered me to find you. He said that he needed you to meet him at the training grounds as soon as you were able.”

Vara sighed inwardly but nodded. “You can tell the jarl that I will be there shortly, soldier.”. The young man nodded vigorously and then rushed away on nervous feet. Vara shook her head and sighed, audibly this time her breath floating in a white cloud in front of her, and headed to the market to sell her catch.

Septims jingled as Vara scooped them off the counter and slipped them into one of the pockets of her hunting belt. It was less than she usually received for a catch that size, but she didn’t have time to haggle with the stall owner. Instead, she thanked the man and headed straight for the Palace of Kings.

The courtyard was ringing with the familiar sound of steel on steel when Vara stepped through the gate. A few of the soldiers nodded to her respectfully as she passed them, something that made Vara feel somewhat uncomfortable. She had hardly done anything for them; there was no reason for them to look up to her.Eventually, she made it to the other side of the courtyard where Ulfric Stormcloak was standing, watching the troops as they trained.

“The men are looking much better, my jarl,” Vara noted as she approached the man, bowing slightly.

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over the soldiers one more time before he turned to face her. “Indeed they are. Galmar has been putting them through their paces, and they’ve been training harder ever since you taught them. That’s something I never thanked you for, so thank you, Miss Oaken-Song.”

Vara wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to respond to the thanks of a jarl, so she settled on saying, “You’re welcome, my jarl, but it was my pleasure to be of service.”. That was the truth. While Vara may not fully trust Ulfric Stormcloak, she did believe that despite his flaws, whatever they may be, he had good intentions overall. Besides, if her training would help save these men’s lives then she was grateful for the chance to teach them.

“These men are going to be deployed to guard our borders in a month. I believe they will be ready,” the jarl stated and as Vara watched, his gaze seemed to become somewhat unfocused and he continued in a softer voice. “Wars are too often fought by men who are barely soldiers.”

For a few moments, Vara was silent. Then she stepped slightly closer to Ulfric, not wanting to overstep the bounds of what was proper as she said, “Life asks impossible things of us all. Perhaps for some, it is only through the flame of war that they can be shaped into soldiers.”

“Only if they are not consumed by it first,” Ulfric murmured. Then the jarl seemed to snap out of the trance he was in and said in a stronger voice, one that was more anchored to the present, “Wuunferth requested to see you after I spoke to you. I believe he is in his room working on some potion.”

Vara nodded, sensing her dismissal. “I will see you at the meeting tonight, my jarl,” she stated and bowed again before leaving.

The court wizard was hunched over his alchemy lab carefully mixing ingredients when Vara stepped into the room, just as the jarl said he would be. A smile crossed Vara’s face as she watched the mage work. He was completely focused on the potion in front of him. In fact, Vara had a feeling that if she were to set his robes on fire he wouldn’t notice until the smoke began to cloud his vision.

Shaking her head, Vara decided to announce her presence in a calmer manner. “Wuunferth? I have those potion ingredients you were wanting.”

As soon as Vara spoke, the trance that Wuunferth was in broke and he turned around to face her. “Ah, Vara! Thank you. I was hoping you would have these for me. The potion I’m working on is rather complex and requires at least two of these ingredients although I’m not quite certain which two…” the mage trailed off as he thought, a scowl on his face. “Anyway, with this much, I will be able to continue my experiments for some time.”

Vara smiled at the old wizard. “Just try to avoid blowing anything up,” she teased, earning an offended harumph from the mage, who was already bending back over the potion. There was silence for a few moments until Wuunferth asked, “What did the Ulfric want with you this time?”

Vara shrugged as she sat in a chair near the alchemy lab. “He just wanted to thank me for helping train his latest batch of recruits, although in truth I didn’t do much.”

Wuunferth snorted. “From what I heard, you put more than a few of the soldiers into the dirt and then challenged them to do the same to you,” Vara nodded slightly as she wondered who had told Wuunferth and who else knew. Then the mage continued, “Not a bad strategy. If there’s one thing soldiers can’t resist, it’s a challenge. Especially nord soldiers.”

Vara hummed her agreement. “I could tell they weren’t going to take me seriously unless I gave them a good reason to. I figured knocking them all into the ground was the easiest way.”. Wuunferth only snorted in response and a silence fell, broken only by the occasional grumble from the wizard as he worked. Vara was content to watch the mage work. Her mother and father had often created healing and other helpful potions, and she had loved to watch them work. It fascinated her the way that by combining a few ingredients you could make a whole that was so much stronger than the sum of its parts. She could craft a decent healing potion when she had to, although she couldn’t make much else; she had never had much talent for alchemy.

“The roof is a great place for meditating, in case you were wondering,” the wizard stated in a dry tone, breaking Vara out of her thoughts. Vara blushed and stood.

“Thank you, Wuunferth. Are there any other ingredients you need?” she asked as she stood from the chair. The mage cocked his head to the side as he thought, but eventually shook his head.

“No, the ingredients you brought will keep me busy for some time,” he said, already grabbing another ingredient from the shelf at his side and examining it. Vara shook her head with a smile and bade the wizard goodbye. He mumbled a farewell in return, already absorbed in his work once again. Vara laughed softly and slipped out the door and into the stone hallway.

Finding the entrance to the roof was a little harder than she had expected it to be. There weren’t any signs anywhere in the palace, and she hadn’t wanted to ask one of the many guards who was stationed in the hallways. Eventually, she found a narrow flight of stairs and climbed them carefully. At the top was a narrow door that creaked slightly when she opened it.

The air outside was cold, freezing in fact, but Vara found that it didn’t bother her as much anymore. Maybe it was the fact that the clothes she wore now were much warmer than the light hunter’s tunic she had worn when she had been making her way here, or maybe her Nordic blood was finally coming through. Either way, Vara was thankful for the change; it would be difficult for her to meditate if she was distracted by the cold.

The roof was flat, decorated in a white blanket of snow, but here and there were small patches of grey stone. Vara sat down carefully on the worn stone and cast a spell. The stone warmed instantly and the snow melted in a circle around her. Hopefully, the ward would stay up as she meditated.

It had been awhile since Vara had had the chance to meditate. A smile danced on her lips as she pooled her magicka into her hands, sparks running up and down her fingers. For a moment, she let the magic build, loving the way that the magic roared and tumbled inside of her, then she set it free, drawing a line of purple energy in the air. Vara let her eyes slip closed as she continued to weave the magic in the air in front of her, her hands instinctively knowing what to do.

As she her hands moved through the air, her mind wandered through her thoughts and memories. Eventually, it settled on her parents, as it always seemed to do when she meditated. This time it was an image of her youth that filled her mind’s eye. Her father, his golden eyes shining happily, as he leaned over his alchemy station intently working on a new potion. Her mother laughing softly each time her father grumbled something under his breath as he worked. They had worked together in everything that they did. While her father hunted, her mother would stoke a fire and prepare other food. While her mother gathered herbs for healing potions, her father would prepare the alchemy station and clean the vials the potions would go in.

Her mind shifted to another memory of her past. Her father standing over her as she lay in the dirt, panting and exhausted but happy. She had finally stayed standing for longer than two minutes, even if her father had managed to push her into the dirt in the end. There was a proud light glowing in her father’s eyes. It was that light, that happiness that made the past few weeks of falling to the dirt again and again worth it. It was that light that Vara always strove to achieve.

Her father never was a man of many words, but he didn’t need to be. It was through his glances or the slight upturn of his lips that he expressed his happiness or his anger, his pride or his disappointment. Her mother, on the other hand, spoke often, but she had never chattered. Every word had to mean, and she never said anything that she didn’t believe. It was her words that had often comforted Vara after a nightmare woke her. It was her voice, singing softly, that had distracted Vara from the sharp sting of an injury more times than she could count.

Another memory filled her mind; nowhere near as peaceful as the others had been. Vara’s mind was filled with a vision of red and black as fires consumed the cottage she had lived in all of her life. Vara remembered running as fast as she could until the smoke-blackened trees around her were only a blur. A tear ran down Vara’s face as she sat, meditating on the roof. She remembered slamming the charred door open only to find that there was nothing left inside the cottage. Everything was burned to ash. Except for the bodies of her parents. Inside, she had found her father’s body still laying protectively over the body of her mother. Her mother’s hand had still been curled around the Amulet of Talos that she had always worn. Both were burnt in only one place, right over their hearts. Vara had known that this was no accident.

Vara took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She focused on her breathing until she couldn’t hear anything else. Then she channeled her emotions into her hands and her magic popped and crackled. Carefully, Vara closed her mind off to all thoughts, instead, she weaved magic, focussing solely on the crackle of electricity as it flowed from her fingertips and into the air. She breathed in, enjoying the smell of ozone in the air; it calmed her as she continued to cast her magic.

A deep and accusing voice caused Vara’s eyes to fly open, breaking the peace. “Who are you,” Ulfric Stormcloak asked as he towered over her, anger in his stormy eyes.

Vara stood, banishing the weaving before her with a flick of her hand. Before she did though, she saw what it was she had created. A bear, standing on its hind legs, mouth open in what Vara knew would have been an earth-shaking roar had it been alive. Facing the Jarl of WIndhelm, Vara declared with a confidence she didn’t know she possessed, “I am Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, daughter of Jalanna Oaken-Song and Ancanmir Elsinahl.”

“Varaduilwe. Ancanmir. Those do not sound like the names of nords,” the jarl stated, and Vara could hear an accusation in his tone. Was he accusing her of being anything other than a nord? Why would that be an accusation?

“That’s because they aren’t. My father was an elf hailing from the Summerset Isles. I am not a full-blooded nord, my lord. I am half Altmer,” Vara’s tone was steady, neither aggressive or defensive, as she spoke. She was who she was, and she was proud of it. Even if she weren’t, she couldn’t exactly change her race.

Ulfric’s eyes narrowed, and Vara felt an anger building in him, there was something else to, but Vara couldn’t identify it. “You lied to me,” he growled, low and threatening.

Vara shook her head. “I did not. I never claimed to be a full-blooded Nord. When you asked me my name, I gave it to you. My parents called me Vara more often that Varaduilwe. I wasn’t aware that my heritage would affect anything. After all, I call Skyrim home, and I love her. I thought that was all that mattered here,” Vara explained in that same neutral tone. Anger would get her nowhere.

For a moment, Ulfric simply stood there, and Vara could almost see his mind as it turned. Then he declared in a voice not quite devoid of anger, “Leave. I am canceling tonight’s meeting. You won’t be attending them anymore.”

Vara nodded respectfully, keeping her emotions in check. “As you wish, my jarl.”. Then she walked past the man and slipped through the door that led down from the roof. It closed behind her with a creak, leaving the Jarl standing in the snow of the rooftop, gazing out over Windhelm.

Chapter Text

The throne room was cold, as it often was. Torches and fireplaces could only do so much to protect against the weather of Skyrim. The temperature in the room, however, was no match for the frigid glare that Ulfric Stormcloak currently had fixed on his court wizard, who was currently berating him in front of his entire court. Ulfric wished that was a more uncommon occurrence than it was.

Wuunferth gestured as he spoke, declaring, “You are making a mistake, Ulfric Stormcloak. That woman is extremely gifted, something you would be able to see if you weren’t so blinded by-”.

“We will talk about this later, Wuunferth,” Ulfric stated, interrupting the mage. “You’re dismissed,” he let his irritation slip into his voice as he leveled the mage with another cold look. The wizard let out a humph and spun on his heel, his robes flaring around his feet as he did so, and stalked back to his quarters to work on some potion or whatever it was that he did. Ulfric had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatic behavior of the mage.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Ulfric told the men in front of him. The one who had been speaking before Wuunferth had barged continued from where he left off, not even acknowledging the fact that he had ever been interrupted.

“The preparations for the festival are all in place, my lord. Only two things remain. The first is the decision on the greyskins.”

For a few moments, Ulfric said nothing. Despite his anger at her, his memories betrayed him and whispered those words Vara had told him. Are nords the only ones who can appreciate life? Ulfric growled inwardly before quickly calming himself. He didn’t need his counselors to think he was going mad. “Make plans as if the Dunmer and Argonians will be there,” he ordered, staring straight at the man who had spoken against the inclusion of the Dark Elves the loudest. The man nodded slightly; he would obey. After all, it wasn’t wise to have a jarl as an enemy. Ulfric sighed to himself. None of his counselors would speak openly against him. They were too afraid to. It was a good thing Ulfric didn’t rely on these men for their opinions; WIndhelm would be doomed.

“Very well, my lord. That leaves only one problem left to deal with. These murders. If the killer isn’t caught, I’m afraid that fewer people will be willing to leave the safety of their homes for a celebration that will last well through the night,” the man pointed out with a frown. The others muttered their agreement, a few shifting nervously in their seats.

Ulfric cursed softly under his breath. He didn’t have enough manpower to track down a killer, not with war so close. He nodded anyway. “I will tell Jorleif to find someone to look into these murders. Other than those two problems, is everything on schedule?”

Another man, who had been studying the notes he had in front of him the entire time spoke up. “They are, my lord,” he stated. He shuffled the papers around for a moment, looking for something before he added, “Even with the inclusion of the Argonians and Dark Elves, we should be ready for the celebrations to begin on the night of the thirty-first.”

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. The festival was only two weeks away. Normally, there would be an excitement building in the city by this time, the citizens eager to have a chance to celebrate the year that was coming to an end and the beginning of the next one. That wasn’t the case this year. This year, there was fear in the air. It was obvious in the way doors were quickly shut, in the way people never lingered in the market after they purchased what they needed, and in the way people spoke in softer tones as if the fragile peace would break if they spoke too loudly. Ulfric would have been lying if he said that he didn’t share some of those same fears, but he was the jarl, and he didn’t have the luxury of being afraid.

“Very good,” he said, injecting a confidence into his voice that he didn’t quite feel. But that was how it often was, wasn’t it? “People need a reason to celebrate with their loved ones.” A few of the people around the room nodded. Ulfric dismissed them with a way of his hand. They all stood and bowed to him briefly before leaving, eager to return to their families. Ulfric watched them leave, and not for the first time, a small part of him wished for someone he could come home to. He laughed bitterly at his own thoughts. Even if he were to marry, it wouldn’t be for something as foolish as love. No, it would be a marriage of politics and cunning. Especially if he were to become High King.

“Ulfric?” a gravelly voice drew the jarl from his inner thoughts.

“Yes?” Ulfric leaned forward on his throne, towards his old friend, who held a stack of papers and small files in his hands.

The general handed the stack to him, a strange look in his eye. “I found everything I could. There’s nothing on the father, though.” Ulfric nodded distractedly, already leafing through the papers in his hands. There was silence for a few moments, and Ulfric forgot that Galmar was still standing in front of him until the general asked, “What do you expect to find there?”

“Anything,” was Ulfric’s reply. He didn’t look up from the papers he was scanning over. “Something about that woman doesn't make sense. She’s different, Galmar, and I want to know why.”

The general didn’t reply for a long moment, and Ulfric knew he was thinking long and hard about the next thing he would say. Eventually, he broke the silence. “I bet you a flagon of Candlehearth’s best mead that you ask her to join.”

Ulfric looked up from the papers, surprised. “Join? Join what?”

Galmar rolled his eyes. “The rebellion, Ulfric. That girl is special.”

“Why would I do that, Galmar? I don’t trust her. She hid her true heritage, so what else is she hiding?” Ulfric asked, not expecting an answer. He turned back to the papers in his hand. “I’ll take your bet, Galmar. You should get your septims ready.” His friend only shook his head and left the room without replying. Ulfric barely heard the door close, already engrossed in the files he held. He would find the truth.

“Ambarys, what do you know about the murders that have happened?” Vara asked the elf as she sat in the corner of the room, sipping a flagon of mead and reading a flyer she had found in the street that talked about someone called ‘The Butcher’.

The elf shrugged. “Apparently two nord women have been killed-”

“Three,” Vara interrupted. “Susana was killed last night. I saw her body in the graveyard and asked the guard if I could help investigate.”

“Fine, three nord women. Doesn’t matter to me either way. I’ll start to care when a dark elf is killed.”

Vara looked up from the flyer, her lips pulling into a surprised frown. “What, just because they’re nords it doesn’t matter if they die? This is why no one can get along in this city,” Vara muttered the last part to herself. She couldn’t believe just how uncaring the Nords and Dunmer were towards each other. They all lived in the same city, but they weren’t willing to share the same problems. That meant they couldn’t share the same joys either. Vara didn’t say any of that out loud though. She had a feeling that now wasn’t the right time. Instead, she changed the subject and asked, “Can I get a loaf of bread to eat on the go?” She needed to go back to the crime scene and see if there was anything she could find. Maybe her skills as a hunter would help her in tracking down whoever had done this.

“Sure. Be careful out there. The jarl might not like you getting involved in this,” the dark elf warned as he handed her a loaf of bread that was still warm.

“I’ll be fine, Ambarys. He only barred me from the meetings he has with his councilors,” Vara stated, unconcerned. It wasn’t as if she was purposely trying to irritate the jarl or anything. She was trying to stop a murderer for Talos’ sake! Ambarys didn’t look convinced, but he shook his head and opened the door for her anyway. Vara thanked him and stepped into the cold of Windhelm.

She made her way to the graveyard quickly. The body was gone, likely taken by the woman she had met earlier, the Keeper of the Hall of the Dead. The guard was also gone, but Vara didn’t mind the lack of company. The quiet helped her focus.

Her footsteps crunched in the snow as she circled the rock where Susana’s body had been found. The light caught a patch of red and Vara bent down to look at it closer. It was blood, which wasn’t exactly surprising; there was blood all around the crime scene. No, the surprising thing was the way that the red stain was shaped. It looked like a footprint. Vara stood from her crouch, her eyes following the bloodstain. Another red footprint was clear in the snow not far from the first. The killer had left a trail, and she would follow it.

Before long, Vara found herself standing in front of a house in the wealthier area of the city. A bloodstain discolored the snow-covered stone of the step that led to the front door. Vara tried the handle, but the door was locked. She cursed softly under her breath. This house probably had evidence that she needed, but she couldn’t get in. She didn’t have any lockpicks, and even if she had had some, she wouldn’t have used them. She had never been any good a picking locks. Plus, it was illegal.

Instead, Vara decided to ask around the market and see if she could find out who owned the house. The first person she approached was an older woman. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you know who owns the house at the end of that street?” she asked. To her surprise, the woman stifled a sob. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you,” Vara exclaimed.

“It’s not your fault, dear. That house belonged to my daughter before she died. It’s empty now,” the woman replied as she wiped a tear from her eye.

“May I ask how she died?” Vara didn’t want to overstep herself, but if this woman’s daughter was a victim of the Butcher, she might be willing to help.

“She was killed a few weeks ago. People say she was the first victim of the serial killer who’s targeting young women,” the elderly woman’s voice was unstable as if she might start crying at any second.

Vara placed a calming hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I am trying to catch your daughter’s killer. I found a trail that led me to her house, but the door is locked.”

The elderly woman studied her for a moment before reaching into the satchel at her side and pulling out a key. “Promise me that you will catch this murderer. Promise me he will face justice!” she demanded.

“I promise,” Vara swore solemnly. The woman nodded and pressed the key into Vara’s hand.

“Talos guide you then.”

“And you, ma’am,” Vara said gratefully before turning and practically sprinting back to the house. Once she was there, she quickly unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The house was dark, and Vara’s eyes had to adjust to the dim light. Once they did, she saw that the home was mostly empty, save for a chest, a few wardrobes, and some overturned chairs. Vara opened the chest and found a few pamphlets along with a journal. The pamphlets were the same as the one she had been reading earlier at the Cornerclub. She quickly read the journal. It spoke of a ritual and magic and of needing Susana’s marrow. Vara felt sick, but she stood and strode deeper into the house nonetheless.

There were two wardrobes in another room. One, she moved easily, but the other was nailed to the wall. She pushed on the panel inside, and to her surprise, it swung open and revealed a sight Vara knew she would never be able to erase from her memory. On a stone altar in the hidden room were bloodied body parts and splintered bones. Vara took a few calming breaths before stepping inside.

She scanned the room and saw a small shelf littered with more of the pamphlets as well as another journal. She pulled the journal out and glanced at its pages. It seemed to contain some kind of twisted ritual and the supplies needed. Supplies like four buckets full of blood. Vara swallowed down the bile that rose within her as she shoved the journal into her pack with the other one. She was about to leave the horrible room when she noticed something gleaming from under the pamphlets. She pushed the papers aside and picked up the amulet they had covered. It felt…evil somehow.

She left the house as quickly as she could, happy to feel the frigid wind of Windhelm on her face, clearing her nose of the smell of blood when she stepped out of the door. For a moment, she stood on the bloodstained step, contemplating what to do next. Eventually, she decided she would show the amulet to one of the guards and see if they could point her in the right direction.

Ulfric strode into the study of his court wizard purposefully, not bothering to knock. “I said we would speak later Wuunferth, and I’m here,” he declared. This was not going to be a very comfortable conversation.

“So you are,” the wizard replied, not looking up from the potion he was brewing. Or at least, Ulfric assumed that was what the other man was doing. He knew very little about the arcane, and he was perfectly fine with that particular lack of knowledge. “You read what Galmar found?” Wuunferth asked, still not looking at him.

“Yes,” Ulfric stated shortly. He had spent the last three hours reading and rereading all the information his friend had found for him.

“Then you know I’m right. You were a fool for sending her away,” Wuunferth stated simply, finally turning to look Ulfric in the eye. Ulfric wasn’t surprised by the wizard’s accusation. Wuunferth had never been one to mince his words. “You say you don’t trust her. Why? Because she isn’t a full-blooded nord? Because she knows more about things than a sheltered woman who grew up in the woods should?”

“Yes.”

“Or is it because you don’t understand how she could be so selfless?” the wizard continued as if Ulfric hadn’t spoken. “Those dark elves she helped had no way to pay her. And each of them had been turned down or harmed by others. Nords in particular. Sorisi works from dawn until dusk on a farm outside the city to provide for his family. He’s tried to find other work, but no one will take him. Vara spent at least six hours fixing his roof. Madsvin’s knapsack was confiscated by the captain of the ship he traveled from Morrowind on. The captain raised the price mid-voyage and Madsvin couldn’t pay. Vara had to pay his debt herself in order to get the knapsack back. Teryysa had asked the guards to help her, but they said that the worries of an old woman in mourning weren’t as important as guarding an empty street. Vara fought off only a few wolves as she escorted the woman to her husband’s grave. A few wolves that Teryysa had no hope of slaying. Adilond had gone to the Temple for a healing, but the soldiers outside told him that he wasn’t worthy of taking up a spot that may be needed by a strong nord soldier. Vara healed his infected wound,” Wuunferth paused, letting his words sink in. “But you know that already. You read the files. And you don’t trust her.”

Ulfric refused to stay silent. “She lied, Wuunferth, or hid the truth at the very least,” he pointed out stubbornly.

The mage snorted. “What did she hide? Her ears are pointed, Ulfric. I’m surprised you didn’t notice, or are you blind to things you don’t want to see?”

Ulfric blinked in surprise. Were her ears really pointed? He hadn’t noticed, but he hadn’t been looking for it either. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. He turned to see Vara standing in the doorway. Sure enough, he saw her pointed ears poking through her white hair.

“I apologize, I didn’t realize you were busy Wuunferth. I’ll wait outside,” she turned to leave an embarrassed blush faintly coloring her pale cheeks.

“He’s not busy. I was just leaving,” Ulfric lied. He could finish this conversation with Wuunferth later. Right now he needed to think, which meant he needed to be alone.

“If you’re certain, my jarl,” Vara said hesitantly. Ulfric simply nodded.

“We will continue this later, Wuunferth,” he told the mage, who simply snorted. Then he strode out the door, ignoring Vara’s bow as he left. He was already deep in his thoughts, which all swirled around her and the frustrating mystery that she was.

Chapter Text

“I apologize for interrupting. I didn’t hear you talking,” Vara told Wuunferth. “I was a little caught up in my thoughts.”

Wuunferth waved a dismissive hand and snorted as he said, “That discussion was already over, whatever Ulfric might believe. Now, what do you need?”

Vara stepped closer to the mage and held out the amulet she had found. “This amulet belongs to ‘The Butcher’.”

Wuunferth lifted the amulet off of her hands and examined it in the light of one of the sconces. “The Butcher? That maniac who’s going around killing young women?” he asked, still studying the amulet.

“Yes. A guard told me to take it to Calixto Corrium. I did and he told me he thought it might belong to you. Something about it being the ‘Wheelstone’ or something,” Vara stated.

Wuunferth raised an eyebrow. “He thought this belonged to me? Did you tell him it belonged to the Butcher?” Vara shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t belong to me, and I’m not the Butcher,” the mage stated dryly.

Vara blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t accusing you, Wuunferth. I knew Calixto must have been wrong. I just wanted to see if you knew what the amulet was. It feels evil somehow.”

“It is evil. This is the legendary Necromancer’s Amulet. I’d wager that with a little bit of polish, you would find that the carving in the center is actually a skull,” Wuunferth said thoughtfully. “Do you have any other evidence of the killer’s identity?”

Vara nodded and pulled the two journals she had found out of her pack and handed them to the court wizard. “These are journals I found. I think they describe some kind of-”

“Necromantic ritual,” Wuunferth interrupted. He scanned the pages quickly. “Yes, they do.” The mage turned towards his work table and grabbed a paper that was covered in scrawled notes and diagrams. “Jorleif asked me to look into the murders and I think I’ve found a pattern to the killings. If I’m correct, which I am, he will strike again tonight, and you need to stop him somehow.”

Vara hummed thoughtfully. “Well, he seems to only be attacking female Nords. What if I use myself as bait? If I hide my ears under my hair, he won’t be able to tell the difference in the dark.”

“True,” Wuunferth mused, still looking over his notes. “But it would be dangerous. This man has already killed three others.”

Vara smiled grimly. “They weren’t me. I’m a hunter, Wuunferth, and a mage. I’ll be able to hear him before he gets to me. Even if I don’t, I can defend myself.”

The mage sighed, but relented, “Fine,” he said, “but don’t expect me to spend a week healing you like I did the last time you nearly got yourself killed.”

Vara only laughed and shook her head, turning to leave. It was only an hour before night would fall. She was about to turn the handle of the door but hesitated. “Please don’t tell the jarl what we’re planning. He would try and stop me.”

Wuunferth looked at her for a long moment, and Vara was afraid he would refuse, but he surprised her. “Very well,” he relented, “I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you, Wuunferth.” The mage snorted once more and waved her out the door.

Vara raced down the streets of Windhelm to the Grey Quarter and the Cornerclub within. She flung the door open and quickly stepped inside. Ambarys gave a startled sound, but Vara said nothing, passing the elf behind the corner and bounding up the stairs to her room. Once inside, she quickly changed into a dress. She once again silently thanked Ninesea for forcing her to buy more clothes. Hopefully, she would look less threatening dressed this way and more like the other girls that the Butcher targeted. Vara slipped a dagger she doubted she would need into her boot. Then she carefully arranged her hair so that the white strands covered most of her ears. The very tips still pushed out, but Vara figured that in the darkness it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Vara left her room, closing the door carefully before heading back downstairs. She decided to wait until night had fully fallen before leaving the Cornerclub and heading to the Stone Quarter and the graveyard. That meant she had rushed here for nothing, but there was nothing she could do about that except apologize to Ambarys for being rude and disturbing his customers, which she did.

“There’s no need to apologize. I can’t help but wonder what the rush was for though. You looked like you had Hircine himself hunting you!” the dark elf exclaimed.

Vara chuckled. “Not Hircine, but tonight it may be the Butcher at my heels,” Ambarys raised an eyebrow and Vara hurried to explain. “I’ve discovered that he is going to strike again tonight, whoever he is. I’m going to pose as bait so that I can bring him to justice.”

“You’re going to do what?!” Ambarys asked, his tone incredulous. “You do realize how dangerous this is, right?”

Vara laughed. “I’ve heard that already today, and yes, I do. It’ll be fine. Besides, I thought you’d start caring when it was a Dunmer who was murdered,” Vara used the elf’s own words against him. She meant it as a joke, but Ambarys’s face darkened as he replied,

“You should know by now that I consider you family. Azura knows half the Grey Quarter does.”

Vara’s smile fell into a serious line. “I know, Ambarys. I’ll be fine, I promise.”. The dark elf didn’t look like he believed her, but he let the subject drop anyway, which Vara was thankful for. She could take care of herself.

About an hour later, after she had eaten a full meal at Ambarys’s insistence, Vara left the Cornerclub and headed for the graveyard. Night had fallen completely, and the city’s stone walls seemed to close in on her as she walked. She knew it was only her imagination, but Vara couldn’t repress the shudder that ran through her body.

Once she made it to the graveyard, she knelt in front of each headstone and prayed. At first, she had simply been kneeling there, acting like she was paying her respects, but she decided that a few prayers would do her good, especially tonight. The night was quiet and the air was cold, and Vara was grateful for the cloak she brought, even though she was almost certain it belonged to Ulfric Stormcloak.

She was praying at the headstone closest to where Susana’s body had been found when her ears detected footsteps. They were faint, a good distance away still, but the sound set Vara on edge. She discreetly began to pool her magicka into her hands, hiding the light carefully behind the cloak. She kept her head bowed, although her prayer had stopped, and listened as the footsteps drew nearer.

There would be no second chances for this. If Vara acted and the person approaching her wasn’t the Butcher, there would be dire consequences. She had to be sure. The footsteps were closer now, and she strained her ears as she tried to determine who approached her. The steps were from a male, of that much she was certain. The person wasn’t wearing any armor, but that didn’t give her many clues. Their steps were determined and had a purpose, but that purpose could be nothing more than a midnight stroll. Vara almost let out a sigh of frustration. She was getting nowhere. Then, she heard it. The footsteps were closer now, the person was near the edge of the graveyard, but they were softer than they had been earlier. Maybe the person was simply trying not to disturb her prayers. Vara stood and acted as if she were studying the inscription in the stone behind the grave, humming softly. The footsteps were softer and slower. Vara sent a quick prayer to the Divines before pooling the last of her magicka into the spell that waited in her hands.

The Butcher was only feet away.

The air whistled as the Butcher swung with a blow that would have hit Vara had she not moved the instant the air was disturbed. She had stepped quickly to the side, and before she even registered the face before her, her spell was cast. Calixto fell backward, his mouth open in a silent yell, unable to move. His body glowed with the faint green light of the paralyzing spell Vara had cast. His eyes darted from side to side fearfully.

She knelt at his side and examined the tools on the man’s belt, they were Nordic, and Vara suspected that if she asked the caretaker of the Hall of the Dead, the woman would confirm that they matched the wounds in the other three victims. Vara sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Divines and then hauled Calixto to his feet. She broke the spell she had cast on him but then quickly cast another one. Now the man could only use his legs. The man glared at her, but Vara ignored the look. “Move,” she commanded him, giving him a light jolt of her sparks. He obeyed, and Vara led him to the Palace of the Kings.

The guards outside the palace glanced at her warily, but let her and her prisoner in. Once inside Vara called to the steward who stood by the empty throne. “Jorleif, I have someone I thought you’d like to meet. His name is Calixto Corrium, although he also goes by the Butcher,” Vara pushed the man and he stumbled in front of the steward, who regarded him carefully.

“Are you sure? Calixto has been an upstanding citizen in WIndhelm for some time,” the steward questioned, stepping forward to look Calixto in the eyes before meeting Vara’s.

“I am, sir. If you check his tools against the marks found on the bodies of his victims, you will find that they are a perfect match. I would also suggest checking anything he has written recently and match the handwriting against the journals I found in the abandoned house that the Butcher used as a hideout,” Vara paused as a door opened and Wuunferth stepped into the throne room. He caught her eyes and she gestured to the criminal in front of her. Then Vara turned her attention back to Jorleif. “He also tried to kill me earlier tonight. Wuunferth will tell you that we decided that I should act as bait to catch the Butcher tonight.”

The steward said nothing for a few moments, then he nodded slowly. “I believe you, but I’ll have a few soldiers check into the things you mentioned to confirm your statements,” Jorleif waved to the soldiers who stood nearby and they left the hall. “For now, I will have him taken to the prison.”. Two more soldiers stepped forward and grabbed Calixto by his arms. Vara broke the paralysis on him and watched as he was taken away. She couldn’t help the small triumphant grin that crossed her face as Calixto was hauled off.

“Thank you for aiding Wuunferth in this investigation. I wasn’t aware that he had employed any help.”

The court wizard snorted at the statement. “I didn’t. She came to me with the case practically solved.”. Vara blushed slightly. That wasn’t exactly true, but she had a feeling Wuunferth would give her one of his looks if she corrected him, so she stayed silent.

Jorleif looked at her in surprise. “Well then. This service deserves some kind of award. I would have to ask the Jarl, but I’m sure that-”

Vara cut the steward off with a shake of her head. “Please, there’s no need. I was happy to help.”

The steward opened his mouth to reply but was cut off again. This time it was by the deep voice Vara had been hoping to avoid. “Jorleif is right,” Ulfric Stormcloak declared from the open doorway of the war room. Vara must have missed the sound of it opening when she was watching Calixto as he was taken to the prison. “You served this city, and you deserve a reward.”

Vara ducked her head, avoiding eye contact with the Jarl. She really had been hoping to avoid him. She had barely been able to keep herself in check the last time that they spoke, and she wasn’t eager to have that conversation repeated, especially not in front of an audience. Thankfully, Ulfric turned his attention to his steward.

“Jorleif, is Friga Shatter-Shield’s house for sale?” he asked. Vara sighed inwardly; she knew where this was going.

“Yes, my lord,” the steward responded immediately. “Hjerim is for sale, although if what this woman says is true, it will likely need to be thoroughly cleaned before it can be purchased. I doubt anyone would find bloodstains very appealing.”

Ulfric nodded. “Very well. Have the house cleaned from top to bottom and have Jora perform any necessary rites. Once that is done, the house will be gifted to Varaduilwe Oaken-Shield.”

Vara couldn’t avoid looking into Ulfric Stormcloak’s eyes this time. “As generous as that offer is, I cannot accept it, my lord,” Vara saw confusion in the jarl’s eyes. Then the confusion morphed into a stubborn glint as the jarl asked,

“Why not?”

It was all Vara could do to keep from clenching her fists or grinding her teeth. Was this man determined to frustrate her at every turn? “As I told your steward, I was happy to help in any way I could. I merely did what all responsible citizens should.”

Ulfric raised an eyebrow at that, and Vara knew she had made a mistake. Responsible citizens didn’t exactly pose as bait for serial killers. At least, she figured they didn’t. To her surprise, the jarl didn’t mention that. Instead, he said, “Maybe, but you aren’t a citizen. You own no property and have no place of business. You could very well leave.”

Vara bristled. Was he trying to question her love for the city or her desire to simply help? But no, the look in his eyes was something else, almost like a plea. Except this was Ulfric Stormcloak. Then she realized. “My jarl, I am going nowhere, at least not for some time. Windhelm is my home,” she declared in a quiet voice. It felt odd to say it, but Vara knew that her words were true, she wouldn’t have said them otherwise.

A grin crossed Ulfric’s face, looking oddly out of place. Vara caught herself wondering how long it had been since the man had truly smiled. Her thoughts were cut off when the jarl spoke. “Good, then you’ll need a place to stay. I have a feeling you wouldn’t enjoy living in an inn for very long.”

Vara did have to admit that even after only a few weeks the Cornerclub was feeling cramped. She missed the privacy she had had when she had lived in the woods on her own. She spent a lot of her time hunting or doing other things around the city, but it would be nice to have somewhere she could call her own. A place she could retreat to at the end of the day. Ulfric must have sensed her beginning to give in. His eyes seemed to glint a little differently and although his grin had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, the corners of his mouth pulled up slightly, as if he wanted to grin again. Vara sighed inwardly, it was amazing how often this man made her do that, before she relented, saying, “Fine, but I’ll pay for the house myself and any furnishings.”. It would be difficult, but Vara figured she could have the money within a few months.

“You’ll pay for half the house. I will cover the furnishings,” Ulfric countered. Vara wanted to protest, but the set in the jarl’s jaw told her that he had made his decision and she wouldn’t be able to sway it.

“Very well,” she sighed aloud and looked away. She heard Wuunferth snort behind her and could practically see him shaking his head.

Ulfric only nodded and turned to his steward. “See to it that the proper arrangements are made,” he stated. The steward nodded and left the room.

Vara didn’t want to be left alone with Ulfric. He would try to talk about what happened, and she wanted to avoid that conversation for as long as she could. “Thank you for the generous gift, my jarl. I must head back to the New Gnisis Cornerclub.” She hoped he would understand and allow her to leave instead of demanding that she stay and speak with him.

Thankfully, Ulfric Stormcloak seemed to take the not so subtle hint. “Of course. It is late and you’ve had a busy day. Good night, Varaduilwe.”

“Good night, my lord. And please, call me Vara,” she requested before bowing. The jarl didn’t respond, but Vara knew he understood. She had not lied to him. This is who she is.

She turned and left the throne room, heading once more into the night of WIndhelm. Her mind was lost in thought and made her trip back to the Cornerclub pass quickly. She was met with a sigh of relief followed by a few praises to Azura when she stepped inside the Cornerclub. She laughed and accepted the drink Ambarys handed her as he led her to a barstool. She spent the next hour or so recounting what happened. She had been worried that Ambarys would feel betrayed since she had accepted the jarl’s offer of a house, especially since it was in the nicest area of town. An area Ambarys and the others in the Grey Quarter couldn’t even dream of living in. To her surprise though, the elf simply smiled and told her that this was a step in the right direction for all of them. Vara hoped he was right.

Chapter Text

Branches rattled as the breeze whistled through the forest. A few leaves that had been stubbornly clinging to their trees fluttered down into the snow, finally giving in to the inevitable. An antlered deer emerged from between the trees, leaning down to eat the few strands of grass that poked through the snow. Then electricity arched through the crisp air, striking the deer. The animal fell, dead before its head hit the snow.

Vara rose from her crouched position in the snow and strode over to where the deer lay. It was a large buck, larger than most she had seen recently. This winter was harsher than last year’s and she had cut back on her hunting to ensure that the animal population would stay stable despite the weather. She kept her ears open as she began to skin the deer, but the forest was quiet. Another gust of wind blew, sweeping up some of the fresh snow and causing it to dance in the air. Vara watched the sight with a smile. Despite the hardships that this winter had caused for the forest, she could tell that when spring came it would be beautiful and teeming with life. It was a beautiful cycle created by the Divines themselves that often left Vara struck with awe. She only wished that people followed the same cycle; some seemed to be stuck in a state of perpetual winter.

Shaking her head to clear it of her thoughts, Vara focused once more on the deer in front of her. Before long, Vara had harvested the deer and was making her way back to the small campsite she had set up. She had been out in the woods for almost two days, although she hadn’t done much hunting yesterday. Once she got to her camp, she got a small fire started prepared the meat. Her thoughts drifted to her past as she cooked the deer over the fire, the smell bringing back memories.

It never ceased to amaze her how often hunting and being in the woods would bring her mind back to her parents and her past. Vara felt closer to them out here in the woods, removed from the rest of the world. It was as if the forest were somehow imbued with everything that had made her parents who they were. A sad smile crossed her face; they would have loved to see her now. She could almost hear her mother’s soft voice commenting on the way the breeze seemed to dance to a silent song, could almost feel her father’s watchful gaze as the meat cooked, gently correcting her movements and stoking the fire with a flick of his finger.

What would her parents have said about her life in Windhelm? Would they be proud of the way she tried to help the city and its people? Would they have worried about her when she was tracking down the Butcher? Vara laughed at her own thoughts; that was an easily answered question. Her mother would have fretted and tried to convince her to let the guards deal with it, although eventually, she would have let her go, knowing all she wanted to do was help. Her father would have only nodded his approval and remind her to keep her magic ready. He had never stopped Vara from doing something that she wanted to do. He had only offered advice and words of caution, letting her learn from her own failures and triumphs.

Vara sighed her breath a white cloud in the cold air. The sigh wasn’t a stressed sigh or a happy one; it just was. Vara was glad she had taken the time to get away from the city for awhile, even if it was just a day or two. Even though she hunted at least once a week to sell her game at the market, she hadn’t had a chance to spend a night in the woods since she came to Windhelm a few months ago. Ambarys had actually suggested the trip after she had complained to him about people in the city being blind to each other. He had told her that she should spend a few days with trees instead of stone. He might have been joking, it was hard to tell with him sometimes, but Vara had thought it was a wonderful idea.

The smell of cooked venison brought Vara out of her thoughts and turned her attention to the deer she was cooking. Vara turned it on the spit a few more times before she decided that it was done. About an hour later, Vara was on the road to Windhelm, pulling a sled behind her with a carefully wrapped deer on it. There was no way she was going to carry that thing all the way back to Windhelm, not when she was at least three hours away. Vara glanced at the sky, the market would be about to close when she got back to the city. Hopefully, she could still sell her catch. Even if she couldn’t, the trip was far from a waste. With that thought in mind, she sped her feet and let her mind drift to other things.

Ulfric barely resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair; it was a bad habit he had had ever since he was young. He rarely did it anymore, but these councilors were pushing him to the edge of his admittedly limited patience. “No, I have not chosen my New Life Companion,” Ulfric stated in a calm tone that belied his inner annoyance. He hated that name, ‘New Life Companion’. It was a custom for the Jarls of Windhelm to select someone as their companion during the New Life Festival, a tradition Ulfric strongly disliked. His father had married his mother before he had become Jarl, so she had always been his companion. For Ulfric, choosing a companion was tedious, as anyone he chose would be assumed by the public to be a love interest of his or someone of high political power. With the war, Ulfric hadn’t spared the tradition much thought, something he was now regretting.

“But my lord, the festival is in a week! It is tradition for the Jarl to have a New Life Companion. Why, the tradition hasn’t been broken since-” Ulfric tuned out the rest of the councilor’s rant; he had heard it all before. He knew that the tradition was important and that who he chose was equally important, but it was hard for him to focus on something that seemed so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Although if the war went in his favor, within the next few years, his New Life Companion could be the High Queen of Skyrim. Ulfric stifled a sigh and refocused his attention on the man who was scolding him on the importance of tradition, although Ulfric had a feeling that if he asked the man, the counselor would tell him that he was only ‘informing him of the properness of tradition and the importance of image to a person of high standing’, but never scolding. “You simply must choose a New Life Companion, my lord.”

Ulfric gave into the urge and ran his fingers through his hair, no longer caring whether he looked as a proper jarl should. He thought about his response for a few moments. The council had other important matters to discuss, and Ulfric knew that they wouldn’t move on until he gave them an acceptable answer. For a minute, his mind was blank, then an idea began to form. He frowned thoughtfully to himself. It could work, although he wasn’t sure that he wanted it to. If it did work, his people would be gossiping and theorizing for months. That thought shouldn’t have amused him as much as it did. “Very well. I will ask someone after this meeting is over, although they may not accept.”

One of the councilors scoffed in disbelief. “I would be very surprised if anyone turned you down. After all, who wouldn’t want this great honor?” he asked incredulously, other members of the council nodding in agreement.

Ulfric only shook his head. “She’s full of surprises,” he muttered, more to himself than the council in front of him. Then he said in a louder, firmer voice, “Let us move on from this. Have the guard shifts been modified to accommodate the crowds?” The next hour or so was spent discussing other topics of importance to both the Festival and life in the Hold in general, but Ulfric participated with only half a mind. The other half was planning what how he would find his New Life Companion, and he was becoming increasingly certain that whatever the result, he wouldn’t like the process.

Two hours later, Ulfric was standing in front of a rickety wooden door, regretting his earlier decision. He squared his shoulders, the movement rustling the fur of the embroidered cloak that one of his advisors had insisted he wear, something about looking like a jarl. He had wanted to argue that he was a jarl, so, therefore, he automatically looked like one, but he figured that that behavior was unbecoming for ‘someone of his station’. He had been a jarl for years and the son of a jarl before that, and he still didn’t always feel like one. Shaking his head, Ulfric stopped stalling, because that’s ultimately what he was doing, and opened the door to the New Gnisis Cornerclub.

All chatter stopped as soon as he stepped through the door, and Ulfric didn’t have to look around the room to know that every pair of eyes was trained on him. He knew he should have sent someone to find her instead of coming himself. Oh well, it was too late for second thoughts now. He nodded respectfully to Ambarys Rendar, the dark elf behind the counter who owned the Cornerclub. Ulfric had done his research before he came. “I am looking for Vara Oaken-Song,” he stated, glancing around the room. She wasn’t here.

The dark elf didn’t say anything for a moment, instead studying Ulfric with a sharp gaze. “She isn’t here,” he finally replied, looking Ulfric straight in the eye as he did so. “She went out hunting for a few days. She will return sometime tonight.”

If Ulfric hadn’t been a Jarl with an image to maintain, he would have sighed. Whether it would have been a weary sigh or one of relief, he wasn’t quite sure. If Vara wasn’t here, he could justify sending someone else in his place to get her; he had already done his part. Then again, he and Vara weren’t exactly on the best of terms, and if he sent a runner to fetch her she might refuse. “Very well, when she returns, please tell her that-” Ulfric was interrupted by the sound of the door behind him opening, and even before he turned, he knew it was her.

“Ambarys, I owe you a-” Vara stopped speaking abruptly when she saw who was standing in the middle of the Cornerclub. What was the jarl of all people doing in the Grey Quarter? Ambarys gave her a pointed look, and Vara knew that Ulfric was here for her. This was why she had left the city for a few days, to get away from it all. It was like the DIvines were intent on putting her in situations and places where she didn’t want to be.

The jarl turned to her and bowed slightly, the action little more than a deep nod, and Vara wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to react. She settled for bowing as she often did, and saying, “My jarl, what brings you to the Grey Quarter?” She kept her tone neutral; now wasn’t the time to go around accusing the jarl of anything.

Vara wished she was more surprised when the jarl responded by simply saying, “You.” His tone was equally neutral, and Vara knew he could feel something between them as well, taught and strained. Whatever it was, neither of them wanted it to snap.

Vara nodded. How else was one supposed to respond to that? “Very well, follow me, my lord.” She walked past Ulfric and headed for the stairs that led up to her room. As she passed Ambarys she asked in a hushed tone, “How long has he been here?”

“Only a few minutes,” the elf replied in an equally soft voice.

Vara nodded and continued up to her room. When she reached the door, she sent a prayer to the Divines that this meeting would go well before opening it. The space wasn’t very large, so Vara sat on the narrow bed and gestured to the lone chair that faced her. “Please, sit.” Ulfric did so, and silence fell between them for a few long moments, a silence Vara didn’t mind letting linger.

Finally, Ulfric broke the quiet air with a question. “Have you ever gone to the New Life Festival?” he asked.

Vara shook her head, wondering what that had to do with anything, maybe he was simply trying to break the ice. “I have not.”

“Then you,” Ulfric stopped and took a deep breath and started over. “There’s a tradition that goes back to the first New Life Festival,” Vara nodded, wondering why Ulfric didn’t just get to the point of why he was here. “The current Jarl chooses a New Life Companion every year. Most of the time, the jarls choose their spouse or love interest. I have neither, so I often choose someone of high political standing, as anyone I choose will be examined by my people.” Ulfric stopped again and shook his head. “But none of that matters, what does matter is your answer. Will you be my New Life Companion?”

Vara said nothing, but an anger was building inside of her, and she knew that it would spill out soon. Why would Ulfric Stormcloak choose her of all people? Was this some kind of misguided attempt at an apology? Did he think that choosing her would somehow give him some kind of an edge? “Do your councilors approve of your choice?” she questioned, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

Ulfric shrugged. “Actually, they don’t know who I chose, although I did say she might not accept the offer.”

Vara raised an eyebrow. “And why would you say that?” she asked. Maybe he wasn’t quite as egotistical as everyone made him out to be.

“Because you don’t trust me,” Ulfric pointed out, leaning back a little in the rickety wooden chair as he did so.

“You’re right, I don’t. You say you fight for your people, and yet you let a portion of your citizens dwell in squalor. You say that you fight for Talos, yet you look down on others who would do the same, simply because their skin does not match yours or their ears are a little too pointed. I don’t trust you, Ulfric Stormcloak because you don’t trust your own people,” Vara tried to keep her voice even as she spoke, but she failed.

For a few long moments, Ulfric was silent. Eventually, he said, “In a few short months, you have changed the Grey Quarter for the better. The homes no longer rattle with the wind, the streets are clean and cared for, and the people seem happier. Why them?”

“Because they are the ones no one else is willing to help,” Vara declared, looking the jarl straight in the eye. “They are stuck in a hole that they can’t see a way out of. I’m only trying to guide them to a brighter future.”

“And why can’t they get there on their own?” there was no accusation in Ulfric’s voice, but Vara knew he was trying to make a point somehow, although she couldn’t see what that point was.

“They need help, and they are either too prideful or too angry to ask for it,” Vara responded honestly. She wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. Why couldn’t anyone else see the problem in this city for what it was?

To her surprise, Ulfric stated in a quiet voice, “They aren’t willing to share their worries, as that would mean accepting the problems of the nords as their own. They don’t see themselves as part of the people.”

“No, they don’t.”

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. “Trust is a two-way street, Vara Oaken-Song.”

Vara gazed at Ulfric for a long moment, studying him. Then she sighed inwardly and said, “New Life Companion? That is a terrible name, you know. It sounds like you’re planning to spend the rest of your life with me or something.”

To her surprise, the jarl laughed, deep and hearty. It was strange to hear the sound coming from a man who always seemed so solemn and stern. “That’s what I told the council, several years ago. They didn’t seem to see the problem. And yet, here I am, unwed, much to their disappointment.”

Vara couldn’t help but smile at that. It was funny how easily she could picture Ulfric, the Bear of Eastmarch, grumbling to himself every year about ridiculous traditions and even worse names. “Very well, I will be your New Life Companion,” Vara stated, “But you must promise me something.”

Ulfric tilted his head. “And what might that be?”

“You must promise to never question my love for Skyrim and all of her people. I may not be a full nord, but I love this land, and I will fight to protect its people, even if it is from themselves that they need shielding.”

There was a pause and then Ulfric said, “Anyone who could have raised you to have such a strong love for your country and its people understands what it means to be a citizen of Skyrim. I promise not to doubt that again,” Ulfric declared, leaning forward to look her in the eyes.

“Then you have a New Life Companion, my jarl,” Vara stated, standing from her place on her bed.

Ulfric stood as well. “Call me Ulfric, everyone I trust does,” he requested.

Vara nodded and took his words for the peace offering that they were. “Very well, Ulfric.” It felt strange to address him that way in person, but also somehow right. Without the title, Vara could see him more as a man who was trying to do his best to rule his city and reclaim his country, even if his best wasn’t always enough.

Ulfric smiled slightly. “Thank you, Vara. Please contact my steward or myself if you need anything. Also, Jorleif asked me to inform you that your house will be ready by the end of the week. The payment can wait for now.”

Vara nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Ulfric.” The man nodded once more and then left the room, his cloak sweeping behind him. A cloak that was almost identical to the one that was folded up in the drawer by her bed. Vara shook her head and fell back onto her bed, letting her eyes drift shut. It had been a long day.

Chapter Text

The streets of Windhelm were festive, a word that couldn’t often describe them. Banners hung from window sills and houses were decorated with colorful ribbons the fluttered in the breeze. People filled the streets, dressed in bright colors and wearing more smiles than Ulfric normally saw. A few bowed or nodded to him as he passed, and he nodded back.

It felt good to be out here in the city. Far too often he was confined to the Palace by meetings or the slightly paranoid thoughts of his councilors. It was like they had forgotten that he could tear a man apart with only his voice; it had taken him almost thirty minutes to convince them to let him walk among the crowds without soldiers following him. He appreciated their caution though. After all, more than a few people had a target on his head.

Ulfric shook his head, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind and knocking on the door of Hjerim. The stone had a soft orange glow from the setting sun, giving the home a warm look. Soon it would be dark, and the Festival would start, and for once, Ulfric didn’t find himself dreading it. His thoughts were cut off as the door swung open to reveal Vara Oaken-Song.

Ulfric’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t expected the woman who had spent her entire life in the woods to dress better than most of the women in the city. But here she was. “You look-” Ulfric didn’t get to finish his sentence as Vara cut him off.

“If you were going to say exhausted, you would be right. I have spent the last three days dress shopping. I didn’t even know this city had so many dresses,” Vara said, and as Ulfric looked closer, he could see slight bags under her eyes, but that most definitely wasn’t what he was going to say.

“No, I was going to say that you look very nice tonight,” he stated. And she really did. She wore a dark blue dress that fit her perfectly. It didn’t have a giant skirt like many of the dresses he had seen lately did.

Vara chuckled slightly. “Trust me,” she said. “It took a lot of work to get this far. I’ve learned a lot of things since I’ve been in Windhelm, including how to catch a murderer, how to patch a roof, and who controls what in the upper class. But do you know what the most important thing I’ve learned is?” Vara leaned in, a smile playing on her lips, and Ulfric couldn’t help but chuckle as he shook his head. “The most important thing I have learned is that I, Vara Oaken-Song, hate, above almost everything else, the color pink.”

Ulfric smiled. “Well, blue seems to suit you,” he stated as he offered Vara his arm. They needed to be at the Palace soon for the feast that preceded the rest of the Festival.

Vara took his arm as she replied, “I do like this dress, although it took me ages to find. I told Ninesea that I hadn’t planned what I would be wearing and she looked aghast. She dragged me straight to the stores.” Ulfric smiled inwardly. He should have figured that Vara had had some help. He could almost imagine the woman offhandedly mentioning the fact that she didn’t know what she would wear, or even suggesting one of her tunics. “Almost every single dress had skirts wider around than I am tall and was either some form of pink, brown, or yellow.”

Ulfric chuckled as he led them down the streets of Windhelm. There were a few curious glances thrown their way, but he ignored them. A silence fell between them, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. He glanced over at Vara and found her surveying the crowds with a thoughtful look on her face. “What are you thinking about?”

Vara blinked, seeming to come out of a daze. “What? Oh, I was thinking about the way the people are mixing. The Dark Elves are mostly staying to the side of the street and the Nords take up most of the center. They do mix in a few places though.”

Ulfric followed her gaze and saw what she was talking about. The two groups stepped carefully around each other and there were more than a few distrustful glances exchanged on both sides. But it was progress towards fixing the problem that, until a few months ago, he wasn’t fully aware existed. And yet Vara had, after only a few days. Vara turned back to him, and Ulfric saw hope in her golden eyes. “Someday, they will see themselves as one people,” Ulfric said. He wasn’t sure if he truly believed that, not yet, but if anyone could make that future come to pass, it was Vara.

The woman didn’t respond, and Ulfric led her to the Palace of Kings, where two guards stood waiting by the doors. Before Ulfric gestured for the doors to be opened, he turned to Vara and looked her in the eyes. “There are people in there who are not going to be very happy about my decision. Many already feel I have made a mistake in allowing the Dark Elves and Argonians to attend the Festival.”

Vara tilted her head quizzically, not breaking eye contact. “And what about you, Ulfric? Do you regret your choices?”

Ulfric shook his head once. “No, I do not. Do you?” Ulfric couldn’t help but ask. He still didn’t fully understand why the woman had agreed to this in the first place; she didn’t seem like someone who enjoyed being the center of attention.

Vara smiled at that and her voice lost the serious tone as she responded. “Yes, actually. I hadn’t realized dress shopping would involve so much work.” Vara’s smile settled back into a thin line as she continued seriously, “I believe in helping the people of Windhelm. All of them. If this helps, then I cannot regret it.”

Ulfric only nodded in response. He understood that feeling, the feeling of being willing to do anything in order to help the ones that he had sworn to protect and lead. Maybe Galmar was right, maybe he should ask her to join. Ulfric shook his head and waved for the guards to open the door. Those were thoughts for later, for now, he had to make it through the feast. And the festival. He sighed inwardly and stepped through the door, arm in arm with Vara Oaken-Song.

The smell was the first thing to hit Vara as she entered the Palace of Kings with Ulfric. The air was heavy with different scents from all of the food that had been prepared, and Vara would have been lying if she said that her mouth didn’t start to water. The next thing was the sound or lack of it. There was a buzz in the air as if the room had been full of chatter, but now it was silent as all conversation halted. Then Vara realized just how many people were in front of her. The great hall was full of people. There had to be at least fifty people, and Vara suddenly felt very underdressed. The dress she had chosen was elegant, yes, but it was simple, with none of the lace, folds, and swooping necklines that adorned the dresses of the other women. And she wore no jewelry.

For a moment, Vara stood frozen. Then Ulfric tapped her gently on the arm and she came back to herself. She let Ulfric lead her to the head of the table where two elegantly carved chairs marked their places. They stood behind the chairs as all eyes trained on them and Ulfric spoke, his deep voice rumbling through the silent hall. “Welcome to the New Life Festival, my friends. Tonight, we remember the gift of life that we have been given and just how precious it is. Tonight, we feast in remembrance of those who no longer enjoy this gift and in celebration of the year that we have conquered. Tonight, we leave behind the old year and look forward to the new one in hopes that it will be brighter than the one that we have left behind. Tonight, we live.” Ulfric concluded his short speech and sat down, which Vara took as her cue to do the same. She really should have asked Wuunferth about all of this beforehand.

The guests began speaking to one another again as they waited for the first course. The guest closest to Vara was an older woman dressed in a large dress, which was pink of course, and she was wearing a pendant made of gold and diamonds. The woman opened her mouth, but Vara was saved from any conversation with her by Ulfric who cleared his throat softly and tapped her gently on the arm. Vara turned her attention to him, and the woman turned away to talk to the man sitting next to her.

“These people are the elite of Windhelm and other holds that pledge their allegiance to me, along with a few important merchants who supply the army with provisions and weapons,” Ulfric stated in a low voice, his gaze sweeping over the long table and the tables that surrounded it. “They are going to ask about you and your relationship with me.”

“And just what is that relationship?” Vara interrupted, holding his gaze with hers. She needed to know where they stood.

Ulfric was quiet for a long moment, and Vara could almost see it in his eyes as he came to his decision. “A trusted advisor… and a friend. If you don’t mind, I would like you to introduce yourself by Varaduilwe.” Vara’s lips twitched upward slightly as she nodded in understanding, her name would be a symbol of Ulfric’s attempts at unity between the elves and nords. “If you need me to intervene tap me on the arm, and I will do the same.”

“Thank you, Ulfric.” The jarl smiled slightly and turned to the man near him, striking up a conversation as the first course began to be passed out. Vara faced the woman to her left, who had finished her conversation with the man next to her the instant that Vara and Ulfric finished speaking.

“What is your name, sweetie?” the woman asked in a high voice and Vara inwardly braced herself for the flood of questions that were likely to follow.

“Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, my lady. Who is it that I have the honor of speaking to?” Vara asked, trying to sound curious. It was difficult. If she were being honest with herself, she would admit that she didn’t really care who these people were even if she should. She doubted any of the people at this table cared much about the people in lower stations than themselves, much less those of other races. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so cynical, but it was difficult for her to think otherwise. After all, these people were dressed in finery that cost more than many people made the entire year while there were people in the city who were starving.

With effort, Vara focused on what the woman was saying, although she had missed her name and title. “How do you know Jarl Ulfric child? I knew his father and used to see him running around the Palace when he was younger, but I don’t remember you.”

Vara smiled what she hoped was a charming smile as she responded. “I am an advisor and friend to Jarl Ulfric, although I am relatively new to Windhelm. I’ve never been to the Festival before. It’s all very exciting.” That part at least was true. She was excited to see the Festival, although not for the performers and free mead, but to see if she and Ulfric had succeeded in bringing the people together, if only for a single night.

The woman smiled politely, but Vara could see the political gears turning in the woman’s head. She was likely trying to decide if Vara was worth the effort to befriend in order to have someone to whisper in Ulfric's ear for her. Evidently, she decided that it was too much trouble for she wished Vara well and turned away to speak to another of the guests. For a few minutes, Vara ate her food quietly, they were on the second of four courses now and watched the people around her. Her musings were interrupted by a gentle touch on her arm, and she turned to see Ulfric looking at her. Vara could tell instantly that he was stuck in a conversation he didn’t want to be in.

“Master Thrunwulf, this is Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, she is one of my trusted advisors. Vara, this is Thrunwulf Winterspear. He is one of the army’s largest supplier of weapons and holds a very respected position in the hold,” Ulfric introduced, and Vara could hear the strain in his voice. Was it possible that the jarl hated this kind of pointless socializing just as much as she did?

Vara smiled anyway as the nord nodded and exclaimed, “Ah yes, I have heard your name around Windhelm more than once. The people say that you are the one who caught the Butcher!” The man’s bushy eyebrows were drawn together with a disbelieving look, and Vara had to remind herself not to be offended. He was likely a politician after all.

Vara glanced at Ulfric, unsure if she should share the details of what happened. He nodded subtly, and so Vara smiled at Thrunwulf and began to recount what had happened that night. The man listened intently, his eyebrows, which reminded Vara of the tail of a winter squirrel, arching higher and higher until Vara thought they might be lost in his unruly mane of grey and white hair.

The next hour was much the same, she and Ulfric speaking to several of the guests as they ate. Finally, though, the food was cleared away and a silence fell over the assembled guests. The steward, Jorleif, appeared at Ulfric’s side holding a lit torch. Ulfric stood, a light tap on Vara’s arm signaling that she should do the same. And accepted the torch that the steward offered. He extended his arm, and Vara took it. Together they led the way out of the hall, the others rising and following them in pairs. Two guards pushed open the ornate doors of the Palace allowing she and Ulfric to step into the dark night of Windhelm.

Even in the darkness, Vara could see the giant crowd of people gathered in the courtyard and spilling onto the streets behind. In the middle of the courtyard was a brazier, larger and far more intricate than the ones that often lit the space. They came to a stop in front of the brazier, the others crowding a respectful distance behind them. There was silence. Then Jorleif began to speak, stepping out of the crowd to stand to the side of the large brazier. “By long tradition, the Jarl of Windhelm lights the Brazier of the Dawn with his New Life Companion. Together, they usher in a new year and with it, new life for Skyrim and her people!”

Vara grasped the torch and felt Ulfric’s calloused hand cover hers; their eyes met and in the flickering torchlight, she could see a fierce determination in his grim face. This was a man willing to do anything, willing to sacrifice anything if it meant that the bright hope that his people wished for could come to pass. She had seen it before in his eyes when he had spoken, but now, in this silence, it seemed stronger than ever. Together they lowered the flame to the brazier. The fire raced among the wood and coals before erupting into a tall flame, a beacon of light in the darkness. The voices of the people rose with the flame as they shouted gratitude to the Divines and spoke aloud their hopes and dreams, and Vara was happily surprised to see the fire illuminate the faces of more than a few dark elves among the large crowd.

She and Ulfric moved forward, walking through the crowd that parted for them. Many of the nords bowed deeply to Ulfric and offered her nods of respect, which she wasn’t quite sure how to respond to, so she settled for nodding back and smiling at them. Many of the dark elves even nodded respectfully to Ulfric causing Vara’s smile to widen, even if some of the nods were slightly stiff and forced. She and Ulfric continued down the path to the marketplace where a large part of the Festival was.

They stepped out into the open, and Ulfric released her arm, stepping forward slightly to speak to the crowd. Before he could begin to speak though, Vara saw the moonlight glint in metal and reacted without giving herself time to think. She jumped forward, causing Ulfric to stumble out of the way of the glass dagger that sailed passed him and embedded itself in Vara’s lower back, barely missing her spinal cord. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as pain shot through her body in a surge more sudden than lightning. Then she fell back into the void as darkness consumed her vision before she even hit the ground.

Chapter Text

Wind whistled passed Ulfric as he stumbled from Vara’s push. As soon as he found his footing he whirled back around, already drawing the not-so-ceremonial sword he wore. Before he could reach her, Vara fell to the ground, a dagger buried to the hilt in her back. The people around him cried out in alarm, but he paid them no heed. His eyes swept back and forth over the mass of people, searching for whoever had done this.

There. On the outskirts of the crowd that was surging away from the market, a figure was edging its way toward a side alley. There was no time for the guards to apprehend the assassin, and Ulfric didn’t have a bow. So he waited until the crowd had passed the figure and then he Shouted.

His Voice ripped from his throat in a powerful roar that sent the assassin hurtling through the air. His body was flung against the hard stone of a nearby building with a sickening crunch, but Ulfric couldn’t find it within himself to pity the man. A few of the people in the crowd stumbled backward with the power of his Thu’um, but no one fell. He had timed his shout right, something he was very grateful for.

Trusting the guards to collect the assassin, Ulfric turned his attention to Vara, who lay at his feet, blood staining the blue fabric of her dress and quickly pooling onto the smooth stone. Ulfric shrugged off his cloak and pressed it around Vara’s wound. A soft groan escaped Vara’s lips but a quick glance told Ulfric that she was still unconscious. As he worked, Ulfric used a free hand to point to a random person in the crowd, a market stall owner he thought, and yelled, “You, go and find my court wizard, Wuunferth! He’s in his room at the Palace,” the man nodded frantically and then raced off. Now all Ulfric could do was wait and pray, which he did, until Wuunferth arrived a few minutes later.

Ulfric stood swiftly and moved to the side, allowing the wizard room to work. As he did so, he tried to think back to where the attacker had been standing when he had thrown the dagger. On a hunch, Ulfric asked all of the people who had seen the assassin about where he had been standing and where he had been aiming. They told him, and Ulfric’s mouth set in a grim line. This didn’t bode well.

He returned to Wuunferth, who was channeling healing into Vara’s wound, the bloodied glass dagger discarded on the ground next to her. Ulfric picked up the weapon gingerly and wrapped it in his equally bloodied cloak; it may be able to provide them with some information about where the assassin had come from and why. He handed the cloak to a soldier who was standing nearby and gave the man orders to carry it to Galmar. The man nodded and ran off, and Ulfric turned his attention back to Wuunferth, who had stopped healing her for the moment.

“I’m out of magicka. I have some potions in my room that will both speed up the healing and restore my magic to me, but I don’t want to leave Vara here. The cold isn’t doing her any favors,” the mage stated, looking more frustrated than Ulfric had ever seen him. He had a feeling that if he hadn’t already knocked out the assassin, Wuunferth would have electrocuted him, and Ulfric would have let him.

Without saying a word, Ulfric bent down and scooped Vara into his arms, doing his best to avoid putting pressure on her wound. He and Wuunferth shared a look and then the mage led the way through the crowds, snapping at anyone who didn’t move out of the way fast enough. The guards outside the Palace opened their mouths, undoubtedly to ask what had happened, and Ulfric leveled them with a glare. Their mouths snapped shut and the opened the doors as fast as they could, which wasn’t anywhere near fast enough.

Several agonizingly slow moments later, Ulfric was laying Vara gently on a bed in a room near Wuunferth’s. The mage had downed multiple potions and was now tearing apart bandages with a startling ferocity. Ulfric hadn’t realized that the mage cared for Vara so much. “Wuunferth, those bandages aren’t going to be much help if you tear them to shreds,” Ulfric stated in a calm tone. The mage seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in and shook his head slightly, grumbling something to himself before turning to Vara and immediately channeling magic into Vara’s wound once more.

As the court wizard worked, Ulfric could see the gash closing. It was nearly healed over when it suddenly began to reopen. Wuunferth cursed under his breath and the warm light intensified. The wound almost healed again only for it open once more. “What’s happening?” Ulfric asked. He didn’t know much about magic, but he figured that once something was healed, it was supposed to stay that way.

“I don’t know,” the mage ground out, sweat glistening on his brow as he intensified the magic once more. It didn’t work. “The dagger must have been poisoned somehow. Depending on which poison was used, her wound will either reopen if I stop healing her, or it will continue to grow. I can’t treat her if I don’t know what she was poisoned with.” The mage ground out between clenched teeth.

Ulfric didn’t reply, instead, he left the room, running to the war room and taking the bloodied cloak from the center of the table, not bothering to respond to Galmar’s confused look before running back to Wuunferth. He handed the mage the dagger wordlessly. “Keep pressure on her wound,” Wuunferth ordered, and Ulfric obeyed without hesitation, using one of the bandages Wuunferth had almost destroyed earlier. After a few moments, the bandage was almost completely red. Her wound was growing. Wuunferth muttered something under his breath, and from the corner of his eye, Ulfric saw the dagger glow a deep purple color. The mage cursed softly and flung the dagger to the small table by the bed. His robe billowed around his feet as he strode out of the room, leaving the door flung open.

The wound continued to worsen.

A few moments later, Wuunferth was back, holding a red potion so vibrant it almost glowed. In a single fluid movement, the mage uncorked the bottle and poured its contents into Vara’s wound, barely giving Ulfric enough time to move his hands out of the way. Almost immediately, the cut began to change colors. The inflamed skin began to glow darker until it was the same purple that the dagger had been. It stayed that way for a long, tense moment before fading back to the pale color of Vara’s skin. Wuunferth let out a sigh of relief and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “The antidote is working. She should be awake within the next few hours,” the mage stated softly, glancing at Vara’s flushed and fevered face.

Ulfric nodded gratefully. “I need to see to the city and calm the panic that I’m sure has risen. Watch over her, Wuunferth.” The mage nodded and Ulfric left the room closing the door gently.

Trees blurred to nothing more than green and brown smudges of color as Vara ran for her life. Something was chasing her, something large and dangerous. She couldn’t see whatever it was, but she could feel its presence. It was a darkness that threatened to drown her until she couldn’t see the light, and it terrified her. She ran faster until her feet barely touched the ground. But it wasn’t enough. She could feel evil figure drawing ever closer, chilling her to her bones. She tried to push her body to move faster, but it wasn’t possible. She could feel the darkness drawing her into its grasp and she let out a scream, but she never heard her voice. It was swallowed by the darkness that consumed her and everything around her.

The people were panicking, as Ulfric had figured they would. They crowded the courtyard just outside of the Palace, their voices nearing the point of hysteria. Ulfric strode calmly to the middle of the courtyard, his royal upbringing coupled with the military training he had received allowing him to remain calm and focused. Galmar stood a few paces behind him, and Ulfric didn’t have to look back to know that his housecarl had one hand clenching the hilt of his battleax. The people began to quiet, crowding even closer to hear him speak.

“The Festival of Life,” Ulfric began, allowing his Thu’um to rumble slightly which drew everyone’s attention. “is supposed to be a celebration of hope, of love, of a better and brighter future. And yet, less than an hour ago, a would-be assassin tried to kill me and ended up striking Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, my New Year Companion.” Ulfric wasn’t certain that the poisoned knife had truly been meant for him, but he decided that that was what would be the most easily explained to the people. After all, there were plenty of people in Skyrim who wanted him dead. There was no need to cause more panic.

“Varaduilwe will survive,” Several members of the crowd sighed in relief at his words. “As will the attacker, according to my soldiers. We will discover who orchestrated this attack, and they will pay for their crimes. For now, we will celebrate. We will not allow this act of terrorism to cause us to cower in our homes in fear! We will continue as we always have and always, by the grace of the Divines. All of them.” Slowly, the people began to nod, then to shout. Even the dark elves and few argonians who were in the crowd raised their voices in firm agreement. Looking at the crowd, Ulfric could see the spirit of Skyrim. They would not give up, even something as simple as a festival, because that would mean bowing to fear.

Ulfric turned away from the crowd and walked over to where Galmar stood, still on alert. “Make sure that patrols are doubled for the next few days,” he ordered.

Galmar raised an eyebrow. “You think there will be another attack?”

Ulfric shook his head. “No, but it will make the people feel safer.”

The general nodded and Ulfric was about to return to the Palace when Galmar grabbed his arm. “That dagger, according to the people who saw, wasn’t aimed at you, Ulfric.”

“I know,” the jarl responded grimly. “It was meant for Vara.”

The dungeons were dark and damp. Ulfric hated it here and avoided it when he could; the cold stone and rusted metal brought back memories he’d rather stay buried. But this was where the prisoner was, and he had more than a few questions for the man. A guard led him to the last cell where a figure lay huddled in the corner. Ulfric nodded to the soldier, dismissing him and then turned his attention to the failed assassin.

“Get up,” he growled in a low tone. The man obeyed although there was no fear in his eyes when he stepped up to the bars of his cell. The man was a nord, although Ulfric didn’t recognize him; he had likely snuck in with the other visitors to the Festival.

Ulfric leaned in until his eyes were level with the shorter man’s. “You attempted to kill Varaduilwe Oakne-Song,” he stated.

The man scoffed, unkempt blonde hair falling in his eyes as he did so. “Attempted? I did. That dagger is poisoned, my jarl,” he sneered mockingly. “The elves promised it would kill her, even if the dagger didn’t pierce her filthy heart.”

Ulfric grabbed the bars in a sudden movement, causing the man to stumble backward in surprise. In a voice far calmer than his actions suggested he said, “Varaduilwe. Is. Alive. Your poisoned dagger failed you.”

“That’s impossible!” the man hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wide.

Ulfric took a step back and crossed his arms calmly. “It sounds like your elven friends lied to you,” he suggested, raising a single eyebrow.

His words only served to anger the man even further. “They didn't! They wouldn’t! The Thalmor want her dead!” The Thalmor. Ulfric should have figured they would be involved in an assassination attempt on Vara. After all, the Thalmor never left a job unfinished.

“Why do the Thalmor care about Varaduilwe Oaken-Song?” Ulfric questioned. He figured it was because of her family’s worship of Talos, but a public assassination seemed a little extreme for that. The Thalmor preferred to work in the shadows when no one else was around.

The man retreated to the corner of his cell and sunk to the stone floor. “Don’t you know? She’s an abomination. A half-breed,” the man growled, but there was fear in his voice now that hadn’t been there before. Ulfric recognized the tone; the man had failed his mission, and he wouldn’t be getting any second chances.

Ulfric wouldn’t be getting any other answers from him, so he left the room. As he passed the man who stood guard right outside the dungeon Ulfric said, “Keep an eye on the prisoner. The man is a pet of the Thalmor, and he has failed his masters. He may try to commit suicide.” The guard’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded anyway and saluted Ulfric who left the dungeons quickly.

Fire. Flames climbed high into the sky on all sides. Vara turned frantically, but there was no escaping the blistering heat. The flames drew ever closer to her, stealing her oxygen and causing her to choke on black smoke. Tears ran down her face, almost as hot as the fires surrounding her. Her chest heaved, but no air came. A few small flames licked her feet as the fires drew ever closer. She collapsed to her knees, her worn body unable to support her. Flames burned her hands as they swept over them, ripping a pained yell from her smoke-lined throat. She closed her eyes, ready to accept the inevitable. Then her eyes snapped open.

Vara opened her eyes to see the concerned face of Wuunferth hovering over her. She gasped, air filling her lungs, lungs which weren’t coated in soot or stung by smoke. The mage handed her a red potion which she gulped down before sighing gratefully. Wuunferth snorted at her as he took the empty potion bottle from her hand and put it on a table nearby which was covered in bandages, some stained red with what she figured was her blood.

“How long have I been out?” she asked, wincing as she tried to sit up.

Wuunferth pushed her gently back against the bed before he responded. “A few hours, I think. You were feverish and dreaming for a while.”

Vara shivered at the memories of darkness and flames. “Thank you for healing me, Wuunferth.”

The mage snorted. “Did you know that I have learned more about the school of restoration in the past few months that you’ve been in WIndhelm than I did my entire stay at the College of Winterhold?” Vara only shrugged and gave a weak smile in response. What could she say? It wasn’t her fault she got hurt. Well, it kind of was, but that wasn’t the point.

“The dagger was poisoned,” Wuunferth stated as he turned away from the bed and grabbed a clean bandage from the table. “I had to identify the poison with a detection spell I had never used and then create a brand new potion I’d never made before to counteract it all before you bled out.”

Vara raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Thank you, Wuunferth,” she said again. The mage snorted once more, but Vara could see the way his expression softened. It was as close to a ‘You’re welcome’ as the court wizard would give.

There was a comfortable silence as Wuunferth changed the bandage covering her mostly healed wound. When he was finished Vara asked, “Did they catch the person who tried to kill Ulfric?”

For some reason, Wuunferth’s eyes hardened at the question and his lips set in a firm line. “You’ll have to talk to the jarl about that,” he finally stated and refused to say anything else about the matter no matter how much Vara asked. Eventually, Vara gave up asking and occupied herself by weaving sparks in the air above her as Wuunferth still wouldn’t let her sit up in the bed. She drew meaningless patterns in the air, allowing her mind to zone out.

Her trance was broken by a knock on the door. She sat up on the bed, ignoring the pain that flared in her back as she did so and the grumble of annoyance from Wuunferth. “Come in,” she called, trying to make her voice sound stronger than she felt.

Ulfric Stormcloak stepped into the room, a strange expression on his face. Vara gestured to a chair that Wuunferth had pulled up beside the bed, and the jarl sat. Before he could speak, Wuunferth excused himself saying something about restocking on his healing potions. Vara thanked him once more as he left, closing the door carefully behind him.

For a few moments, there was silence. Ulfric broke it by saying, “The man who attacked you was apprehended and is stewing in a cell in the dungeons.”

Vara nodded. “Did he say why he attempted to kill you?” she asked. There were probably a million reasons why someone would want to kill Ulfric Stormcloak, Leader of the Rebellion and Jarl of Windhelm.

“The Thalmor sent him to kill you, not me,” Ulfric stated. Vara’s eyes widened and her arms instinctively tightened around herself protectively. “The man seemed to believe that they want you dead because you are a half-elf.”

Vara cursed under her breath. “Those skeevers! It isn’t enough to murder my family for worshipping Talos. No, they have to send someone else to do their dirty work for them and purge any impurities from their ‘superior’ High Elf blood!” Vara’s voice was strong in her anger. If there were a Thalmor agent in front of her, she would reduce them to a pile of ash in moments and never think twice. “It seems like you aren’t the only one disappointed in my heritage, Ulfric.” All of a sudden, Vara’s anger was replaced with a weariness that she felt in her bones. “I apologize, I didn’t mean that.”

Ulfric raised his hands in understanding. “There’s no need to apologize. You were nearly assassinated; you have the right to be angry,” he stated. Vara smiled slightly, the corners of her mouth barely moving. She was so tired. “If you hadn’t pushed me out of the way, the dagger would have struck your heart.”

Vara couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her tired lips. “This is what I get for agreeing to be your New Life Companion. Anything with a name that ridiculous had to be bad news.” Ulfric only shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he stood from the chair.

“I will leave you to your rest,” he said and slipped from the room. Before long, Vara’s eyes slid shut and she fell once more into the embrace of sleep.

Chapter Text

“If you hate it so much you shouldn’t have gotten yourself hurt,” Wuunferth said with an irritated huff, tightening the bandage over her stab wound.

Vara picked at the bandage as soon as Wuunferth moved and murmured something under her breath. The mage leveled a glare at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Well, excuse me for almost getting assassinated by a Thalmor pet! It’s not my fault that some people can’t accept that I’m a half-elf.”

It was Wuunferth’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re a terrible patient,” he said, but his voice was more exasperated than angry now. Vara smiled slightly. She had been having this argument with Wuunferth for almost two days, and it looked like she was finally getting somewhere. “Stop smirking, Vara,” he grumbled, which only made her smirk widen. “Fine, you can go out, but I expect to see you back in this room by dark.”

Vara jumped from the bed excitedly. “Thank you, Wuunferth!”

The mage only huffed and said, “Don’t make me regret this. If I find that your wound has reopened even slightly I will make sure that you don’t leave this room for the next week.”

Vara nodded; she knew Wuunferth was being serious. “I promise I’ll be fine, Wuunferth. Besides, if someone tries to kill me you can improve your Restoration skills some more.” The mage didn’t even bother to respond to that, only gesturing to the door and Vara took her leave happily.

She left the Palace as quickly as possible, startling the guards as she ran past them. She had been stuck in that tiny room for an entire week. She had felt better after a day, but Wuunferth had insisted that she stay so that he could make sure the poison was completely out of her system. She appreciated his concern, she really did, but she was a creature of the woods at heart, and being away from fresh air and sunlight for so long had started to drive her crazy.

The courtyard was empty for once, something Vara was incredibly thankful for. She didn’t want to be around people right now. She stepped into an empty space in the courtyard and began to pool her magika into her hands. Carefully, she allowed some to leak into the ground forming an electric circle that surrounded her like a dueling ring. Then she let her eyes slide closed and muscle memory took over as she called on the countless hours she had spent doing this very thing. Her eyes snapped open, as two rods of electricity formed in her hands, their weight familiar and comforting. She spun the one in her right hand slowly, allowing her fingers to remember the movements as she spun the electric quarterstaff faster and faster. Slowly her other hand joined the two rods of electricity spinning between her fingers at an almost blinding speed.

Then she began to move, and her eyes slid closed once more. She stepped carefully and lightly, and in her mind, the stone beneath her booted feet became dried leaves that crackled with every step. She swept one staff in front of her slowly, her moves controlled and precise before snapping it up behind her, the electricity less than an inch from her tunic. Magic was a strange thing, and she knew from experience that if the electricity touched her anywhere other than where she held the staves, it would feel like she had been struck by a jolt of lightning. Yet the magic didn’t arc towards her like normal electricity would. Carefully, she began to go through the movements that her father had taught her years before. She could almost hear his voice guiding each step. She smiled and breathed in deeply before allowing everything else to fall away.

Ulfric sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. The sun had only just cast its noon shadow, and he was already exhausted. He had been in meetings for most of the week trying to deal with the aftermath of the attempted assassination. The people were no longer afraid, which meant they were talking now. Everyone had a different theory about why someone wanted to kill him, this had led to dozens of letters warning him about plots and schemes from concerned citizens who believed the Thalmor, the Empire, or some crazed deadra lurked in every shadowed corner. As irritating and ridiculous as many of the missives were, he had to read them and present them to his council on the off chance that a few of them might say something important. It was enough to almost make him regret telling the people the knife had been meant for him. Almost.

“My jarl?” one of the council members asked, interrupting Ulfric’s tired musings.

“I apologize, please repeat what you just said, Torsten,” Ulfric requested, leaning forward and trying to appear more interested than he was.

“I asked if you had any news regarding Miss Oaken-Song,” the man replied. “Your court wizard hasn’t let anyone in to see her for the past week.”

A small smile crossed Ulfric’s face as the memory of Vara pestering Wuunferth to let her go outside yesterday. Ulfric wasn’t sure he had ever seen Wuunferth so frustrated before, but he had also never seen the mage come so close to smiling. “Vara is doing fine, I can assure you. Wuunferth is making certain that there are no unforeseen negative effects of the attack.” That was exactly what the mage had told Vara, and Ulfric had been sitting close enough to the woman to hear her as she muttered her dissent. “I believe he plans to release her tomorrow.”

“Good, good,” Torsten said with a nod. The conversation then turned to yet another letter. Ulfric listened as carefully as he could before he dismissed it. Then he listened to the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that. After a dozen more letters Ulfric stood abruptly, startling the seated councilmen.

“I will read the rest of the letters later and alert you if there is anything of importance,” Ulfric said. “Dismissed.” The councilmen sat frozen for a moment before rising and filing out of the room, faintly confused by the sudden dismissal.

Ulfric shook his head wearily. He needed to do something other than sit around in meetings all day. With that thought in mind, he left the room, his feet carrying him to the iron gates that led to the courtyard. The two guards nodded to him before pushing the gates open. He thanked them and then stepped through, the metal clanging shut behind him. He was about to step onto the stone when he realized that the courtyard wasn’t empty.

A figure danced alone on the snow-covered cobblestones surrounded by a storm. As Ulfric watched, he realized that the figure who twirled lightning in her hands was Vara. Carefully, he stepped forward until he was only a few steps from the ring of sparks that surrounded Vara. Somehow, she was spinning two rods of solid lightning in her hands, sweeping them around her in elegant movements. Suddenly, she froze, the rods extended on either side of her body, and her eyes snapped open and locked on his.

For a moment, there was silence except for the crackle of the magic as it dissipated. Then Vara cocked her head and said, “Long day?”

Ulfric grimaced. “Is it that obvious?”

Vara stepped outside of the ring where the sparks had been just seconds ago. “Only because I know the answer is yes.”

Ulfric nodded ruefully. “I came out here to get a few swings in but it looks like you beat me to it.”

Vara laughed. “I’ve been stuck in a stone room for a week, Ulfric. I was starting to go crazy.”

Ulfric laughed at that. He had heard Vara complain about being cooped up more than a few times over the past seven days. Vara pulled her hair down from the long ponytail it was in and as the wind caught it Ulfric asked, “Does Wuunferth know what you’ve been doing?”

Vara shook her head with a mischievous smile. “If he knew that I was summoning this kind of magic and training with it, he would drag me back to that stone box faster than I could blink.”

Another chuckle escaped Ulfric and he shook his head. “Over the years, I have had plenty of experience with overbearing healers. It seems like every healer believes that because of my station, I must need an extra week of rest after anything.” Vara smiled and shook her head as Ulfric continued, calling on one of his earlier memories. “Once, when I was maybe nine summers old I cut myself with my father’s sword when I tried to wield it. It wasn’t a very serious injury, but that didn’t stop the healer from locking me in my room for the next two weeks.”

“Did you learn your lesson?” Vara asked, a twinkle in her eyes as the corners of her mouth turned up in a grin.

“No,” Ulfric admitted. “Two days after I was released from my room, my father caught me trying to sneak his sword out to the practice grounds so that I could try again,” Ulfric remembered the moment clearly; he had stood there, cowering in his father’s shadow and clutching the sword to his chest. “Instead of sending me back to my room, my father had the blacksmith make me a practice sword that I could use.”

Vara nodded. “My father did something similar once. When I was just learning how to cast spells, I accidentally burned a hole in the blanket my mother had made for me and singed my arm. Instead of chastising me for the blanket, he healed my arm and taught me a simpler and less dangerous spell to learn before I tried to summon flames again. My mother made me a new blanket that depicted a young girl surrounded by magical lights instead of the forest scene that the original blanket had.” There was a far-off look in Vara’s eyes as she spoke that Ulfric recognized all too well. It was the gaze of a person caught up in memories tinged blue with the sorrow of loss, one he saw often in the mirror.

“The world lost two bright souls when your parents were killed,” Ulfric said softly. He never thought that those words could reply to a High Elf, and yet they did.

Vara’s eyes hardened, the flecks of gold glinting dangerously in her irises. “Yes, it did. My parents should be alive right now, and they would be if not for those Thalmor scum! What gives them the right to decide who lives and who dies? They murdered my mother and father because of their love for Talos and each other. They found the purest thing in the world and destroyed it.” There were angry tears pooling in Vara’s eyes, turning the hard flecks to molten gold and vibrant green. She wiped them away quickly and shook her head. “I apologize. You would think that after over two years I would be able to contain my tears.”

For a moment, Ulfric was silent. This woman before him, for all he knew about her, was a mystery. And yet, he found that he trusted her, and so when he finally broke the silence he said, “Join the Stormcloaks.”

The request seemed to catch Vara off guard. “I’m sorry?” she said, sounding confused.

“Join the Stormcloaks,” Ulfric repeated. “With your magic, you could help free Skyrim and make sure that what happened to your family never happens to anyone else.”

There was silence for a long moment before Vara spoke, saying, “The magic I cast earlier is an intricate spell that my father taught me long ago. Once, the mastery of the spell along with the martial forms that go with it was considered an art form that required decades to perfect. Now the Thalmor have twisted magic into an instrument of pain and fear instead of one of beauty and peace.” Vara looked him in the eyes and shook her head slightly. “No, Ulfric, I will not use this magic to fight in your rebellion.”

Normally, Ulfric would argue that the freedom of Skyrim was worth the sacrifice, but he found that he couldn't. He found that he had nothing to say. All of his words seemed hollow and insensitive. He wanted to say that he understood, but he didn’t, not really. And yet he could see that Vara understood. She smiled slightly and said, “My jarl, I realize you came out here to train, but perhaps you would like to walk with me to the temple instead?”

“I would,” he responded, and together they crossed the snowy cobblestones.

Vara led the way to the temple her mind swirling as fast as the snowflakes that fell around her. What she had told Ulfric was true, she would not dishonor her father by using her magic to fight and to kill. And yet, she couldn't deny that she wanted to see the Thalmor destroyed and Skyrim freed. There were other people who were more than willing to spill blood to see Skyrim free. The question was, was Vara willing to do nothing and watch as others fought and died to free her home and avenge her parents? The thought that the answer might be yes scared her, but the thought that the answer might be no terrified her even more.

Her thoughts were still clouding her mind when she opened the door to the temple, the sudden outrush of warmth bringing her back to reality. She stepped inside as Ulfric held the door open, breathing in the familiar smell of jazberries and lavender smoke. A smile crossed her face and the tension fled her body as she let the comforting atmosphere relax her. The door closed softly behind her, reminding Vara that she wasn’t alone.

“Vara! I’m glad to see you on your feet, child,” Jora, the head priestess of the temple exclaimed, standing from the shine as she spoke. “My jarl, it’s been too long.”

“Indeed it has,” Ulfric’s deep voice rumbled from behind Vara. “It is far too easy for the concerns of the city to distract me from the concerns of the spirit.”

Jora paused for a moment before saying, “Life often finds ways to distracts us from what matters. Perhaps when we fight for long enough, we lose sight of the reason that we fight.” Her voice wasn’t scolding, and her eyes showed only a thoughtful contemplation.

From the corner of her eye, Vara saw Ulfric nod, the corners of his mouth pulling upward slightly. He didn’t respond verbally, instead, he walked over to the shrine and knelt in front of it, bowing his head in silent prayer. As she watched, Vara couldn’t help but feel that Ulfric Stormcloak worshipped the same way he did everything else; he examined the situation and acted in the way he deemed appropriate, with no room for hesitation. It didn’t matter what others thought as long as he was in the right and he knew it, he would act accordingly. It was a trait that Vara figured had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, and yet she couldn’t help but admire the trait.

Vara took a different approach to her worship. After bowing respectful to the priestess and sharing a smile with the woman, she sat down on the farthest bench. Under her breath, she whispered a short prayer of thanks and asked for Talos to guide her thoughts. Then, she let her thoughts wander, trusting them to be guided to the right place.

Before long, Vara found her thoughts focused on the rebellion, as she knew they would be. Internally, she weighed the pros and cons of both options. Still, she didn’t know what to do. In the end, it came down to a simple fact; she had never killed another person and she wasn’t sure that she was willing to. The day her parents had died, she would have killed any Thalmor that dared to show their face, but maybe when the anger faded and the adrenaline left, she would have regretted her actions. If she was being honest, she feared that whatever she chose, she would regret it. Eventually, her thoughts moved on to other things, although the uneasy feeling that she had to make a decision eventually remained in the back of her mind, disrupting the peace she normally felt when she was in the temple.

Vara wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked up to see Ulfric standing over her. He looked different somehow, his eyes were brighter and his face seemed less worn. “Will you let me walk you home?” he asked in a soft voice.

Vara stood from the pew before responding. “Wuunferth has threatened me with another week in that box of a room if I don’t return tonight so that he can check up on me.”

Ulfric let out an amused huff before saying, “If you would like me to, I will talk to Wuunferth. He was planning to let you go tomorrow anyway I believe.”

Vara smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Ulfric. I would appreciate that.” The jarl nodded and led the way out of the temple, stopping and bowing to Jora first.

The wind was as cold as always, but the warmth of the temple seemed to linger on Vara and she didn’t feel the bite of the wind as sharply as normal. She and Ulfric spoke of various things as he led the way down the darkening streets of Windhelm. The sound of their voices echoed on the stone, making the night seem even more empty than it was, although Vara found she didn’t mind. The peace and quiet of the night were comforting and reminded her of the nights in the forest.

Before too long, they reached the door to Hjerim. “I wanted to thank you again for agreeing to be my New Life Companion,” Ulfric said. “I realize you might regret that choice now, considering what happened, but I believe that Windhelm was more united that night than it has been in years.”

Vara smiled softly. “The only thing I regret was the time I spent picking out a dress only to see it ruined. I love these people, Ulfric.”

The jarl smiled slightly as he responded, saying, “And many of them love you. Good night, Vara.”

“Good night, Ulfric,” Vara replied, bowing slightly before slipping into her home.

Chapter Text

The warm air of the Candlehearth Inn wasn’t bringing Ulfric the sense of relaxation and peace that it normally did, and the cause of the disturbance was sitting across from him, drinking a flagon of the inn’s finest mead.

“I told you she was special,” Galmar stated for the tenth time that night, barely hiding a smug grin behind the flagon he held.

“Yes you did,” Ulfric muttered, swishing the mead in his own flagon gloomily. “Now shut up and drink your mead.”

Galmar, being Galmar, put the drink down and laughed. “Come now, Ulfric. You should be used to this by now. I always win. I have a sixth sense for these bets.”

Ulfric resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his old friend. Barely. “Did your sixth sense tell you that she would reject my offer? Because she did.”

Galmar shrugged and took another swig of his drink before replying. “No,” he admitted, although he didn’t seem too upset about the fact. “But she didn’t refuse to help the rebellion, Ulfric, she only said that she wouldn’t use her magic to fight. There are other things she could do. She seems to make a decent advisor, judging by the way you started grumbling at everyone after she left.”

“I did not grumble,” Ulfric stated. Jarls didn’t grumble. “I held my councils just like I did before she was a part of them.”

“Exactly,” Galmar said, setting his mead down. Ulfric opened his mouth to argue once again that he never grumbled, but his friend cut him off. “Listen, Ulfric. Vara is special, and if she loves Skyrim as much as she loves the people of Windhelm, she’ll help to free her. You and I both saw the way she worked to help the Dark Elves, and the rest of the city for that matter. If she was willing to do that for people she barely knew who had no way to repay her, don’t you think she’d do the same for the country that she calls home? I say she would, it just may not be as a Stormcloak footsoldier.”

Ulfric said nothing for a while. Galmar was right, of course, as he so often was. That didn’t change the disappointment he felt. Not in Vara, but in himself. He couldn’t help but feel like he had said or done something wrong and pushed Vara away somehow. Eventually, he took a long drink from his mead and said, “She was never going to be a common footsoldier, Galmar. She isn’t meant to be ordered around from post to post. No, she would be something more.”

“Well, then you should have told her that,” Galmar stated, leaning back in his chair and looking Ulfric in the eye. “instead of blurting out an invitation to join an army. Especially when all she’s seen of it is a couple of farmers who could barely wield a sword.”

“A little too late for that particular piece of advice,” Ulfric pointed out dryly.

Galmar said nothing as he drained his flagon and set it down in front of him with a satisfied sigh. Then he pushed his chair away from the small table and stood. “She’ll come around eventually, Ulfric,” the general said. Ulfric didn’t reply, and Galmar thumped him on the shoulder before leaving the inn. Ulfric sighed heavily and drained his own flagon before standing and paying Elda for the drinks. For a moment he contemplated staying and drowning his frustrations in mead, but he quickly pushed that thought aside. He had work to do.

Ninesea’s voice was light as she recounted everything that Vara had missed the past week while she had been under Wuunferth’s care. Vara laughed as her friend told a particularly funny account of how Ambarys had chatted with a customer for several minutes only to find that the man had fallen asleep and was about to fall face-first into his meal.

“But come now, Varaduilwe. Surely something interesting happened while you were healing,” Ninesea insisted after she had finished her story, looking at Vara with curious eyes.

Vara smiled at her friend and shook her head. “I was stuck in a stone room for a week, Ninesea. The most interesting thing that happened was when I almost strangled Wuunferth after he suggested that I stay another few days ‘just in case’,” Vara said with a chuckle. If the wizard had made her stay any longer than he did, she may have resorted to drastic actions. She hated that room.

“Teryysa said that she saw you and the jarl walking out of the Temple of Talos together,” Ninesea said casually, but Vara saw the twinkle in her ruby eyes. It struck Vara as funny how excited Ninesea was about any information Vara shared. She suspected the elf’s fascination stemmed from how long she had spent excluded from the world. Before Vara had helped them, Ninesea had worked all day and cared for her husband all night, leaving little time for interacting with others. Now, however, she was paid more and was able to take some time to herself.

“Yes, Ulfric and I did visit the temple together, but that’s hardly interesting. I simply invited him to walk with me after I declined his offer to join the Stormcloaks. It really wasn’t-” Vara didn’t have a chance to continue as she was interrupted by her friend, whose eyes widened almost humorously.

“The jarl asked you to join his army,” she said incredulously. “What made him do that?”

Vara shrugged. “I don’t know. He said that my magic would be helpful in freeing Skyrim from the grip of the Thalmor and their puppet Empire. He saw me training when he came out to do some of his own.”

For a moment, Ninesea just blinked at Vara. “Why did you say no? You’re always talking about how Skyrim deserves to be a place where everyone can be free, and I’ve seen the way your face changes when the Thalmor are mentioned. I think you may hate them almost as much as Ulfric does,” Ninesea observed, her delicate eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

A sigh escaped Vara and she leaned back in her chair, letting her gaze wander around the living area of her house as she tried to find the words to explain the way she felt. In truth, the points that Ninesea brought up made sense. Everything she had said was true, and yet there was still something holding Vara back. Something she didn’t want to admit.

“I declined his offer because I am scared, Ninesea. I’m terrified that I will somehow fail my parents and tarnish their memories,” Vara admitted in a whisper, speaking more to herself than the woman sitting across from her. “What if I can’t avenge them? What if I do and vengeance consumes me the way it has consumed so many others? What if in an effort to honor my parents, I become the very thing that killed them? I don’t want to be an instrument of death.” The words hung heavily in the air, condemning her cowardice, despite the quiet way they were said.

Ninesea was silent for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. “You are scared of war because you feel that in an effort to do good, you will do evil. You fear that you will fail your parents,” WIth a wisdom that didn't match her years, Ninesea said, “War is grey. Everyone believes that they are the ones who are right. In their minds, they wear shining white and paint the other side black. But the truth is that there are good people on both sides who are willing to die for their beliefs,” Ninesea paused for a moment, quirking her head.

“Except for the Thalmor. I’m fairly certain they're all evil. The point is though, that you have to be willing to see the fact that war hurts everyone, no matter which side you fight for. You say you don’t want to be an instrument of death, and I say that death finds us all eventually. You are afraid of failing and hurting the people you want to protect, but the only sure way to fail is to never try. If you wanted to, you could find a way to balance the good and the evil. You could help to free Skyrim and its people. But you have to be willing to try.”

Vara didn’t respond; she couldn’t respond. A tear traced its way down her cheek and she bowed her head. She was terrified of what all of this meant, but it was obvious what she had to do because the thought that she wouldn’t try scared her so much more. This was her land and these were her people and the Divines were her gods, and she couldn’t let the Empire take them from her. She wouldn’t.

“You’re right, Ninesea,” Vara said through her tears. “Of course you are. I’m just so scared.” It hurt to admit it, but it was true. Vara hadn't been this afraid since the night her parents were killed.

NInesea smiled and reached across the table to grab Vara’s hand in her own. “It’s okay to be scared. If you weren’t scared, I’d ask Wuunferth to lock you back in that room," she said with a soft smile. Vara stood from the table and Ninesea pulled her close, letting Vara’s tears soak into her shoulder. “I haven’t known you for very long, but I know that you can do this, Varaduilwe. You're strong.”

Vara pulled away and looked at Ninesea through eyes full of the tears she was trying to stop. “Thank you, Ninesea,” she said, hoping that her voice conveyed the gratitude that she felt. Her mind was clearer now, and she could feel peace through her fear. A peace that she hoped would be magnified by an earnest prayer that she desperately needed.

The temple was warm and quiet when Ulfric stepped inside. He nodded respectfully to Jora and Lortheim but didn’t speak, not willing to disturb the silence. He was about to walk over to the shrine when he noticed the woman who knelt in front of it. He turned to leave, easily recognizing Vara's white hair and pointed ears. He didn’t want to intrude on Vara’s peace or risk seeming like he was here to pester her. For some reason though, he found he couldn’t leave. A quiet voice in the back of his mind told him to walk over and kneel beside her, and so he did.

Vara didn’t acknowledge his presence, and he could tell out of the corner of his eye that her eyes were closed as she prayed. After a moment, Ulfric did the same, bowing his head and sending a prayer to Talos. ‘This woman is special,’ Ulfric said inwardly. ‘Somehow, I know that she will make a difference in Skyrim. She could help see this land free to worship You.’ Ulfric sighed inwardly. How was he supposed to put this feeling into words? ‘I need your aid. Help me to do Your will and be Your hands.’ Ulfric closed his short prayer, hoping that Talos would understand. It was strange how Ulfric could speak to hundreds of soldiers, politicians, and commoners, and know exactly what to say, and still be so helpless when he prayed.

His thoughts swirled within his mind as he knelt in front of the shrine. He felt a strange sense of peace, even though he was no closer to an answer to the mystery that was Varaduilwe Oaken-Song than he had been when he first stepped into the temple. After a while longer, he heard Vara stand next to him. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Vara gazing at him thoughtfully. Ulfric stood silently, and for a few moments, they simply looked at each other. Ulfric could tell that Vara was thinking about something, but he had no idea what.

Vara turned away a strange look in her eyes, and Ulfric acted on instinct. Reaching up, he unclasped the Amulet of Talos he wore around his neck. “Vara,” the woman turned around, one eyebrow raised slightly. Ulfric held out the amulet, not quite certain what to say. “Wuunferth told me that you lost the amulet your mother gave you when you were attacked by the bear that brought you to WIndhelm. I know that this is no replacement for the meaning that your amulet had, but I hope that you could accept it anyway.” Ulfric cringed inwardly. It seemed his inability to string together the appropriate words applied to Vara as well as Talos.

To his surprise, Vara smiled and took the amulet from his hand gingerly. The flickering light caught the two sapphires embedded in the metal and caused them to glimmer brightly. A smile crossed Ulfric’s face at the sight and he took the amulet back from Vara’s hands, clasping it around her neck carefully.

“Thank you, Ulfric,” Vara said quietly, looking down at the amulet. “I hadn’t been able to bring myself to get a new amulet after I lost my mother’s.”

Ulfric smiled and shook his head. “In times like these, we all need to keep Talos close to our hearts.”

“Indeed,” Vara agreed, and Ulfric followed her gaze as she looked up to the intricate statue of the god. Ulfric held out his arm, and Vara accepted it, linking her arm through his. Together they walked to the entrance of the temple and pushed open the door, the brisk wind of Skyrim greeting them as the stepped outside.

For a moment they stood outside of the temple, arm in arm. Then Vara drew away with a smile and bowed respectfully to Ulfric. Ulfric copied the gesture with a smile of his own, causing Vara shake her head with a light laugh. She bade him goodbye, and he watched as she turned away and walked down the street, her long hair dancing in the wind.

Vara walked away from Ulfric with a smile playing on her lips. How was it that the man who caused her to question her own motives and morals make her smile and laugh just as easily? Regardless, Vara’s heart and mind were lighter than they had been just a few hours ago. She had spent a little over an hour praying and pondering her decision, and she had found an answer that she hoped would work.

She was going to join the Stormcloaks, even though the thought of war scared her more than she was ready to admit out loud. She would not use her magic to kill, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that she wouldn’t have to fight. That was why she was on her way to the blacksmith’s.

The market was as busy as ever, with residents of the city talking, bartering, and browsing. A shudder passed through Vara as her eyes fell on the place where she and Ulfric had stood, the place where she had nearly been killed. Vara pushed the feeling away and continued through the market until she was standing next to the roaring fire of the blacksmith’s forge.

The smith, Oengul, straightened from where he had sat bent over a chest plate he was shaping with his hammer. “Vara Oaken-Song, right?” he asked, standing. “What can I do for you today, my lady?”

Vara blinked in surprise.”Please, just Vara. I’m not worthy of titles,” she said.

The smith shook his head. “Anyone who could bring people together the way you did during the New Life Festival is more than worthy,” he said. “Not to mention the way that you saved the jarl.”

Vara blushed. She had forgotten that Ulfric had told the people that the knife had been meant for him and not her. The lie made her feel a little uncomfortable, but she was grateful for it. She wouldn’t be able to bear all of the questions that the people would have if they knew the truth. “Thank you, sir,” Vara settled for saying.

The man nodded. “What can I do for you?” he repeated.

“I need a sword made, but it isn’t one you’ve made before,” Vara stated and pulled out a sketch from her satchel. The smith took it from her and looked at it for a few minutes with a frown.

“You’re right, I’ve never made a sword like this. Doesn’t mean I can’t do it though, it might just take a little longer,” Oengul said with a thoughtful frown. “It looks like one of those fancy elven swords.”

“It’s very similar, but the metal is an alloy of moonstone, steel, and quicksilver. The proper proportions of each metal are on that sheet,” Vara explained. The design was actually closer to a glass sword, like the dagger her mother had used, with a few elven touches. The sword was one her father had always wanted to have made but never found the time. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to Vara’s face. Her father had never had very much skill with a sword, but he had always wanted to learn.

“These instructions are pretty detailed,” the blacksmith said, looking the paper over again. “The alloy itself should be fairly easy to work with, easier than typical elven metal. The steel will give it a strength that it otherwise doesn’t have…” his voice trailed off, and Vara could see his mind working as he planned out the sword in his mind. Eventually, he came back to himself and said, “I should be able to have this made in two, maybe three days.”

Vara nodded. That would give her plenty of time to think over what she was about to do and prepare herself. “That’s fine, thank you. What will it cost?”

The smith frowned thoughtfully. “Well, normally moonstone and quicksilver are pretty expensive to come by, but the festival brought in plenty of visitors and merchants. I have enough metal to make the sword and remake it in case anything goes wrong. Normally I’d charge at least three hundred septims, but considering I already have the materials… How about two hundred septims?”

“That sounds more than fair. If you could deliver the blade to Hjerim, I’ll pay you then,” Vara said, and the man nodded, already turning away to grab the metals he needed. Vara left the smith and stepped into the market once more, smiling at the people who nodded to her as she made her way back to her home. Home. It still felt strange to call Hjerim that, considering that she had been living in tents in the woods for over eighteen months and an inn for a several weeks after that. And yet, it was home, just like Windhelm was. A home and a people that she loved and would soon fight for.

Chapter Text

Light glinted dangerously along the edge of the blade that cut through the air as Vara swung it in front of her once more. Oengul had done a fine job with the sword, a fact Vara greatly appreciated. In truth, she hadn’t been certain that the alloy her father had invented would even work, but the metal had held up remarkably so far. Her father would have been proud to see it.

“You won’t get very far swinging a sword like that,” a gruff voice said, drawing Vara from her thoughts.

Vara turned toward the source of the voice to see Galmar Stonefist standing on the other side of the courtyard. She nodded respectfully to him and sheathed her sword before replying, “True. I was simply getting re-accustomed to the feeling of a blade in my hand; I haven’t used one for a few years.”

“The only way to get used to a blade is to fight with it,” the general stated. “You can practice with it and hack apart straw until the snow of High Hrothgar melts, but a person isn’t truly used to a sword until they feel it clang against tempered steel in a good fight.”

“Was that an offer or a general statement?” Vara asked with a smile. It felt good to have a blade in her hands, even if she was still scared about what she would be using it for. The sound of her sword as it cut through the air reminded her of the crisp fall days she had spent training with her first sword under her mother’s watchful gaze, years ago.

Galmar snorted, making Vara wonder if Wuunferth’s habits were contagious somehow or if all the residents of the Palace of Kings simply enjoyed snorting. “No, girl, that was no offer. I’m leaving to go check up on some of our forces down by the border with Whiterun. I plan on returning with a new batch of recruits later this week, but I doubt they’d give you much of a challenge.”

Vara shrugged then stretched, riding her limbs of the tightness they felt. “If the recruits look anything like the last batch, you might be right. You have a way of turning fumbling farmers into soldiers that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to understand,” Vara said with a smile, but the general didn’t respond to the compliment. Instead, he frowned deeply, and Vara followed his gaze to the Amulet of Talos she wore; it must have slipped free of its place beneath her tunic when she was practicing.

“Where did you get that?” the general asked in a low voice as one of his hands moved to the ax on his back threateningly.

Vara’s eyes widened and she held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Peace, General. This amulet was given to me by Ulfric yesterday. He knew that I had lost mine and offered it to me,” Vara managed to keep her voice steady despite the way the grizzled general loomed over her.

Galmar’s eyes were still narrowed, but his hand no longer reached for his weapon and his stance was more relaxed than it had been. “What did he tell you about that amulet?” he asked after a long pause.

Vara lowered her hands slowly to her sides. “Nothing,” Vara said honestly. “Why? What significance does it have to him?”

“That amulet belonged to his mother,” Galmar stated, his voice no longer threatening. “She died of a sickness a year before Ulfric left to train with the Greybeards on their mountain. When she gave him the amulet on her deathbed, he swore to her that he would never lose it. He promised her that he would follow in her footsteps and uphold her honor. She died hours later.” Galmar’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Ulfric lost his childhood that day, the little he had left.”

Galmar focused once more on Vara. “If he gave you that amulet, you mean something to him.” There was a threat in Galmar’s voice once more; a threat of pain if Vara somehow betrayed whatever it was that Ulfric had entrusted her with.

For a moment, Vara didn’t speak as she tried to process what Galmar had said to her. When his words finally registered her eyes widened once more and she exclaimed, “He shouldn’t have given this to me! I cannot take something that means so much to him. Please, Galmar, would you return it to him with my deepest apologies?” She quickly reached behind her neck and began to undo the clasp of the amulet, but Galmar stopped her with a shake of his head.

“He wouldn’t take it back. Ulfric does nothing lightly. He gave you the amulet because he trusts you to uphold his mother’s memory.” The general said the words in a softer tone than he had been using, but Vara could still hear the warning in them.

Vara couldn’t even begin to put her confusion into words. She ran her fingers over the delicately carved amulet in wonder, unable to comprehend why Ulfric had given it to her when it obviously meant so much to him. Galmar gave her one more long look that she couldn’t decipher, then turned away and crossed the courtyard with long strides. He disappeared around the corner of the courtyard, and Vara let out a long sigh. The amulet around her neck glimmered softly in the light, and as she looked at it, Vara could almost picture it in the hands of a dying mother as she gifted it to her young son. She let out another long breath and then fell into a fighting stance. She drew her sword and once more sank into the peaceful trance that came with training.

An unconscious smile slipped onto Vara’s lips; putting her body through the motions of swordplay after so long felt good. While she practiced with her magic fairly often, it wasn’t the same as practicing with a sword. The blade had significantly more weight and moved through the air very differently. There were also different stances that she used as she had to use more power at different times and move in different ways than she did with her magic staves. Those thoughts faded into the back of her mind, and she gave herself over completely to the motions, allowing her mind to quiet.

After another hour or so of training, Vara sheathed her sword once more and wiped the sweat from her brow with a tired smile. The sun told her it was close to noon, and she decided that she would try and find Wuunferth. She had gone hunting earlier that morning and found some ingredients she knew the mage would like. Plus, she was hoping that he would have some advice for her, considering the new information that Galmar had brought to light. With that thought in mind, Vara slipped from the courtyard and made her way through the palace to Wuunferth’s room.

The mage was bent over a potion at his alchemy station, muttering to himself when Vara walked in. For a few minutes, she simply stood in the doorway and watched the court wizard work, smiling at the occasional snort or huff that Wuunferth interspaced his mumblings with. Eventually, Vara knocked on the wood of the door, causing the old wizard to straighten suddenly and almost spill the potion he held.

“By Talos, Vara! There’s no need to go startling me like that. I am working on a very delicate potion. If I had dropped it, it very well could have exploded, burned a hole in the floor, or had some other unintended effect!” the mage exclaimed as he carefully set the potion down on the table behind him.

“I apologize, Wuunferth,” Vara said, but she couldn’t hide the smile that crossed her face. “To be fair, I have been standing here for at least five minutes.”

For a moment, the mage frowned then he let out a huff of annoyance and turned back to his potion. “Do you have some ingredients for me? I’ve been needing to get hawk feathers, but collecting them is so tedious.”

Vara rolled her eyes at the wizard, but there was a smile on her face as she said, “I do, but they come at a steep price.”

Wuunferth turned back to face Vara, eyebrows quirked in confusion. “And what might that be?” he asked, his tone wary.

Vara held out the pouch of the various ingredients she had collected that morning. “I need you to tell me about the Lady of Windhelm, Ulfric’s mother.”

For a moment, Wuunferth was silent. He took the ingredients from her and looked them over slowly. Eventually, after he had placed the last mountain flower back in the pouch, he said, “Freya was the heart of Windhelm. She loved her family and her people, and they loved her.” A smile crossed Vara’s face; she could tell from the faraway look in his eyes and the way he spoke so softly that Wuunferth had fond memories of the late woman. “She was always helping whenever she could, and she never spoke ill of anyone.”

A chuckle escaped the mage as he continued, “She was never timid, though. Once, a diplomat from Solitude came to a meeting that the jarl was holding, and the idiot had the nerve to openly question the jarl’s love of Skyrim. Freya put the man in his place with that sharp tongue of hers before her husband had the chance to open his mouth.” Wuunferth chuckled again before beginning another story of the Lady of Windhelm. As Vara listened, she couldn’t help but smile. Freya sounded like a kind woman and a loving mother, a person Vara would have loved to know.

Thoughtfully, she ran her fingers over the amulet. Wuunferth’s eyes followed her movements, and his voice trailed off as he stared at the amulet. Eventually, he nodded solemnly and said, “Freya was a peace loving woman, but she would do anything if it meant protecting the ones that she loved,” his voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that Vara could feel deep in her soul. And, for a moment, the fear she felt receeded.

Vara looked up from the amulet and met Wuunferth’s eyes. “I’m going to join the rebellion,” she stated in a level voice that carried just as much weight as the mage’s had. She had thought, this morning, that she would join the fight. She had thought that a few days ago; that was why she had the sword she now wore at her side made. But now, now, she knew that she would enlist in the rebellion. She knew she would gladly give her life for Skyrim and her people.

The wizard said nothing for several moments. Eventually, he turned back to his alchemy station and began to blend new ingredients together, grinding the flowers into a paste with a startling passion. Vara was about to leave the mage to his work when he said, “Be careful, Varaduilwe. Be careful that you do not lose yourself in this war.”

Vara’s vision blurred slightly as tears came to her eyes. This was as close as Wuunferth would ever come to admitting that he cared for her, in his own special grandfatherly way. “I’ll be careful, Wuunferth. I promise.” The mage only snorted in reply and Vara shook her head before leaving, shutting the door behind her softly.

For a moment, Vara stood in the hallway. She let her eyes slip closed as she offered a prayer to Talos. Please, guide me, Talos. Help me to do my part in freeing this land and its people. Help me to remember You and my parents and the Lady whose amulet I wear. Help me to honor you all. Vara opened her eyes and smiled. She wasn’t afraid.

Ulfric sat heavily on his throne. The day seemed dull, somehow. He had been in several meetings of significant importance, but he couldn’t help the feeling that he could be doing something more. Galmar was gone to review the troops who guarded the border with Whiterun. Ulfric longed to be out there with his old friend, but his place was here, at least for now. He was about to sink back on his throne when a door opened on the side of the great hall, and Vara stepped through it.

The half-nord closed the door carefully behind her. For a moment, she simply stood there, but then she squared her shoulders and strode towards the throne with confidence in every step. Ulfric raised an eyebrow at the sword that the woman wore; he had never seen it before. His curiosity grew when she stopped before his throne and knelt at its foot instead of bowing as she usually did, her white hair falling in a curtain around her face.

“Rise and speak,” Ulfric commanded after a moment. As Vara stood, the light of the torches caught the gems embedded in the amulet of Talos that the woman wore. His lips turned upwards slightly; it was easy to see that the amulet belonged with her.

“My jarl,” Vara began, and the words heightened the curiosity that Ulfric felt. Why had she returned to using his formal title? “I am here to recall an answer that I gave you not very long ago.” Ulfric frowned thoughtfully but waved for her to continue. “You offered me a place in your army, a place where I could help free Skyrim and avenge my parents. I declined, but I would like to revise that answer.” Vara took a deep breath and let it out slowly before saying, “If you will still have me, I would like to join the Stormcloak Rebellion.”

Ulfric was silent for a long moment, during which Vara began to fidget nervously. Finally, he asked, “Why? You already told me that you wouldn’t. What made you change your mind?” Ulfric didn’t know why he was asking. Yes, he was curious, but if this were anyone else, he would have simply accepted them into the army. After all, he needed all the soldiers he could get. But Vara was different.

A small smile crossed Vara’s lips. “I have to try, Ulfric. I may fail, but I have to try.” Ulfric nodded silently. Every person had a different reason to fight, and although she hadn’t spelled hers out, Ulfric could guess at what it was. “That being said, I will not use my magic to fight,” Vara continued, looking Ulfric straight in the eyes. “That is a line I am not willing to cross.”

“And I would not ask you to,” Ulfric stated softly. He could feel… something in the air. Something that only reaffirmed what he already knew; Vara was different somehow. “I overstepped myself when I asked you to use your magic to fight without first understanding it.” It was difficult to admit, but Ulfric knew when he was wrong. “I apologize for that.”

Vara shook her head with a smile. “I would hardly expect you to know of such an obscure tradition, especially considering its source, you owe me no apology.” She paused for a moment, looking uncertain. Ulfric could tell she wanted to say something, but her eyes darted around uncertainly. Finally, she said, “I am willing to do what I have to in order to see Skyrim free,” she paused and looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes, “I don’t think I will be as much use to you as a foot soldier.”

Ulfric shook his head. “When I asked you to join my army a few days ago, I never meant for you to be a foot soldier. No, I believe your talents would be far better suited to a more personal work, or perhaps scouting,” Ulfric stated. “Once Galmar returns with the newest batch of recruits, we can talk about it in more detail.”

Vara nodded. She hesitated for a moment then said, “Thank you, Ulfric. You have given me a life here in Windhelm, and I owe you a debt that no good deed will ever repay.”

Ulfric smiled and shook his head. “No. If anyone owes a debt, it’s me. You have helped bring the people of this city together and have shown them that they can live in unison, and now you’re joining the Stormcloaks to fight for these people,” Ulfric shook his head again. “So thank you, Vara Oaken-Song.”

A smile spread across Vara’s face. “I guess we’ll have to call it even then.”

“Very well,” Ulfric said with a chuckle. He thought for a brief moment then asked, “Would you like to join me for lunch? I don’t have any other meetings until tonight, and we could speak some more about what exactly your position in the Stormcloaks will be.” Ulfric wasn’t quite sure what prompted him to say that. It was strange how often he did things around Vara that he hadn’t planned on.

A softer smile danced on Vara’s lips. “I would love to, Ulfric, but I am expected at Ninesea’s house. In fact, I believe I am already late,” she stated, and Ulfric believed her.

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you. If you would like, I will send a courier to let you know when Galmar returns,” Ulfric offered.

“Thank you, that would be nice,” Vara replied then she bowed and said, “I will see you in a few days, my jarl.” Ulfric nodded and watched as the woman turned away and strode towards the doors. She nodded to the guards who stood by the door, and Ulfric could faintly hear one of the guards laugh as she said something that Ulfric couldn’t quite make out. A smile crossed his own lips and he shook his head. For all he knew about her, Ulfric still wasn’t certain who Varaduilwe Oaken-Song was. He found that he didn’t mind. Whoever she turned out to be, it would be someone special.

Chapter Text

"All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

"All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!" Vara echoed and her words rang through the still air, carrying with them the weight of a binding promise. But they also provided a sense of peace; she was a Stormcloak now. She no longer hovered in the foggy realm of indecision. She had made her choice.

Vara looked over at Ulfric and saw that the man had a faint smile dancing across his lips. "Welcome to the Stormcloaks," he said in a deep rumble.

"Thank you, Ulfric," Vara said gratefully. "I realize that this situation isn't exactly ordinary."

Galmar snorted. "That's for sure. I've never sworn in a brand new soldier who had already been promised the positions of officer, scout, and advisor."

"True," Ulfric replied, and the smile on his face grew slightly. "You've also never sworn in anyone who has High Elven blood running through their veins."

"Aye, there are plenty of firsts to go around today," the grizzled general replied. "Speaking of which, I have to go and oversee the new recruits' first drill." The man turned to Vara. "Once Ulfric is done with ya, feel free to help me whip these farmers into soldiers."

Vara chuckled and shook her head. "At this point, I think I'm supposed to be joining those farmers." As she said that, the realization sunk in. She was a soldier now. Not exactly a regular soldier, but a soldier nonetheless.

Galmar shrugged. "Maybe so, but I'd wager you could put any of those men into the ground without much trouble, even if your sword arm is a little rusty." Vara didn't have a reply to that, but the general didn't seem to expect one. He nodded to Ulfric, who returned the gesture, and then left the room, the bearskin on his back rustling faintly as he walked.

Once the general had left the room, Ulfric turned to Vara. "The Stormcloak colors fit you," he stated and Vara looked down at the fur armor she wore. The blue and brown fabric was comfortable, although Vara had declined the helmet that Galmar had offered. "You could have accepted an officer's uniform, you know that?"

Vara shook her head. "The bearskin is more of Galmar's thing," she said. A moment later she added, "Besides, it doesn't feel right. I haven't seen any more battle than those men in the courtyard right now. What right do I have to that uniform?"

Ulfric smiled knowingly but didn't say anything more about the matter. "Your first assignment will be to take this newest batch of soldiers out to the border of the Rift. The Empire has been ambushing patrols there in the past few weeks," he stated, his tone becoming more formal and commanding. "You'll stay with them for a week or so and help them with scouting an such; I'll give you more details later."

Vara nodded solemnly, although she wasn't sure how she was supposed to lead these brand new soldiers when she had the exact same amount of experience as they did in war. "Yes, my jarl."

A strange look came to Ulfric's eyes that was tinged with sadness. "I've told you before, call me Ulfric. 'Jarl' is what everyday citizens and overeager diplomats call me."

"'Jarl' is what the people who respect you call you," Vara countered. And it was true. Despite his faults, Vara trusted and respected the man who stood before her; she wouldn't have joined his army if she didn't.

"Perhaps," Ulfric mused, and Vara saw several emotions pass through the man's eyes. A sense of resignation lingered in the blue depths that saddened Vara in a way she couldn't describe.

"But respect isn't everything. Perhaps 'Ulfric' is what people who know who you truly are call you. People who see you as more than just a leader Windhelm." Vara said in a thoughtful voice.

Ulfric tilted his head slightly. "And do you?"

"Not quite," Vara admitted honestly, "but I think I'm learning." She said with a small smile that she hoped could convey her sincerity.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, but a silent understanding passed between them. Eventually, Ulfric nodded slightly before saying, "Galmar could use you in the courtyard. The faster we get these men into shape, the sooner we can fortify our southern border."

Vara nodded and turned to leave. She stopped before the open door and looked over her shoulder. "Thank you again, Ulfric," she said then she slipped from the room, leaving Ulfric with a small smile tugging at his lips.

The sound of clanging metal filled the courtyard once more as Vara stepped through the gates. Spread across the cobblestones in front of her were men practicing in pairs. Plenty of grunting, not to mention the occasional curse, floated through the air, and a grin crossed Vara's face when she caught sight of Galmar. The general was standing in the middle of the chaos looking exhausted as the men around him struck stone more often than metal.

Carefully, Vara wove her way through the pairs of men, dodging the occasional errant blade. When she finally made it over to Galmar she said, "You know, I think this batch might be even worse than the last one." Her tone was joking, but the general scowled anyway.

"Ulfric wants these farmers on the Rift border in two weeks, and only three of them can even swing a sword properly. The assignment isn't too dangerous, and they can continue to train while they're there, but I don't like it," Galmar grumbled. "We can't waste any time. Are you here to show them that their feet are just as important as their hands?"

Vara couldn't help the predatory grin that crossed her face at the suggestion. "I am. Would you like to do the honors, General?"

Galmar snorted, then clapped his hands together. Somehow, the sound rang through the courtyard over the noise of everything. All at once, the men stopped what they were doing and turned towards the center. "Men, this is Vara Oaken-Song," Galmar bellowed. "Before you ask, her love for Skyrim runs as fiercely through her veins as it does in yours, no matter how pointed her ears are. She will be teaching you how to use your feet when you fight."

Vara watched the men's face flit between emotions before settling into a generally confused look. She shot a half-serious glare at Galmar before striding out into the middle of the men. "Footwork is important, vital even, to your success," Vara began and then launched into her demonstration, allowing the uncertainty she felt to fade away and her voice to ring with confidence.

Ulfric sat on his throne, waiting for the councilmen to arrive. Normally, he would hold meetings like this one in his war room, but the throne was a reminder of his strength, and his authority, a reminder his councilmen might need once he told them what he had done. His eyes wandered around the large hall, and his thoughts drifted to the many memories that were contained within the ancient stone.

Eventually, the large doors at the end of the great hall opened and the councilmen began to stream in. There were six of them, as always, and they all seemed somewhat concerned at the nature of their summons. Ulfric hadn't told them much. All he had said was that he was calling an emergency meeting to discuss changes to the army and plans for the future of the rebellion.

After all of the men had sat down at the table in front of his throne, Ulfric addressed them saying, "Gentlemen, thank you for coming on such short notice," those words were more ceremonial than anything else, they all knew that when a Jarl called, there was no denying the summons. It was something that had bothered Ulfric when he had been a youth, and it still did to some extent, although he could see the usefulness of it now. "A change has been made to the ranks of the Stormcloak officers, one that I think you should all be made aware of."

A few people frowned in confusion while others nodded as if they had been expecting this announcement for some time although Ulfric doubted any of them could guess what he was about to say. "There are many brave daughters of Skyrim who fight under my banner, and it was past time that I instate a female among my officers," Ulfric stated. Most of the men murmured their agreement. While the people of Skyrim had their flaws, they could almost all appreciate that you needed all the help you could get in a fight and it didn't matter what gender the person who wielded the sword was as long as they got the job done.

"But I did not choose Vara Oaken-Song simply because she was a woman," Ulfric heard a few people in the room gasp but carried on with his speech anyway. "I chose her because she is strong and steadfast in her beliefs. She loves Skyrim and all of the people who live here just as much as any of you. Most importantly though, she is not blinded by a storied military career. She sees things as they truly are, without the fog of war to cloud her vision."

Before Ulfric could say anything more, one of the men stood up angrily. His name was Holdrir, and he was younger than most of the other members of the council. He had been a member of Ulfric's army for a brief time, but then his father had died from a sudden illness and the man had had to return to Windhelm to care for his family and their farm. "My jarl, you cannot seriously believe that this half-breed outsider can offer anything to the Stormcloaks that the true sons and daughters of Skyrim could not!"

Ulfric set his jaw. Had he really been like this young man who stood before him only a few months ago? Ulfric found it hard to believe, but he knew that on some level, it was true. "Yes," Ulfric declared in a startlingly calm voice. "I do. Let me tell you why." Ulfric rose from his throne and stepped forward until he stood at the head of the table. "My army is full of brave Nord men and women who are willing to spill blood and have their blood spilled in order to see Skyrim and her people free. But how can we fight for the people of Skyrim, if our army does not represent all of the people of Skyrim?"

One by one, Ulfric looked each of the councilmembers in the eyes as he continued. "Skyrim might our ancestral homeland, but it is home to more than just us. Anyone who wants to see Skyrim free from the oppression of the Empire and the Thalmor is a true son or daughter of Skyrim at heart, even if their ears are pointed or their skin is a different color from yours." That had been a hard lesson for Ulfric to learn, and if he was being honest with himself, he hadn't quite finished learning it yet.

A man to Ulfric's right scoffed. "She's one of them! Do you really think she cares about any of us? She's an elf! They don't care about anyone other than themselves. She could be a Thalmor spy for all we know!"

Anger began to boil in Ulfric's veins. Logically, he knew it was hypocritical of him to feel this way, but he couldn't help it. How could these men be so short-sighted? Why couldn't they see that she was different from them? "Do you think that I have forgotten the crimes that the Thalmor have committed against Skyrim, against me?" Ulfric asked in a deathly cold voice. The man shook his head, fear clouding his features. "I haven't. She is not the Thalmor. In fact, I would bet that she hates them as much as anyone in this room does." Except for himself, of course. After what those elves had done to him, there was a burning part of his soul reserved for his anger for them. It was an anger that never dimmed and never wavered.

"If you doubt her loyalty to Skyrim and the Stormcloak banner, she will prove it. As we speak, she trains the newest recruits for battle and in two weeks time will lead them to the Rift border where they will patrol for Imperial raiding parties. Perhaps, if you doubt her so much, you would like to volunteer to go with her and oversee the troops?"

The men shuffled uneasily in their seats and looked away from Ulfric, as he had known they would. Several of these men had been soldiers in their youth, but the fire of battle had dimmed in their souls, replaced with a fat comfort gained through years of easy living even as the people around them suffered. Talos, but Ulfric hated politics!

Ulfric took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose before saying, " Anyone with further concerns about my appointment of Varaduilwe Oaken-Song as an officer in the ranks of the Stormcloaks may address them to Jorleif." Ulfric nodded to his steward who stood by the throne, a quill and paper in hand as he hurried to finish recording everything that had been said during the meeting. "You are dismissed." Ulfric turned and strode from the room before any of the councilmen had even moved. It would have been better for him to wait and address the complaints that were sure to come in person, but he found that he simply didn't have the patience to do that at the moment.

He turned down the hallway and acknowledged the guards who nodded to him as he passed. It felt unnecessary to have so many men patrolling the hallways, but Ulfric knew that the men would provide everyone with a bolstered sense of safety and confidence, especially since the Thalmor assassin had tried to kill Vara. Ulfric shook his head wearily and pushed open the metal gates, stepping into the courtyard beyond.

The men stood in a ring around the center of the courtyard, and as Ulfric watched, they split to reveal Vara standing over a man at least twice her weight who was lying sprawled in the dirt. Ulfric shook his head with a faint smile before striding up to the men, who parted before him. He noted as he passed that they weren't all men, among them stood a nord woman with vibrant red hair who wore a slight smirk on her lips.

Ulfric stepped into the ring and nodded to Vara, who nodded back with an adrenaline-fueled grin. "How goes training, Oaken-Song?"

Vara saluted right fist over her heart in a crisp gesture. "Well enough. I think these farmers might have realized that their footwork is more important than they thought," she stated with a laugh that pulled Ulfric's lips into a faint grin. The nord on the ground next to Vara groaned and slowly stood. The man brushed dirt off of his uniform and shot Vara a glare, but Vara merely raised an eyebrow and kept her playful expression. The man grumbled something under his breath but joined his fellow soldiers in the ring that now surrounded Ulfric and Vara.

Ulfric gestured for Vara to speak with him, and she nodded then turned to the men around her. "Pair off and practice what I showed you, no weapons. General Stonefist plans to have you start combat drills tomorrow, so you'd better get this down before then!" she ordered, and the men immediately broke, splitting into pairs across the courtyard as she had told them to.

Ulfric frowned appreciatively. "It seems you're a natural at giving orders, Vara. I have to admit I didn't quite expect that."

Vara raised an eyebrow at his words. "You made me an officer in your army before I was even sworn in thinking that I couldn't give orders? What were you expecting me to do, Ulfric?"

Ulfric couldn't quite hide the grin that crossed his face. It was good to hear Vara speak openly like this, even if her loose tongue was more likely to the adrenaline pumping through her than anything else; it was a feeling he often missed these days, shut up in meetings as often as he was.

"I had confidence that you would manage, I just think it would happen this quickly," Ulfric said with a chuckle, looking out once more at the men around him. His eyes found the only woman, other than Vara, in the courtyard. She was fighting with the man who Vara had defeated as Ulfric had walked in. Her face was set determinedly, something that Ulfric could see even from where he was standing on the other side of the yard from her.

Vara followed his gaze and nodded. "Her name is Rikkria. She seems to have a natural talent for fighting with a blade and she's more than willing to work for it. She nearly put me on the ground when we grappled."

"There are times when the men of Skyrim underestimate the women. She is simply more proof of how wrong those men are," Ulfric stated. Together he and Vara watched the pairs train for a while longer. Ulfric broke the silence between them by saying, "I informed my council of your recruitment to and subsequent elevation in the Stormcloak ranks. Their reactions were interesting, to say the least."

Vara laughed but didn't seem offended. "How many people accused me of being a Thalmor spy?" she asked.

Ulfric snorted, a fact he blamed on his court wizard. "Hroggir did. He said that you are the same race as the Thalmor, and therefore didn't care about Skyrim."

Vara shrugged. "Well, he got part of it right, but not really. Honestly, I have pointed ears, but everyone seems to forget that my skin is as pale as any nord's."

"True," Ulfric mused. "I told the council that you want to see Skyrim free just as much as they do and that that makes you a daughter of Skyrim, regardless of race. They grumbled about it, but they won't contradict the word of their jarl. Especially not when it could cost them their comfortable seat on my council." Ulfric tried to keep the contempt out of his voice, but judging by the amused look on Vara's face, he failed.

"I went hunting yesterday and have a fine cut of venison that needs to be eaten. Would you like to join me for dinner?" Vara asked.

Ulfric blinked for a moment, the question had caught him off guard. Then he nodded, "It would be nice to get away from the Palace for a little while, thank you."

Vara chuckled then turned away to face the soldiers. "Men, by the time the sun reaches this courtyard, you should be here and be ready to train. Dismissed!" The men immediately broke apart and began to stream out of the courtyard, a few bantering with one another on the way out, although most were silent. Ulfric could remember his first day of training when he had joined the Empire to fight in the Great War before they signed away his right to free worship. Shaking his head to clear it of thought, Ulfric turned to Vara and offered her his arm. She took it with a soft laugh, and together they exited the courtyard as the sun set, coloring the grey stones golden with its light.

Chapter Text

Vara’s home was warm and cozy, providing a very different atmosphere from the constant chill that seemed to cling to the palace, even when all the fires within glowed brightly. For a moment, Ulfric longed for his life to be a simpler one. He quickly pushed that thought away as there was no use dwelling on things that couldn’t happen. Ulfric stepped up to Vara, who stood over a fire in her kitchen, carefully roasting a cut of venison.

“Can I help with anything, Vara. I feel bad letting you cook while I watch,” Ulfric asked.

“Hmm, that depends. Can you make a vegetable soup for the two of us?” Vara asked with a teasing lilt to her voice and a twinkle in her eye.

Ulfric raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t help the way his lips twitched upwards. “Just because I’m a jarl and have a cook doesn’t mean that I can’t cook,” he stated, crossing his arms in front of himself.

“No, it just means your lazy,” Vara replied, turning back to the venison, but not before Ulfric saw the smirk dancing on her lips. Ulfric started to defend himself, but Vara cut him off saying, “The ingredients should be over there,” she gestured to the other side of the room where a few barrels and several large sacks were piled. “and you’ll find a pot over there,” she pointed to another firepit where several pots were stacked haphazardly. “Although you might have to search to find one that isn’t dusty. I’ve been meaning to rinse them all out, but I haven’t had much time.”

Ulfric followed her directions and gathered the ingredients he figured he would need. While it was true that he could cook, he had been in the Imperial army, after all, it had been awhile, he couldn’t quite remember this particular recipe. He found a clean pot, after going through several coated with a fine layer of dust, and then began to make the soup as best he could remember.

For a while, there was silence in the room, except for the crackling of the fires. Then Ulfric broke the silence by saying, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, but I haven’t been sure how to word my question.”

Although Vara’s back was turned to him, he could almost hear the faint smile in her voice when she responded. “And what might that be?”

Ulfric hesitated for a moment, trying to decide the best way to say what he wanted to say. Eventually, he said, “You’ve lived in the woods for most of your life, but you are very knowledgeable about the affairs of a jarl’s court and how the city is run.”

Vara turned away from the venison to face him. “You’re wondering how I learned so much living away from civilization.” Ulfric nodded, hoping he hadn’t offended her with his query. “Let me tell you a secret, jarl of Windhelm. There are these magical things bound in leather called books.” Vara said with a laugh and turned back to the venison, which looked almost done.

“My parents believed that knowledge was powerful, and so they tried to teach me everything that they could. Anytime they went into the city, they would return with new books for me to read.” Ulfric could hear the fondness in her voice as she continued, the same one he always heard whenever Vara spoke of her childhood. “I am also very observant. When my parents took me to Windhelm, I would ask people questions and watch everything that went on. Sometimes, my mother would tell me stories of her life in Windhelm, and I would ask her all kinds of questions about the smallest things. I love learning, Ulfric.”

Ulfric nodded, he should have expected as much from a woman as astute as Vara was. “Your parents sound like good people. People that my mother would have liked,” Ulfric said. “My mother always preferred to speak with someone and learn about their way of life and their view on things than argue with them.”

Vara pulled the venison off the spit it had been turning on and began to cut it into two separate pieces as she said, “Wuunferth told me a few stories about the Lady of Windhelm. She was a good woman.”

“Yes, she was,” Ulfric agreed softly. Then he took the soup off of the fire and poured it into the two bowls that Vara had set out on the table. Vara placed the venison and the two of them sat.

Before either of them ate, Vara offered a short prayer to Talos. “Talos, bless this food and the those who helped to provide it. Bless this city that it may keep You always in its thoughts, and bless it with your watchful gaze. Amen.”

“Amen,” Ulfric echoed, and as he opened his eyes following the prayer, they caught sight of the amulet around Vara’s neck and smiled. Then they both dug into the food in front of them with gusto.

For several moments the only sound was that of spoons and knives clinking against plates and bowls. Eventually, Vara took a break from eating to say, “You forgot to add salt to the soup.”

Ulfric frowned. At first, he hadn’t remembered the recipe, but towards the end, he had been fairly certain that he had gotten it right. “No, I’m fairly certain vegetable soup doesn’t have any salt in it. Most stews and soups do, but not vegetable soup.” As he spoke, Ulfric’s voice grew more and more confident. Yes, he was sure he had made the soup correctly.

To his surprise, Vara laughed. “You’re right. I noticed you looked a little confused when you were making it, and I couldn’t help myself,” she swallowed another spoonful of the soup then said, “It’s actually not bad, for a jarl.”

Outwardly, Ulfric ignored the jest although he had to hold back a smile. He took a few more bites of the venison, which was very good, but he wasn’t going to tell Vara that. Instead, he asked another question, “Your magic, the spark weaving, I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it another tradition from the Summerset Isles?”

Vara shook her head, then frowned. “I don’t think so, but it could be?” her tone made the answer sound more like a question. “My father never spoke much about the Isles. The only reason I know that my bo staff is part of Altmeri tradition is because I saw it mentioned in one of the books I had and then begged my father to tell me more.” Once again, Vara’s eyes took on a distant look before she refocused them and shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think that magic-weaving is a particularly Altmer tradition. In fact, it might come from the Bretons, considering they are one of the most gifted races in the magical arts.”

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. It amazed him how curious he was about Vara’s past and her Altmeri heritage. When he had been fighting the elves in the Great War, he hadn’t cared about their culture. He pulled himself from his memories with some effort to ask another question. “Do the shapes and patterns create have some kind of meaning?”

Vara smiled and shook her head. “If by ‘meaning’ you are referring to magical meaning, the answer is no. They are simply patterns and shapes.” Ulfric nodded, but before he could say anything else, electricity began to pool in Vara’s hands. Ulfric watched, entranced, as she moved her hands leaving purple sparks hanging in the air. A few moments later, a wolf made of electricity hovered above the table, it’s maw opened in a silent howl. Vara examined it with a critical eye before waving her hand, causing the wolf to dissolve into the air, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone.

“Now it’s my turn to ask the questions,” Vara stated, and Ulfric had to suppress a faint shiver of fear at the glint in her eyes. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t afraid of the questions she might ask. He nodded for her to continue anyway. “What, Ulfric Stormcloak, does it feel like to Shout?”

Ulfric blinked. Of all of the questions Ulfric had figured Vara would ask, that was not one of them. “I’m sorry?” He asked, not really understanding the question.

Vara leaned forward eagerly. “What does it feel like to Shout? To use a magic so ancient and so powerful? To claim it as your own?”

Ulfric took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. How could he even begin to describe the feeling? “It’s like having something straining inside of you, pushing to be let out as the Shout builds. As if the Shout is alive. As soon as you open your mouth, the Shout rushes out. Power surges through you, and you feel free.” Ulfric paused and shook his head. He couldn’t do the feeling justice; there simply weren’t words that could describe it. Eventually, he settled for saying, “There is nothing else like it.”

Vara didn't seem disappointed by his vague description. In fact, her eyes were practically glowing with excitement as she asked her next question. “Does each Shout feel different?”

Ulfric nodded. “I spent several years with the Greybeards on High Hrothgar, but I only learned a few Shouts. Each Word of power took at least a year to master, and there are three per Shout,” Ulfric explained, and Vara nodded eagerly. “Each Word within the Shout feels slightly different, and the Shouts themselves are unique.”

Ulfric didn’t know how long he and Vara sat there, talking about Shouts, magic, and the history of its use in Skyrim. It was far from the kind of discussions Ulfric usually had, which always seemed to center on war, politics or both, but he found himself engaged anyway. It didn’t seem like much time had passed, but when Ulfric looked over at the fires, he was shocked to see that they had burned down to embers. Vara saw his gaze and started; she must have lost track of the time as well.

Vara stood suddenly and began to clear the dishes from the small table. “I apologize for keeping you so long, Ulfric. I’m sure you need rest after today.” Her hair covered her face as she bent down to grab his bowl, but not before Ulfric saw the faint blush that dusted her cheeks.

Ulfric shook his head. “I don’t get much sleep anyway,” he said with an offhanded wave, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he froze. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

Vara frowned slightly but didn’t comment on the statement. Instead, she carried the dishes to the other side of the kitchen and began to clean them. Ulfric watched as she carefully froze the dishes and then melted the ice with a flame that she summoned in her hand. She poured some kind of potion on them and then repeated the process before setting them in the cupboard next to her. Finally, she said, “Thank you for tonight.” Something in her tone made it sound like she wanted to say more, but instead, she turned back to the dishes, inspecting them for stains that weren’t there.

Ulfric recognized the words as a dismissal, and he smiled as he rose from his chair. “Thank you, Vara. For everything that you’ve done today,” Ulfric said with genuine happiness in his voice. Talos, he was in the middle of a war and had just inducted an officer with no war experience, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at peace. Vara looked back, and the two shared a silent glance filled with emotions Ulfric couldn’t define. Then he turned away and slipped from the house closing the door softly behind him.

When he finally fell asleep later that night, there were no nightmares waiting for him. For the first time in a long time, Ulfric actually felt rested when he awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through his window.

Vara pushed open the door to the war room. She had left the recruits doing partner drills and came to find Galmar. The general was supposed to be going over more complicated combat drills with the soldiers today, and Vara figured the war room was a good place to start her search.

As Vara stepped into the room, she saw Galmar and another Stormcloak officer deep in conversation. She was about to leave, she didn’t want to interrupt anything important when she overheard just what Galmar was saying. “...Gonnar is an idiot. He put a hundred septims and his best dagger on the second. It’s obvious that they’re about to-”. Galmar cut his words off suddenly and looked up at Vara.

“Betting, are we?” Vara asked with a smile.

Galmar and the other officer exchanged a hurried glance, then Galmar said, “It isn’t betting if you know you’re going to win.” The other officer leveled Galmar with an unamused look which the general ignored.

Vara shook her head and chuckled, strolling over to the table. “Any chance I can prove you wrong?”

Once again, the two officers exchanged a look that Vara couldn’t read. Eventually, Galmar said, “No. You’d lose. Also, I believe you have recruits to train.”

Vara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. After spending so long in Windhelm, Galmar felt like an annoying older cousin or something, and it was hard for her to remember that he was technically her superior, which meant she had to show him her respect. That didn’t stop her from saying, “Technically, you are supposed to be teaching them a new combat drill right now.”

The officer next to Ulfric shook his head with a smile and thumped Galmar on the back. “She has you there, Stonefist. Ulfric sure knows how to choose ‘em.” The man stepped past Vara and headed for the door, but stopped before leaving to add, “Tell Gonnar I’m raising my bet by fifty.” Galmar didn’t reply other than the scowl he shot the man, who only chuckled again before leaving.

Galmar glared at Vara as he moved towards the door, but Vara’s smile only widened. As Galmar stalked past her he said, “Don’t look so smug Oaken-Song, or I might put you out there with the rest of the soldiers.”

“Yes, sir,” Vara said with a salute. She couldn’t quite stifle her grin though, and Galmar just shook his head and gestured for her to follow him.

The recruits were still training in their pairs when she and Galmar walked into the courtyard, a fact Vara appreciated. In hindsight, she probably should have gotten someone else to watch the soldiers and make sure they continued training, but it seemed like that wasn’t a problem. What was a problem, however, were the two nords fighting on one side of the yard. In a glance, Vara could tell that it was more than a friendly sparring match; the two were fighting too viciously for that.

Beside her, Galmar muttered a curse under his breath and then strode across the courtyard toward the pair of redheaded soldiers. Vara followed, and as she got closer, she realized that Rikkria was one of the soldiers. The other seemed to be Jorgrek, a man who was very outspoken about how he felt having to be trained by a woman. Vara would bet good money that that was what the current fight had stemmed from.

“Soldiers! Stand down!” Galmar bellowed, and the courtyard fell silent. Rikkria and Jorgrek broke apart but continued to watch each other warily as Galmar stepped up to them. Vara could practically feel the anger radiating off of him as he growled, “We are trying to free Skyrim and take back our lives from those faithless elves! How are we supposed to do that if we can’t go two days without fighting? You are the hope of Skyrim!”

The two recruits, to their credit, didn’t flinch under Galmar’s harsh gaze. Neither said anything, and the tension in the air grew. Eventually, a soldier stepped out of the crowd and saluted Galmar. “Sir!”

Galmar turned his gaze to the blonde soldier. “What is your name, soldier?” he asked, the dangerous growl still coloring his voice.

“Ralof, sir!” the man responded immediately, not relaxing his stance. Galmar nodded and gestured for him to continue. “Sir, I was Rikkria’s partner while we were doing our drills. The entire time we were sparing, Jorgrek was shouting insults at her from across the courtyard.”

Galmar turned back to the two, who were glaring at each other with open hostility. “Is that true, Jorgrek?”

The man looked Galmar straight in the eye as he responded. “I was only stating the truth, sir.”

Galmar opened his mouth to say something, but Rikkria interrupted him. “The truth? I’ll show you the truth you skeever!” She lunged for Jorgrek, but Vara jumped in front of her and held her back. If the look in the woman’s wild eyes was anything to go by, Jorgrek was lucky to be standing.

“Stand. Down,” Galmar ordered in a cold tone. For a moment, Rikkria continued to push against Vara, trying to free herself. Then, she let out a hissing breath and relaxed, although her green eyes still held a burning rage.

“Sir, that skeever isn’t fit to wear the Stormcloak colors,” Rikkria spat. “If he had his way, Skyrim would be full of men dying in glorious battle while the women kept the house clean for husbands who would never return!”

Galmar raised an eyebrow. “Soldier,” he said, turning back to Jorgrek. “Do you have something you would like to say, considering the fact that Commander Oaken-Song is here?”

The man opened his mouth and then froze. His eyes darted between Vara, who stood with her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, and Rikkria, who looked more than ready to fight him again for as long as she had to. Finally, he swallowed and said, “No, sir.”

Galmar narrowed his eyes and glared at the two of them before turning towards the rest of the recruits. “You are the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim. You are the hope of the people. Anyone who can’t put aside their differences can leave,” he stated, looking each soldier in the eye in turn. No one moved. “Anyone caught fighting will be turning their uniform in by the next morning. Understand?” The recruits broke out of their trance to salute Galmar, who grumbled something under his breath and then began to explain the combat drills. Vara couldn’t help but admire the way that once Galmar began to explain the drills, he was able to keep his anger out of his voice, although most of the soldiers still looked terrified, and Vara couldn’t exactly blame them.

Galmar left not long after he had finished explaining everything. Vara guided the soldiers, joining in on a few of the drills herself, and letting the time slip away. Before long, the sun was setting, and Vara dismissed everyone, except for Rikkria. The woman walked over, defiance in her eyes. Vara held up her hands in a gesture of peace and said, “I’m not going to yell at you, Rikkria.” The woman didn’t look like she believed her, but she stepped closer anyway. “When you were fighting, I could see your passion. That passion will serve you well if you learn to channel it.” Channeling her emotions was one of the key elements of magic, especially the more complicated spells.

“I was just defending our honor. I can fight as well as any man, and I am willing to die for this land just as much as they are!” Anger crept back into the woman’s voice, and she took a deep breath before continuing, “I’m a woman, but I am not fragile.”

Vara smiled softly. “I know. Now go sleep, and don’t be surprised if Jorgrek changes his attitude overnight.”

Rikkria grinned slightly and saluted before turning and walking across the shadow-strewn courtyard. Vara watched her go before turning away and heading for her house, a slight smile decorating her lips. If this was what being a Stormcloak meant, she was more than ready.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about this, Ulfric?”

The sound of Galmar’s gruff voice drew Ulfric from his thoughts. Vara was speaking to Wuunferth, likely trying to convince the wizard that she would be fine, although judging by the way his brow furrowed she wasn’t having much success. “What, yes I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Galmar raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, maybe because Oaken-Song will be gone for an entire month?”

Ulfric frowned in confusion. “My court has functioned for years before Vara arrived, and the army has done the same.” Originally, Vara was only going to stay with the newest recruits on the border for a week, but the council had convinced him that she could use the time out in the field. Even though he was fairly certain that the council members only wanted her out of Windhelm for as long as possible, they did have a point. Vara was inexperienced, and this would be a good opportunity for her.

Galmar shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about the court or the army. I was talking about you.” Ulfric’s eyes had drifted back to Vara, but they snapped back at his old friend’s words.

“What do you mean?” There was a hint of defensiveness in Ulfric’s tone that he couldn’t quite hide. It wasn’t like he was incapable of functioning without Vara Oaken-Song by his side, even if she did make the days more bearable.

Galmar only laughed. “Don’t be so defensive, Ulfric. You and I both know that you enjoy her company.”

Ulfric huffed. “That doesn’t mean I can’t live without her. This will be a good experience for her, and we need someone to watch the troops while you train the next batch.” Galmar didn’t say anything, but the smirk that crossed his lips irritated Ulfric for a reason he couldn’t reasonably explain. With a huff, Ulfric stalked away from Galmar and toward where Vara and Wuunferth stood.

“It’s only for a month. Besides, I got you enough ingredients to last at least that long, and you know Ninesea would be glad to help.”

Ulfric came to a stop behind Vara as Wuunferth snorted and shook his head, “Honestly, child. Do you really think I’m worried about a few plants? I am more than capable of gathering my own ingredients.”

Although he couldn’t see her face, Ulfric could hear the teasing smile in Vara’s voice as she responded, “Are you sure? I know how the cold can make old bones ache.” Vara’s voice grew serious as she continued. “I’ll be fine, Wuunferth. I’ve spent the past few weeks training, and I’ve lived in the woods for a long time.”

The wizard only glared, and so Ulfric added his own reassurance. “Vara will be safe, I promise you. There have been a few Imperial raids in the area, but they aren’t anything that the soldiers can’t handle. They are new, yes, but they do have skill.” Over the past two weeks, the soldiers had improved drastically, something that Ulfric attributed at least in part to Vara’s presence. The woman had an air about her that seemed to make the soldiers want to be better and work harder.

Wuunferth humphed, but didn’t contradict him. Vara, on the other hand, turned towards him with a smile. “Ulfric! I thought you weren’t going to be coming. Galmar told me you had an important meeting with the council to attend.”

“The meeting was moved.” In reality, Ulfric had outright canceled the meeting, although Jorlief would likely insist that he reschedule it. Thank Talos he had someone in his court who paid attention to this kind of thing. “Besides, it’s good for morale for the men to see their commander before they leave.” That, at least, was true, even if it wasn’t the main reason he had come.

Vara nodded, accepting the answer. She looked down at her uniform briefly before saying. “I still can’t believe I’m wearing this.”

Ulfric chuckled. Vara was dressed in a Stormcloak officer uniform, although the outfit had been tailored to be lighter and more tight fitting than the others. She had once again refused a helmet, her long white hair tied up in a no-nonsense ponytail. “It is fitting, despite how you might feel. The soldiers see you as a leader, and now you look the part. Even Jorgrek is willing to follow you, barring the occasional grumble.”

Vara didn’t look certain, but she did stand a little taller, her right hand resting easily on the hilt of her sword. “Thank you, Ulfric. I realize that this is a risk for you, and I appreciate your trust in me.”

Ulfric smiled softly. “It isn’t a risk.”

Vara held his gaze for a moment, a grateful smile lingering on her lips. Then she turned towards the rest of the men who were gathered in front of the gates. They all spoke in excited tones, an excitement that Ulfric could remember feeling before his first missions. “Men,” Vara called, and the group of soldiers fell silent. “You have trained hard for the past few weeks, and I would be lying if I said that you don’t deserve a break.” A few of the men shouted their agreement, but Vara ignored them as she continued. “But you are soldiers, and Skyrim will not wait to be freed. You all know that we will be stationed on the border with the Rift. Some of you have said that this is a waste, that we should be taking the fight to the Imperials.” A few of the men glanced down guiltily at her words.

“But war is more than just fighting in glorious battles and leading charges against the enemy! If everyone were off taking the fight to the Imperials, who would stop them from invading our cities and plundering our farms? We are the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim, and we will protect our motherland, even if that means guarding borders instead of assaulting forts.” The men began to nod, then smile, then cheer.

Ulfric stepped up beside Vara, and the men cheered again before falling silent, standing attentively. For a moment, Ulfric said nothing and simply looked over the soldiers. They were eager; he could see it in their faces and the way they held themselves. There was so much that they didn’t know of war, so many hard truths they hadn’t learned. Looking at them, Ulfric could almost see the future that they would face. The excited gleam in their eyes would dull, their freshly washed uniforms would be stained with sweat and blood, and their numbers would shrink. The pain of it almost overwhelmed Ulfric. How could he send these men and women to war knowing that it would change them?

Then Ulfric saw something else. The future that played out in his mind grew brighter. He saw the men and women become brothers and sisters. He saw laughter and pride in one another. He saw the Stormcloak banner being raised and he heard the cheer full of hope and defiance and memory. Ulfric blinked, and the vision was gone.

“You,” he said, his voice ringing through the air, “are the sons and daughters of Skyrim. You have heard those words before and you will hear them again. Remember them and believe them. You are family and family fights for one another.” Ulfric concluded his short speech and stepped back as the men cheered.

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” Vara whispered teasingly. “These men aren’t exactly about to storm Solitude.”

Ulfric shrugged. “True. They still need inspiration though, words to think on while they are standing in the rain, guarding a border that hasn’t seen a conflict in weeks.”

Vara nodded thoughtfully and stepped closer to look Ulfric in the eyes. “And you are willing to be that inspiration, to carry the hopes of an entire army, an entire country, on your shoulders?”

Ulfric looked into Vara’s green-gold eyes and nodded. “I am.”

Vara held his gaze for a few more moments, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she turned away and walked over to where her men stood. Ulfric watched as they parted for her, then formed ranks behind her. They would march out of the city in formation, but after an hour or so, they would break into smaller groups, which were faster and more functional. The formation was more for the citizens who were gathered around to see. It gave people a boost of confidence and morale to see soldiers in rank, looking as if they were ready to fight should the need arise.

Vara turned back towards Ulfric, and the soldiers followed her movement. As one, they saluted him in a sharp gesture. He dipped his head slightly and caught Vara’s eyes. The smile had left her face, her lips set in a firm line. He couldn’t help but think that she simply looked right standing there at the head of the soldiers. She held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned, the soldiers doing the same. Together, they marched from the city. Ulfric watched them go and sighed heavily, Galmar was right, a month was a long time.

“Keep going, men! We want to be at the border by nightfall!” Vara ordered her voice carrying on the crisp Skyrim wind. They had covered most of the distance to the post yesterday, but there was still at least another three hours of walking ahead of them. Vara sighed inwardly, shifting her pack to her other shoulder. Alone, she could have made this trip in a day, but she had fifty soldiers following her.

Vara stopped, allowing a few groups to pass her until she was side b side with Ralof. The man had volunteered to care for the two pack horses during the short march. “Ralof, how are the horses doing?” Vara asked.

“Well, ma’am. We don’t have much to carry, as everyone has their armor and rations with them. These boys only have to carry a few tents and some pots.” Ralof replied, patting one of the animals on the side as he spoke. Vara nodded, accepting the soldier’s report. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t know much about horses. Her family had never owned one and she had only read a few things about the animals. She would have to learn to ride one if she was going to be traveling across Skyrim, so she made a mental note to ask Ulfric about it once she got back to Windhelm.

Vara quickened her pace, returning to the front of the soldiers. As she walked, her mind drifted, and before she knew it, the sun was fading, and they had reached the post. Post was probably too generous a term. I reality, the place was simply a large clearing in the woods and a hastily constructed cabin. Vara surveyed the area with a critical eye then began to deal out orders.

“I need tents set up on the west side of the clearing! Ralof, bring the horses around and tie them up near the cabin and get someone to help you unload everything. I want a fire here,” she gestured to a spot a little ways away from the cabin, “Everyone else, start dividing into groups of ten and check the area.”

The men were still for a moment, then everyone burst into action. Vara watched with a slight smile for a few moments. She still wasn’t used to giving out orders, and she was even less used to people obeying those orders. Then she moved into the center of the clearing and began to cast a spell. Several of the soldiers shot her distrustful looks, but they were quickly reprimanded by the others. Vara ignored their looks and let the magic pool into her hands, she let it collect for a moment before pouring it into the ground. The magic danced across the grass, spreading outward in a ring from where she stood until the magic surrounded the edge of the clearing. Vara took a deep breath. The spell, if she had done it right, should minimize the amount of noise that could be heard coming from the clearing. It wouldn’t eliminate the noises all together, but it would make them sound duller and more natural.

After a few more minutes, almost everything was set up. The soldiers were in five groups, each gathered around a fire. Vara strode up to the soldiers, who turned towards her at her approach. “Tonight, you may use the rest of your rations. Fires must be out by midnight.” A few of the soldiers groaned at that, and Vara shook her head. These men would have to learn to sleep in darkness, and cold, if they wanted to make it very far in the army. “Each squad needs to identify a person with hunting experience. They will be in charge of food for tomorrow.” Vara continued her instructions, assigning certain duties to everyone. When she was done, she gestured for Rikkria to follow her and headed to the cabin.

Once she reached the cabin door, she turned around and leaned against the wood. “Tomorrow, we’ll start rotations. We only need twenty people out patrolling at a time, and everyone else will be training. I can’t be in two places at once, so I need people who can be my in between.” Rikkria nodded sharply. Vara had spoken to Galmar about this before they had left, and the general had approved of the idea. “You and Ralof have come the farthest so far, and I would like to put the two of you in charge. Specifically, I would like you to oversee training. You would have to continue your own as well, of course, but you would also help those who need more specialized guidance.” For a moment, the red-haired woman said nothing. Then she nodded and saluted Vara in a crisp movement.

“Yes, ma’am! It would be an honor, ma’am.” Rikkria’s face was set in a firm expression, but Vara could see the excitement glimmering in her eyes.

“Very well, soldier. Dismissed.” Vara watched Rikkria walk back in the fading light, before slipping inside of the cabin.

Inside, the single room cabin was dark.Vara cast a spell, and a ball of light floated in the air above her head, allowing her to see her surroundings. On one side of the room was a fireplace, which appeared to be a remnant of an older structure that must have once stood here. There were still logs in it, so Vara carefully summoned a flame to her fingers and touched the wood. It caught fire, and within a few moments, the fire was burning merrily. That done, Vara turned to the rest of the room and surveyed it with a critical eye. She spent the next hour or so cleaning the place up as best she could. Ulfric had told her that there was a cabin at the post, but he had failed to mention the fact that it had been abandoned for over a year. Finally, she looked over her work, smiling softly and then lay down in the cot she had made. She fell asleep to the sounds of the soldiers talking and laughing.

When Vara woke, dawn was just beginning to break. After rising and changing into her old hunter’s garb, rather than the officer uniforms that she had worn for the past few days, Vara strapped on her sword and left the cabin. Outside, the soldiers were already awake, tending to fires and cooking their catches from their morning hunts, amulets of Talos glinting in the early light. Vara strode to the middle of the clearing and stood there, looking over the men. Several of the soldiers stopped what they were doing to salute her, and she returned the gestures with a curt nod. For a few moments, she stood there silently, planning the day. Then she called out to the soldiers.

“Attention!” her voice ran across the clearing, and the men responded instantly with crisp salutes. They may have only been part of the army for a few weeks, but they understood the significance of a salute. “Every morning, you will be up at dawn, just as you were in Windhelm. Twenty men will patrol the border while the rest of you continue training. But first, we will pray.” A few of the soldiers looked confused by her announcement, but most of them immediately knelt and closed their eyes, holding their amulets tightly as they prayed. After a few minutes, everyone was standing again. “Never forget why we fight. Never forget the Divines, all nine of them.” Vara’s voice was quiet, but there was an energy in it that seemed to wash over the soldiers who stood before her. There was silence for a few moments, then Vara began to deal out orders and detail the plans for the day to the men. Before long, the clearing was bustling with movement.

Vara decided to patrol the border with the other soldiers. She placed Rikkria in charge of overseeing the training and cast another spell around the clearing just to be safe before she left. The entire border that the Rift shared with Eastmarch was fairly large, but Vara and her soldiers were only responsible for a portion of it. The rest was being patrolled by two other groups of soldiers, including the group that Vara had first helped Galmar with those months ago.

She split the soldiers into three groups, joining one herself. Each group of seven had a leader who carried a horn that they could use to signal the others if they ran into trouble. Once she was certain everything was in order, she sent the groups off with orders to stay along the border and never stray too far. Her own group set off last to patrol the westernmost part of the border.

The woods were quiet, and when Vara breathed in the smells of the forest brought a smile to her lips. She had been so busy training the recruits the past few weeks, she hadn’t had a chance to go out and hunt, and it felt good to be out in the woods again. “Ma’am?” A soldier’s hesitant voice drew Vara from her thoughts.

“Yes, soldier?”

The man glanced down as if he was embarrassed, but one of the other soldiers gave him a friendly nudge and he said, “Well, it’s just that a lot of us are curious about your past, see. You seem to know a lot about training soldiers, but you also know about livin’ in the woods.” Several of the men nodded, supporting their friend’s statement.

Vara chuckled. “Spending your entire childhood in the woods is a good way to learn to live in them. I lived with my parents as a hunter until two years ago.” Vara paused to push the pain to the back of her mind and forced a smile on her face. “As for experience in commanding and training soldiers, I have considerably less experience. In fact, I believe it amounts to a grand total of about a month.” Vara stated with a faint grin.

The men frowned in confusion, then a few of them began to laugh. The soldier who had first spoken up broke off his chuckling to say, “Well, you could’ve fooled us, ma’am!” Vara smiled but didn’t reply. Instead, she continued to lead them along the border, eyes open for any danger.

Chapter Text

Metal shined in the dappled light of the clearing as the soldiers performed their training routines. Vara couldn’t help but smile proudly as she watched. The soldiers had been at the post for a little less than two weeks, and they were already looking much better. She had a feeling that the boost in their performance was partially thanks to the change of scenery. Out here on the border, the men felt like true soldiers, not just recruits, and they trained like it.

As Vara watched, the men completed the combat drill and broke off into pairs before she could even say anything. Today they would practice using weapons that they normally didn’t. It was an exercise Galmar had suggested, and it wasn’t difficult for Vara to understand why. These soldiers would be fighting for their lives eventually, and while they would likely be far better at one weapon than the others, they would have to make do with whatever they could find.

A particular dueling pair caught her eye; Rikkria was sparring with Jorgrek. Vara’s hand moved to the sword at her waist, ready to jump between the two if she had to. To her surprise though, the two actually appeared to be exchanging friendly conversation as they fought. Vara stepped closer and saw the smiles on both of the soldiers’ faces. Not sneers but true smiles. Apparently, Vara had missed something between the two soldiers in these past few days.

The duel came to an end, with Jorgrek holding his ax at Rikkria’s throat, securing his victory. Rikkria pushed the weapon away with one finger. “Don’t look so smug, Jorgrek,” she said, a smile still pulling at the edge of her lips despite her defeat. “We both know that if I had my ax, you would lose before you had the chance to swing.” Vara nodded to herself. Rikkria had shown a remarkable amount of skill with an ax. That natural talent, however, didn’t appear to extend to the mace that she had used for this duel.

Jorgrek chuckled. “That may be true, but your skill with an ax isn’t going to do you much good while you’re holding a mace.” Rikkria glowered at him, but there was no real force behind it.

Vara took the man’s words as an opportunity to interrupt. “He’s right, Rikkria.” the playful glower on the woman’s face dropped the instant Vara spoke and she saluted sharply, as did Jorgrek. “You should work on using a mace for a while,” Vara continued. “During the duel, I noticed that you tend to drop your mace to the right when you swing. Maces take longer to swing, so you need to keep them close to you if you want to move it in time to block an incoming strike.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.” Rikkria promised, and Jorgrek nudged her playfully. Vara raised an eyebrow at the gesture, causing the man’s arm to snap to his side, an embarrassed blush coloring his cheeks.

“Jorgrek, how has your hunting been?” Vara asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral and resisting the smile that wanted to creep onto her face. She had put the man on a hunting squad for the rest of the month as punishment for the disrespect he had shown her and Rikkria the first week of training, back in Windhelm. Of course, she hadn’t called it a punishment, but everyone knew that it was.

The man stepped forward and looked her straight in the eyes, surprising her with his answer. “It’s gone well, ma’am. I’ve learned to appreciate some things that I didn’t before.” He glanced over at Rikkria and took a deep breath before continuing. “I would like to apologize for my actions earlier. I’ve seen the way you treat us soldiers. You actually care about us; you care about Skyrim too. You deserve my respect, and you have it.” Jorgrek looked down after he finished speaking, his feet shuffling nervously.

“Thank you, Jorgrek,” Vara stated softly. The man saluted sharply, then stepped back until he was standing next to Rikkria again. Vara didn’t miss the comfortable way they stood next to each other, far closer than a typical camaraderie warranted. “The two of you are dismissed for the evening. I’m going to give everyone an early break, you’ve all worked hard.” The two nodded gratefully, and Vara turned away to address the rest of the soldiers.

“Attention!” Vara called, and everyone in the clearing stopped what they were doing and turned towards her, saluting sharply before falling into a parade rest. “We have been away from Windhelm for a little less than two weeks, and already you are looking like true soldiers.” Proud grins crossed the faces of a few of the soldiers at the praise. “As a reward, you are all dismissed from duty until tomorrow morning. I still expect you up and ready with the dawn.” Several of the men cheered at her announcement and saluted her. Vara let a smile appear on her lips as she saluted them back and watched as they all drifted off. They deserved a break.

“Ulfric. How are you feeling tonight?” Wuunferth asked, and Ulfric could hear an uncharacteristic amount of concern in the wizard’s voice.

Ulfric shrugged wearily. “No better than last night, or any night this week,” he replied honestly, sinking down into a chair by Wuunferth’s table, too tired to stand for long. He was so tired.

Wuunferth nodded and began to mix together ingredients in a vial; Ulfric didn’t even have to ask. “The nightmares sound worse than they have been recently. It’s been months since you’ve asked for a sleeping-draught from me.”

It took Ulfric’s tired mind a few moments to process what his court wizard had said. Finally, Ulfric replied, “Before this week, I hadn’t had a nightmare in months, at least nothing close to the usual dreams.” He had just begun to think that the nightmares had finally relinquished their hold on him when they started up again, even more painful than he remembered them. He had had less than three hours of peaceful sleep this week, and it was taking a toll on his body.

Wuunferth whispered something under his breath, but Ulfric was too exhausted to try and make out the words. After a few minutes, the mage turned around and handed Ulfric a small phial. A familiar liquid swished inside, dark and bitter. Talos, Ulfric hated having to take these! He should be able to control his own dreams! He sighed, his head sinking into his hands.

“Have you considered that your dreams may have faded for a reason?” Wuunferth asked. Ulfric shrugged in reply, which was about all he could do in this state. Talos, he hated this! “When did they begin to fade?”

“Around the beginning of Sun’s Dusk. Why?”

For several long moments, Wuunferth was silent. The mage looked like he was weighing whether or not to say what he was thinking, which only spiked Ulfric’s curiosity. Finally, Wuunferth said, “Vara arrived in Windhelm on the third of Sun’s Dusk. I’m willing to bet that by the New Life Festival, the dreams had faded completely.”

Ulfric blinked at his court wizard. “That’s impossible.” Ulfirc finally stated, but he wasn’t sure he believed himself. Those dates matched up with the pattern of his dreams, but surely it was a coincidence. Could Varaduilwe Oaken-Song truly have such a powerful effect on him? If so, why?

Wuunferth raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything else. Ulfric sat frozen for another moment before he stood and thanked Wuunferth for his help. He stepped through the door and headed for his room, his eyelids getting heavier with each step.

Finally, he reached the room and pushed open the door, not even acknowledging the soldiers who stood guard. Ulfric changed, his movements sluggish as sleep threatened to overwhelm him. He resisted the urge to let his eyes fall closed though. All that was waiting for him in sleep was pain and it would remain that way until Wuunferth’s potion was in his system. It took him four tries to uncork the vial and he almost missed the glass when he went to drink it. Finally, he managed to tip the bitter liquid into his throat. Despite the taste, he almost sighed aloud as it slid down his throat, both searingly hot and frigid cold. He sat heavily on his bed and then fell back against the sheets. Before he had a chance to pull the furs over himself, his eyes closed and he entered the realm of sleep.

Screams echoed in the stone chamber as the smell of burning flesh threatened to overwhelm him. It took Ulfric a few moments to realize that those were his screams, his flesh that was burning. Once the realization sunk in, the pain washed over him in a powerful wave. His body fell forward, sagging against the chains that held him to the wall by his shackled wrists. Were it not for the chains, he would have fallen to his knees under the pain.

Once he had screamed himself hoarse, his head dropped to his bare and bleeding chest and his eyes slipped closed. Oh, how he wished he could fade into Oblivion, but he couldn’t. He was already there. As if summoned by his thoughts, a voice, sickly sweet, floated through the air, teasing Ulfric’s ears with its softness. But the softness was a lie, a mask that hid a devil he knew all too well.

“Mmm. That looks painful, my dear.” Ulfric let out a hiss as the interrogator ran her hand over his burned flesh. He didn’t have the strength to fight back though, something the woman knew all too well. “You shouldn’t cause so much trouble. This would all be so much simpler if you would just tell us what we want to know.” The woman suddenly dug her sharp nails into Ulfric’s skin causing him to let out a ragged gasp. Tears threatened to escape, but he blinked them away. He had promised himself that he would not give these monsters the satisfaction of seeing him cry. It was a futile promise though, just like the promise he had made when he had promised that he would not scream. This woman was breaking him.

Out of nowhere, a soothing light enveloped Ulfric, healing his wounds as if they had never been there. In the beginning, he had thought that this was a relief, an end to the pain. He had been wrong, Because after the healing came more torture. Another scream clawed its way from Ulfric’s throat as a knife was plunged into his calf. Then his other calf. Then his foot. Then his other foot. On and on and on…

Ulfric woke yelling, clawing at his own skin. The soldiers who stood guard outside of his door rushed in, weapons drawn. Ulfric gasped for breath, trying to bring his memories back under control. After a long minute, Ulfric could breathe again, and his heartbeat began to return to normal. He dismissed the guards, and the men returned to their post outside his door. Ulfric didn’t miss the concerned glance that they shared before closing the door behind them.

Exhaustion washed over Ulfric, and he wanted to fall back asleep but it would be useless. So instead, he pulled himself from his bed with effort and readied himself for the day. He was about to change into his regular attire when he decided to wear a riding outfit instead. If what Wuunferth said was true, he needed Vara to return to Windhelm. It seemed ridiculous, but Ulfirc was willing to try. He couldn’t run a city, much less a war, in this state. He strapped his sword to his waist, fumbling with the buckle for a moment. Then he packed a bag with a few clothes and swung it over his shoulder before striding out of the room, trying to look more confident than he felt.

He found Galmar outside, hacking away at a training dummy. The general stopped swinging when he saw Ulfric. Galmar raised an eyebrow as he looked Ulfric over. “Going somewhere, Ulfric?” The general asked friend asked, gesturing to the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Actually, yes and so are you.” Galmar’s eyebrow climbed higher, but he waited for Ulfric to explain before saying anything. “You were right, old friend. A month is a long time.” A smirk pulled at Galmar’s lips, but Ulfric ignored it as he continued, “You and I are going to collect Vara from the training post.” Ulfric decided not to tell his friend just why he needed Vara back in Windhelm. If he was being honest with himself, though, he did miss her company, perhaps more than he should.

For a moment, Galmar was silent. “Those soldiers are likely almost finished with their training. At this point, all they need is formations and ranks,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll stay behind and finish out the month with the men. By then, they should be battle ready. We can move them to reinforce Fort Amol.”

Ulfric nodded. It was a good idea, and it meant he wouldn’t have to bring in another of his officers to oversee the men as they finished their training. Although it would mean Galmar would be unavailable for at least two weeks. They weren’t expecting another batch of recruits for several weeks though, so it wouldn’t be a problem. Hopefully. “Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”

“Yes, but it’ll take me a little while to round up your guard from wherever it is you’ve posted them.”

“No guards, Galmar,” Ulfric said, shaking his head. “The two of us could be at the post by nightfall. Guards will only slow us down.”

“Ulfric, you are a jarl who is leading what the Empire sees as a rebellion, and soon you will be the High King. The Thalmor and the puppet Empire are looking for every opportunity to put your head on a pike. There’s no reason to make it any easier for them!” Galmar argued, and Ulfric could see genuine concern in the other man’s eyes. His old friend was right, both the Thalmor and the Empire would love to kill him, but he was more than capable of protecting himself.

“No guards, Galmar,” Ulfric repeated firmly. “I can protect myself, you know that. Besides, I’ll have you.” Galmar had never let him down, and he highly doubted that this trip would change that.

The general sighed heavily but nodded. “Fine, no guards. But you’ll owe me a drink or five if anything goes wrong.” Ulfric’s only reply was a faint smile. Galmar huffed again then said, “I’ll be at the stables in an hour. You should send a messenger to alert the council of what we’ll be doing. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”

Ulfric rolled his eyes at his friend’s sarcasm but nodded. “I’ll put Jorlief in charge. We should only be gone for two days if everything goes well. If the council has a problem with it, they can take that up with me once I get back.”

“Very well.” Together, Ulfric and Galmar walked back to the Palace before going their separate ways.

Vara blocked an incoming strike and countered with her own, only to have her opponent dodge the blow. She danced backward, out of the reach of the blade, a smile on her face. She had decided to join in with the other soldiers for the drills today. It was almost time for dinner, but she couldn’t call break until she won this match.

Another strike came towards her, and she barely dodged it. Back. Left. Strike. Blocked. She danced back again, under the blade that whistled through the air. Forward. Jab. Dodged. Back. Dodge. Right. She saw an opening in her opponent’s defense, and she exploited it. Her sword connected with the thick leather that guarded the soldier’s heart. Ralof froze, hands raised in surrender, a tired grin on his face.

“You win, Vara.” Ralof declared, lowering his arms as Vara sheathed her sword. “I should have known better than to volunteer to duel with you. No one else was, and now I know why.”

Vara laughed and shook her head. “You’re just a little out of practice from patrolling for the past two weeks. Everyone else has gotten to rotate through, but not you. Tomorrow, you and Rikkria will trade assignments for the rest of the month. You both need the experiences.” Ralof nodded. “You might also want to try using an ax. I think it might suit you better. Jorgrek will show you the basics if you want him to.”

Ralof looked down at the sword he held and smiled. “I’ll give that a try, ma’am. I always felt like a sword wasn’t quite my style.” He grinned and saluted her before walking towards where Jorgrek stood. The two started talking, and Jorgrek began to demonstrate a few techniques. Vara smiled; the soldiers all seemed to be growing closer to one another. They were taking the idea of being sons and daughters of Skyrim to heart, and it made them all like a large family. She had only had to separate one brawl in the past two weeks and even that had been a fight over something minor. This camaraderie would give them greater strength when they fought, but it would also make each death hurt even more.

Vara pushed those thoughts from her mind as she walked over to a large rock that sat at the edge of the clearing. It had proven a useful place for her to stand and make announcements where all of the soldiers in the clearing could both see her and hear her. “Men, you have done well today. You are dismissed for supper, but I want everything in this clearing clean before anyone sleeps. That includes weapons, armor, and tents!” The soldiers saluted sharply and filed off to the campfires. No one seemed to complain. Vara was about to step down from the rock to see to her own dinner when she saw two figures standing at the far edge of the clearing. She was about to call an alarm when she realized who it was.

Vara stepped down from the rock and quickly crossed the clearing. “Ulfric, Galmar,” Vara bowed to both in turn before facing Ulfric again. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Ulfric smiled, although Vara couldn’t help but notice the deep bags under his eyes and the way his posture seemed to slump. The past two weeks had been hard on him. “It is hard to expect someone when they don’t give you any warning,” Ulfric said, a tired sort of laughter in his voice. “It’s good to see you, Vara.”

Vara smiled softly in reply before turning away, toward the soldiers who were now gathered around the fires, talking and laughing. “Attention!” Everyone turned toward Vara and saluted sharply, then froze as they realized who she was standing with. “All hail Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak!” Vara’s voice rang through the silent clearing, hanging on the air for a moment before the voices of the soldiers echoed her cry. She turned back to Ulfric. “Welcome, my jarl,” she said, saluting the man with a small smile.

“Thank you,” Ulfric replied in a soft voice. “Shall we see to the troops?” Vara nodded and led Ulfric and Galmar into the clearing towards the soldiers who were still frozen in shock.

Chapter Text

Vara tried to offer Ulfric and Galmar her cabin if it could be called that even after all the work she had done to it, but the men refused. Galmar said he wanted to sleep with the men so that he could 'make sure they were following protocol'. Ulfric simply shook his head when she offered and followed Galmar to the campfires. Vara watched them walk away, and in the flickering light of the fires, it was easy for her to see the exhaustion Ulfric had to be feeling. He didn't walk with the same sense of power and his movements were sluggish. To the soldiers, Vara doubted the changes would be visible, but to her, it was glaringly obvious. She shook her head and stepped inside of her cabin, ready for a good night's sleep and hoping Ulfric would get the same.

Ulfric slept under the stars. Several men offered him their tents, but he declined each one. It was nearing spring, and the cold of Skyrim had receded somewhat. The good weather wasn't why he had chosen to sleep here, though. If he had another nightmare, he didn't want to be in a group of soldiers when he woke up screaming, so he had chosen to sleep away from the men. He had relented and told Galmar that the dreams had returned, although he didn't say that that was why he wanted Vara back in Windhelm. He hated bringing up the subject at all. It made him feel weak, which only made him even angrier. After all these years, those Talos-forsaken elves still had a hold on him.

Ulfric was drawn from his thoughts by the gravelly voice of his friend. "I've inspected the tents, and everything looks like it's in order. I probably should have known that would be the case considering Vara's the one in charge." Galmar said as he crouched down next to Ulfric.

Ulfric nodded. "She's thorough. The soldiers seem to respect her, and I would bet she gives them plenty of reasons to."

"Indeed." The general fell silent for a few moments, and Ulfric could tell that he was debating whether or not to say what he was thinking. Finally, he said, "You should have taken Vara's offer. Why didn't you?"

Ulfric leaned back against the tree he was sitting next to. "I don't know, Galmar. I should have, but it just feels wrong somehow." Ulfric sighed, trying to find a way to put what he was thinking into words. "I hate making people go out of their way to make me comfortable. I may be a Jarl, but that doesn't mean I can't handle a little dirt."

Galmar shook his head with a chuckle. "If only all the Jarls were the same way, this country might not need a rebellion." His tone grew serious as he continued, "Vara knows that, Ulfric. She offered the cabin to you as a gesture of respect because she does respect you, Ulfric, behind that sarcastic smile of hers."

Ulfric sighed again. "I know, Galmar, but it's too late now." Galmar looked as if he was about to suggest otherwise, but Ulfric glared pointedly at him.

"Alright, Ulfric." The general relented. "Maybe I should sleep out here."

Ulfric knew that his friend was only saying that so that he wouldn't have to ask himself, and he appreciated the gesture. "Stay with the men," he ordered his friend with a tired smile. Galmar hesitated for a moment, then he nodded and stood. He stood over Ulfric for a moment before turning away and walking towards the firelight. Ulfric watched as he rejoined the soldiers, a few of whom glanced over at Ulfric quizzically before quickly looking away. Ulfric sighed heavily then bundled his cloak up as a makeshift pillow and laid down. He gazed up at the stars through the bare branches of the tree above him until sleep overcame him.

Ulfric woke at dawn. For a moment, he wasn't certain he was awake. There had been no pain in his dreams last night. Maybe Wuunferth was right. He stood slowly, his joints popping as he did so. Around the now dead campfires, soldiers were taking care of weapons and armor or preparing food. He glanced around the clearing and saw Vara sitting cross-legged on the large rock she had spoken from yesterday, her sword lying across her legs.

Ulfric made his way over to Vara, and as he neared her, he realized she was praying, his mother's Amulet of Talos clutched in her hand. He waited until the woman opened her eyes to speak. "Good morning, Vara. Are you ready to leave?" Ulfric asked. They had spoken last night about what Ulfric wanted to do, and Vara had agreed to return to Windhelm with him, although he hadn't missed the brief look of wistfulness that passed over her face.

"Almost. The men likely know that Galmar will be taking charge already, but I'd like to make it official. Before I make the announcement though, are you sure you don't want to take a few guards with us?" Vara asked the same concerned look in her eyes that had been in Galmar's the day before. "Our patrols haven't seen any Imperials, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. If the Thalmor are with them, it wouldn't be hard for their mages to cloak their movements."

Ulfric shook his head. "The council expects us back tonight. Soldiers will slow us down," Ulfric replied, using the same argument he had told Galmar. "We can protect ourselves." Vara looked like she wanted to disagree, but instead, she nodded.

"Very well, but I expect you to eat before we leave. I won't give Galmar a reason to have my head." Ulfric chuckled at that but nodded. Vara held his gaze for a long moment, something indiscernible flickering in the green and gold depths. Then she stood and addressed the soldiers.

"Men, I have an announcement," she said, and her voice carried through the clearing infused with a sense of authority in it that hadn't been there when she had been in Windhelm. "As many of you know, I am returning with Jarl Ulfric to Windhelm, which means General Stonefist is now your commanding officer. I expect you all to pay him the respect he deserves, although I have a feeling that won't be an issue." Ulfric watched Vara look over the men as she continued, "You have trained well, and you have begun to realize that you truly are sons and daughters of Skyrim. Never forget that." Vara saluted, a gesture the soldiers returned, then stepped down from the rock.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" Ulfric asked as Vara stepped beside him. He had seen the way that Vara had looked when she addressed the soldiers. There had been a sadness there, and Ulfric found that he didn't want to be the reason for it. If Vara said she wanted to stay, he knew he would return to Windhelm alone without a second thought and that knowledge surprised him.

Vara raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. "What do you want me to do, Ulfric? Jump back up there and tell everyone that I've changed my mind?" she shook her head with a quiet laugh. "I'm going with you, but first we both need something to eat." Ulfric shrugged sheepishly and followed Vara over to the campfires.

Vara ate quickly and then stood to go say goodbye to a few of the soldiers in person. Ulfric watched her move among the men and saw the way they treated her. It was obvious that they respected her, but it wasn't the distant respect that soldiers so often showed to superiors through sharp salutes and quickly obeyed orders. It was a trusting respect shown through smiles and conversation, along with salutes and obedience.

As Ulfric watched, Vara shared a smile with Jorgrek, if Ulfric was remembering the man's name correctly. According to Galmar, he and Vara had had to separate a fight that the man had been involved in. Apparently, the man hadn't thought much of having to take orders from a woman. Now, however, he was talking with Vara like they were old friends. Jorgrek saluted Vara with a grin, and Vara copied the gesture before turning away and walking back to Ulfric.

"I apologize," Vara said when she reached Ulfric's side. "I wanted to make sure of a few things before we left. Are you ready to go?"

Ulfric stood and handed his bowl to one of the nearby soldiers, thanking the man for the food before turning back to Vara. "I am. Shall we?" Vara nodded and Ulfric led the way out of the clearing.

Vara and Ulfric walked in silence for awhile, and Vara took the time to inspect the man next to her. He looked better today, most of the exhaustion she had seen yesterday was gone. He was smiling quicker and walking more confidently, both of which were definite improvements to the way he had been yesterday. Ulfric must have felt her eyes on him, for he asked, "What are you looking for, Vara?"

Once, Vara might have blushed at being caught, but now she shrugged. "Changes," she said simply. "Yesterday you were exhausted, and I could tell. Today you seem better, but there are still bags under your eyes and your muscles are tense, even though you're relaxed. You haven't gotten enough sleep lately."

Ulfric looked surprised. "Is it that obvious?" he asked with a frown. The question made Vara wonder how long he had been trying to hide his exhaustion.

"Not to the soldiers or others who aren't around you every day. I just know you a little too well; I can see when you aren't acting the same," Vara replied. She hesitated for a moment. She wanted to ask why Ulfric was so exhausted, but she didn't want to overstep herself. She may be comfortable with Ulfric, but there were still rules she had to follow. It was too bad neither of them seemed quite certain what those rules were. Finally, she decided to just ask and hope that Ulfric wouldn't mind. "May I ask why you're so exhausted?"

Ulfric shrugged dismissively. "I haven't slept well this week, that's all. It's nothing too important, I just didn't want to worry anyone." Something about Ulfric's carefully flippant tone made Vara think that he wasn't telling the full truth, but Vara didn't press him. She was fairly certain that that would be crossing a line.

There was silence for a little while, aside from the sound of the woods around them. They had been walking for a little over two hours, and soon they would reach the moors and the trees would end. Ulfric broke the silence by saying, "I saw the way you interacted with your men back there. They seem to respect you a great deal more than they did when you left."

Vara smiled as she replied. "I should hope so. Soldiers have to trust each other and their commander. I may outrank them, but that doesn't mean they automatically accept that rank. It has to be given to me through their respect. If a soldier doesn't respect their commander, they don't trust them, and if they don't trust them, they could very well get themselves and everyone else killed."

Judging by the look on Ulfric's face, that wasn't exactly the answer he had been expecting. "How in the name of Talos did you find that out?" he asked. He didn't sound disbelieving, just surprised.

Vara laughed and leaned forward, narrowing her eyes playfully. "Would you believe me if I told you I learned it from a book?"

For a moment, Ulfric said nothing. Then he burst into a hearty laughter that made the butterflies in Vara's stomach dance. "I guess I should read more often!" he declared, still chuckling.

Vara shrugged, a smile still tugging at her lips. "Well, I had to put into practice as well. The men didn't believe they were soldiers, not quite, so I treated them like they were. I gave them responsibility and they stepped up to it. Responsibility comes with consequences, and they accepted that. Honestly, all I did was show them that I care what happens to them."

Ulfric's face became solemn as he nodded. "That was one of the things that the Legion always lacked. So many soldiers fought, bled, killed, and died under their banner, but too often it felt like nothing that we did mattered. The officers always seemed more concerned with prestige and status than they did with the war." A faraway look came to Ulfric's eyes as he spoke, and Vara knew he was recalling battles from years ago. After a long moment, he blinked and returned to the present. "I never want to become the Empire, Vara. I will not overthrow a corrupt system only to replace it with one that is just as bad, if not worse."

Vara stopped walking and grabbed Ulfric by the shoulder. "You are not the Empire, Ulfric Stormcloak. You are a good man who is willing to sacrifice for his country and his people." Vara looked into Ulfric's blue eyes as she continued. "You will be the High King that the people need."

Ulfric held Vara's gaze for a moment, letting the silence stretch. Eventually, he looked away and whispered, "I hope you're right."

"I am," Vara assured with a soft smile. Ulfric opened his mouth to reply, but just then a sound reached Vara's ears. She reacted instantly, pushing Ulfric to the ground as a red-fletched arrow embedded itself in the tree behind where Ulfric had been standing.

"Imperials!" He hissed as he rolled to the side, coming up to his knees to draw his sword. Vara copied his movements and drew her own sword. Fear washed over her, but she pushed it away. There was no time for that now.

The first of the Imperials broke through the trees, sun glinting off the sword he held. Ulfric charged to meet him and the sound of their swords clashing rang through the crisp air. Vara was about to follow when she caught sight of an archer sneaking around, trying to get a clear shot at Ulfric. The soldier was so focused on Ulfric that he didn't see Vara coming until she was right on top of him. Her sword flashed through the air and the Imperial fell dead. Vara didn't have time to stop and think about what she had done, so instead, she charged over to where Ulfric was now fighting two Imperials; the first one he had fought lay dead at his feet.

Vara engaged one, and the man snarled as he turned away from Ulfric to face her. She dodged his first blow, then his second before striking with one of her own. The man moved too slowly to block it and blood began to stain his sleeve crimson. Vara ignored the churning in her stomach and struck again while the man was dazed. He stumbled backward, clutching his wounded arm to his chest. Then he grimaced and charged forward, his wide and unwieldy. Vara stepped inside the man's blow and rammed her sword into his gut.

Vara didn't have time to see the way the man's eyes would widen as she pulled her sword from his gut. She didn't have time to see the way he would fall to the ground, immediately staining the dirt red. She didn't have time to see the way the blood would spurt from his mouth as he coughed, choking on his own life force. She didn't have time, so she turned away, wrenching her sword free without looking back.

There were three Imperial soldiers left, one archer and two men with shields. The archer was too far away for either of them to deal with, so Vara attacked one of the men with a shield. He was less reckless than the other man, carefully drawing back after each attack, forcing Vara to overextend herself in order to reach him. She couldn't quite dodge one of his careful strikes, and his sword left a long cut on her arm that immediately began to bleed. She returned the blow, and the man blocked it, but before either of them could strike again, Ulfric's Thu'um rattled the ground and sent the man flying. The soldier hit his head against a rock with a sickening crunch and didn't move.

"Thanks," Vara gasped, out of breath. Her stomach heaved, but she pushed the feeling aside. She would not be sick in front of Ulfric Stormcloak. She was an officer in the Stormcloak army, for Talos' sake! She could handle a little gore.

Ulfric grinned, the thrill of battle lighting up his eyes. He opened his mouth to reply, but the breath was driven from his body as an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder. Vara cursed herself inwardly as she ran forward to shield him. She had forgotten about the other archer. Another arrow whistled through the air toward Ulfric, but the man jumped to the side, avoiding it. Vara charged forward as the archer was redrawing his bow. She swung with all the strength she could muster and cut the bow in half. Vara struck at the archer before the woman had a chance to register what had happened. The woman fell with a scream.

Vara turned and began to run back to where Ulfric was standing in the middle of the road. The arrow had gone deep in his shoulder; he would need help pulling it out. She had almost reached him when he suddenly roared in pain and fell to his knees. The sound was deep and primal and full of fear.

An Altmer dressed in Thalmor robes was casting a stream of fire that washed over Ulfric in wave after painful wave. For a moment, Vara saw red. She clenched her sword in a white-knuckle grip and her other hand began to glow with magicka. She dashed in front of Ulfric, hand extended. The fire hit her shield of magicka and stopped. The Thalmor mage sneered at her and lowered his hands, cutting off his attack. Vara spared a quick glance behind her at Ulfric, who was on his knees gasping for breath but didn't lower the shield.

"Come now, child. Are you sure you want to stand between a Justiciar and his target?" The elf's voice dripped condescension, which only served to anger Vara further.

"You sound worried. Are scared you'll lose to a half-breed?" Vara taunted in an effort to keep the mage focused on her and not Ulfric who was slowly beginning to breathe normally.

The mage laughed, and the cruel sound raked at Vara's ears. "So you're the one who has Elenwen so angry. It's a shame the last assassin failed to kill you, but that just makes my job even more enjoyable." The mage threw another bolt of fire at Vara's shield as he finished speaking, and she stumbled backward, the shield barely holding. There was no way she was going to be able to get close enough to the mage to use her sword.

Vara dropped her sword with a snarl, and her free hand began to spark with purple electricity. "We will see about that," she growled out and sent electricity arcing through the air toward the mage. The elf threw up a hasty shield that barely held against the attack. Vara cast two more bolts of electricity, and the mage's shield shattered and he stumbled back, almost tripping on the hem of his cloak. Vara dropped her shield and stalked closer to him, sending a double-charged bolt into his chest. He gasped loudly as the painful magic ran through his body but managed to cast a fireball with his shaking hands. The magic hit Vara in the shoulder. She ignored the white-hot pain that flared to life and hit the mage with another jolt. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

"You can't kill me! I'm a Thalmor Justiciar! I am superior to you, you filthy half-breed!" the man spat, his words slurred as the electricity surged through him again.

Vara pooled her magicka and summoned her electric staff. "Watch me," she growled and then slammed the staff into the elf's neck. He spasmed once then fell still, his eyes bloodshot and lifeless. For a long moment, Vara stared at the dead Justiciar, then she turned and rushed back to Ulfric's side.

Chapter Text

Ulfric was shaking, his eyes shut tight as he tried to control his breathing. As Vara watched, too shocked to move, his eyes snapped open, and Vara knew it wasn’t the surrounding forest that he saw. Finally, Vara’s feet unfroze themselves and she carefully stepped over to Ulfric and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

She immediately wished she hadn’t.

Ulfric jarred violently, eyes wild. They hardened instantly, but Vara could still recognize the fear in them. “Ulfric?” She called his name softly, hoping to bring the man back to the present, away from whatever memories he was seeing.

“I’m fine.” Ulfric’s reply was immediate, and he shrugged off her hand. Vara knew he was lying, but she didn’t press him. If she demanded answers he would only close himself off, and that wouldn’t help either of them. Instead, Vara went to work.

“I used up my magicka on the Thalmor, so I can’t heal either of us instantly. We need to get that arrow out of you though. There’s no telling what was on that arrowhead,” Vara stated in a calm tone. Normally, Vara would leave the arrow in to help stem the blood while they moved to a safer location, but if the arrow was poisoned, something she wouldn’t put past the Thalmor and their puppet Imperials, leaving it in any longer could have devastating effects. It was best not to risk it.

Her words finally seemed to snap Ulfric back to the present, and he nodded grimly. “Go ahead,” he said, his voice empty despite the pain Vara knew he must be in.

Vara nodded and stepped around to Ulfric’s back. The arrow-wound in his shoulder didn’t look too bad, but looks could be deceiving. There was only a small amount of blood, likely from the initial impact as the arrowhead was stemming the blood flow. Vara dug in her side satchel for a moment and pulled out some bandages. Thank Talos Galmar was as paranoid as he was. The general had insisted that she bring medical supplies just in case.

“This is going to hurt,” Vara warned as she gripped the arrow shaft and planted her feet. Before Ulfric had a chance to reply, Vara pulled the arrow out in one swift movement. Ulfric grunted loudly but gave no other sign that he was in pain. Vara briefly wondered how many times he had been shot over the course of his life. He had been a soldier for several years after all.

Focusing once more on the task in front of her, Vara wrapped the arrowhead, which didn’t appear to be poisoned, with a bandage. “I’m going to clean and bandage your wound,” she said. “But we need to get out of the middle of the road first. We passed a small clearing not too far back.” As she spoke, a strange feeling washed over Vara. She felt disconnected from herself. She was speaking calmly, giving orders as if nothing was wrong, but inside her mind was still reeling from what she had just done. She had killed that Thalmor. She had watched the light fade from his eyes as she slammed her staff into his neck. The staff she had sworn she would not use. Vara shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. She could deal with that later, right now, she needed to help Ulfric.

She placed a bandage over the arrow wound to stem the blood temporarily then she and Ulfric made their way to the small clearing. Once there, Vara organized the supplies she would need, pulling different herbs and bandages from her bag. When she looked up, she saw that Ulfric had settled against a tree, careful to avoid putting pressure on his injured shoulder. She needed to get to work.

“I’m sorry, but I need you to take off your shirt,” Vara said. “I can’t reach the arrow wound properly with it on,” she quickly added, ignoring the heat that rose to her cheeks. That hadn’t come out the way she had intended. Ulfric, however, didn’t react to her stumbled words. Instead, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, his face keeping the same blank expression the entire time.

Vara stifled a gasp. Ulfric’s torso was littered with scars. Logically, Vara knew that a man who had been a soldier for as long as he had would have plenty of scars, but she would never have expected this. Dozens of lines crisscrossed his skin, along with several patches of scarred skin from what might have been arrow wounds or places where he had been stabbed. Vara blinked and looked down to the herbs and bandages in front of her. She scrambled to gather the supplies and strode over to Ulfric, refusing to look him in the eyes.

Vara resisted the urge to run her hands along one of the raised scars on his back, which didn’t look any better than his chest had. A thousand questions crowded her mind and threatened to slip out, but Vara forced them back and focused on the task at hand. Ulfric was in no state to recount war stories. For several minutes, there was silence between her and Ulfric as she cleaned out the wound and bandaged it. It was when Vara moved to crouch in front of Ulfric and began to do what she could for the burns on his arms that the man finally spoke.

“Thank you, Vara,” he said. His voice was quiet but firm, and Vara knew he was doing his best to keep the pain from his voice. She wanted to tell him that there was no need to act strong for her, but instead, she said,

“Don’t thank me, Ulfric. Healing is in my blood, and it’s only right that I do what I can to help. I apologize for not being able to do more,” Vara continued to apply a past to a particularly nasty burn on Ulfric’s forearm, still not looking Ulfric in the eye.

“I meant for killing the Thalmor.” A burst of white-hot shame ran through her, but Vara pushed it down and focused on another of Ulfric’s burns. “Vara,” Ulfric’s deep voice was gently chiding, and Vara looked up to meet his eyes despite herself. “You did what you had to do. If you hadn’t killed him, he would have killed us.”

Vara looked away; she thought she had done better at hiding her shame and yet Ulfric could read her like an open book. “I know, Ulfric,” she said, letting out a frustrated breath. How was she supposed to explain herself without sounding like a fool? “I know he would have killed us, and I don’t regret killing him first. The skeever probably had it coming.” She smirked humorlessly. “But maybe I should regret it. Shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I feel as if I’ve betrayed myself?” She met Ulfric’s eyes with her own and saw understanding begin to glimmer in the blue depths.

“You used your magic.” His voice was soft and low, like a distant rumble of thunder. Vara wanted to lose herself in his words and ignore the growing pit of fear in her stomach. But she couldn’t. She would not hide from what she had done.

“Yes, I did. I fought and killed with the very magic I swore I would never use for death!” Vara’s voice was loud in the still air as her frustration and shame boiled out of her and into her words. “I killed a Thalmor, and in doing so, I became like one of them!” There were tears running down her face now, and she looked away. Some Stormcloak she was; she couldn’t even kill a Thalmor without becoming an emotional mess.

To her surprise, Vara felt rough fingers on her cheek, and Ulfric turned her face back towards his. “Look at me, Vara,” he commanded, and Vara reluctantly met his eyes. “You are not like the Thalmor. They use their magic to torture and to kill for the sport of it.” Ulfric’s eyes darkened, and Vara couldn’t help but wonder what terrible thing he was remembering. Then they cleared as he continued, “You used your magic to protect me. You do not delight in spilling blood. You are not like them.”

Vara broke eye contact by looking down at the grass, which was swaying gently in the wind. She wished she could have that same freedom. “I should finish wrapping your burns. We need to get as far as we can by nightfall,” she said in an emotionless tone, blinking away the last of her tears. She couldn’t deal with all of this now, and so she pushed it away, locking all of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her in the back of her mind.

For a long moment, Ulfric was frozen. Finally, he moved his hand from her face and leaned back against the tree. “Very well,” he said, and for the next hour, Vara tended to his wounds as well as her own in silence.

Ulfric’s mind was swirling. A thousand different memories of pain pushed on his mind, but they were outweighed by his concern for Vara. They had been walking along the road, ears and eyes open and alert for another ambush for the past few hours, a tense silence between them that Ulfric didn’t dare break. The sun was sinking behind the horizon, and Ulfric’s body urged him to sleep, but he kept walking, ignoring the feeling. He would stop when Vara did; he had suffered worse before, and he wasn’t going to give Vara another reason to worry. She had more than enough on her mind.

He had seen her fight the Thalmor mage, although his memory of the duel was blurred by the fog of pain he had been in, real and imagined. Despite that, he knew that she had barely held the mage back with her magic. If she hadn’t summoned her shield, the Altmer would have fried them both. If she had only used her sword, she wouldn’t have been able to get close enough to the mage to do any real damage. Her magic had been the only thing that had saved them both. And yet, he could see the haunted look in her eyes. Vara felt as if she had failed herself somehow. Ulfric wanted to tell her that she hadn’t failed, that she had only been doing what she had to do, but he found that he didn’t have the words. He didn’t want to make things worse, and so he followed behind her in silence as the sun continued to sink lower and lower in the sky.

Finally, Vara came to a stop. “There’s a small cave on the other side of that rock outcropping. I’m going to make sure it’s clear. Stay here.” Her voice was flat and emotionless, but Ulfric could still see the self-loathing in her eyes when she turned to him, even in the dim light.

He watched as she walked towards the cave, sword drawn. He wanted to follow her and help, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the company, besides, he wouldn’t do her much good in his current state. At this point, Ulfric wasn’t even sure if he could summon a decent Shout if they did run into trouble and so he stayed at the edge of the road, ears and eyes open. After a few minutes, Vara appeared and led Ulfric back to the cave.

Ulfric ducked to avoid hitting his head on the low rock as he stepped inside. The cave was small, as Vara had said, but it was large enough for the two of them and had space for a small fire. It wouldn’t be very defensible if they were attacked, and the fire would make them even more visible from the road, but Ulfric knew they would have to risk it. Skyrim nights could be bitterly cold, even nearing spring as they were.

Vara muttered something about getting wood for a fire and left. Ulfric watched her go, increasingly certain that he needed to do something for her. But what? This wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Talos, he wished Galmar were here. He would know exactly what to say, although it would likely be accompanied by plenty of swearing when he saw Ulfric’s state. On second thought, it was a very good thing that Galmar wasn’t here. Ulfric sighed aloud and leaned back against the rock, allowing his eyes to slip closed.

He woke to see Vara crouching next to a fire, or what he figured was supposed to be a fire. Currently, it was only a pile of sticks that seemed to be refusing to catch alight. Vara muttered a curse under her breath and then looked up to see Ulfric. She immediately stopped what she was doing and looked away.

Ulfric frowned. “Can you not use your magic?” If the fight with the Thalmor had somehow damaged her ability to use magic, they were defenseless should someone attack them. But Vara shook her head and whispered something under her breath that Ulfric couldn’t make out. “Vara?” He was becoming increasingly concerned for the woman across from him. Even her pointed ears seemed to be drooping with the weight of the emotional pain she was in.

The woman sighed as she said, “I saw the way you looked when the Thalmor cast his spells. I didn’t want to bring back any unwanted memories.” She avoided his eyes as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ulfric blinked in surprise. Was he really that easy to read? Vara had been fighting for her life and couldn’t have had more than an instant to look him over. “Vara, it isn’t the magic.” He said with a shake of his head, and that was mostly true. For several years after the incident, Ulfric had hated magic and any who used it, but he had grown to realize that magic had its uses. Now it didn’t bother him unless it was being used on him.

“It’s the Thalmor.” Ulfric spat the words out, his face twisting in anger. Vara cocked her head, and Ulfric realized that she must not know what had happened. He forgot sometimes that his capture wasn’t common knowledge. “I was captured by Thalmor during the Great War,” Ulfric explained, unable to keep the bitterness and hatred out of his voice. He didn’t expound on the details, and Vara didn’t ask. The memory of his capture was painful and no one knew the full extent of what had happened to him while he had been in the clutches of the Thalmor.

After a few tense moments, Vara summoned a tentative flame that danced along her fingertips. As Ulfric watched her set the wood alight, he could almost imagine the magic being used for art instead of war. It was a beautiful thing, the fire, but there was no denying the deadly power it carried, something he knew all too well.

Vara broke Ulfric out of his trance by handing him bread and a cut of dried meat. He raised an eyebrow and Vara shrugged. “Galmar insisted that I pack extra food. He seemed to believe you would find a way to get into trouble.” A shadow of Vara’s usual smile crossed her face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“I would be offended that Galmar doesn’t trust me, but he seems to be right more often than not when it comes to things like this. He wanted me to take my personal guard, but I refused. I won’t be hearing the end of this for weeks,” Ulfric stated with a quiet chuckle that felt out of place in the tense air. He was rewarded with another brief smile before Vara turned away and began to dig in the bag at her side.

Ulfric was surprised at the sadness that filled him. Seeing Vara like this hurt. Even when she had been angry with him, she had had a smirk or smile dancing on her lips and sarcastic words on her tongue. This gloom that had settled over her was wrong. Ulfric wanted to tell her as much, but once again, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he couldn’t get his lips to form the words.

Vara turned back to him, white bandages gripped in one hand, a few herbs in the other. “I need to change a few of your bandages, especially that arrow wound. If you don’t mind,” Vara gestured to his shirt, and Ulfric complied, pulling the bloody garment over his head, wincing as one of the bandages caught in the fabric, sending a jolt of pain through his body. The mage had gotten him good.

Vara frowned, and Ulfric could see the concern in the crease of her eyebrows. She quickly went to work, starting with the bandage on his shoulder. As she worked, Ulfric heard Vara mutter things to herself, and although he couldn’t make out the words judging by the tone of voice, she was blaming herself for his injuries once again. When she moved around to his front to work on the bandages there, Ulfric caught her arm.

“Vara,” he said, and the woman slowly met his eyes with hers, which swirled green and gold. “If you are blaming yourself for anything that has happened to me, don’t,” Ulfric plead quietly, hoping she would be able to hear the concern in his voice.

“It’s not that simple, Ulfric,” Vara declared angrily, leaning back on her knees. “I knew the archer was there, but in the moment, I forgot. That woman could have killed you Ulfric, and if you hadn’t been shot, you might have been able to avoid the mage’s fire.”

Ulfric shook his head. “You cannot blame yourself,” he declared, stressing the words. “If you do, you will never be able to go into battle without second-guessing every decision.”

Vara looked away, the firelight only heightening the haunted look on her face. “I’m an officer in your army. The Stormcloak army. Because of me, the entire rebellion almost lost its leader. I don’t deserve this uniform I-”. Ulfric cut the woman off by leaning forward and capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. Vara sat, frozen, and Ulfric pulled back sheepishly.

“I apologize,” he said. It was his turn to look away, a blush coloring his cheeks. “I crossed a line. I didn’t mean to be so forward.” Ulfric hesitantly met Vara’s eyes again and found them empty.

“My jarl, you should rest,” Vara declared, too many emotions crowding her voice for Ulfric to pick them apart. He opened his mouth to protest or apologize again or both, to say anything that would explain himself, but Vara stood suddenly and turned away. “Sleep,” she ordered. “I’ll keep watch tonight.” Ulfric sat frozen for a moment. He wanted to speak, but he would only make things worse, so he reluctantly laid down and closed his eyes.

Vara stared out at the stars. They were beautiful tonight, brighter than they had been in weeks. She could make out several of the constellations her mother had taught her so long ago. Being out here in the quiet made Vara feel closer to her parents, and normally, the feeling brought her peace. Tonight, all she could feel was numb. Her mind refused to process anything. She had killed her first man today, killed another with magic, and been kissed by Ulfric Stormcloak. It was simply too much for her to handle, and so she looked out at the stars hoping to somehow find the answers to questions she didn’t even know how to ask.

Finally, she couldn’t stand the silence. “Mother, Ata? I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you can.” Vara whispered, her voice carried away by the wind. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying to live a life in Windhelm, but it isn’t anything like the life we lived together. I’ve joined the Stormcloak rebellion as one of its officers, but I think that might have been a mistake.” Vara sighed and leaned back against the stone.

“I thought that I could learn to fight using a sword, the way you always wanted to teach me. Ata, but I can’t. I killed someone with my magic today. He was a Thalmor.” A few tears traced their way down Vara’s face as she spoke, her words becoming choked as she continued. “I want to say I’m sorry, but I don’t think I am. I should feel guilty, and I do. But I would do it again. If someone were to threaten me and those I love, I would not hesitate.

“All I wanted to do is live my life, but now I’m lost.” Vara’s voice faded into the sky. There was no reply, but she hadn’t expected one. She used to do this, sit under the stars and talk to her parents every day, but recently she hadn’t.

“I felt the same way the first time I Shouted outside of High Hrothgar,” Ulfric’s deep voice startled Vara from her thoughts and she whipped toward the sound, her eyes wide.

“Ulfric! You’re supposed to be asleep! Why are you out here?” Vara asked frantically. How much had he overheard?

Ulfric raised his hands in surrender. He really shouldn’t have been moving that arm, but Vara was too startled by his presence to say anything. “Peace, Vara. I couldn’t sleep, so I was going to offer to take the watch.” Ulfric looked down, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Embarrassment wasn’t an emotion Vara associated with him. And how could she? He was the Bear of Eastmarch, the leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He said quietly.

For a moment, Vara hesitated. She could ask him to leave and he would. She was certain of that. But for some reason, she found she didn’t want him to. So instead, she gestured for him to come closer as shuffled over, leaving him a place to sit next to her. Ulfric sat, and was silent for a moment before saying,

“The Greybeards consider shouting to be a gift of Kyne. They follow the Way of the Voice, a path that allows the Voice to be used only for praising the Gods,” Ulfric said, a faraway look in his eyes. “At first, I thought I could follow their creed and live as they did. It was so peaceful there.” Vara found it hard to imagine Ulfric sitting among monks happily, worshiping all day. The Ulfric she knew was a man of action and war, so different from the boy he must have been when he entered the monastery.

“But then the Great War came and I left High Hrothgar, to the disappointment of the Greybeards. I joined the Imperial Army and fought to keep our land free. I told myself that I wouldn’t defy the Way of the Voice, and I didn’t during the Great War.” Ulfric’s gaze became dark and anger crept into his voice. “But then I came home to a land of strangers wearing familiar faces. Everywhere I looked, people quietly denied Talos and gave their wills over to the Thalmor.

“I Shouted down the gates of Markarth when I retook it from the Reachmen,” Ulfric said softly. “With the power of my Thu’um, I sent people tumbling to their deaths on the rocky pathways of the city. By the time we won the day, the people feared my Voice.”

Ulfric sighed deeply and looked over at Vara. She had listened to his words closely and was surprised to hear Ulfric’s account. The few books she had read on the subject simply said that Ulfric had opened the gates with his Thu’um, nothing else. “At first,” Ulfric said, “I was angry with myself. I had disobeyed the teachings of the Way of the Voice. I had broken the only code the Greybeards had ever given me.”

Unable to stop herself, Vara asked, “And do you still feel that anger?”

To her surprise, Ulfric smiled softly. “No,” he said. “I don’t. I have only ever used my Voice in an effort to help the people of Skyrim who cannot help themselves. I was given a gift, and I use it.” Ulfric looked Vara in the eyes, and she could see the honesty there as he said, “I fight only because others cannot. I fight so that all the other fighting and killing I have done isn’t for nothing. I fight because I refuse to leave my people to do it themselves. I fight because I must, and I know that you do the same.” His words were quiet, but they pulled at Vara’s heart in a way she couldn’t describe.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough, Ulfric,” she whispered through the tears that were tracing their way down her cheeks. “I would give my life for Skyrim and her people without a second thought. You are asking me to live. That’s dangerous.” Vara couldn’t put her thoughts into words. She was scared that if she decided to use her magic to fight and kill, she would lose sight of what she was fighting for and get caught up in the moment.

Ulfric took her hands in his. “You are strong, Vara. I have seen you sacrifice for Skyrim in ways even the most dedicated Stormcloaks would shy away from. If you decided to fight with your magic, you would have the strength to or you could become a training officer full time or you could simply advise.” Ulfric smiled, and Vara saw pride there. Somehow, despite everything, he was proud of her. “No matter what you choose, I will support you, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song.”

Vara leaned in and, before she could give herself time to think about what she was doing, kissed him. For a moment, he didn’t move, but then he kissed her back, and the world fell away. His lips were rough and chapped, but they were warm as they moved against hers. The kiss was gentle as if he was hesitant of overstepping his bounds, but she could feel something there. Something she wanted to call love.

When they finally pulled away, Vara looked up to see a smile spreading across Ulfric’s face. A true smile that reached his eyes, making them shine even in the darkness. “Where does this leave us, Ulfric?” Vara asked softly, her lips still only a few inches from his.

Ulfric kissed her again, softly, barely more than a flutter before replying. “Wherever you want us. I have to warn you though, I don’t have much experience with true relationships, despite my council’s best efforts.”

Vara laughed quietly. “I’m not much of a romantic myself. But maybe we can figure it out together?” She phrased the words as a question, and as she looked up into Ulfric’s eyes, she saw his answer even before his lips formed the word.

“Together.”

They sat under the stars for the rest of the night, simply enjoying being wrapped in one another’s presence until the sun rose to color the sky once again.

Chapter Text

Vara was a patient person. She had to be, as a hunter. She had once spent three days sitting in a tree, waiting for a bear to emerge from its cave. Apparently, though, her patience did not extend to waiting for Wuunferth to finish examining Ulfric.

They had arrived in Windhelm two hours ago, around six in the evening, and sent the entire city into an uproar. Several guards had surrounded her and Ulfric the instant they stepped inside the gates and escorted them to the Palace, but Vara could hear the people chatter excitedly amongst themselves. She wouldn’t be surprised if there had been ten different theories on what had happened to her and Ulfric circulating the city by the time they had reached the Palace. Ulfric had wanted to deliver a report to the council to dispel any rumors they might hear, but Vara had refused. She had practically dragged him to Wuunferth’s room, a decision she now regretted.

The instant Wuunferth had seen Ulfric’s state, he had rushed him inside and slammed the door behind him. At first, Vara had sat patiently. She knew that Ulfric’s wounds were fairly severe and that her treatment of them was nowhere near adequate. Half an hour passed, and Vara had grown worried. What if the arrowhead had been poisoned, and she had missed it somehow? She had paced in front of the door for several minutes until Wuunferth had stuck his head out and told her to stop because he could ‘feel her nervousness through the door’. Since then, Vara had been standing in front of the door with her arms crossed, glaring at it.

Her glare only intensified as the door creaked open, and Wuunferth stepped out. “I’ve healed him as best as I can for now. You can see him now, but don’t touch his bandages.” Vara only glared in reply and stalked past him.

Her glare morphed into a soft grin when she saw Ulfric sitting in a chair by Wuunferth alchemy table. His chest and arms were covered in fresh bandages, and several of the places where his burns had been less severe were completely healed. Ulfric’s eyes were heavy and his shoulders sagged, but he still smiled when Vara walked over and crouched in front of him, examining Wuunferth work with a critical eye.

The mage had done everything perfectly, of course, but that didn’t stop Vara from saying, “You might have finished healing him a little faster if you had let me help, Wuunferth.”

The wizard stepped behind Ulfric and began mixing a potion. “I doubt it,” he replied. Vara rolled her eyes but turned her attention back to Ulfric.

“Jorlief came by and asked me to tell you that the council wants to hold an emergency meeting tonight. I told him I didn’t care what they wanted; you were getting some sleep. The meeting will be at noon tomorrow,” Vara told Ulfric with a scowl. From his alchemy table, Wuunferth grunted, but the sound seemed tinged with approval. Vara laughed inwardly. She had expected to learn many things when she came to Windhelm, but interpreting grunts of testy wizards had not been one of them.

Ulfric frowned thoughtfully. “I should meet with them tonight. The presence of Thalmor this deep in our territory is concerning. We need to-”. Ulfric trailed off as Vara raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked and Vara couldn’t help but notice the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was confused.

Vara blinked forcefully. Her thoughts were running away from her. “Ulfric,” she said in a chiding tone. “You need rest. The council can wait. It won’t do anyone any good if you fall asleep in the middle of the meeting or start muttering to yourself because you’re sleep deprived.”

Ulfric huffed. His pout was adorable. Vara blinked away that thought and focused in on his words. “I don’t mutter,” he grumbled, and Vara could only smile in reply.

“Wuunferth, tell Ulfric he needs his sleep.”

Vara didn’t expect the mage to reply with more than a snort; he rarely did when he was working. To her surprise, the mage said, “Vara is right. You need sleep. I doubt you’ve gotten more than eleven hours all weeks, and most of that was the night you spent at the camp. Vara’s here, so the nightmares should be gone. Now sleep.” Wuunferth said the words casually over his shoulder as he worked, but Ulfric’s reaction was anything but.

A blush colored his cheeks and he closed his eyes with a deep sigh. Vara frowned deeply. “What in Tamriel do your sleeping habits have to do with me, Ulfric?” Vara questioned. There was no accusation in her face, only concern. Ulfric was trying to lead a rebellion, not to mention the city of Windhelm. There could be detrimental effects is he was constantly exhausted. But beyond that, Vara worried for Ulfric himself. What was plaguing him that would cause this?

Ulfric sighed again and his shoulders sagged further making him seem worn beyond description. “Can we talk about this later? Please,” he pled in a soft voice.

For a moment, Vara didn’t reply, too stunned by his sudden change in demeanor. Yes, he had seemed tired before, but now the man looked exhausted in an entirely different way. It was as if even his spirit was drained of energy. “Of course,” Vara said when she finally found her voice. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

Ulfric shook his head. “No, stay here and have Wuunferth look at your arm. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you wince whenever it brushes up against something.” Ulfric ordered, looking Vara in the eyes. She held his gaze for a long moment before nodding.

“Sleep well, Ulfric,” she said, and the man responded with a tired smile before standing and leaving the room. As soon as the door closed, Vara turned her attention to Wuunferth, who was examining his finished potion.

“What did you mean ‘Vara’s here, so the nightmares should be gone’?” she asked the mage.

Wuunferth set the potion down on the nearest shelf before answering. “That is between you and Ulfric.” Vara glared at the wizard, but the man didn’t react. He had grown immune to her glares that last time he had to lock her in a room for a week to heal her. She still hadn’t forgiven him for that, not quite.

Vara considered pushing Wuunferth, but she knew the man wouldn’t give her any answers, no matter how many times she asked. Besides, her own exhaustion was starting to catch up with her. Wuunferth seemed to realize it, for he said, “Come here and let me look at your arm so you can leave. I don’t need you falling asleep and knocking over any of my potions.” Vara sighed heavily but complied.

For several minutes, there was silence as Wuunferth worked on Vara’s arm. Vara’s thoughts swirled around in her mind, and she found them spilling onto her tongue and out of her mouth. “I killed three people yesterday, Wuunferth,” she said, and the words sounded even worse out loud than they had in her mind. “And one of them I killed with my magic.”

Wuunferth didn’t look up from his work as he replied, “I know, Ulfric told me. He said you seemed to feel like you had dishonored yourself and your parents somehow.”

A few angry tears sprang to Vara’s eyes. She blinked them away, but they leaked into her voice as she spoke. “Of course I did! I used magic to kill, Wuunferth!”

“So have I, on more than one occasion. Does that make me a terrible person?” he questioned, and Vara could practically hear him raise his eyebrow.

“No,” Vara said quickly. “You weren’t raised to view magic as a means of art.”

Wuunferth hummed as he finished wrapping her bandage. Then he stood back and looked her in the eye. “What does art do?”

Vara frowned. “What do you mean? It is something that a person creates, something beautiful that others can see and appreciate. It doesn’t do anything.”

“But it does. When you weave your sparks, you relax and let the cares of the world fade away. It helps you think without the noises of your life to distract you.” Vara nodded, although she didn’t quite understand where Wuunferth was going with this. “The thing is, Vara, art is meant to be shared.

“You weave your sparks in secret because others don’t appreciate them because it confuses them. Skyrim is at war, Vara, and a country at war cannot appreciate art.”

Vara frowned. “What would you have me do, Wuunferth?”

“I wouldn’t have you do anything. Only you can make your choices,” the mage replied. “But I know what I would do, were I thirty years younger. I would fight. I would use my magic and I would help bring Skyrim peace. And maybe then I could show them the true art of magic. Maybe then I could teach them to see the beauty in the flames.”

Vara stood suddenly from her seat and began to pace the small room. “If I use my magic to fight, all I am doing is reinforcing the idea that magic is dangerous. That all it is used for is killing and war,” she argued, turning back to face Wuunferth.

The wizard shrugged. “Maybe. But aren’t the most dangerous things the most beautiful. Snow is dangerous. It kills crops and makes traveling a treacherous affair, and yet we cannot help but bask in its cold beauty. It is part of the essence of Skyrim, and so is magic, even if most of the people seem to have forgotten.”

Vara sighed heavily and sat back down in her chair. “I don’t want to kill people, Wuunferth.”

He grunted. “Only monsters enjoy killing, Vara.”

“And if I become a monster?” Vara asked softly. Deep down, that was her fear. She never wanted to become like the Thalmor or the others who found joy in death. If she did, she would never be able to trust herself again, and she would never be able to look her mother in the eye when she finally made it to Sovngarde.

Wuunferth smiled softly, and the expression looked completely out of place on him. If the situation had been lighter, Vara would have laughed. “You won’t, Vara. You’re too good. The day you become a monster is the day the world ends forever.”

A small smile found its way onto Vara’s face. “Thank you, Wuunferth,” she said and the mage nodded.

“Now go get some rest, child. Ulfric isn’t the only one who’s had a rough few days.” Vara smiled and thanked the wizard once more before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Ulfric felt… awake. He had been in a meeting with his counselors, and Vara, for the past two hours, and he wasn’t even tempted to yawn. That in itself was a small miracle. The other miracle was the woman sitting at his side, watching the meeting with a careful eye.

Vara sat on the edge of her seat, her eyes darting around the room and ears twitching at the slightest noise. She wore one of her officer uniforms, her sword propped carefully against the side of the chair. Her face was a mask of carefully controlled irritation that slipped just a fraction everytime another councilor spoke. Everything about her gave off an air of anxious mistrust. And yet, whenever she glanced over at Ulfric, a soft smile crossed her face for a split second, and that smile was as precious to him as all the septims in the city’s vaults.

When had he become so enamored with her? Once, he would have said that he would never trust her, even say that he hated her. Now, now he couldn’t imagine Windhelm without her. The city would be so dull; his life would be so dull. Of course, he didn’t say that out loud to her. He wasn’t certain how she felt about all of this, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. Talos, he was bad at this!

Ulfric was drawn from his thoughts by Vara’s voice. “My lords, perhaps we could continue this discussion at a later date?” she said, interrupting Hroggir, who had been ranting about...something. “We have addressed the most pressing matters. We made plans to double recruitment efforts, requested an order of hundreds of weapons, tripled guard on the roads, and sent soldiers to reinforce the nearest forts.”

Hroggir began to open his mouth, his face already beginning to grow red, but Toroarn, the most senior member of the council nodded. “The girl is right. We could yell about the Thalmor all day, but it won’t change anything. We’ve done what we can.”

The rest of the councilmen nodded their agreement, and Hroggir sat down reluctantly. “We will convene again in a few days to discuss further plans,” Ulfric declared, standing from his seat. “Dismissed.”

After the men had left the room, Ulfric turned to Vara. “You didn’t have to do that,” he stated as he extended an arm to help her out of the chair.

Vara took his hand and stood, looking him in the eyes, a teasing smile on her face. “You were zoning out, Ulfric. I’d be surprised if you could tell me what Hroggir had been saying for the past fifteen minutes.”

Ulfric racked his brain. “He was going on about how the Thalmor are a plague on the land and must be disposed of,” Ulfric said, hoping he was right. He hadn’t realized just how long he had been lost in his thoughts.

Vara shook her head with a laugh. “He said that almost an hour ago. He was talking about the way our soldiers should be trained to ‘resist magic’,” Vara shrugged as she continued, the same smile still on her face. “I didn’t feel like telling him that that isn’t exactly a skill that can be taught.”

Ulfric nodded. “We could outfit the soldiers with enchanted armor, but that would be expensive. Maybe shields…” Ulfric trailed off thoughtfully.

Vara shook her head. “We can talk about that later,” she said, and a sinking feeling formed in the pit of Ulfric’s stomach. He knew what she was going to say, and it wasn’t a conversation that he wanted to have. “Right now, I want to know what Wuunferth was talking about yesterday.”

Ulfric sighed deeply. He could see the glint of determination in Vara’s eye. It was the same one she had had when she had first defended the Dunmer of the Grey Quarter. She wouldn’t be letting this go. “Are you sure?” he finally asked her. She nodded. “Very well, follow me.” Vara slipped her hand into his, and he led her through the Palace to the roof.

Vara breathed in deeply as Ulfric pushed open the door to the roof and the cool Skyrim air rushed over them. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the way that Ulfric’s shoulders relaxed and his eyes slipped closed for a brief second. Then they snapped back open and he stepped onto the roof.

She and Ulfric walked up to the edge of the roof and looked over the city. Snow still clung to the ground in a few patches, but the air was warming; it would soon be spring. For several moments, the only sound was the whistling of the wind, then Ulfric let out a long sigh and began to speak.

“As you know, I was captured by the Thalmor during the Great War,” Ulfric’s voice was soft and full of pain. For a moment, Vara wanted to interrupt and tell him to stop, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she stayed silent. “At first, they kept me locked in a cell. I never saw anyone and I was rarely fed. Time seemed meaningless.” Ulfric’s eyes were glazed over, and Vara knew he wasn’t seeing the city before him. She placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly as he continued.

“Weeks later, they brought me out of my cell only to find that solitude hadn’t done anything to loose my tongue. At first, they thought that if they treated me well enough. The elves soon learned how wrong they were. So they tortured me.” Ulfric’s face darkened and his brows drew together. Vara could see the pain etched in his features. “Until then, I hadn’t understood what the generals had meant when they spoke of the ‘horrors of war’; to me, war was a struggle of glory and honor. The Thalmor taught me how wrong that view was.” Ulfric fell silent, pain twisting his features.

For a moment, Vara wasn’t sure how to react. When Ulfric had first told her of his capture, she had figured that it was a very unpleasant experience. But she had figured that the Thalmor had at least followed the rules of warfare, especially with a political prisoner as important as Ulfric. She should have known better. “I’m sorry, Ulfric,” Vara said in a whisper when she finally spoke. “I’m sorry for making you relive those memories.”

Ulfric turned toward her, his blue eyes bright with pain. As their eyes locked, Vara could almost feel a flash of the pain he felt, and it brought tears to her eyes. No one should ever have to suffer through that kind of pain. Ulfric gently wiped away her tears and said,

“I used to relieve them every night when I closed my eyes. Wuunferth made me potions to banish the dreams, but they didn’t always work. Then, they stopped.” The pain in Ulfric’s eyes faded somewhat, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “I thought that enough time had finally passed, but then you left to oversee the soldiers on the border, and the nightmares returned. Not even Wuunferth’s potions did any good. And yet, the dreams haven’t returned when I am near you.”

“That’s why I brought you back to Windhelm. Ulfric’s smile had disappeared, and he looked to the side. “I should have told you the reason I wanted you to return, but I fear you would see me as weak. Just know that I would have returned to Windhelm alone if you had asked to stay.”

Words formed on Vara’s tongue, but she found that she couldn’t speak. She had never seen Ulfric look so vulnerable. Even when he was kneeling in the road, unable to fight back against the Thalmor mage, he hadn’t looked the way he did now. It was as if she could say a single word and he would break, and that scared her.

When Vara finally spoke, her voice was filled with a quiet conviction. “Ulfric, I could never see you as a weak person,” she declared, turning the man’s face so that their eyes met once again. “You are strong, and a few dreams cannot change that. I don’t know what they have to do with me, but I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.” She smiled and gently wrapped her arms around Ulfric, leaning her head on his chest. His arms quickly encircled her, and they stayed that way, in silence, for several moments.

“Thank you,” Ulfric murmured into Vara’s shoulder, where his head rested. Vara didn’t reply but held him a little tighter. It was strange how quickly she had grown to care for the Jarl of Windhelm, especially considering their rocky beginnings, but being here simply felt right. And so Vara let her eyes slip closed as she listened to the beat of Ulfric’s heart.

Chapter Text

Vara sighed heavily. She hated council meetings. Logically, she knew that Ulfric received important information about the city during the meetings and made decisions with the council that would impact the city and the war, but there was far too much politicking for her taste. Everyone seemed to have a different motive, and they rarely coincided with one another. But Ulfric had asked her to attend these meetings, so here she was in her fifth one in the past two weeks.

The meeting was being held in the Great Hall instead of the war room as it usually was, so Vara was standing beside Ulfric’s throne in the place that his steward usually occupied. Jorlief was off running an errand for Ulfric, although he hadn’t said what that errand was. Vara’s attention turned to Ulfric.

The man was lounging on the throne, but despite the relaxed posture, Vara could tell that he was listening to the meeting attentively. He was looking much better than he had when they first arrived in Windhelm. Over the past two weeks, his wounds had almost all healed completely. The arrow wound was the only one that was still healing, and thanks to a combination of her and Wuunferth’s healing, even it was little more than a scratch. The bags under his eyes had also disappeared, and there was a spring in his step that he had been missing.

Her thoughts were interrupted when someone knocked on the grand door to the Palace. A silence fell over the room, and Ulfric gestured for the guard to open it, frowning slightly. The men who stood guard on the outside of the Palace had been informed that they were not to allow anyone in until the meeting was over. Vara’s right hand moved to the sword at her waist, and she began to pool magicka in her left as the door swung open.

For a moment, there was silence, then Ulfric’s face split into a wide grin as he said, “Galmar, you’re early! You weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow evening. Just how hard did you push those soldiers?”

The grizzled general didn’t reply. Instead, he stalked across the room, towards Ulfric’s throne. As he approached, the councilmen began to fidget nervously, and Vara couldn’t blame them. Galmar radiated a seething anger that had even Ulfric looking concerned.

Finally, Galmar came to a stop at the foot of the throne. He took a deep breath before saying, “You, Ulfric Stormcloak, are an overconfident fool.” Several of the councilmen gasped, and Vara’s eyes widened at the harsh words. Ulfric’s frown deepened, but he didn’t interrupt as Galmar continued. “Fifteen extra men arrived at the outpost two days ago. When I asked why the Jarl had sent reinforcements, their only reply was that ‘Jarl Ulfric and Officer Oaken-Song were attacked by an Imperial patrol.’ That was it. No details. Ulfric, you could have died, and I wouldn’t have known! Would it have killed you to send a messenger, or did you think you didn’t need one, the same way you didn’t need any guards?” Ulfric flinched under the ferocity of Galmar’s words, and Vara found herself ducking her head in shame. She was the reason he had been injured so badly, after all.

“You are the leader of a rebellion, Ulfric! The men and women under your banner look up to you. They would give their lives for you in a heartbeat; the least you could do is try and keep yourself safe! But no, guards would slow you down.” Galmar finally stopped for a breath, and Ulfric spoke, his voice far calmer than his friend’s had been.

“I was reckless, Galmar, and I always have been. It seems to be a trait that I can’t outgrow,” he said, and Galmar snorted derisively in reply. “I apologize for that, my friend. But I am alive and well, thanks to Vara and Wuunferth. I won’t be joining the throngs of Sovngarde just yet.” Galmar muttered something under his breath; Ulfric’s apology didn’t appear to have done much to appease the man.

Ulfric turned his attention to the council. “Thank you all for your time,” he said. “You are dismissed.” The men stood and bowed, then quickly exited the room. Vara followed them with her eyes, wishing she could slip out the door with them.

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife, and it seemed to stifle the words that Vara wanted to say to defend her and Ulfric. Galmar turned his gaze to her, and Vara’s gut clenched nervously. “General,” she acknowledged, the word barely getting around the lump in her throat. Galmar only raised an eyebrow, and Vara looked away.

Thankfully, Galmar’s attention turned back to Ulfric. “You are lucky that it wasn’t a larger party, Ulfric. If they had had even one more of those Talos-forsaken Thalmor, you would have died.” The general’s voice was more level than it had been, and Vara could hear more worry in it than anger.

Ulfric’s reply was soft. “I almost did. Vara killed the Thalmor, without her, I would have died.”

At those words, Vara found the strength to speak. “General,” she said, stepping forward and squaring her shoulders. “That isn’t entirely true. The only reason Ulfric couldn’t fight off the mage in the first place was because he was injured by an archer. An archer that I had known was there. It’s my fault he was hurt in the first place.”

Before Galmar had a chance to respond, Ulfric spoke. “Vara, you weren’t to blame for any of my injuries. I told you this once before.” Ulfric stood from his throne and stepped down until he was standing across from Vara, looking into her eyes. “If anything, it’s my fault that we were caught in that ambush in the first place. If I had brought guards as I should have, you wouldn’t have needed to worry about my safety. You could have died fighting that mage. That isn’t your job.”

Vara shook her head. “But it is, Ulfric,” she said firmly. “You are the leader of the rebellion that will finally see Skyrim free. You are her future High King. Your life is more valuable than mine by far.”

Ulfric stepped closer, and Vara’s heart skipped a beat. “Not to me, Vara,” he whispered, his face so close to hers, she could feel the heat of his breath dance across her skin when he spoke.

Before Vara could say anything, Galmar interrupted her. “You two are unbelievable,” he huffed impatiently. Vara and Ulfric turned towards him, blushes faintly coloring both of their faces.

“Galmar, it’s not what-”. Vara started, but the general raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I think it’s exactly what it looks like. Let me guess, you were both injured, had some deep discussion, and discovered that life was too short to ignore your feelings for each other. Who kissed who first?” Galmar seemed oddly excited about this, and Vara could only point to Ulfric wordlessly. Galmar laughed, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. “I knew it,” he declared, looking far too pleased with himself. “Gonnar owes me a new dagger.”

For a moment, neither Vara nor Ulfric could speak. Finally, Ulfric said, “You took bets on us? Just what did you think would happen?” His voice was indignant but mildly curious, and Vara found herself feeling the same way.

Galmar grinned. “I bet that the two of you would kiss before the season changed and that you would kiss her first, Ulfric. Gonnar figured nothing would happen until summer.” The general scratched his head thoughtfully. “Although I suppose Wuunferth had the closest bet. He said that the two of you would kiss before the season changed and that it would be after some kind of perilous circumstance. He even guessed that Ulfric would make the first move.”

Vara didn’t know what to say to that. Galmar and Wuunferth had been betting on her and Ulfric. She wasn’t sure if she was angry at them or just mildly amused. She glared at Galmar, but she couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from turning up in a grin.

“Since you recently came into a small fortune, Galmar, I think you should treat Vara and me to dinner. We can catch each other up on the past few weeks,” Ulfric suggested, his own face decorated in a grin.

Vara wrapped an arm around Ulfric’s waist. “That sounds lovely, but I already have a date for tonight.”

Ulfric raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and who would that be?” he asked. Vara couldn’t quite tell if there was true jealousy in his voice or not. The thought of Ulfric being jealous because someone else was taking up her time made the butterflies in her stomach stir happily.

“Ambarys, Ninesea, and her husband. We haven’t spoken in a while, and I’m sure they’ll want to know what happened. I won’t tell them anything about-” Vara gestured to the two of them with a slight shrug. She didn’t even know what to call the two of them. Were they even a two?

“Why not?” Ulfric asked with a frown and Vara decided that it should be illegal for a man to look as handsome as he did while frowning.

“Because I’m not even sure what this is yet. Besides, I think your council might have a fit if they knew…” Vara trailed off and looked away with a blush.

Ulfric’s frown deepened. “Vara, I don’t care what the council thinks.”

Vara sighed deeply. “I know you don’t, Ulfric, but your people do. There are many in this hold, in Skyrim, who are narrow-minded when it comes to other races, but many of them have good hearts and would fight under your banner. I don’t want to do anything to hurt that.” Vara smiled softly, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “The rebellion comes first.”

“I hate to say it, but she’s right, Ulfric. There are plenty of strong nords in Skyrim that hate the elves, no matter which side of the war they’re on. The people might be able to deal with having an officer who is of elven blood, but this relationship of yours might be too much.” Galmar mused, his arms crossed in front of him.

Ulfric was silent for several moments. He was still standing close to Vara, and she could hear every intake of breath and every exhale. She could practically feel the gears turning in his mind as he thought, and she knew what he would say even before he opened his mouth.

“One day, all of the people of Skyrim will be able to live in peace together.” He shook his head sadly. “But it is not this day. Whatever this is between us, will stay quiet, although I can’t promise that that will last forever. I don’t want it to.”

Vara smiled. This man before her was so strong. He was willing to sacrifice anything for his people, anything. Other women might have been angry that their relationship was the thing that was sacrificed, but Vara wasn’t. She was proud and just a little relieved. She would never have been able to live with herself if she had been the cause of people refusing to join the Stormcloaks.

Vara leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Ulfric’s lips, pulling away before he could respond. “One day, Ulfric,” she whispered, and he nodded, a small smile on his lips. Vara broke away from Ulfric and stepped towards the door. “I’ll see you boys later. We should have lunch tomorrow to talk.”

Ulfric shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I have a lunch date already set for tomorrow.”

Vara raised an eyebrow. “Really? Who is it?” she asked teasingly. It was likely with some councilmember or a merchant in town, but it wouldn’t bother her if it wasn’t. Vara wasn’t exactly the jealous type.

Ulfric smirked. “I can’t tell you.”

Vara knew she wouldn’t get anything out of Ulfric, so she simply shrugged and turned to Galmar. “I’ll find a time for us to talk. I want to hear how the soldiers are doing.” The general nodded, a smile still dancing on his face. His eyes darted between her and Ulfric, and his smile grew.

Vara and Ulfric exchanged a confused look and shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Vara,” Ulfric said softly. Vara simply smiled at him before turning and walking out of the Palace.

Ulfric was sitting in the kitchens, waiting. The fire was roaring merrily, casting a warm glow on the stone walls. He used to come down to the kitchens often before he had gotten so busy. He would come down at night when the cooks and maids were all asleep and simply sit and think. The warm smell of food that always seemed to linger in the air reminded him of his mother. She had loved to bake, although she wasn't very good at it. She had once tried to bake his father a cake for his birthday; the result had been what looked like a large lump of coal. A smile crossed Ulfric’s face at the memory, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening.

Ulfric looked up from the fire to see Galmar standing in the doorway. Ulfric gestured for his friend to enter, and the man stepped in and sat in a chair across from Ulfric. “This isn’t exactly the inn, Ulfric,” Galmar pointed out in his gravelly voice.

Ulfric shrugged. “And yet you still bought me a drink.” He gestured to the bottles in Galmar’s hands. The general chuckled and handed one over, which Ulfric uncorked and began to sip. After a moment, he said, “The inn is too crowded. I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

Galmar nodded, leaning back in his chair. “You read the report I wrote for the council about the soldiers at the outpost, so I’m guessing it’s the girl you want to talk about.” Ulfric didn’t reply, absently swishing the drink around in its bottle. “If you want my advice,” Galmar continued, “you should keep that woman close.”

Ulfric leaned back in his chair. “I plan to, Galmar. But…” Ulfric trailed off. He didn’t know how to phrase what he was thinking. He wanted Vara by his side, that much he knew, but he also knew that his life was dangerous, especially for someone like her. He wasn’t sure that he was willing to put her through that.

“Earlier, when Vara said that she wanted to keep this thing between us quiet, I didn’t understand why at first. Then, I realized how dangerous this could be for her.” Ulfric sighed and ran his fingers through his hair with a frustrated sigh. “I want her by my side, Galmar, but I don’t want to hurt her. She was already almost assassinated, for Talos’ sake! How much worse off would she be if Skyrim saw her standing by my side?”

“You sound like you’re planning to propose or something, Ulfric,” Galmar said with a chuckle. The general almost choked on the sound when Ulfric only shrugged slightly. “Talos! You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I might not have much experience in romance, old friend, but I know enough to realize that you don’t find a woman like Vara every century,” Ulfric replied honestly. “But I wasn’t planning on proposing. It’s a little early for that.” Ulfric grinned and took a deep swallow of his mead. Galmar mumbled something under his breath about this not being part of the bet, and Ulfric only smiled wider.

In all honesty, Ulfric didn’t know what to do. He had never really thought that he would ever fall in love or get married, and he still wasn’t sure. But if this thing between him and Vara wasn’t love, it was the closest thing he would ever experience. That was something he could be relatively certain of.

Galmar took a long drink of his mead. “You’re going to be the death of me one of these days, Ulfric Stormcloak,” he grumbled. “You’re right,t though. Your life is dangerous, and it’ll only get worse as the war does. If Vara were to stand with you, she’d be in even more danger than she would be as a simple officer.” He took another long drink before looking Ulfric straight in the eyes. “But Vara isn’t one to run from danger. She’s strong, Ulfric.” Ulfric only nodded, his mind swirling with a million different thoughts, and took another drink. Galmar turned the conversation, and they spoke of various things until the fire began to die down.

Ulfric stood, and his friend did the same. They shook hands, and Galmar clapped Ulfric on the shoulder warmly. “You’ll figure it out, Ulfric. You always do,” he stated confidently before turning away and leaving the kitchen. Ulfric watched his friend go, silently hoping that he was right.

The atmosphere of Ninesea’s home was warm and happy. A fire flickered in a fireplace nearby that Vara had helped to repair, and the smell of freshly baked bread hung in the air. Vara couldn’t keep the smile from her face. It was late, and she should have left an hour ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to move from the chair where she sat. Reyyl asked her another question about what had happened at the outpost while she had gone, and she answered with a laugh before launching into a story of how she had discovered that Rikkria and Jorgrek were courting. Ambarys and Ninesea nodded along, Reyyl injecting little questions here and there, smiles pulling at everyone’s lips.

As she finished her tale, Vara leaned back in her chair and the three Dunmer made different comments and asked about certain details. This was the way her life would be; she would fight under Ulfric’s banner and return home to Windhelm to swap stories with friends and to be near him. Her smile grew wider. It wouldn’t be a bad way to live. Ambarys began to recount a story of a nord who had wandered into the Cornerclub, and Vara leaned forward, glad to listen. It wasn’t a bad way to live at all.

Chapter Text

Vara took a deep breath, the muscles in her arms straining. Carefully, she steadied her breathing, sighted, and released. For a moment, the arrow flew through the afternoon air, light glinting off the arrowhead. Then, it clattered to the ground six feet from the target Vara had been trying to hit for the last twenty minutes. With a sigh, she lowered the bow and turned, a stormy expression on her face.

“I think this bow hates me,” she stated, glaring darkly at the weapon in question. “How in the name of Kynareth is it possible to miss a target twenty feet away, Ulfric?”

The man chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Archery takes practice, Vara. I still can’t believe you never learned to shoot.” He said, an amused grin playing on his lips.

Vara huffed and drew another arrow from the quiver that leaned against the crates she and Ulfric were standing by. They were in a courtyard behind the Palace where several targets had been set up for the archers of the army to practice. Thankfully, all of the soldiers were on a break, so they wouldn’t be able to watch her fail. “I told you, I never really had a reason to learn. I have my magic, Ulfric.”

Ulfric only smiled in reply and showed her how to adjust her stance. Again. Realistically, she knew it was important for her to learn how to use a bow. After all, if she was ever cut off from her magic in any way or her magicka was depleted, she was practically defenseless. That didn’t mean she enjoyed practicing though. Once again, she took a deep breath and released the arrow, which immediately veered to the right and hit a target at least fifteen feet away from the one she had been trying to hit.

Vara turned back towards Ulfric, who was staring at the erratic arrow with a perplexed expression. He seemed to be at a loss for words. Vara sighed inwardly. This was fabulous; not even Ulfric could describe how horrendous her archery skills were. “I’ve decided the Divines don’t want me to be an archer,” Vara stated, leaning the bow carefully against the crates and shooting it a look of distrust. “Besides,” she added, glancing back up at Ulfric. “I thought you had a lunch date today; I don’t want to make you late.”

Surprisingly, Ulfric grinned. Once again, Vara was struck by how much younger the expression made Ulfric appear. From what she had gathered from listening to Wuunferth and Galmar talk, Ulfric Stormcloak rarely smiled and laughed even less. Around her, however, that rule didn’t seem to apply, something Vara was extremely grateful for. Every time he grinned, the butterflies in her stomach seemed to wake and flit all around her gut.

“Well, I have a feeling my companion won’t mind, seeing as she’s the one keeping me from lunch,” Ulfric stated, his eyes shining with mirth. “Now try that shot again, and this time, try and hit the target in front of you.”

Vara crossed her arms, an exasperated smile on her lips. “So now I’m the one keeping you from lunch? First of all, I distinctly remember you suggesting that I practice archery. Second, this bow hates me. And the arrows. And the target. And the wind. Third, as your companion, I would like food now.”

Ulfric shook his head with a chuckle. “You should try one more time. Please? You’re getting better.” Vara raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but picked up the bow and fit an arrow against the string, unable to resist the look in Ulfric’s eyes. She pulled back on the string, sighted along the arrow, and released. The arrow sped through the air and this time impacted against the target across from her with a dull thud.

Vara couldn’t stop the small grin of triumph that pulled at her lips when she turned back to Ulfric. The arrow was nowhere near the center of the target, but at least she had finally managed to hit the thing. Ulfric returned her smile with one of his own and said, “See, you are getting better.” Vara swatted Ulfric on the shoulder, but the blow had no force behind it. In reality, she was glad that it had been Ulfric out here to help her. If it had been anyone else, they would have given up on her a long time ago, and she wouldn’t have blamed them in the slightest.

Vara carefully unstrung the bow and placed it on top of the crates, along with the quiver, where the soldier that Ulfric had borrowed the weapon from would come and collect it later. “Now, I believe you and I have a lunch to attend,” she stated. Ulfric chuckled and offered her his arm, which she accepted, and the man led them back towards the Palace.

As they walked, Vara’s mind wandered over the past few weeks. She and Ulfric had spent a lot of time together, although most of it had been spent in various meetings. Vara had kept her distance during the meetings, but she had a feeling that at least a few of the councilors suspected that there was something between her and Ulfric. A part of her wanted to tell them the truth to dispel any rumors that she was sure were circulating, but she held herself back. None of the councilors would openly speak out against Ulfric without any proof, and the last thing that Vara wanted to do was give them the ammunition that they needed.

She and Ulfric stepped through one of the back doors of the Palace, and she let go of Ulfric’s arm. He glanced at her, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion, but Vara only smiled with a small shake of her head. Outside, the courtyard had been empty; here, however, there were too many people who could see them.

Ulfric frowned as Vara let go of his arm, but the woman only smiled softly in reply. A question sprang to his lips, but he pushed the thought away and led the two of them through the stone walls of the Palace to the kitchens where he had been talking with Glamar the night before. Now, however, instead of a few rickety chairs, there was a blanket spread across the ground covered in various dishes that his cooks had made. A small fire was crackling in the hearth merrily, warming the small space and causing light to dance on the grey walls.

“I gave the kitchen staff the rest of the day off,” Ulfric explained as he led Vara over to the blanket. She sat, her eyes bright with a smile. Ulfric sat across from her, careful not to disrupt the food that had been laid out. “I realized that I never repaid you for that dinner, so…” Ulfric shrugged and gestured at the food in front of them.

Vara laughed, the sound light and happy in Ulfric’s ears. “That was over a month and a half ago, Ulfric,” she pointed out, but her teasing words didn’t stop her from grabbing one of the artfully plated sandwiches and taking a bite. Ulfric shrugged in reply. He didn’t really have anything to say to that, as Vara was right. He was a little late on repaying the favor. He had been fairly busy, but he knew that wasn’t exactly an excuse that Vara would accept.

The white-haired woman didn’t seem to mind his lack of response. “Forget what I ever said about you being lazy because you have cooks, Ulfric. If I had someone who could make food like this every day, I would never cook again!” she exclaimed, taking another bite of the sandwich she held.

“I’m glad I changed my mind about cooking lunch myself, then,” Ulfric said with a laugh. It was strange how easily Vara could make him do that. Normally, it seemed that he couldn’t escape the cloud of soberness that hung over the entire Palace. In fact, he was often the source of it. Yet when Vara was nearby, it was like a beam of sunlight. Laughter and smiles were only natural around her, and it was easy to forget the responsibilities that rested on his shoulders.

Vara laughed again. “I hope you aren’t offended when I say that I’m glad you did too,” she said, taking another bite of the sandwich, her eyes teasing. Ulfric only shook his head and took a bite of his own sandwich. They really were good, if somewhat simple.

After he had swallowed his food, Ulfric said, “These kinds of meals were always my favorite, the simple ones with few people. I once left in the middle of an official lunch and came down here. I tried to make myself bread, but one of the cooks stole the flour from my hands before I could try. The councilors had been too shocked to stop me.”

The gold flecks in Vara’s eyes shined brightly with mirth as she asked, “And how old were you when that happened?”

Ulfric took another bite of his sandwich before answering. “Around thirty-three, I believe,” he stated, fighting the grin that threatened to spread across his lips.

For a moment, Vara didn’t react, then she burst into laughter, almost knocking over the untouched glass of wine in front of her. “Well,” she gasped out after she had managed to get her laughter under control. “I have to say that that doesn’t quite match the image of the Bear of Eastmarch the stories are told about.”

Ulfric smiled ruefully. “That’s what the councilmembers thought, too. Needless to say, I haven’t left any meetings that way since,” Ulfric said. Not that he would, anyway. With the war going on, every meeting was vital, as much as he loathed them. That brought him to another thought.

“It’s strange,” he mused, taking a sip of wine before continuing. “The people expect me to become High King, and if the rebellion succeeds, I will, but I’m not exactly an ideal candidate.” Vara cocked her head to the side, seeming confused.

“The people of Skyrim aren’t the type to blindly choose a man to lead them,” she pointed out with a small frown. “If they trust you to be their High King, they can see your worth. What would make you think otherwise?”

Ulfric sighed and stared at the deep red liquid that sloshed lazily in his glass. “I’m not a politician, not like my father was. He was a patient man and always seemed to know exactly what needed to be said in order to sway people to his side. I’m a soldier. I don’t have the patience to play the games that these politicians do or the skill. I’m blunt and decisive.”

To his surprise, Vara nodded in agreement. “You can be. Often, when you don’t like someone, you tell them and let the consequences follow. Sometimes though, that bluntness is like a subtlety in and of itself.”

Ulfric frowned. “How? A lumbering bear can’t exactly walk on eggshells.”

“But it can,” Vara replied eagerly, leaning forward and looking him in the eye. “The politicians are constantly looking for an angle, a hidden agenda. You throw them off and they spend so much time trying to figure out why you broke the eggshells that they never noticed that you’ve crossed to the other side. You can’t lose if you don’t play the game.”

“So I’ll be High King by acting?” Ulfric asked, frowning deeper.

Vara shook her head. “No, no,” she said before pausing, looking for the words. “You will be a good High King because you are honest. Your people know that and respect it. Your enemies, however, are far from honest, and they expect everyone else to be like them. And you aren’t.”

For a moment, Ulfric was silent. He had had plenty of pep talks from plenty of people on this subject, but this was definitely the most interesting one yet. Finally, he said, “I appreciate your confidence in me.” He smiled at her, and the way a faint blush dusted her cheeks as she looked away from him only made his smile grow. He grew serious again as he continued. “If your words are any indicator of your political prowess, Skyrim would only benefit from your counsel. This would all be so much easier if you would stand by my side and let the people see.”

Vara’s head snapped back up, her eyes meeting his, concern swirling in their depths. “Ulfric, I want to help you, I do and I will, but opening our relationship to the scrutinizing eyes of the public won’t do any good. We already talked about this yesterday.”

“We did,” Ulfric admitted, “But I’m not sure that you’re right in this, Vara.” He leaned forward, his voice becoming more and more passionate as he spoke. “You have already been such an inspiration to the Dark Elves of the Grey Quarter; you’ve helped more citizens in the short time you’ve been here than most people have their entire lives. You’ve provided me with a fresh view of my city and the war. You’ve done so much good already, just think of what more you could do if you stood with me publicly!

“People would listen to you more readily, and they’d be less likely to question you. Your name would carry a different weight, and with it, you’d be able to do so much more!” Ulfric exclaimed, eyes bright. Talos, he hadn’t been this excited about politics for years!

That excitement drained away when Vara broke their gaze and glanced to the side. “You’re forgetting something, Ulfric; I’m a half-elf. If I stood by your side in public, the people would only become angry. They trust you, Ulfric, and I don’t want to be the one who causes that trust to break.” Vara’s voice was emotionless as if she was simply reading facts out of a tome, but her eyes told a different story. When she looked back at him, Ulfric could see pain there. That pain only intensified as she smiled brokenly and said, “Besides, even if the people did trust me, and I was able to help, things would only go back to the way that they were, or get even worse when you move on.”

For a moment, Ulfric was stunned, his brain unable to wrap itself around Vara’s words. When he finally did, his eyes widened and a deep sadness washed over him. Vara had entered this relationship without any hope that it would last. Now, he had never ventured to think that Vara was already as committed as he was, but he had at least thought that she had some idea of a long term. But looking into her eyes, Ulfric knew that wasn’t the case. Deep down, Vara had always thought that he would leave her, and judging from the level of pain in the green of her irises, she had figured it would be sooner rather than later.

Before Ulfric could gather his thought enough to tell Vara just how wrong she was, the woman whispered, “It’s okay, Ulfric. People always say that life is short in Skyrim and that there’s little time for courtship, and they aren’t wrong. But you and I both know that the rules don’t quite apply to you.” Her practical tone of voice tore at Ulfric’s heartstrings. She sounded as if she had accepted all of this a long time ago, and she probably had. “You are the future High King of Skyrim. You need to make political alliances, and your marriage will be the strongest and most important of those. You and your wife will help Skyrim more in the act of your marriage than I will in my entire life--- even with my extended lifespan. You know that.”

“No, I don’t,” Ulfric declared, shaking his head slowly. “Political alliances are fleeting things, especially with nordic tempers being what they are. Besides, if I were to ever marry, I would have to trust my spouse, and that trust isn’t something that I give out lightly.”

A part of Ulfric couldn’t believe that they were having this discussion. When Galmar had teased him last night about sounding as if he wanted to propose, Ulfric had only shrugged. In truth, he had a difficult time seeing himself married. If he was being completely honest, he had a difficult time seeing himself being crowned High King and surviving this rebellion in the first place. And yet Vara spoke as if his marriage were already a settled matter that she played no part in.

Vara waved her hand dismissively, but Ulfric thought he caught a glimpse of tears glittering in her eyes as she did so. “You will learn to trust; you’ll have to. You can’t run a country on your own, Ulfric Stormcloak.” Vara stated in a confident tone, but Ulfric could hear the faint waiver in her voice. “I’m just a stepping stone, Ulfric. There’s no reason to upset the people if you don’t have to.”

A stepping stone? Was that really how Vara saw herself? Ulfric couldn’t help but chuckle, although the sound held no humor. A stepping stone to what? He had a hard time imagining anyone who could be considered a step up from Varaduilwe Oaken-Song. He had just opened his mouth to tell her as much when someone knocked on the door.

Anger rose in Ulfric’s chest. He had specifically told the servants and staff that he was not to be disturbed until evening. He glanced over at Vara and saw that her face had frozen into a mask of careful disinterest. Pushing his anger to the side, he called for the person to open the door.

“My lord, I apologize for interrupting,” Jorleif said as soon as he had stepped through the open door. “General Gonnar Oath-Giver has returned. He says that he has vital information to share.” The steward reported, bowing again.

Ulfric frowned thoughtfully. Gonnar wasn’t supposed to be in Eastmarch until next month when he was due to fetch a batch of fresh soldiers. If he was here this early, something had to be going on. “Very well, tell him that I will meet him in the war room shortly and inform the rest of the officers who are in the city as well. If this information is important enough for Gonnar to relay personally, I want them to hear it.” Jorleif nodded and then disappeared back down the hallway.

Turning back to Vara, Ulfric saw that the white-haired woman had stood as well. For a moment, they simply held each other’s gaze, a tense and painful silence between them. “This didn’t exactly go as I had planned,” Ulfric admitted with an empty laugh. His tone, however, was full of emotions that he couldn’t even identify as he continued. “This conversation isn’t over, Vara, and I stand by what I said.” He held her eyes with his as he spoke, hoping that he could convey the truth of his words.

Vara, however, simply smiled in a way the made Ulfric’s heart clench. “We have a meeting to attend,” she said softly, refusing to acknowledge Ulfric’s words. After another long moment, Ulfric nodded and led the way out of the once-cozy room.

Chapter Text

A dark expression had settled over Ulfric’s face. They were sitting in the war room, waiting for the rest of the generals to arrive. Their tardiness, however, could only account for part of the problem, Vara knew. Ulfric glanced over at her, sitting at the side of the table as she was, and every time he did she could see pain in his eyes. She kept her expression vacant and avoided eye contact with the man, but inside her mind and emotions were spinning dizzily.

She believed what she had told Ulfric; his marriage would be one of the most important events in Skyrim’s relatively near future, and he would be marrying for political advantage. Vara was certain of that. Men like Ulfric didn’t have the luxury of marrying whoever they wanted.

The problem, however, was that Ulfric had seemed almost confused when she had pointed out that their relationship was a passing thing. That expression had only intensified when she had started talking about his future marriage as High King. It was as if the man didn’t believe that he would ever marry. Or that he didn’t believe that he would marry anyone other than her.

And that was the thought that Vara couldn’t wrap her mind around. When she had kissed Ulfric that night outside of the cave, she had done so believing that she had sealed her fate. She knew exactly who Ulfric Stormcloak was, and she knew that their relationship would be fleeting at best. But Ulfric didn’t seem to see it that way, and that scared her.

Vara wanted their relationship to last; she wanted to be standing by Ulfric’s side a few years from now, watching as he is crowned High King. She wanted it so badly that it left her hurting inside. But her parents had taught her to know when the battle was lost, and this one was already over. There were too many reasons that they just wouldn’t work, as much as she wished the situation was different.

Ulfric didn’t see it that way. If he had his way, their relationship would grow. They would love and fight and live, until there came a point when they wouldn’t even need to speak to know what the other was going to say. Vara could almost see it in her mind. Sure, something could go wrong, they could realize that they simply weren’t compatible. But she and Ulfric would have a chance, and that idea was intoxicating.

Vara took a deep breath and pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind. This meeting was going to be important, and she needed to keep her thoughts in check if she wanted to be able to contribute. As if summoned by her thoughts, a knock sounded at the door. Gonnar, who had been standing over the maps scattered over the table in the center of the room, moved and opened the door.

Galmar was the first person through the door. The grizzled general immediately moved to stand by Ulfric’s side. He glanced at Ulfric and frowned slightly, but when he glanced over at Vara, his eyes widened slightly. Vara shook her head, they would talk about this later. Galmar’s frown deepened, but he nodded slightly.

Galmar was followed through the door by Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced, Kai Wet-Pommel, and Frorkmar Banner-Torn. The three commanders bowed to Ulfric and then took a seat around the table. Gonnar moved to close the door, but another man dashed through at the last second.

“I apologize for being late, my jarl,” the man stated, slightly out of breath. As he turned to the table, Vara recognized him, Olflnar Fjariksen, a member of Ulfric’s council. “I overheard Jorleif when he told the generals about the meeting. I hope I wasn’t too presumptuous in inviting myself; I feel I may be of assistance.”

Vara had to resist the urge to snort in disbelief. She really was picking up on Wuunferth’s bad habits; she wouldn’t be surprised if his actions were somehow contagious. She didn’t like anyone on Ulfric’s council, but she liked Olflnar the least. He was a weasel of a man, always searching for a way to exploit the pains of others to his own gain. Vara doubted that he had anything of value to contribute to the meeting.

The look in Ulfric’s eyes told her that he thought the same thing, but he nodded. “Have a seat, Olflnar,” he ordered. The man obeyed, thankfully choosing to sit on the other side of the table from Vara. Ulfric’s attention turned to Gonnar, who was standing at the end of the table, having gathered the maps around him. “Now, Gonnar, what is so important that you couldn’t send a courier?”

“The Thalmor,” Gonnar replied, his expression dark. He pointed to a place he had circled on one of the maps. Darkwater Crossing, if Vara was reading it correctly. “Normally, there are one or two Justicars with each Imperial patrol, and there are never more than three in any one place at a time.” The general leaned forward as he spoke, a fierce light in his eyes. “At Darkwater Crossing, there are twelve. Twelve Justicars, Ulfric. If there isn't something important going on there that the Thalmor want covered up, I’ll eat my uniform. The Thalmor are careful, they never show their hand if they can help it. That means that whatever is happening at Darkwater must be important enough for the gain to outweigh the risk of being noticed.”

The generals around the table nodded. “Anything that is important to the Thalmor should be important to us,” Frorkmar said, his voice scratchy and deep. “Do you know what it is?”

Gonnar shook his head. “I’m not even sure that ‘it’ is an it. I can’t get soldiers within three miles of the place without being spotted by Thalmor. The only reason I know anything at all is from a local who managed to sneak out of the town. He seemed to think that the Justicars were there to root out any worship of Talos, so he fled.”

“One Justicar is enough to scare people senseless. They don’t need twelve to root out Talos,” Ulfric stated. There was a deep frown on his face, and Vara could practically hear him thinking. “There is something going on there, that is certain, but how do you know that the Thalmor aren’t setting a trap?” Ulfric leaned forward. “This is exactly the type of thing those skeevers would do to draw us out.”

Gonnar nodded. “Aye, that’s what I thought too. I did some digging, and according to the scouting records, there have been large shipments traveling near Darkwater Crossing for months. The place is little for than a few tents and a mine, they don’t need the kind of supplies that the scouts reported, but we didn’t think anything of it. After all, what would the Empire want with Darkwater? If this is a trap, Ulfric, they’ve been planning it for months.”

Kai Wet-Pommel spoke up, saying, “The Thalmor are cunning, there’s no doubt about that, but they aren’t the type to take risks if they aren’t certain that the reward will be worth it. They wouldn’t spend this long on a project only to have some poor fool run away and spoil everything.”

Ulfric nodded. “This doesn’t feel like a Thalmor trap,” he admitted. “They prefer subtlety, and twelve Justicars are anything but subtle.” He took a deep breath before continuing, and Vara saw a flicker of pain cross his face and the sudden urge to hunt down every Thalmor in Skyrim rushed over Vara. The pain on his face disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Ulfric continued. “What are we going to do? We can’t risk the Thalmor gaining an advantage, so we have to do something. What?”

The generals immediately began to discuss several different strategies, but Vara blocked their voices out as she tried to think. Twelve Justicars was dangerous. Very, very dangerous. The only way to take them down was with a small army, and even then they would suffer heavy losses. The Stormcloaks simply weren’t equipped to face twelve full Justicars, and it would take months to change that. Months they didn’t have. “It has to be an inside job,” Vara stated quietly, her voice cutting through the clamour of ideas with its quiet intensity. The men all turned towards her, varying degrees of surprise decorating their faces.

“We all know how powerful Justicars are. If we charged Darkwater Crossing, we would lose, or suffer more casualties than I would be willing to count, not to mention the fact that at least a few of the Justicars would likely escape along with whatever it is that’s so important to them.” Vara nodded to herself. “It has to be an inside job, that’s the only way we could get rid of the Thalmor without either drawing too much attention or risking their escape.”

“She’s right,” Galmar said, although he wasn’t very happy about it, judging from the tone of his voice. “As much as I’d rather just charge in a skewer every last one of those pointy-eared skeevers, having a person on the inside is the only plan that has even a slight chance of success. The question is, how?”

For a moment, the others didn’t react. Then, they began to nod. They would all rather fight face to face with the Thalmor, but, as stubborn as they were, they weren’t suicidal. The next few hours were spent discussing how they would get a person inside of Darkwater Crossing, and what that person would do once they were there. As she listened, pitching an idea every once in a while, a plan began to form in her mind, and so when Olflnar finally spoke up, Vara had an answer.

“This is all well and good,” the councilman said, gesturing to the maps that were once again scattered across the table and the various notes that had been scrawled on them. “But who in Tamriel is crazy enough to volunteer to infiltrate the Thalmor? We all know that if they get caught, we won’t even be able to recognize the body when the Thalmor are done with them.” The generals around the table grimaced at the gruesome image. They knew his words were true though, the Thalmor did not take kindly to spies. And so Vara spoke up.

“I will. I’ll infiltrate Darkwater Crossing.” Silence fell as everyone in the room turned towards her once again. This time though, surprise didn’t quite describe their expressions. “Think about it. No one in the army is crazy enough to volunteer, and even if they did, they wouldn’t stand a chance against the Thalmor if they were caught. With my magic, I can lay a false trail or cast an illusion. At the very least, I can hold them off for a little while, long enough for someone to escape with the information you need. I’m sure there are miners who would be willing.” Vara stated. As she spoke, she carefully avoided looking at Ulfric, as she could practically feel the anger radiating off of him.

“Besides,” she continued, “I can pose as an immigrant out of work. With my pointed ears and pale skin, the Thalmor will likely suspect me to be an escaped servant girl from the Isles. They’ll expect me to cower and obey their whims, so they won’t look close enough to see that I don’t quite fit the profile.”

“We would need at least a small camp of people nearby to keep an eye on things and relay messages,” Gonnar mused. “It could work though. It’s better than any of our other ideas for sure.” The others nodded. “We need to work out details, of course, but we could be ready to leave in a few days. The sooner we figure out what in the name of Talos those Thalmor are doing, the better.” Vara nodded in agreement. They couldn’t afford to waste any time.

Kai was about to speak up when Ulfric cut him off. “We will discuss this more tomorrow.” The jarl’s voice was practically a growl, anger lacing every syllable, and Vara had to resist the urge to shrink down in her chair at the sound. The others shared a few confused glances, but obeyed the obvious dismissal and stood. They bowed to Ulfric and left the room. Galmar looked back and forth between Vara and Ulfric and muttered something under his breath before he too left the room.

The door had barely closed when Ulfric turned toward Vara, his stare drilling tow holes into her soul. She looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. She had figured he would be upset, but that didn’t make this any more comfortable.

“No.” It was only one word, but it vibrated with the power of the Thu’um that Ulfric couldn’t quite control.

Reluctantly, Vara met Ulfric’s gaze with her own. “I have to, Ulfric.”

Ulfric stood from his chair and walked around the table until he was standing across from her. “Really? You have to?” There was laughter in his voice, something that scared Vara almost as much as his anger did. “Why, Vara? There are plenty of Stormcloaks who would, despite what you think, be more than willing to volunteer for this mission if it meant helping keep their home safe.”

Vara smiled slightly. “That’s what I’m doing, Ulfric. I’m volunteering. I’m keeping my home safe. You know as well as I do that the Thalmor would be able to sniff out a Stormcloak spy. No offense, but you Nords aren’t exactly stealthy.”

“And you are? You spent your life in the woods, living as a hunter, Vara! How are you any more prepared for this than my soldiers are?”

“I know about Altmeri society, Ulfric. I know how the ranks work, I know how the Thalmor treat people. I-”

“You know nothing!” Ulfric growled viciously, interrupting her. “You think you know how the Thalmor treat people, well you don’t. You don’t know what they do to people just because they looked at them the wrong way. I heard the screams of Altmer as they were tortured for serving salmon instead of perch.” His eyes bored into Vara’s. “They tortured their own kind, and they enjoyed it. How much worse do you think it will be for you?”

For a moment, Vara couldn’t speak. The pain in Ulfric’s voice, the haunted look in his eyes, was too much. It fanned the anger for the Thamor within her stomach anew, and she found her voice to say, “That’s why it has to be me, Ulfric. Yes, I might be caught, but I have a better chance of success than someone who knows nothing of the Thalmor.” Her expression softened, and she reached across the table to grasp Ulfric’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry.”

Ulfric ripped his hand from hers. “No, you aren’t. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t go.” He turned away, running his fingers through his hair angrily. When he finally turned back, there was pain in his blue eyes. “I need you, Vara.” Those four words, spoken so softly, so painfully, shattered Vara’s heart.

“Ulfric.” There were tears in Vara’s eyes, and she choked on her own words before she managed to speak. “This is for Skyrim. We don’t know what the Thalmor have, but we can’t risk the chance that they could turn the tide of the war. Your army can’t afford any heavy losses, and the people are counting on you. You can’t let your personal feelings get in the way of what needs to be done.”

Ulfric sank into the chair across from her and buried his head in his hands. For several moments he said nothing, then he looked up, and Vara’s breath caught in her throat. His hair was disheveled from running his hands through it and his face was flushed with anger as well as repressed tears. His eyes, however, were empty. The blue of his irises was dull, devoid of any emotion.

“I never let my personal feelings get in the way, Vara,” Ulfric stated. His voice was flat, and he no longer seemed sad or even angry which somehow made Vara’s heart ache even more. “If I let my feelings dictate the course of the war, I would simply execute the Jarls that refuse to join my banner. It would throw Skyrim into even more chaos, but I would do it.”

Ulfric looked down again. “But this isn’t just about me. I need you here with me, no matter what you say about status and opinion, but this city needs you too. The Grey Quarter needs you, the soldiers need you, the people need you. What will happen to them when you get yourself killed by the Thalmor?”

Vara stood from her chair and walked around the table until she was standing by Ulfric’s side. Gently, she lifted his head until his eyes met hers. “I can’t back down from this, Ulfric. I can’t. You said once that you trust me, and I’m asking you to again. I won’t die at the hands of the Thalmor.”

For a long moment, they held each other's gaze, then Ulfric nodded minutely, pain in his eyes as he did.

“Fine,” he said, the word sounding like he had difficulty saying it. “But if you’re going, I am too. Galmar’s right when he said we’d need a camp nearby. Your men are returning from a fort assignment tomorrow. If we bring a few of them, we can be discreet, but safe.”

Vara knew that she should argue with him. It would be dangerous for anyone out there, not to mention the leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion, a person the Empire and the Thalmor both wanted dead. But her heart wasn’t in it. Secretly, she was glad that Ulfric would be nearby. The thought of going anywhere near the Thalmor terrified her, but he gave her strength.

Ulfric stood from his chair and wrapped his arms around Vara. She let him hold her, laying her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Ulfric,” she whispered, her eyes slipping closed as she listened to his steady breathing. He didn’t reply, but pulled her closer and held her as if he never wanted to let her go.

Chapter Text

“You know, I figured that joining the army would mean traveling, but I didn’t know that meant that I’d be in three different posts in as many months,” a lighthearted voice stated with a chuckle. Vara shook her head with an inward laugh. She didn’t need to look behind her to know who had spoken; they had been traveling for almost half the day, and Ralof hadn’t stopped talking for more than a few minutes at a time. She appreciated the soldier’s chatter though, as it kept her mind off of just what they were marching towards.

Vara was walking at the head of the group of twenty or so soldiers, dressed in her officer’s uniform. To anyone outside of the Stormcloak army, it would look like she was marching her men to a nearby fort. They would set up camp at an intersection a little ways from here for the night, and then the group would splinter off into smaller squads and make their way to a clearing in the forests near Darkwater Crossing separately. Hopefully, the smaller groups would be able to avoid the attention of the Thalmor better than a larger group would. They wouldn’t be getting too close to Darkwater, but Vara figured it was better to be safe, especially considering what they were going to be doing.

Vara glanced back and caught sight of Ulfric talking to one of the soldiers closest to him. The jarl wore the garb of a common footsoldier, a precaution that Galmar had insisted on. A small smile pulled at Vara’s lips as she remembered the argument that Ulfric had had with his old friend. Galmar had won in the end, but Ulfric had grumbled about the uniform for hours, saying that he hadn’t been a foot soldier in years. The outfit was far from a perfect disguise, though. Ulfric walked with more confidence than any soldier, he held himself too upright, and there was a calculating look in his gaze as he swept it around the column of men. In short, he looked like a king.

A part of her wanted to fall back and talk to him, they hadn’t spoken since they left Windhelm early that morning, but she didn’t. There had been a pained look in his eyes ever since she had volunteered for this mission two days ago, and she couldn’t help the flood of guilt that washed over her every time she saw it. So she stayed away. It was selfish, she knew, but she also knew that if Ulfric looked at her like that again, her ability to put aside her personal feelings would vanish and she would march everyone right back to Windhelm where it was safe.

Vara was drawn out of her thoughts by a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Rikkria standing beside her. “Report for you, Commander,” the red-headed woman said, saluting in a crisp gesture. Vara had sent her and Jorgrek ahead to scout out the road and make sure that there were no nasty surprises waiting for them. “The road ahead is clear, and there are no signs of the Imperials or Thalmor anywhere. We’re about an hour from the campsite, but the sun won’t set for another two; we’ve made good time.”

Vara nodded thoughtfully. She had marched the men at a fairly quick pace today; with the Thalmor about, she felt it would be unwise to move after night fell. “Thank you, Rikkria. Please inform Jarl Ulfric that we will be arriving at the campsite soon.” The soldier nodded, and Vara turned her attention back to the road in front of her.

Ulfric was tired. He figured that he would be used to the feeling by now, but he wasn’t. This exhaustion was different from other kinds he had felt though; it was as if his very spirit was drained. Considering the way the past two days had gone, that probably shouldn’t have been such a surprise.

He had given up on arguing with Vara—he recognized that stubborn glint in her eyes—which meant he had had to help her risk her life. They had spent the entire day yesterday planning, making sure that they eliminated as many risks as they could. Unfortunately, that still left them with far too many. Risks that Vara would have to take, alone. He and Galmar had spoken last night, and his old friend had done his best to reassure Ulfric.

“Varaduilwe Oaken-Song is full of surprises, Ulfric. If anyone has a chance against the Thalmor, it’s her.” Galmar stated, his voice far more confident than it had any right to be, considering the circumstances.

“I know that, Galmar. I know that someone had to do this and I know it had to be her. That doesn’t make this any easier! The Thalmor will find her out, one way or another, and Vara will be left on her own,” Ulfric replied, running his fingers through his hair in an anxious movement.

Galmar shook his head. “Not if you do your job. You and the soldiers can protect her once she has whatever it is that the Thalmor are investigating; you can get her out of there before those Talos-forsaken fiends have a chance to realize what had happened.” Galmar looked Ulfric in the eyes, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. “You are going to keep her alive, Ulfric, you just have to trust her to do her job.”

And Ulfric did trust her. He trusted Vara with his life and the lives of his men. He trusted her to make the right call every time. He trusted her to keep a level head. That trust wasn’t misplaced, he believed that with all of his heart, and he would die before he let her mission fail because of him.

Looking around him, Ulfric could tell that many of the soldiers felt the same way. They had brought twenty soldiers, all of whom were members of the company that Vara had personally trained. It had surprised Ulfric when all of them had offered to go with him and Vara; he had only expected half as many to volunteer, and that had been a generous estimate. At first, he had figured that they simply wanted to prove themselves, after all, they hadn’t been in the army for very long and were likely itching for action. Now, however, he could see that they were fiercely loyal to Vara. Ulfric chuckled inwardly, it seemed that Vara inspired loyalty and trust wherever she went.

A tap on the shoulder drew Ulfric from his thoughts, and he turned around to see a female soldier standing behind him. “Excuse me, my jarl, Commander Oaken-Song wanted me to inform you that we are about an hour from the stop,” she reported.

Ulfric nodded. “Thank you, soldier,” he said and dismissed the woman, who saluted before jogging back to the front to report back to Vara. He should probably tell the soldiers to stop saluting; he was supposed to be in disguise. Not that his ‘disguise’ did much. He was a wanted man in the Empire and the leader of a rebellion, only a fool or a hermit would be unable to recognize his face, regardless of the simple uniform he wore. Hopefully, though, it wouldn’t matter. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the march.

An hour later, they reached the place where they would be camping for the night, and the men immediately began to set up a perimeter and several tents. A few different soldiers approached Ulfric, offering to help him, but he waved them away. He was a jarl, not an incompetent fool. Before long, he had fallen into the familiar routine of a footsoldier, remembering the procedures as if he had done them yesterday.

The sun was just sinking below the horizon when the movement around the camp began to slow. A silence settled over the area, and all of the men turned towards the center of the clearing. Ulfric copied their movements and saw Vara standing in the middle of a small group of soldiers, magic swirling in her palms. As he watched, she knelt and slammed her hands into the ground. As soon as her hands made contact with the dirt, a wave of magic burst from them and raced across the earth until it encircled the camp, glowing faintly for a moment before fading. Vara stood shakily, stumbling for a few steps and almost falling before one of the soldiers who had been surrounding her, Jorgrek if Ulfric remembered the man’s name correctly, caught her and carefully sat her next to one of the tents.

For a few moments, there was silence in the camp, then the soldiers began to move about their tasks once again. Ulfric turned to one of the men nearest to him. “What was that spell that Oaken-Song cast?” he asked.

“I don’t rightly know, sir,” the soldier replied with a shrug. “The commander casts it every night when we camp. I’d figure it’s some kind of protection or a spell that hides us. Sometimes it doesn’t seem to take much out of her, but sometimes…” The man shrugged again and gestured to Vara, who was now leaning against the tent, eyes closed and expression tired. “She doesn’t like anyone to disturb her while she’s recovering. Don’t know if it’s because of the magic or if she’s just too stubborn to accept help, but the first few times she was like this we tried to get her something to eat or get her to rest but she wouldn’t have it. Now, we just let her be. She’ll be on her feet soon enough.”

Ulfric nodded, and the soldier wandered off. Of course Vara would have some sort of spell that could protect them or hide them from the Thalmor and their Imperial pets. He was beginning to wonder if there was anything that Vara couldn’t do with that magic of hers. She looked drained though, slumped against the tent as she was. He wanted to go over to her, but he doubted he would be able to do anything to help. Instead, he walked back to his tent and began to go through his equipment, making sure he was ready for tomorrow.

There was a steady throbbing in the back of Vara’s skull, and it was beginning to be annoying. The spell had taken more out of her this time than it had previously, and she hadn’t been expecting it. There were fewer soldiers than her normal spells contained, but this group was far more tense and nervous. Her spell did more than hide them from the eyes and ears of anyone who would want to find them, it hid their emotions as well.

Vara was a creature of the woods, and she had learned a few things. Out here, far from any towns or cities, things were peaceful. People disrupted that peace with more than heavy footsteps and shouting. People were emotional creatures, far more than any animal in the forest, and as such, the woods felt different when there were people nearby. You could ask any hunter, and they would tell you the same thing, although no one could explain it.

Her musings were interrupted when someone crouched down at her side. “Vara?” She turned to see Ralof next to her, concern coloring his face. “Are you alright?”

A small smile found its way onto Vara’s lips. “I’m fine, Ralof. What do you need?” She sat up a little straighter and forced the exhaustion from her voice.

Ralof cocked an eyebrow in disbelief, he knew her too well, but didn’t comment on Vara’s obviously drained state. “Some of the men were wondering if we could get a main fire going, maybe a few lutes and some song. We’re in friendly territory.” He didn’t say it, but Vara could here the ‘for now’ in his voice. Who knew when they would be safe like this again?

“That sounds like a good idea. It’ll be good for the men to relax for a little while before we head to Darkwater,” Vara said. “I want the fires out and everyone but those on watch asleep by ten, though.”

Ralof grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Jorgrek and a few of the guys are piling some wood for a good bonfire already. He’s hopeless when it comes to setting the logs alight, though…” Ralof trailed off and raised an eyebrow at Vara.

“Fine,” she laughed. “I’ll light it.” Ralof grinned again and gave her a little salute before walking towards the other side of the clearing. Vara shook her head, then followed the soldier.

Before long, Vara had set the wood ablaze, and the soldiers were all gathered around the roaring fire. One of the men had brought out his lute and had begun to play and sing an upbeat song about the life of a man raised by the harsh winds of Skyrim. A few of the soldiers joined in and Rikkria and Jorgrek were dancing to the beat. A smile crossed Vara’s face, and she settled down against the trunk of a tree on the edge of the clearing, watching the soldiers.

After awhile, Rikkria approached her looking slightly out of breath, a large smile lighting up her face and plopped onto the grass next to Vara. “If Jorgrek fights as quickly as he dances, the Imperials will never know what hit them,” Rikkria said, her eyes trained on the man.

Vara chuckled slightly. “You know, I never expected the two of you to get along, much less court,” she stated, following the soldier’s gaze.

Rikkria tore her eyes away from Jorgrek to look back at Vara and nodded. “He has a fire in his heart and courage in his veins. He was a little misguided at first, but I set him on the path.” She smirked, but then her expression turned soft. “He asked me to marry him three days ago. I said yes.”

Vara’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she floundered, trying to get her vocal cords to work again. “He did what?” she asked incredulously.

Rikkria laughed quietly. “I still can’t believe it. Even with everything that’s going on, he has hope. He believes that we will win and that Skyrim will be a better place soon, and he told me he wanted to have me by his side when that time came.” There was a far away look in the woman’s eyes as she spoke, a certain hope. “We’re going to go to the Riften temple after this assignment, General Stonefist already approved a three week leave of absence for us.”

Vara finally found her voice. “That’s wonderful! I may not have been able to see it at first, but I know how happy the two of you are together. I hope that everything goes well for you two,” she exclaimed, smiling brightly at the other woman. She and Rikkria were likely about the same age, although Vara technically aged slower than a full-blooded nord would, and it was exciting to see the other woman taking this step in her life.

“Thank you. What about you, Commander?” Rikkria asked, an excited glimmer in her eye that Vara could see even by the dim light. “Do you have your eye on anyone?” Vara didn’t respond. Instead, she looked up at the night sky and began counting the stars. Rikkria, however, only laughed. “So you do! Who is it, I wonder?” Vara reluctantly looked down to see the other woman surveying the soldiers who were gathered around the bonfire telling old stories. Ulfric was sitting a little ways off, and Vara couldn’t see his expression, but she thought that he might be smiling.

Unfortunately, Rikkria followed her gaze and gasped. “You-he-you’re-” she looked back and forth between the two of them, her eyes wide. Eventually, she managed to ask, “Are you and the jarl courting?”

Vara sighed and leaned against the tree trunk, her eyes sliding closed for a moment. When she opened them again, she said, “It isn’t public knowledge, but yes. At least, I’m fairly certain.”

Rikkria raised an eyebrow. “You’re ‘fairly certain’?”

Vara shrugged. “It’s a little bit complicated. After all, he is the leader of the rebellion and the Jarl of Windhelm. I’m not sure that Ulfric Stormcloak knows how to make anything simple.”

Rikkria chuckled but then grew serious again. “Is that why the two of you haven’t been speaking? The last time I saw the two of you together, you were talking and planning, and I figured this trip would be the same way, but the two of you haven’t even been within ten feet of each other for long enough to have a simple conversation.”

Vara blinked in surprise. She didn’t think that the tension between her and Ulfric was that noticeable. “You could say that,” she admitted at last. “I want to talk to him, Rikkria, but I’m afraid that all we’ll do is argue about my mission. Besides, the soldiers will start to talk if we spend much time together and, no offense, but you people aren’t the best at keeping secrets.”

A strange gleam came to Rikkria’s eyes, and she said. “Leave the soldiers to me. You and Ulfric need some time, especially since we don’t know what tomorrow will bring.” Before Vara had a chance to protest, Rikkria stood and marched towards the bonfire. Within a few minutes, she had every soldier in the clearing dancing and singing and generally paying their surroundings very little attention. Vara stood with a sigh and made her way over to where Ulfric sat at the edge of the clearing.

Ulfric watched Vara approach with some trepidation. They had argued about the mission this morning and hadn’t spoken since, and Ulfric didn’t want to repeat that. To his surprise, Vara simply sat down next to him without saying a word. After a few moments, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and they sat like that in silence for some time. Finally, Ulfric broke the still air between them.

“The soldiers really trust you. I don’t think I’ve seen a group of men become so loyal in such a short period of time before; they obviously understand how lucky they are to have you leading them,” he said, his voice quiet. Vara didn’t reply, but he could feel her smile into his shoulder. “They all know that one mistake on your part could mean their deaths, but they trust you. That’s why they’re here, and that’s why I’m here. I trust you, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not worried.” Ulfric chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified for someone in my life. But I trust you to succeed, and I’m sorry if it ever seemed like I doubted you.”

Vara raised her head from his shoulder to look him in the eye. “Thank you for being here, Ulfric. I know you shouldn’t be, I know that your presence only makes all of this that much more dangerous, but I’m still glad you’re here because I’m terrified, and you give me strength.”

Her voice was quiet, but her words pierced Ulfric’s heart. He couldn’t find the words to say what he felt, so instead, he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, pulling away slowly. They sat in silence, their foreheads touching, until the light from the bonfire began to fade. “I’ll see you in the morning, Vara,” Ulfric said quietly. The woman kissed him faintly and then stood. Ulfric watched as she walked back to the soldiers who were beginning to break off to sleep for the night. If anyone could pull this off, it was her.

Chapter Text

Vara crept through the forest, eyes and ears alert. All around her, the sounds of the woods filled the air, and she could no longer hear the booted feet of the soldiers she had left behind. They would be marching away from Darkwater Crossing. Vara, on the other hand, was making her way to the small town. As she carefully stepped over a fallen branch, her mind replayed the all too brief conversation she had had with Ulfric earlier that morning.

"You'll follow the plan." It was more of a command than a question, but Vara had to be certain; she couldn't let Ulfric put himself and her men in danger. "Three days, and if you don't hear anything, you'll leave." Ulfric scowled darkly but nodded.

They had decided that if she couldn't find whatever it was the Thalmor had in three days, she would pull out. Staying any longer would be suicide; the Thalmor weren't stupid, and they would see through her act eventually. If she hadn't reported back within three days, Ulfric would march back to Windhelm as quickly as possible. If she could, she would meet him there, if not, she was likely dead, or worse.

The thought of being captured by Thalmor sent shivers down her spine, but she pushed the feeling back and forced a small smile onto her face. "I'll see you soon, Ulfric," she promised, praying to the Divines above that her statement would prove true.

Ulfric nodded. "Stay safe, Vara," he ordered, his stern voice failing to hide his worry. Despite everything, Vara felt a flash of gratitude run through her. This man was worried for her. He was the leader of a rebellion and the Jarl of one of the largest holds in Skyrim, and yet he still found time to worry about her.

"I will," she whispered, and then she was gone, turning into the woods to begin her trek to Darkwater.

A part of Vara was glad that she hadn't been able to linger with Ulfric any longer than she had. If she had stayed by his side any longer, there was a very real possibility that her urge to stay safe with him would overcome her logic. And that was dangerous. No, it was far better this way, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt.

She walked for what felt like ages, but judging by the sun was only a few hours when she spied the small town of Darkwater Crossing through the thinning trees.

Well, town was probably too generous of a word to describe the sight before her. In reality, Darkwater was little more than a small house, a few tents, and a mine sitting on the bank of the river she had been following. There was a steady stream of smoke rising from the chimney of the house, and although she was too far away to make out the shapes, she figured that the miners were huddled around a fire near the tents for their lunch. The thought of food was enough to make Vara's stomach rumble, but she pushed the feeling aside. It was time to become a refugee.

Before long, Vara was wearing a simple dress that went just past her knees, a small knife tied around her waist. She took down her long hair from the ponytail it had been in and braided it after the fashion of the Altmer she had read about. She stashed her uniform and sword in the hollow of a nearby tree and cast a spell that would keep it hidden from any prying eyes.

She was ready to go, but something still felt off. She was supposed to be a refugee from Summerset Isles in a place where her kind was distrusted at best and despised at worst. There was no way she would have made it all the way to Darkwater unmarred.

With a sigh, Vara drew the small knife and began to slash at the base of her dress, tearing seams and making snags that looked like she had ripped it on a fallen branch. She also tore at the sleeves and rubbed dirt into the outfit, doing her best to make it look old and worn. Her hair got a similar treatment as she smeared in dirt and pulled at her braids until they looked disheveled. She contemplated cutting it but decided that that wasn't a sacrifice she was willing to make just yet. Satisfied with her work, Vara carefully cleaned her knife and sheathed it before stepping out into the open, leaving the safety of the woods behind.

She stumbled up to the miners, who seemed startled to have someone intrude on their lunch. "Please," Vara begged, pitching her voice up as if she were close to hysterics. "Please, where can I find work?" The miners glanced at each other uneasily, then one pointed to the stone house.

"Careful, girl," one of the workers sneered, "one of your pointy-eared friends might think you're being 'disrespectful' by interruptin' their lunch." The man spoke with a seething anger that made Vara wonder just how much these miners had suffered from the Thalmor. Gonnar's scouts had seemed to believe that the Thalmor were mostly leaving the town alone, but Vara wasn't so sure. She kept those thoughts to herself though, and only nodded, letting herself tremble as she did so.

She walked away from the miners and made her way up the dirt path that led to the house she had seen the smoke coming from earlier. The building was squat and sturdy and resembled a bunker more than a home. The smell coming from the smoke, however, was intoxicating, and Vara couldn't keep her stomach from growling in want. She really should have taken Ralof's advice and stayed for breakfast, but she hadn't wanted to put the mission off any longer.

Vara stepped up to the door and steeled herself. She was an immigrant from Summerset Isles, and she wouldn't have any way to know that there were Thalmor here, so she would have to act surprised. She took a deep breath, and then knocked on the door. She had made sure that the knock sounded timid in order to keep in character, but after a few moments and no answer, Vara was about to raise her hand to knock again when the door flew open.

"What do you want, you—wait, you aren't one of the miners." Vara had ducked her head against the other person's furious tone, but now she looked up, allowing the fear to shine in her eyes. In front of her stood a Thalmor Justicar dressed in gleaming black robes, a disdainful expression on his face as if merely looking at her had sullied him. "What do you want? Answer me, woman!"

Vara quickly glanced back down. "I apologize, my lord, I was only seeking a job in the mine here. Forgive me," she explained in a trembling voice, praying that her accent was close enough to avoid suspicion. Vara didn't even have to pretend to be afraid. Being this close to a Justicar was terrifying enough, but she was also defenseless; if he wanted, this elf could kill her before she even had a chance to scream.

"You don't look like a miner, girl," the Thalmor scoffed, and Vara flinched at the sound. "You're a refugee from the Isles, aren't you?"

Vara nodded hesitantly. "Yes, my lord." She paused and glanced down, willing tears to form in her eyes before she continued. "The plantation I worked on was destroyed in the protests, and the lord and his family were murdered, so I fled." She kept her eyes downcast and sent a silent prayer to the Divines that the Thalmor would believe her.

The elf was silent for a long moment, and Vara felt like her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Then, the Thalmor turned and spoke to the people who must be inside, "Alatar, Sindrion, there's an old slave on our steps." Vara had to smother her anger at the comment; she could feel her magicka wanting to rush to her hands, but she pushed it away. She couldn't afford to be rash. "She said she used to work on one of the plantations and she wants a job." The people inside must have replied, for the elf nodded, but Vara couldn't hear the words.

The mage turned back to her, a grin on his face. "You said you were looking for a job, girl?" Vara nodded, eyes fixed on the stone steps under the elf's feet. "Well, we're in need of a maid at our camp, so you will be coming with me." Vara nodded again, and the Thalmor brushed past her, almost knocking her to the ground. Vara stumbled, but caught herself, brushing off her tattered dress before falling in line behind the mage.

The forest around Ulfric was quiet except for the sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the trees and the thump of booted feet against the earth. They were about two hours west of Darkwater Crossing, in an area where the trees were thicker than they had been near the marsh. It wouldn't be long now before his small party would reach the site where they would meet up with the other groups.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the man that Ulfric had sent to scout out the path ahead broke through the trees. "The site is only ten minutes away, my jarl. Ralof and Jorgrek's groups are already there, and Rikkria isn't far. They've begun to set up tents, but no fires, just as the commander ordered," the scout reported with a crisp salute.

Ulfric thanked the man, and the soldier fell into line behind Ulfric with the four other men in his small party. The soldiers had split into four groups this morning, each one taking a different path in order to avoid too much attention, unfortunately, their small numbers also made them vulnerable, and Ulfric had spent the entire day with one hand on the hilt of his sword. Thankfully, the largest threat had been a small pack of wolves that the soldiers had easily dispatched.

The small group was stopped before they reached the clearing. "State your business," a voice demanded from the trees in front of them. Ulfric recognized the voice as belonging to Ralof, although he couldn't see the man.

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, requesting entry to camp," Ulfric called up. There was silence for a moment, then the leaves above them began to rustle, and Ralof dropped to the ground in front of them.

"Sorry, my lord," the soldier apologized with a shrug, "I knew it was you, but protocol is protocol."

Ulfric nodded understandingly. A memory of his time spent in the Imperial Legion sprung to the front of his mind, unbidden. He had been on guard for their camp, situated up in some of the mountains in Cyrodil when the general had come by. Ulfric had had to request the man's credentials, which the general hadn't had, so Ulfric had been forced to march the man back to the camp as a prisoner. He grimaced; that had been one of the most unpleasant days of his entire service in the army.

Shaking his head, Ulfric drew himself from his thoughts and gave Ralof a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, soldier. You can never be too cautious." Ralof nodded before turning and leading them into the small camp that had been set up.

There were ten tents set up; half of the soldiers would be on guard, patrol, or hunting while the other half slept. It wasn't the most comfortable of solutions, but they shouldn't be here for more than three days, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Besides, Ulfric had a feeling he wouldn't be getting much sleep anyway.

A few of the soldiers saluted Ulfric as he stepped into the clearing, but he waved them away; now wasn't the time or place for that kind of thing. Ulfric turned back to Ralof. "Where do you need us, soldier?" he asked. It would be better for everyone if Ulfric was able to keep busy, keep his mind off of just why they were here and just where Vara was.

Ralof blinked, confused, then a smile began to spread across his face. "Tell me, my jarl," he said, "when was the last time you went hunting for animals instead of elves?" Ulfric raised an eyebrow but followed the soldier.

The Thalmor that Vara was following led her to a site about ten minutes from Darkwater. Vara wasn't really sure what she had been expecting, but she knew it wasn't this. The area had been turned into an excavation, complete with what seemed to be an almost fifteen-foot deep hole that was at least ten feet wide. In the bottom of the pit were five Justicars. Once Vara got over the shock of seeing five Justicars in the same place, she realized what they were doing. The hole hadn't been dug by slaves or servants; it had been excavated by the Thalmor using magic. As she watched, three of the Justicars cast a spell, and a portion of the bottom of the pit seemed to vaporize. The three mages stumbled backward, looking exhausted; a spell like that probably took a lot out of them. Anytime a spell altered the earth around you, the magic was taxing.

Before the mages could cast their spell again, Vara's attention was drawn back to the Thalmor in front of her. "What are you looking at, wench?" the man demanded, and Vara looked away from the dig site, casting her eyes down and praying that the Thalmor wasn't suspicious. "You are here to work, not ogle at your betters," he sneered, and Vara nodded submissively. The Thalmor scoffed, but turned away from her and led her to a small building on the edge of the excavation site.

The structure seemed to shimmer and fade in and out of focus when Vara looked at from the corner of her eye, but anytime she stared at it directly, it seemed as solid as a regular building was. Magic. Vara wasn't surprised; with twelve fully trained Justicars working together, she didn't doubt that they were able to create a house from almost nothing. Unsurprising as it was, the ability still frightened her. What more could they do that most would deem impossible?

The Thalmor leading her knocked on the door and then turned to her. "Stay here," he ordered then slipped into the magical building.

Vara took the opportunity to examine her surroundings once more. She couldn't see into the pit from here, so she turned her attention to the area around it. It was marshy land, she had left the forest behind before she had ever entered Darkwater, and the ground seemed almost springy. The Thalmor would have to be careful when the excavated in order to avoid causing the ground to shift and collapse the hole they had made. The thought led her to another question, just was it that they were looking for, buried in the ground outside of Darkwater Crossing? The question occupied her mind until the door behind her swung open once more.

"You, girl, Sorcdil said that you worked on a plantation. Is that true?" A female Justicar asked in a harsh tone. Vara only nodded, fixing her gaze on the woman's boots. "Just what did you do there?"

Vara steeled herself mentally before delivering the story she had prepared on the way here. Hopefully, these Thalmor had lived in a larger city of Isles and didn't know any specifics of plantation life. If they did, she would be dead. "I was a maid for the lord and his family, ma'am. I cleaned and cooked and occasionally supervised other servants when the master was gone," Vara said, keeping her tone subservient and meek.

She needed to make herself valuable to the Thalmor. They didn't need someone to dig for them; the magic was faster than any person would be. But if Vara knew anything about the Thalmor, it was that they hated doing anything that they associated with common peasants, and she had a feeling that cooking and cleaning fell into that category.

Thankfully, her gamble paid off. "A maid," the Thalmor mused, "we could use one of those. Tell me, have you ever worked for the Thalmor, child?" Vara shook her head, keeping her eyes downcast. She couldn't afford to anger any of the Thalmor, especially not before she found out just what they were looking for. "Well then, you have now." The woman stepped inside of the house, and after a brief hesitation, Vara followed.

Vara couldn't help the quiet gasp that escaped her as she crossed the threshold into the building. The room that she had entered was far larger than the exterior of the building could possibly contain. There was a large fireplace with several chairs in front of it, an ornate rug laying across the middle of the floor, several floor to ceiling bookcases, and a table where four Justicars sat, talking in low voices. One of them seemed to be the Thalmor that had led her here, Sorcdil according to the woman in front of her, but it was hard to tell. The Justicars all wore robes that were exactly the same, but Vara thought she recognized his hooked nose.

The Thalmor woman turned back to Vara. "This building has five rooms. This one, a barracks for our male Justicars, a barracks for our female Justicars, a kitchen, and the basement," the woman stated in a crisp voice. "You will be responsible for cleaning all of these as well as cooking two meals a day for everyone when they ask for them.

"Know that if you touch a personal belonging without asking permission first, you will be punished. If you wash any of our robes without being ordered to do so, you will be punished. If you do not answer when spoken to, you will be punished. If you do not fulfill your duties in a timely manner, you will be punished." A shiver ran down Vara's spine everytime the woman said the word 'punished'. Her voice promised pain, a pain that Vara had a feeling the Justicars would greatly enjoy putting her through.

"You will sleep on a cot in the kitchen, and you may eat only once everyone else has done so. You will be paid one hundred septims at the end of every day. Do you understand?" Vara nodded once more.

"Yes, ma'am, I do," she said as an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She would have to be cautious these next few days. If she let her guard down, these Thalmor would not hesitate to strike. All Vara could do was pray.

Chapter Text

The rosy light that spread across the sky was beautiful. No matter how many times Ulfric had seen the dawn over the course of his life, it always left him with a sense of wonder. The trees around the camp dappled the early light, causing an almost magical effect. The light made him think of the hundreds of days he had spent on the Throat of the World, meditating as the sun rose and woke the world. Dawn had always been his favorite time of the day, ever since he had been a young boy, but those mornings in High Hrothgar had been some of the most peaceful moments in his life.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t feel that same peace now, no matter how beautiful the sunrise was. The forest around the camp seemed disquiet, and Ulfric’s instincts warned him to stay on guard. He knew, of course, that it was likely his mind playing tricks on him. He was worried for Vara and he would be lying to himself if he said that the thought of the Thalmor being nearby didn’t alarm him; he was likely projecting that concern into his surroundings. He kept his sword nearby anyway.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the rock he sat on. He didn’t bother turning around to see who it was; if there were enemies in the camp, he would already be dead or fighting. Sure enough, when the person spoke, Ulfric recognized the voice.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been there all night, my jarl,” Jorgrek said in a slightly exasperated tone as he stepped into Ulfric’s view. Ulfric gives any response other than a nod to acknowledge the soldier’s presence. He had actually made his way through five different spots on the camp’s perimeter throughout the night, but Ulfric doubted that the soldier would be impressed by that fact.

Jorgrek settled down next to Ulfric, and for a moment, the two of them simply gazed at the sky in silence. The quiet was comfortable, something that Ulfric greatly appreciated. The soldiers of Vara’s company didn’t seem uncomfortable around him, and, aside from a few salutes and titles, treated him as any other commander. It reminded him of the easy way that Vara seemed to interact with everyone, polite but comfortable. It seemed that the trait had rubbed off on her soldiers.

After several long moments, Ulfric broke the silence. “Did the night watches have anything to report?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on the steadily rising sun. Behind them, the camp was beginning to wake, soldiers stirring in their tents and starting to go about the morning routine.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ulfric saw Jorgrek shake his head. “No, my jarl. If the Thalmor know we’re here, they haven’t done anything about it. But you already know that. You didn’t sleep last night.” It was a statement rather than an accusation, which Ulfric appreciated.

“I will sleep when Commander Oaken-Song returns with whatever it is that the Thalmor are seeking,” Ulfric replied simply. Even if he wanted to sleep, Ulfric doubted that he would be able to. His worry for Vara had already given rise to more than a few fears, and Ulfric knew that in his dreams his imagination would only make things worse. At least when he was awake he was able to stave of his fears at least somewhat.

“The commander knows what she’s doing, my jarl. She’ll get the job done,” Jorgrek stated with a confident grin, the expression faded as quickly as it appeared, though, as he continued. “But that doesn’t mean we aren’t worried about her.” He paused for a moment then asked, “Why her? I know that she’s part elf and all, but the commander isn’t a spy.”

Ulfric let out a long sigh and turned to face the soldier. “She volunteered,” he said. “When Gonnar gave us the report, my commanders and I realized that something needed to be done, and soon. Vara was the one who suggested someone infiltrate Darkwater. Then she volunteered to be that someone.” Ulfric sighed again. He would have rather had almost anyone else take her place, but she had been determined. She had also had a good point—something that Ulfric still had a difficult time admitting—the Thalmor would be more likely to trust someone of their own kind.

Jorgrek nodded as if the news didn’t surprise him. “That’s just like her, volunteering for the most dangerous assignment so that no one else has to. I imagine General Stonefist wasn’t very pleased about the two of you leaving Windhelm, especially considering what happened the last time,” the soldier said.

Ulfric had to resist the urge to growl. Did everyone in Skyrim know about that incident now? He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case; gossip spread faster than a fire in Riften. “Aye, it took some convincing before Galmar would let us leave, but he knows as well as I do what is at stake here.”

It had taken Ulfric over an hour to convince Galmar that Vara was the most capable person for the job and it was another two before Galmar would even think about allowing Ulfric to leave as well. In reality, Ulfric didn’t need his friend’s permission, but he felt better having it, regardless of how much time it had taken to get it.

“No, Ulfric! I don’t want Vara going anywhere near those Talos-forsaken skeevers, there is no way on Oblivion that I’m going to let you fall into their hands as well!” Galmar declared, his voice rising with every word.

Ulfric winced inwardly. He had known that this discussion would be unpleasant, but that didn’t make this any easier. “I have to go, Galmar,” he said. “The soldiers need a commander, and I’m the one who’s the most available.”

“Available? Ulfric, you have a city to run, in case you’d forgotten!” Galmar roared, gesturing wildly. “Let me take your place.”

“I’ll only be gone for a week at the most. You and the council can take care of the city for that long; it practically runs itself,” Ulfric stated with a dismissive wave. “You are needed here, old friend. You have soldiers to train. If this mission fails, we are going to need more men than ever, and you are the best person to ensure that that happens.” It sounded like a reasonable argument to Ulfric, but Galmar didn't seem to agree.

“And what happens to you if Vara fails and betrays your position to the Thalmor? They will find you, and they will kill you, and this rebellion will die with you. You’re too important, Ulfric, and this is too dangerous.”

“Vara will succeed, Galmar, and even if she doesn’t I have to be there,” Ulfric shook his head. Why couldn’t he put this feeling, this deep-seated fear, into words? “I have to be there,” he repeated.

Galmar opened his mouth to argue once more but then closed it. He was silent for several moments, his eyes roaming over Ulfric’s face in search of something. Eventually, he said, “You can’t hide her from danger, Ulfric. You can’t be there while she infiltrates the Thalmor, you can’t stop the Thalmor from being suspicious of her.”

Ulfric looked down. “I know that Galmar, but I can be close. I can support her. I can’t lose her, not without trying.”

Galmar let out a long sigh but nodded. “Fine, but if you get yourself killed out there, I will personally drag you back from Sovngarde,” he declared with a glare that had no strength.

Ulfric only chuckled in reply. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“My jarl?” A voice called, drawing Ulfric from his memories. Ulfric blinked a few times and focused back in on the soldier sitting across from him.

“My apologies, I was remembering a discussion I had with Galmar. He didn’t want me to come here, but I insisted. I’m the one who dragged Varaduilwe Oaken-Song into this; I had to be here.”

For a long moment, Jorgrek was quiet, and Ulfric wondered if he had said too much. Vara had wanted to keep their relationship quiet, and although he hadn’t mentioned it outright he knew that the amount of concern he showed for her wasn’t exactly normal. Oh well. He had known that there would be rumors when he had left Windhelm.

“Aye, I can understand that,” the soldier finally said, a strange look in his eye that Ulfric couldn’t quite place. “Going to war is hard, going to war alone is even harder, but going to war with someone you love? That’s painful. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jorgrek smiled slightly, and Ulfric could see that he meant his words. “Of course,” he continued, “I’m not trying to say that there’s anything between you and the commander. But if there was, I’d say that you’re a very lucky man, a very lucky man indeed.” There was a sparkle in the redheaded man’s eyes, and Ulfric couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Trust me, soldier,” Ulfric said. “I know I’m a lucky man.” Jorgrek chuckled, and Ulfric allowed a slight grin to linger on his lips. He could see know why Vara liked these soldiers so much; they were some of the most down to earth people that Ulfric had ever met—considering that they were in the army—but he could see a fire in their eyes as well as their hearts.

“If you two boys are done chatting,” a new voice called, “there’s work to be done.” Ulfric turned around to see Rikkria standing at the bottom of the large rock, hands on her hips glaring up at them.

Beside Ulfric, Jorgrek laughed. “We’ll be right down, love,” he told the woman in a playful voice. Rikkria only glared and muttered something under her breath, but the expression had no heat to it. Ulfric chuckled again, before making his way down the rock. Rikkria was right, of course, there were things to do.

Vara was tired. It was early in the morning, and she was making the Thalmor a morning meal. The night before, she had cleaned the kitchen and become acquainted with where everything was. It had taken her a few hours, but now she was able to locate anything she would need with her eyes closed if she wanted to. That wasn’t what had left her so exhausted. No.

She had crawled into the small bedroll that the Thalmor had laid out for her about an hour before midnight. By then, most of the Thalmor had been asleep. She had debated poking around and trying to find more information about just what it was that the Thalmor were hoping to find buried in the ground here, but the thought of being caught terrified her. Logically, she knew that she would have to look for information soon, and the night was the perfect cover. She had crawled into the bedroll anyway.

Sleep, however, alluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, a new terror appeared in her mind. First it was the Thalmor discovering her and dragging her away to be tortured, then it was her failing her mission and arriving at Ulfric’s camp just in time to see them all slaughtered. After that particular dream, Vara didn’t even try to sleep anymore. She didn’t need to know all of the different ways that her imagination could come up with to get Ulfric killed.

Now, she was exhausted, but she tried to keep it from showing. If the Thalmor thought that a single day of work was enough to tire her out, they could very well decide that she wasn’t worth their time. And so she focused on the work in front of her, all the while plotting how she could find out what the Thalmor were trying to find and how she would get her hands on it.

After a few more minutes, she had finished the meal. It was a simple pastry and fruit dish, one that her father had made for her on special occasions when she had been younger. She didn’t know if it was something that the Thalmor would like, but they hadn’t given her any recipes to follow. All she could do was pray, although, with her luck, they would decide that the meal wasn’t something that a maid from the Isles would know how to make and become suspicious.

With an inward sigh, Vara gathered up a few of the dishes. A few of the Thalmor were still asleep, she knew, and at least five of them were outside in the pit, digging. There were always five Justicars digging, even during the night. The ones who were out there now had started their shift around midnight, which meant they were likely exhausted and possibly distracted. Vara decided to deliver the food she held to the Thalmor who were awake within the building as quickly as she could so that she could reach the ones who worked outside before the shifts changed again.

The Thalmor woman who had spoken to Vara the evening before didn’t even look up from the book she was reading when Vara placed the food in front of her. The only acknowledgement Vara received was a dismissive wave before the woman dug into her food, still holding the book open with one hand. Vara pushed down the flash of anger that rose within her. It was as if the Thalmor saw her as little more than an object or some kind of atronach that would mindlessly obey any order it was given. Unfortunately, that was the role that she had to play.

There were only two other Justicars awake within the building, and Vara distributed their food quickly. They treated her the same way the woman had, with barely even a sliver of acknowledgment. Hopefully, Vara would be able to use the way that the Thalmor seemed to regard her as invisible.

Outside, the Thalmor in the pit had taken a brief break. One was leaning against the wall of the hole that they had just made, and the others were standing around the pit, still managing to look haughty, even covered as they were in dirt and grime. Vara couldn’t help but wonder what it took to wipe that smug look off of their faces, but she shut that thought down before it could get very far. There was no use in fantasizing.

Vara climbed into the pit carefully, balancing the small plates she carried precariously on her arms. The mages watched her descend, but none of them offered to help her. Typical. When she reached the bottom, she handed each Justicar a dish. The elves looked even more worn out than she had thought they would be.

Deep bags hung under their eyes, and she could see the way that even their ears seemed to droop on the two who had pushed their hoods back. If they were working this hard, even through the night, the Thalmor must believe that they were close to finding whatever it was that they were searching for. Hopefully, they would find it before Vara had to leave. Either way, Vara had to find out what it was that they wanted so badly.

She looked around the pit as discreetly as she could while the Justicars ate. The walls were remarkably straight, an effect that could only be achieved by magic. In the night, the pit had grown at least two feet deeper, proof that the Thalmor were working harder now more than ever. It had been about fifteen feet deep the day before, and Gonnar had reported that the Thalmor had been here for at least two weeks. The Justicars must have pushed themselves to the edge of their limits in order to accomplish as much as they had last night.

One by one, the mages finished up their food, and Vara collected the dirty plates to take back to the kitchen. The trip had been less enlightening than Vara would have liked, but she couldn’t risk asking the Thalmor any questions, as it would only serve to draw unneeded attention to herself. As she reached the top of the pit, however, one of the Thalmor called up to her.

“Girl,” the one who had been leaning against the side of the hole barked, “I want my bed and desk to be clean when I get off of my shift in an hour.” Before Vara could reply, the other Thalmor raised their voices and copied his demand, voices haughty but tinged with exhaustion.

Vara nodded. “Of course, my lords and ladies. I will have your rooms in order for you when you arrive,” she responded, bowing subserviently.

It would be difficult to get that much work done in an hour, especially on top of the dishes that she had to do as well, but she couldn't find it within herself to be upset. This was exactly the kind of chance that she had been wanting. Now, she would have an opportunity to go through the Thalmors’ notes under the guise of cleaning. One of them had to have information about what it was that they were trying so hard to find.

Vara made her way back inside the building, once again finding herself taken aback by just how large it was on the inside, defying the bounds of the structure. She washed the dishes as quickly as she could, silently thanking the Divines that she had thought to refill the water bucket the night before. Then she was in the men’s portion of the building, straightening one of the beds.

The room was empty, which was a blessing. It would have been difficult to snoop properly if there had been a Thalmor looming over her shoulder the entire time. The first bed and desk were practically spotless to beginning, so she quickly move onto the next. There she found what looked to be letters that someone from the Summerset Isles had written to one of the Justicars. They appeared to be love letters, although Vara couldn’t quite grasp the concept that anyone could love a Thalmor, much less a Justicar. As intriguing as the letters were, Vara left them alone and moved on to the next bed and desk.

There, the bed was already made, but the desk was a jumble of different objects and papers. Vara sorted them carefully, with baited breath. She didn’t have the time it would take to read all of these, so she scanned them as quickly as she could and found nothing. Frustrated, she looked at them again and was halfway through when something caught her eye. Written on crisp parchment in a flowing hand, was a mission report dated less than a week ago.

As she read it, Vara’s eyes widened, and her heart began to hammer within her as if it were trying to escape. Unable to believe what she had seen, Vara frantically read the page again, her hands almost shaking too much to make out the words. This was bad. Very very bad.

Chapter Text

Vara and Skyrim for that matter were in trouble. If the words she had just read held even the smallest grain of truth, the Thalmor would be able to quell the Rebellion without shedding a single drop of Dominion blood if they got their hands on the weapon they were digging so desperately to find.

The weapon, according to the papers that Vara held between numb fingers, was actually an Ayleid artifact that was carried to Skyrim by conquerors centuries ago. The Belt of Queens. Vara had never heard of the artifact before, but the report stated that it had been owned by the last queen of the Ayleids, only a little over a century before their downfall. Only a few other rulers in the history of the Ayleid civilization conquered more land than she did, and if what the report said about the belt was true, it wasn’t difficult to understand why.

The Belt could control the minds of any male who belonged to any race of Men.

If the Thalmor found this artifact and figured out how to make it work, Skyrim wouldn’t stand a chance. They would be able to turn families against each other, tear armies apart, and force men to kill themselves. They could run half the jarls out of their holds, and lay siege to the other half by using the jarls’ own soldiers against them. Vara’s frown deepened; she knew that wasn’t even the worst that the Thalmor would be able to do once they put their twisted minds to work.

Forcefully, Vara pulled herself from her thoughts and shoved the paper she held back into the stack it had come from and straightened the other papers that lay scattered across the disheveled desk. She couldn’t afford to lose her head and freeze up now. She knew what it was that the Thalmor wanted, and somehow, she would find a way to keep it from them.

Vara quickly cleaned the rest of the room, careful to cover up any signs of her digging through personal belongings. She then cleaned the women’s room, straightening beds and clearing tables swiftly. As she was leaving the room, one of the female Justicars walked in, and Vara held her breath anxiously. The Thalmor, however, passed her by without even glancing her way, as if she were invisible. Normally, that kind of behavior made Vara want to scream to remind the Justicars that she was there, but today she was grateful for the lack of attention.

Vara left the room and carefully made her way to the kitchen. She couldn’t do anything that would raise the suspicions of any of the Justicars, but at the same time, she knew that she had to do something, and soon. The Thalmor were close to the Belt, Vara could feel it. The question was, what in the name of the Divines could she do?

Needing something to occupy herself with, Vara grabbed a rag and began to clean the wooden boards that made up the counter she had prepared the food on earlier. She scrubbed at the wood more forcefully than was likely necessary, but the action released a bit of the tension she felt. As she worked, her mind spun, searching and planning. Somehow, she would keep the Thalmor from being able to use the Belt, or she would die trying.

The glade was solemn. Soldiers bustled around, checking weapons, patrolling the perimeter, cooking, and running training drills, but despite the commotion, there was a heaviness in the air that everyone could feel. Even Ralof, who Ulfric had quickly realized was the most light-hearted of the men during their march to the camp, seemed quieter today. There was something in the air, and everyone was on alert. And it was all beginning to drive Ulfric crazy.

During the time he spent on High Hrothgar, Ulfric had learned patience, he had had to. Learning a single word of power could take a year or more of almost constant meditation and prayer. He had managed to accept that, after a few months of grumbling. This, however, was somehow worse, despite the fact that it had been only a little over a day. Ulfric knew that there was something wrong with this entire situation, but there was nothing he could do. He was confined to this clearing with no way to release the tension that he could feel.

The soldiers around him felt similarly, Ulfric could tell. The conversations were limited, and what words were spoken were short and clipped, giving off a sense of unease that only reinforced Ulfric’s worry. They were soldiers, and Ulfric had learned long ago that a soldier’s instinct was usually correct, especially in situations like the one they were in now.

Ulfric couldn’t make a move on Darkwater, no matter how much he wanted to. It would be suicide. If he were alone, he might have tried it, but not with these men following him. He refused to have their blood on his hands. Still, Ulfric itched to do do something. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he pushed away from the tree he had been leaning against and strode into the middle of the camp.

As he walked, the camp stilled. Soldiers turned away from their duties, their eyes trained on him as he came to a stop in the center of the glade. For several moments, he was silent, his eyes sweeping the soldiers he stood before. The worry they felt was plain on their faces, but there was a strength there too. These men—and woman Ulfric reminded himself, his eyes passing over Rikkria’s flaming hair—were still new to the army, to the war, and yet Ulfric could see that they were more than willing to fight and die for the cause that they supported. Yes, they were worried, but they were not scared.

Finally, Ulfric spoke, his voice ringing across the clearing despite his soft tone. “Something isn’t right here. I can feel it in the air, and I know that you can too.” A few of the soldiers nodded, their mouths hardening into a grim line. “The future of this war could very well rest in Commander Oaken-Song’s hands at this moment, and there is nothing that we can do to ensure her success.” Those words were a little more painful to say. Ulfric wanted, with every fiber of his being, to do anything that could guarantee Vara’s safety and success. “We are confined to this camp, with no enemy before us, yet we can feel threats lurking all around.”

Ulfric paused to look out at the soldiers, gazing at each one in turn. “We must remain vigilant and careful!” Ulfric declared, his voice rising as he continued. “It is our duty, as the sons and daughters of Skyrim, to protect her and her people! That means doing our part to fight against any who would threaten her! Today, we fight the Thalmor and their unknown schemes that would try to plunge Skyrim into a storm of chaos unlike any this land has ever seen.” The soldiers were all nodding now, although they kept their solemn expressions.

“We will be ready if a threat dares to show its face here before our mission is complete. We do not fear the storm, for we can weather it!” Ulfric’s voice rose to a crescendo, the power of his Thu’um rumbling slightly in his words. Then he spoke again, this time his voice quiet, but holding just as much force. “But only if we first survive the calm that comes before.”

The soldiers all nodded gravely, seeming to understand what it was that Ulfric was trying to say. Yes, this tense watchfulness was almost unbearable, but they would survive, if only so that when the fight finally came, and Ulfric was sure that it would, they would be ready.

“I’m doubling the watch, and from now on, I want everyone to have their weapons on them at all times. I don’t care if you’re only walking to the next campfire to grab a bowl of stew, you bring your sword with you. Understood?” The men voiced the affirmative, and although they weren’t as loud as soldiers typically were, their voices held more confidence than they had before Ulfric had addressed them.

He dismissed the group, and the soldiers filed away, returning to their various duties. He stopped Ralof before the man could walk away and placed him in charge of setting up the extra patrols. “I’ll take the night shift,” he added before Ralof could walk away. The soldier paused, and looked at Ulfric, cocking his head slightly. After a moment he said,

“My apologies, my jarl, but no you won’t.”

“I won’t?” Ulfric asked, and to his credit, Ralof didn’t flinch under Ulfric’s stare.

“No, sir. You need rest, no matter how much you might believe otherwise,” the soldier stated in a firm voice. Ulfric raised an eyebrow, but the man continued on before he could speak. “If the Thalmor want to move against us, they will. Your presence on the watch won’t make any difference. Having you at full strength when the battle does come, however, that will.” Ralof’s eyes were determined, and Ulfric could tell that the soldier wouldn’t be giving up on his argument easily. But neither would he.

Ulfric glanced around, making sure that none of the other soldiers were close enough to overhear his words. “I can promise you, soldier, that sleep would do nothing to help my strength, the only thing it would do is put me even more on edge,” Ulfric stated in a low tone.

If he fell asleep, he would likely bolt awake within an hour anyway at best. At worst, he would wake Shouting. It had happened more than a few times in the past, even when he had been in the safety of the Palace of Kings. No, it was far better that he didn’t take that chance. He would sleep when Vara was safe by his side.

“I will take the night shift,” he repeated, and although he could see that the Ralof wanted to argue, the soldier nodded.

“As you wish, my jarl. Just know that I refuse to be held accountable for what Commander Oaken-Song does to you once she finds out you haven’t slept,” he said, a small but knowing smile playing on his lips.

Ulfric sighed to himself. Vara would kill him for this later, he knew. “Noted, soldier,” he said, and Ralof gave a small bow before turning away to organize the rest of the patrols. Ulfric watched him walk away thoughtfully. Soldiers rarely showed this level of concern for a commanding officer, even when said officer was a Jarl. Ulfric doubted that the behavior had anything to do with him, though. Vara treated everyone with respect, and that trait had obviously rubbed off on the men who followed her. Despite everything, Ulfric felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth; everywhere she went, Vara seemed to leave a piece of herself behind, and for that, he was more than grateful.

Vara didn’t know what to do. The Thalmor seemed to be close to finding the Belt, but there was nothing she could do to speed the process up, and even if there was, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to. Once the Thalmor found the Belt she would have no chance of getting to it, and even if she did, she had no clue what to do with it. She wasn’t powerful enough to destroy it, and she wasn’t certain that hiding it would be possible.

Vara growled under her breath in frustration. She knew she had to try to do something, but she also knew that whatever she tried was more likely to fail than to succeed. Unconsciously, her hand reached up to grasp her amulet of Talos, but, of course, her hand met only empty air; she had left the amulet behind in an old tree along with her sword and officer’s uniform. She missed the amulet’s familiar weight but having it would have condemned her instantly.

‘By the Divines, she hated this place!’ Vara thought with a flash of anger. She had reached the point that she was jumping at every little sound, and she wasn’t sure she could stand it much longer.

Vara took a deep breath, letting her eyes drift shut for a second before she exhaled and slowly released the air from her body. She had to be strong, and so she would be. She would figure out a way to stop the Thalmor.

For the next few hours, Vara continued to fulfill her cleaning duties, her mind furiously spinning all the while. It was when she was making dinner for the Thalmor who were digging that the beginnings of a plan wormed its way into her mind. At first, Vara pushed the thoughts away. The plan was too dangerous; if she tried this, she was certain she would die, and even then, there was only a small chance of success. Unfortunately, it was the only plan she could think of.

Vara glanced around the kitchen furtively. The Thalmor rarely entered the room, but she had to be careful, especially considering what she was about to do. Once she was certain that the Thalmor wouldn’t be disturbing her any time soon, Vara began to pool a small amount of magicka into her hands.

For her plan to work, she would need the Thalmor who were working in the pit out of her way, so she was going to poison them. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any poisons on hand, and she didn’t have the skill to make any the old-fashioned way. So, instead, she was going to make the Thalmor believe that they had been poisoned.

The spell was, in theory, fairly simple. Since she didn’t have the supplies to actually poison the Thalmor, she would cast an illusion on their food that would give the meal the same properties that it would have had if it were actually poisoned. Unfortunately, the effects wouldn’t last more than a few hours. If Vara were stronger, she could have transmuted one of the ingredients in the food into a poison, but Alteration wasn’t her specialty, and a spell like that would have required time that she couldn’t spare.

Vara let her magicka trickle into the food that she had prepared, praying to the Divines above that the spell would work. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the plate began to glow a faint green color. The light pulsed for a few seconds before disappearing. Vara wished that there was a way that she could test to see if the spell had actually worked. Unfortunately, she had no one to test it on other than herself and doing so would defeat the purpose. With an inward sigh, Vara cast the spell again over the rest of the dishes. Once again, they glowed green and pulsed for a moment before fading back to normal.

Cautiously, Vara set the “poisoned” plates aside. In order to maximize the amount of time that Vara would have for her plan, she would have to feed the Thalmor within the building before those outside in the pit. She made the rest of the food quickly, muttering a prayer under her breath as she worked.

A few minutes later, Vara was entering the main room, her arms laden with food for the Thalmor who lounged there. Each of the Justicars accepted the food without doing much more than glance at her, and Vara was grateful for their indifference toward her. That indifference, however, didn’t last. When Vara was only a few steps away from the kitchen, one of the Thalmor addressed her.

“Girl,” the Justicar who sat at the table nearest to the kitchen barked, “who taught you to cook?”

Vara felt her heartbeat speed up to the point where she felt it would burst out of her chest. Nevertheless, she turned toward the mage and, keeping her eyes downcast, responded in a submissive tone. “My mother did, lord. She always said that cooking was one of the few practical arts that a person could learn.” Vara stuck as close to the truth as she could. She wasn’t a very experienced liar, and she couldn’t risk tipping off the Thalmor.

The mage nodded. “Well, it seems that slaves can be good for something,” he said with a smirk. “Tell me, was your mother as beautiful as her food?” Every piece of Vara’s soul wanted to lash out at the Thalmor and wipe those smug grins from off their golden faces as they laughed and made snide comments about her mother. She held herself back though and hid her anger by gazing down at the floor and allowing her long white hair to fall in front of her face.

“Go and take your ‘art’ to my kin out in the dig. I’m sure that Alatar would appreciate it,” the Thalmor order with a jeering smile. Var knew her voice would betray her anger if she dared to speak, so she simply nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor as she returned to the kitchen and fetched the other plates of food.

She walked through the main room, ignoring the stares of the Thalmor as their eyes followed her. Crossing the room seemed to take an age, but finally, she reached the door and slipped outside as quickly as she could.

Vara welcomed the blinding sun. The inside of the Thalmor’s magical building was dim, and their were no windows through which she could see the sun. For a creature of the forests such as herself, it only served to heighten the misery she felt. With effort, she pushed those feelings aside and marched toward the pit, ladened with the illusioned food.

In the pit, the Justicars were working faster than Vara had ever seen, but because of their accelerated pace, they also seemed more worn out than they should have been considering the fact that they still had over two hours left in their shift. Hopefully, that exhaustion would make them more susceptible to her spell. Carefully, Vara climbed into the pit and began to distribute the food.

The Thalmor all accepted the meals with little more than a word. Up close, the mages appeared even more tired than Vara had thought. The last one she handed a plate to looked exhausted enough to fall asleep where she stood, although that did nothing to change the ever-present sneer of contempt that they all seemed to wear no matter the situation. A few minutes after the Thalmor had all taken their first bites, however, those expressions began to slacken.

The Thalmor stumbled around drowsily and leaned against the walls as if the pit would collapse on itself if they didn’t support it. Eventually, they began to sink down the walls and, one by one, their heads dropped to their chests as they fell into what Vara hoped would be a deep and prolonged sleep. It was time to get to work.

Chapter Text

Vara scrambled to move as much dirt as she could with every spell she cast. She had watched the Thalmor work enough that she could cast the spell that they were using, although her version wasn't nearly as powerful as theirs. She was working as quickly as she could, casting a recasting the spell, ignoring the way her body protested under the strain of the magic.

She was focusing her efforts on one area of the dig site, a spot near the wall opposite the ladder that led into the pit. The Thalmor had focused most of their efforts in this area, and she was praying that they were onto something. If not, Vara had as good as tied her own noose.

Every little sound made Vara's ears perk up nervously. Logically, she knew that the Thalmor around her shouldn't wake for at least another hour and a half, and the ones inside of the building had no reason to come out here as the next shift change wouldn't occur for two more hours. That didn't stop the feeling of panic that had settled in her stomach from growing with every spell she cast.

An hour later, and Vara's movements were more frantic than ever. She was now standing in a hole five feet deeper than the area around it, and she hadn't found anything yet. What if she was wrong? What if she didn't find the Belt? What if the Thalmor woke?

Vara's magic was failing; she had pushed herself to the edge of her limits, and her body was beginning to shut down. With shaking arms, she cast the spell once again, barely able to see the ground in front of her with her tired eyes. The dirt vanished, and Vara fell to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her weight. She hit the ground hard, but her fuzzy mind barely felt it. She did, however, feel something smooth under her fingers as they brushed the ground.

Immediately, the fog that had settled over Vara's mind cleared and her eyes snapped to the ground. There, lying in the dirt, was the top of something metal that shimmered faintly in the setting sun. Vara's fingers scrambled to move the earth to the side, digging up the object with the frenzy of a wolf in search of an old bone. But her prize was greater than any bone by far.

With a weary smile, Vara lifted the Belt of Queens out of the dirt.

Her exhilaration quickly faded, though. She had the Belt, but now she had to figure out what in the name of Oblivion she was going to do with it. Right now, all she knew was that she needed to get it as far away from the Thalmor as possible. With that thought in mind, Vara quickly slung the Belt around her neck and scrambled to get out of the pit as quickly as she could.

As she passed the still-sleeping Thalmor, she considered placing a Paralysis spell on them but dismissed the idea. The digging spell had drained her, and she was going to need every ounce of energy for what was to come. She would just have to pray that the poison lasted long enough for her to get away.

Before long, Vara was stumbling towards the trees near the outskirts of Darkwater Crossing, if a place as small as Darkwater could even have outskirts. The sun had fully sunk below the horizon now, making it difficult for Vara to locate the hollow tree where she had stored her equipment only a few days ago. She couldn't risk a light, though, as the Thalmor were no doubt searching for her by now.

Eventually, Vara found the tree—although 'nearly fell into' was a more accurate description—and began to pull out the supplies she had stowed away. A few minutes later, she was wearing her Stormcloak armor, amulet, and sword. She was just about to strap on the Belt, when she heard twigs snap not far away. A flash of terror ran through her, and Vara's mind began to race.

The sounds were getting closer, and Vara knew without a doubt that it was the Thalmor closing in on her. If they caught her, they would have the Belt, and she would fail Skyrim. She would fail Ulfric. But there was nothing she could do. She didn't have time to hide the Belt, and even if she did, the Thalmor would gladly turn the entire forest to ash in order to find it. But she couldn't break it either. Ayleid relics were known for their practical indestructibility, even under extreme pressure.

But Vara had to try. The Belt's main focal point and the source of its fabled power was a large soul gem set in the center of the buckle. Soul gems themselves were fairly fragile, especially if the too much power was sent to them. That was the reason that petty soul gems could only hold petty souls but a lesser soul gem could hold lesser souls or petty souls. Somehow, Vara had to try to overload the gem.

The sounds drew closer as Vara placed her hands on the soul gem. Her eyes slipped closed and she let her mind block out everything: the sounds of the forest, the feel of the grass brushing against her legs, the sound of the Thalmor closing in, the smell of sweat from working in the pit, everything, until the only things that remained were the feel of the soul gem under her fingers and the rage of her magicka running in her blood.

She pooled her magicka into her hands, draining herself until every drop of her power was concentrated in one place. Then, she forced the magicka into the soul gem, slamming her power into it with as much force as she could.

All of Vara's energy left her in a rush, and the Belt fell from fingers that were now too weak to lift it. She didn't even have the strength to pry open her eyes to see if she had succeeded in destroying the soul gem. Vara heard the Thalmor crash through the trees, heard a Justicar shout, but she couldn't make out the words. It felt as if her ears had been stuffed with cotton, but she knew better. Her body was shutting down in order to conserve what little energy she had left. If she had had the strength, she would have smiled as she surrendered to the sweet call of unconscious bliss.

Ulfric's eyes darted around the shadowed clearing uneasily. Something was wrong. The feeling had been gnawing on him all day, and now that the sun had set, it had reached a climax. "Jorgrek," he said in a low tone to the man standing next to him,"wake the men and tell them to arm themselves. Something is coming."

The feeling of ice cold water unceremoniously yanked Vara from unconsciousness. She shivered and tried to pull her arms around herself to protect from the cold only to find that her arms couldn't move. She tried again, and once again her arms met resistance. That resistance, her tired mind informed her, came from the shackles that were fastened around her wrists, which undoubtedly led to chains. At that thought, Vara's mind woke fully.

Her eyes snapped open and were met with a dim light that nonetheless caused her to blink furiously as her eyes adjusted. She tried to duck her head to avoid the blinding light, but her neck was met with resistance. She was wearing a collar then.

Still unable to see, Vara assessed everything she could about her current situation. She was kneeling on a cold floor, and a quick test confirmed that there were also shackles on her ankles. Her head ached fiercely, and there was a sharp pain in her side, but other than that she seemed to be relatively okay. The sickening feeling in her stomach, however, told her that she wouldn't remain that way for long.

Finally, Vara's eyes adjusted to the light, and she was able to examine her surroundings. Unfortunately, her they only served to confirm what she already knew; she was chained to a wall in the basement of the Thalmor building. She wasn't exactly surprised, they had closed in on her in the forest after all, but that did nothing to ease her fears.

Those fears were only intensified by the sight of the Justicar standing in front of her, an empty bucket dangling lazily from one hand.

"Well, well, well, the slave is a Stormcloak," he said with a sneer. "I didn't know Ulfric took traitorous Altmer into his army. But then, you aren't really an Altmer, are you, half breed?" The Thalmor leaned in until Vara could feel his breath on her skin when he spoke. "We should have seen it earlier, but it doesn't matter now. You and I are going to have a lot of fun." Despite herself, Vara shivered and would have jerked away from the elf had her chains let her.

"Patience, Sorcdil," a different voice ordered. Sorcdil stepped back reluctantly, and one of the female Thalmor took his place in Vara's field of vision. "You," she said, leaning down until she was level with Vara, "have a lot to answer for. You poisoned my fellow Justicars and stole the Belt of Queens, that's quite an ambitious plan for a single soldier. Who helped you? The miners?"

Vara debated staying silent, which would earn her another slap, or worse. She decided, however, that the Thalmor wouldn't believe her anyway, so she might as well tell the truth. Or something close to the truth at the very least.

"No one helped me," Vara stated, somehow managing to keep her voice steady despite the waves of fear that were washing through her. "An escaped miner reported suspicious Thalmor activity, so I decided to investigate. Alone." And that was the truth. An escaped miner had supplied the information—although technically Gonnar had been the one to deliver it—and she had been the one who decided to infiltrate the Thalmor and she was alone.

The male Justicar, Sorcdil, sneered at Vara. "You expect us to believe that Ulfric Stormcloak let one of his commanders walk into our camp alone?"

Vara shrugged as much as the chains allowed her too. "Yes," she said simply. Sorcdil's face began to grow red with anger, and Vara could tell that it took every ounce of the Justicar's willpower to restrain himself from lashing out at her. The thought caused Vara to have to repress the smirk that threatened to form on her lips.

Before the female Justicar could say anything, another Thalmor walked into the room holding several papers. The elf handed the female, who Vara suspected was the leader of the Thalmor here in Darkwater, and whispered a few words in her ear. Vara couldn't make out the words, but judging by the sinister grin that was creeping onto the woman's face, they were nothing good.

Eventually, the lead Thalmor turned back to Vara. "It seems, Commander Oaken-Song, that you will be seeing your Jarl gives his trust away too freely. A little bird sent a message to General Tullius. It seems Ulfric will face the justice of an imperial trial soon enough." The Justicar leaned in until she was close enough for Vara to feel her breath as it ghosted over her skin. "But then again, Tullius can get overeager. Maybe he'll just kill Ulfric. After all, the penalty for treason is death."

"You are a lying witch," Vara replied, not bothering to conceal the anger that dripped from her words. Unfortunately, there was a growing feeling of terror that made Vara doubt her own words. It couldn't be, could it? The only people who knew where Ulfric was were a few of his commanders, the men he currently had with him, herself, and that councilor, Olflnar.

The Thalmor's smile only widened and she took a step back from Vara. "You wish that I was, don't you? You wish that your Jarl was safe behind his walls, that the people closest to him wouldn't trade his life for a few pieces of gold. The world isn't that kind, child, and neither am I," the Justicar stated calmly, and Vara believed her. By the Divines, she didn't want to! But she did.

"Tullius will capture Ulfric and his little band of soldiers before the sun sets again," the woman continued, a satisfied smirk on her face. "He will be executed as a traitor to the Empire and the rebellion will fizzle to nothingness. I almost wish that you could be there to see your dreams fail. Unfortunately, you'll be slightly...incapacitated." The woman's voice promised pain, but it was lost on Vara. Her only thought was of Ulfric and her men. She should have listened to Galmar when he said that this mission was too dangerous for Ulfric!

Unbidden, tears formed in Vara's eyes, and she had to blink them away to keep them from falling. The Justicar saw her actions, and her already wide smile grew even larger. She turned to Sorcdil, who had been watching Vara in a way similar to how a wolf watches a deer before it strikes, and said, "You may have the girl for now. I'm going to check on the Belt of Queens." She walked to the door before turning back around. "She still needs to be alive enough to answer questions when I get back." Sorcdil nodded absently, his eyes already fixed on Vara, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

The door closed as the head Thalmor slipped out, and Sorcdil began to advance on Vara. "You and I are going to have some fun, girl," he said as his flames began to dance along his fingertips. Vara met his eyes with a hateful glare but otherwise didn't react. The Thalmor's smile faltered for a brief moment before intensifying.

"Personally, I find torture ineffective for gathering information, especially with Nords," the elf stated in a conversational tone as he neared Vara. "They're so stubborn, refusing to divulge their secrets. So, a person has to torture them even more to get anything out of them, and then, when they finally do spill, it's difficult to trust the information that they give. After all, a body can only take so much pain before the mind snaps and begins to ramble." The Thalmor was close enough for Vara to feel the heat of the flames that danced along his fingers, even through her armor. "Thankfully, I don't need any information from you."

With those words, the mage grabbed Vara's right forearm, the fire in his hand immediately burning her exposed skin. Searing pain flooded Vara's body, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Then the mage let go, leaving Vara panting for breath.

"Hmm, not quite a perfect handprint. Working with fire can be tedious sometimes as the flames aren't always consistent. Well, we'll just have to try again, won't we?" Suddenly, the pain in Vara's arm was replaced with a soothing coolness. "Now, let's try for the full hand print this time." Once again, Vara's arm exploded with pain, and this time, she couldn't keep a small gasp from escaping her lips.

Through tear filled eyes, Vara saw the Justicar grin. "Hmm, now that was much better than the last one. The thumb however, that isn't quite right. We'll just have to try again, I suppose," the Thalmor mused, but Vara barely heard him through the pain. Once again, Vara's pain was soothed by what she assumed was the Thalmor healing her arm. Then, the process was repeated once again.

Several minutes later, tears were streaming from Vara's face, and she could no longer hear what it was that the Thalmor was saying to her. Her lips were bloodied from biting them to keep herself from screaming, although even that tactic had failed on the last round of torture. The Thalmor had moved his hand, burning her farther up her arm than he had before. She hadn't braced herself for pain there, and let out a yell of pained surprise, the sound echoing in the stone room, shaming her for her weakness.

Her torturer was speaking again, but she still couldn't make out the words through the ringing in her ears. She did, however, hear the door when it opened and what sounded like several Thalmor stomped through into the room. Vara opened her eyes slowly, she didn't remember closing them, to look at the newcomers.

The Thalmor were arguing with each other so loudly that Vara wouldn't have been able to make out any of the words that were being spoken even if the ringing in her ears had stopped. Eventually, one of them, the lead Thalmor that Vara had spoken to earlier, turned to Vara.

"What did you do to the Belt of Queens, you half-breed scum?" she demanded, striding over to Vara and yanking her forward by her armor. "I should be able to control legions of men without breaking a sweat, but you did something to the Belt. You must have!"

Despite the pain, Vara smiled. So overloading the soul gem had worked after all. Good.

Her smile quickly faded, however, as the Justicar continued. "The soul gem is perfectly intact, not even cracked, so you must have failed to overload it. What else did you do?" The woman was practically screaming now.

Vara shrugged, the movement sending a fresh bolt of pain through her burnt arm. "I didn't do anything to it. I tried to break the soul gem by flooding it with too much power, but you just told me that I failed." Vara allowed a smirk to form on her face. "Maybe, you just aren't smart enough to work it. After all, the Ayleid are known for there puzzles and secrets."

The Thalmor shook her head. "That's impossible! I read the texts and I followed the instructions exactly!" The woman fumed, spinning away from Vara and striding over to one of the other Justicars who was carefully holding the Belt in both hands. She snatched it and buckled it around her waist then stomped back to Vara.

"This Belt is activated by a chant in the Ayleid tongue." Vara raised an eyebrow as the woman began to speak, the words flowing beautifully in a way that seemed almost songlike. Then she stopped and switched back to Tamrielic. "The soul gem should be glowing now! I should have the ancient power of-" The Justicar was cut off by a blinding flash of light.

When the light faded, Vara opened her eyes to find that the room was now empty. Where the Thalmor had been standing not a moment before, only piles of smoldering robes remained. The Belt lay on the floor, the soul gem shattered beyond repair.

For a moment, Vara was too stunned to move. What in the name of Talos had happened? Whatever it was, the Thalmor were dead and she wasn't. So, Vara carefully channeled magicka into her hands and broke the shackles there. Before long, she had freed herself entirely. A part of her wanted to stay and search the building for Thalmor secrets, but that thought was quickly dismissed. She dashed up the ladder, set fire to the main room, and fled the building. She had to reach Ulfric before the Empire did.

Chapter Text

Trees passed by as nothing more than blurs in Vara’s vision. She didn’t know how long she had been running for, but she didn’t plan on stopping. As she sprinted across the forest floor, Vara tried to wrap her mind around a horrible realization. Someone had betrayed Ulfric, someone that he trusted. Vara wanted to trust everyone who had been in that room. They were all vital to the rebellion and Windhelm. The thought that any one of them betrayed Ulfric to the Empire was devastating. Those thoughts fueled Vara’s anger, and she pushed her body harder, the trees passing by even faster.

She couldn’t tell how long she ran for. It felt as if she had been both running for days and that she had barely begun. Regardless of how long she had been running, her body was beginning to tire. She had already been exhausted when she had begun, and now she feared that if she blinked for too long, her eyes wouldn’t open again and she would crash to the forest floor unable to rise. Before that could happen, though, she spied familiar tents peeking through the trees not too far ahead.

A tired smile crossed Vara’s face; they were still alive. She didn’t hear any sounds of battle, something she thanked the Divines for. There was no telling what she would have done if she had arrived too late and found the camp in ruins. Her dark thoughts were interrupted by a voice from the trees.

“Halt! State your name and business. Speak quickly, or we will fire,” the voice was sharp and strained, but it was like music to Vara’s ears.

“Peace, soldier,” Vara called to the shadow perched in the trees above her. The soldier had done a good job of concealing himself, just as she had taught her men to several weeks ago. “I am Commander Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, returning from a mission in Darkwater Crossing. I must speak to the jarl immediately.” She let the urgency of her task bleed into her voice, although she didn’t need to. The instant she finished speaking the soldier dropped from the trees, a wide smile on his face.

“Commander,” the soldier greeted with a salute, “it’s good to see you. The Jarl was beginning to grow restless.”

Vara followed the soldier into the camp. The man continued to speak, saying something about how tense the entire camp had been the past day, but Vara barely heard him. Her attention was completely absorbed by the man on the other side of the camp whose eyes were locked on her own. “Ulfric,” she whispered, the single word carrying more emotion than she had thought possible.

Their eyes stayed locked for another moment before Ulfric abruptly sprang to his feet, breaking the stillness between them. Suddenly, Vara was running into his arms, letting his body warm her own, whispering his name over and over as he held her tight. She knew that the soldiers were staring, and she could practically hear the whispers beginning already but she couldn’t find the strength to care.

Finally, Vara pulled away to look Ulfric in the eyes. “I wasn’t sure you were still alive,” she whispered, her voice quavering around the words. She had been terrified that she would be too late, that he would be dead or captured when she returned and it would be her fault. After all, if it weren’t for her, he would be safe within the walls of Windhelm right now where no Imperial force could reach him.

Ulfric’s lips pulled down in a frown. “Why would you think that? You were the one infiltrating the Thalmor,” Vara shivered at the word, “and stopping them from doing Talos-knows-what. I was afraid I had sent you to your death.” Ulfric replied, looking away as he spoke.

Vara shook her head. “That doesn’t matter now.” Ulfric turned back to her, surprise visible in his face. “The Empire knows you are here, Ulfric. The Thalmor received information that General Tullius was closing in on your position. They,” Vara’s voice broke and she dropped to a whisper, “they said that you likely already dead.”

For a moment, Ulfric was stood frozen. Then he pulled Vara close to him once more. “Well,” he whispered, his warm breath causing her pointed ears to twitch slightly. “I’m not dead yet.” Vara only nodded in response, her head buried in Ulfric’s chest.

After a few more moments, Vara pulled away again, although she would have been perfectly content staying wrapped in Ulfric’s arms until the end of time itself. “We have to prepare the soldiers,” she said, her voice having regained most of its usual strength, although her exhaustion still managed to leak into her words despite her best efforts. “There’s no time to flee; the Empire would catch us. You could make it if you struck out on your own. The men and I could keep the Imperials distracted but-” Ulfric cut her off with a stern look.

“I’m staying, Vara. I will not run from the Empire while my men fight and die. We will stand and we will fight together,” Ulfric declared softly, and all Vara could do was nod. She had known that would be his response. The Nord was far too stubborn for his own good.

Ulfric turned towards the crowd of soldiers who had gathered nearby. Their faces were a combination of relief and fear, emotions that Vara could relate to all too well. “Soldiers, the Empire draws near,” Ulfric said, his voice carrying across the glade that had fallen silent at his words. “Somehow, our position has been betrayed, and now we must prepare for battle. Everyone form a circle in the middle of the camp, weapons at the ready. We will not let the Imperials take us by surprise.” Ulfric did not shout or even raise his voice at all, but his words carried through the camp with a heavy sense of finality.

The soldiers saluted, faces grim, and began to move. For a moment, Vara watched them before turning to make her own preparations. Before she could walk away, however, Ulfric stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Vara,” his deep voice was soft, and even now Vara couldn’t help but love the way his voice rolled over her name. That thought was quickly banished though as he continued, “did they hurt you?”

Vara could hear the pain in Ulfric’s voice, a pain she knew came from experience. For his sake, she wanted to say no to save him from any guilt or pain the truth might bring, but she found herself nodding instead. She would not keep secrets from him.

“They caught me when I tried to escape,” she stated, keeping as much pain out of her voice as she could. “One of the Thalmor ‘interrogated’ me minus the asking questions part. I’m fine though,” Vara hurried to add, seeing Ulfric’s face begin to cloud with both guilt and pain. “His ‘fun’ didn’t last long. The relic that the Thalmor tried to use ended up backfiring on them somehow. They’re dead.”

Her words didn’t seem to soothe Ulfric. At all. There was a deep look of pain in his eyes, and Vara suddenly found herself thinking that a small white lie might have been better than the truth this time. “I’m fine, Ulfric,” she repeated, laying her hands atop his.

He shook his head slowly. “No, you aren’t.” He paused to let out a weary sigh. “But as much as I want to rush you to Windhelm, we have a battle to face, and we need you. Just be careful, please.”

The barest hint of a smile played on Vara’s lips. “Careful is my middle name,” she said. Ulfric only shook his head, but Vara could see that a little of the pain in his features had disappeared. Vara placed a quick kiss on Ulfric’s cheek. “I’ll be fine,” she promised before turning away and walking towards the middle of the clearing.

Her words, she knew, would likely end up being false. They had only twenty soldiers on their side with no idea of the size of Tullius’s forces. No, Vara doubted that any of them would be ‘fine’ after this battle was over. They would all fight it anyway.

Once she reached the center of the clearing, Vara knelt and began to pool her magicka into her hands once more. She was weak from her run and her time spent in the hospitality of the Thalmor, but she managed to gather enough magicka for the spell. Slamming her hands into the ground, Vara sent her magic racing towards the edge of the camp until it ringed the clearing, glowing a faint green.

This spell, unlike the cloaking spell she normally cast on the camp, wouldn’t hide them from the Imperials; it was too late for that. No, this spell would cause any who crossed the barrier to feel as if they had already been fighting for hours. Their muscles would suddenly become tired. Hopefully, that would give the Stormcloaks a much-needed advantage as the spell wouldn’t affect them.

Vara stood slowly, her body now even more exhausted than it had been. After a moment of indecision, Vara slung the bag she carried off of her shoulder and dug around in it, pulling out a small bottle filled with a dark green liquid. A stamina potion. She downed the contents of the bottle in a single swallow as well as a magicka potion. Immediately, she felt strength begin to return to her worn body.

As she swung her bag back on, she heard someone run into the camp. She looked over and saw Ralof, hands on his knees and gasping for breath. Vara ran to his side and the soldiers who had gathered around him stepped back to let her through.

After another moment of heavy breathing, Ralof managed to speak. “Empire,” he gasped out. “They’re here.” For a moment, Vara froze. Then she burst into movement.

“Soldiers, circle up! Jorgrek, call in the patrols as quickly as you can! Rikkria, make sure everyone has weapons! Anyone who needs any kind of healing, come to see me, now!” Vara ordered and the group around her immediately dispersed.

A few soldiers approached her with small injuries they had gained from training or patrolling, which she quickly healed. Once that was done, Vara drew her sword and joined the circle that had begun to form in the center of the camp. Before she knew it, Ulfric was by her side, his sword drawn and his gaze sweeping the forest in front of them.

Vara opened her mouth, but before she could speak, she spotted men moving under the trees. “Archers!” she called. “Form up and take down as many of those Talos-forsaking skeevers as you can!” Several soldiers broke from the circle, arrows already fit to the strings of their bows. As one, they released a deadly volley that struck several of the Imperials who moved beneath the trees.

Pooling her magicka into her hands again, Vara waited anxiously for the Imperials to respond. As if summoned by her thoughts, several arrows flew from the trees towards the small circle of soldiers. Vara threw up a ward, blocking most of the arrows. One, however, broke through the magic and found its mark in the shoulder of a soldier standing to her left. The man cried out but held steady as two other soldiers rushed to help him.

The Stormcloak archers sent another round of arrows into the trees and the Imperials responded with their own. Vara blocked the arrows, although she could tell that her magic, already weak from the strain of the past few days, was failing. She wouldn’t be able to block many more arrows.

Then the first of the Imperials broke through the trees, swords held high as the charged. Several of the Imperials stumbled as they crossed Vara’s wall of magic, the sudden fatigue taking them by surprise. The Stormcloak archers felled a half a dozen soldiers, but the Imperials still greatly outnumbered them.

“Steady, men!” Ulfric called, his sword raised in front of him, ready to meet the charge of the enemy. “Don’t break formation until you are within reach of their blade!”

Vara watched the Imperials charge, and time seemed to slow down. She could hear the beating of her heart pounding in her ears. She could see every detail on the armor that the enemy wore. She could smell the leather of the uniforms of the men who stood beside her. She could taste the forest air. And then the Imperials crashed into the circle.

A sweeping sword angled towards Vara, but she sidestepped the blow and brought her own sword up in front of her, her other hand crackling with electricity. The soldier struck again, and she blocked the blow with her own blade, causing the man to stumble slightly. Vara took advantage of his unbalanced stance to kick out at the soldier's leg. He fell to the ground, and Vara killed him with a quick flick of her blade.

Sorrow rose up inside of her, but she shoved it to the side. She would mourn the deaths of her enemies later. Right now, she had to keep her men alive.

All around her, the Stormcloaks were fighting, each one outnumbered by at least two Imperials. Vara did what she could to even the odds by casting bolts of lightning at any Imperial who seemed distracted enough. Before long, though, she was caught up in another duel of her own.

This time she fought a woman who carried a sword and shield. Vara’s first strike glanced off of the shield and almost caused her to stumble. She regained her footing quickly, but the brief moment of unbalance gave the Imperial enough time to strike. Her sword grazed Vara’s torso as she leaped backward a little too slowly.

They exchanged blows, Vara managing to score only a few shallow hits on the other woman. Finally, as Vara danced away from a particularly vicious strike, she found her opening. Darting inside of the other woman’s blow, Vara sent a bolt of lightning into her chest. The Imperial stumbled backward, dropping her sword in the process. Then she collapsed, and Vara didn’t have to check the woman’s pulse to know she was dead.

Vara’s eyes swept over the clearing that had quickly become a chaotic battlefield. The Stormcloaks nearest to her seemed to be holding their own, so she searched for someone who could use her aid. Her eyes fell on a group of at least five Imperial soldiers, all surrounding one figure. Vara didn't need to see his face to know that the figure was Ulfric, hacking and slashing at the Imperials like an enraged snow bear.

Darting through several small fights, Vara made her way towards Ulfric, stopping only briefly to fire bolts of electricity at a few of the Imperials. Her urgency, as it turned out, wasn’t needed. Before Vara could reach Ulfric, he Shouted a single word. “Fus!” The soldiers surrounding him were sent flying, several hitting the nearby trees with enough force to crack the wood and their spines.

Ulfric looked up from the soldiers and met Vara’s eyes from across the battlefield. He nodded to her and then turned back to the battle, a grim and deadly smile on his face.

The fight continued for what seemed like ages. Vara could feel herself slowing as she moved to avoid a deadly blow that had been aimed toward her. Her magicka was almost completely diminished, the sparks in her hand little more than a purple glow, and her vision was beginning to blur. Three days of little sleep, not to mention at least a few hours of torture, was getting to her.

She managed to avoid the strike, however, and buried her sword in the Imperial’s chest, yanking the blade back out before the soldier hit the ground. She spun around in search of another enemy. The bodies of several soldiers littered the floor of the clearing, and despite the obvious advantage that the Imperials had, few of the corpses wore Stormcloak colors. Few, however, was still far too many. At least four of her soldiers had fallen to the blades of the Imperials.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a blade cutting through the air towards her. She ducked, and a sword whistled through the space where her head had just been. Looking up, she found herself face to face with General Tullius himself.

Vara immediately brought her blade up, barely blocking a strike by the General. She returned the blow with one of her own only to have it blocked. She and the General circled each other warily, and as they moved, Vara could see recognition in his eyes.

“Varaduilwe Oaken-Song,” he said as he swept his blade forward once again. Vara danced away from the blade. “Ulfric’s half-breed general. I have to say I’m surprised to find you here. I figured the Thalmor would kill you.” Vara ignored his words and lunged forward to strike at the general, but the man moved to the side, sending her sword slicing through the empty air.

“Apparently, they aren’t quite as strong as they believe themselves to be,” the general mused, directing a forceful blow at Vara that she barely managed to dodge. “It doesn’t matter though. You will die soon enough along with the rest of this foolish rebellion,” the Imperial declared with a sneer.

His words stoked the anger within Vara, and she slashed at him furiously. The two of them began a deadly dance, weaving back and forth. Duck. Slash. Dodge. Parry. Counter. Duck. Lunge. Slash. Turn. Slash. Block. Block. Parry. Vara danced out of the way of a blow that would have taken off her arm if she hadn’t moved. She was trying to keep up with the general’s movements, but it was obvious that the man was a very experienced swordsman. She, on the other hand, was not.

Vara jumped to the side to avoid a strike, but her movements were too slow. Tullius’s blade scored a long gash down her right arm, and she nearly dropped her blade in surprise. She staggered away from the general’s next blow.

Her magicka was completely gone and her strength was quickly failing. She raised her blade anyway, prepared to fight until her death. The next attack to hit her, however, wasn’t from Tullius.

Instead, the blow came from behind her as something heavy connected with the back of her skull, sending her crashing to the ground. Tullius said something, but Vara couldn’t make out the words over the pounding in her head. Her vision began to grow dark, and the last thing she saw was Tullius’s smirking face. Then the blackness took her.

Chapter Text

The carts creaked and rattled over the rocky road. Ulfric didn’t recognize the area, but he had a feeling that he would find out where they were going far too soon for his liking. No matter where they ended up, though, the outcome would be the same, that much he was certain of. Tullius wasn’t one to waste an advantage.

Ulfric’s only regret was that Vara and her men were caught here with him and would suffer the same fate as he would.

At that thought, Ulfric turned to look at the woman sitting next to him. Vara was still unconscious, which was both a cause for concern and relief on Ulfric’s part. She was hurt, but at least she wasn’t awake to see their current circumstance yet. If she knew what he had done, she wouldn’t forgive him for the rest of her life, however short of a time that may be.

Ulfric jumped to the left, just out of the reach of an Imperial blade. Its wielder was quickly cut down but another soldier quickly took his place. Ulfric dodged the strike that the man sent his way and followed with one of his own that the soldier couldn’t quite block. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Scanning the clearing-turned-battlefield, Ulfric saw that his men were losing. There were more Imperial bodies littering the ground than soldiers in Stormcloak colors, but the Empire still vastly outnumbered them. As strong as Vara’s men were, they were outmatched.

Ulfric was about to throw himself back into the fray when he heard a piercing cry over the din of the battle. Vara! Ulfric pushed through the men around him, dodging strikes and cutting down any who stood in his way. It was only when he reached the other side of the clearing that he saw who stood over Vara’s crumpled form.

General Tullius was grinning down at Vara and there was a soldier standing nearby whose shield was splattered with fresh blood. Looking down at the ugly wound on the back of Vara’s head, it wasn’t hard for Ulfric to guess who the blood belonged to.

“Back away, Tullius,” Ulfric growled in a tone that would have made even the snow bears near Windhelm run. Tullius smiled and stepped over Vara’s motionless form. Ulfric’s hand clenched his blade tight, but he held back from lashing out. He couldn’t strike until he knew Vara would be safe.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, I have to say that I was surprised to get a message bearing your location, sent from the Palace of Kings no less,” Tullius stated, his tone sounding conversational as if he and Ulfric were discussing the weather. “It seems that your friends are fewer in number than you believed.”

Ulfric ignored the Imperial’s taunts with some effort. Instead, he dedicated his attention to Vara, his eyes scanning her face and chest, searching for some sign that she was still alive. After several tense seconds, Vara’s chest rose and fell as she took a shallow breath. Satisfied that Vara was alive, Ulfric fixed his gaze back onto the Imperial general.

“Step away, Tullius,” Ulfric ordered, his Thu’um causing his voice to rumble with a power that he didn’t even try to contain. “Unless you would like to end up like Torygg, of course.”

The threat had little effect on the general. “No. If you make a single move against me, I will kill your commander here. Vara Oaken-Song, is it? The half-elf. I’m surprised the Thalmor didn’t kill her already.” As he spoke, Tullius moved his blade until the point was hovering no more than an inch above Vara’s exposed throat.

“Surrender or she dies.”

Movement by Ulfric’s side drew him from his memories. Looking over, he saw that Vara was beginning to stir. A soft groan escaped her lips, making a burst of anger flash through Ulfric once more. Then her eyes snapped open and darted around before catching Ulfric’s gaze. As she took their situation, her eyes widened in fear.

“No.” The word was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it managed to convey more fear and horror than any bard’s tale could. Unable to speak due to the gag jammed into his mouth, Ulfric only nodded, hoping that his eyes alone could convey his apology. Of course, there was no apology that could make up for sending Vara and her men to their deaths.

Across from Vara, Ralof spoke. “Commander! You’re finally awake. We were beginning to worry.” The soldier’s tone was light, as it always seemed to be, regardless of the situation that the man faced, but Ulfric could see the dark acceptance on his youthful face. Ralof knew that they would not be making it out of here alive.

The man across from Ulfric, some horse thief that the Imperials had caught right after they had attacked the camp, began to speak, but Ulfric didn’t pay him any attention. His eyes were fixed on Vara. He could see a terrible sense of understanding in her eyes. She leaned toward him as well as she could and rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a small sigh as she did so. Instinctively, Ulfric leaned down and rested his head atop hers, desperately wishing that he could do more to protect her.

Ulfric’s attention was drawn from Vara when the horse thief spoke again, this time addressing him. “What’s wrong with him, huh?” The thief asked, nodding toward the gag that was tied around Ulfric’s head.

Before Ulfric could do anything, Vara’s head snapped towards the thief. “Watch your tongue!” she hissed in a low tone. “You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!”

If Ulfric had been able to, he would have laughed at the look of utter shock that found its way onto the horse thief’s face. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion.” The thief’s face had drained of all color as he finally came to the realization of just what was going on. “If they’ve captured you...oh gods, where are they taking us?”

From the other side of the cart, Ralof said, “I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.”

The horse thief’s eyes widened and he began to speak, but Ulfric tuned him out once again. Vara’s eyes had slipped closed and she was whispering a prayer under her breath. Once she looked up, she caught her his eyes with her own, and Ulfric was amazed to see none of the fear that had been there only minutes before. Instead, a serene look of peace had settled on her face, along with a small smile that pulled at Ulfric’s heartstrings. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. Unsaid words passed between them through their gaze and that was enough.

As their cart passed into the walled city, Helgen, according to Ralof, Ulfric found himself leaning back into Vara’s touch, trying to memorize the feel of her body against his. As much as he wished Vara were safe in Windhelm, that she didn’t have to face this fate with him, a small part of Ulfric was glad that he didn’t have to face his death alone.

All too soon, the cart shuddered to a stop; they had reached the end of the line. Looking beyond the cart, Ulfric saw that the Empire had created a clear area in the middle of the town where a headsman stood waiting. Beheading. It wasn’t the best way to die, but Ulfric could think of plenty of other methods that were considerably worse. At least this would be a quick death.

An Imperial captain stepped up to the cart along with another soldier who held a list in his hands. Ralof stood and jumped down from the cart, and Ulfric and Vara followed his lead. Looking at their faces, Ulfric could see that they would be facing their deaths with courage, something that caused a sorrowful pride to well up within him. The gods couldn’t have given him anyone better to die beside.

“Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!” the Imperial captain ordered.

The soldier by her side took a deep breath and then began to read off of the list he held. “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”

Before Ulfric could move, he heard Vara’s soft voice. “Farewell, Ulfric,” she whispered, and Ulfric felt his heart clench.

He began to walk away, each step heavy and heard Ralof speak as well. “It’s been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.” Inwardly, Ulfric shook his head. No, the honor was his.

Eventually, Ulfric came to a stop beside the other Stormcloak soldiers who had been gathered in the center of the town in front of the headsman’s block. A commotion rose up from the cart Ulfric had left, and he turned just in time to see archers shoot down the horse thief who had tried to run away. Then Vara was called and she walked towards the block with her head held high. She came to a stop next to Ralof, who whispered something to her, and even so close to death, she smiled slightly.

Ulfric’s attention was drawn away from Vara as General Tullius began to speak. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the voice to murder his king and usurp the throne.” Ulfric growled around the gag, wishing that he could Shout the Imperial into Oblivion. “You started this war, flung Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!”

A distant roar split through the air, causing the soldiers to glance around warily, but Tullius waved for the Imperial captain to continue. The woman nodded and shoved one of the soldiers, Jorgrek judging by the flaming hair, toward the block. So they would force Ulfric to watch as his soldiers were executed one by one. It wasn’t enough that they would kill him, no, they wanted to make him suffer first. Talos take these skeevers!

A priestess began to speak, saying something about a blessing of the Eight Divines, but Jorgrek cut her off angrily. “For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!” he demanded, striding toward the headsman’s block. “Come on, I haven’t got all morning!” He knelt at the block, and for a brief moment, Ulfric saw Jorgrek’s face soften and Ulfric knew that the soldier was looking at Rikkria.

Then Jorgrek turned toward the headsman and captain. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” he demanded. The captain didn’t respond, but stepped on Jorgrek’s back, pushing his neck down onto the block. Then, in a flash of steel, it was over, and Jorgrek’s head fell with a sickening thump into the box as his body fell to the side of the block.

Somewhere to Ulfric’s left, Rikkria screamed at the Imperials, her voice quivering with anguish. Ulfric bowed his head, and to his left, Ralof whispered, “As fearless as death as he was in life,” his voice cracking slightly on the words.

Ulfric had barely finished a short prayer to Talos, asking the god to watch over Jorgrek’s soul on his way to Sovngarde, when the next name was called. He watched in horror as Vara stepped forward, striding across the ground gracefully, even as she walked toward her death.

She knelt in front of the block, but before she laid her head down, she turned towards the crowd, and her eyes found his. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed to him, and all Ulfric could do was shake his head as tears began to pool in his eyes. Then the captain pushed Vara down onto the block and the headsman raised his ax. Before the blow could fall, though, a dark shape swooped down from the sky and landed on the tower behind the executioner, letting out a roar that shook the very ground, knocking Ulfric to his knees.

Suddenly, everything was thrown into chaos. All around Ulfric the word, “Dragon!” was being screamed as people ran for cover. He struggled to his feet and pushed away the fear that threatened to overtake him. If he stopped to think about just what it was that was setting fire to the town, he would freeze in terror. So he forced himself to run instead.

In an instant, Ulfric was standing by Vara’s side. He quickly cut his bonds apart on the blade of the fallen headsman’s ax and then helped Vara to her feet and quickly untied her hands. He gestured to the tower, and Vara nodded, following after him as he ran for the cover that the structure offered. As he moved, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was any structure that could truly offer safety from a dragon.

Once they were inside, Ulfric tore off the gag. Ralof, who had followed Vara and Ulfric into the tower, gasped for breath before managing to ask, “Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?”

Could they? Legends were harmless things found in books and bards’ tales. Whatever that thing outside was, it was real and it was dangerous, so Ulfric responded in the only way he could. “Legends don’t burn down villages.”

At his side, Vara spoke up. “We have to get moving,” she stated, glancing around at the other Stormcloaks who had hidden in the tower. “Nowhere in Helgen is going to be safe for long, not against a creature like that. We have to get out of the city.”

Ralof nodded grimly. “I know a few ways out of here. The exit through the keep will be the safest, but we might have to fight our way there. I doubt the Imperials will let us go without a fight, even with a dragon on the loose.”

“Lead the way, soldier.”

Ulfric followed Ralof up the stairs of the tower, but Vara pulled them both back before they could reach the first landing. Not a second later, the ebony dragon’s maw appeared in the hole in the tower’s wall. A jet of flame poured from the creature’s open mouth, scorching the area where they would have been standing. As it was, the heat caused Ulfric to feel as if he were about to combust.

Ralof turned to Vara. “You see the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going. We’ll meet you at the keep as soon as we can.”

Vara turned to Ulfric, and he could see the worry in her eyes. “I’ll see you soon, Vara,” he promised. “Now go before that creature returns.”

After a long moment, Vara nodded. “Be careful, Ulfric,” she ordered. “I didn’t survive an execution just to lose you to a creature from children's stories.” Then Vara turned and jumped through the hole in the wall and landed in the building across the way.

Vara hit the floor of the inn hard. She stumbled a few steps before steadying herself on a slightly charred chair. She knew she didn’t have time to stop, but for a few moments, her feet refused to move as her mind was too caught up over the fact that she had just been saved from execution by a dragon of all things. Eventually, she shook her head and jumped down to the bottom floor of the inn.

She stepped through the still-smoking doorway and found herself surrounded by Imperial soldiers. She cursed under her breath and tried to summon magic to her hands. A few weak sparks crackled for a brief second before fizzling out. She was defenseless.

The Imperials, however, didn’t seem to care. One of them, the one who had been holding the list that her name had been read off of just a few minutes earlier, was coaxing a small boy towards him. The boy ran over, and an instant later the black dragon landed on the road and torched the place where the boy had been standing. The Imperial handed the boy to another man before turning to Vara.

“Varaduilwe, wasn’t it?” he asked. “If you want to make it out of this, stay by me.” Vara didn’t have a better idea, so she followed the young soldier as he ran along the wall of the city. She didn’t trust him, but she was weaponless with no way to defend herself. At least following him she had the chance of taking his sword if he died.

At any other time, the fact that the thought of using a man for his weapon had sprung to her mind so easily would have disturbed Vara. Now, however, it was simply a matter of survival. And she did intend to survive.

They followed the wall for awhile, and Vara was almost impaled by one of the dragon’s wings when he landed on the wall above them. Only a quick jump to the right saved her. The Imperial looked back at her with wide eyes before shaking his head and pushing on. Vara could understand his feeling all too well.

As they ran into the next building the ground underneath Vara shook, throwing her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, her hands scraping across the splintered floor in search of traction. Finally, she managed to push herself up and run to the side, just out of the way of a sudden burst of fire. It was bad enough that the dragon had razor sharp teeth and claws, the fact that it could breathe fire as well seemed a little unfair to Vara’s exhausted brain.

Finally, they reached a clear area in front of a large building that Vraa could only assume was the keep. Vara skidded to a stop when she saw Ralof standing across from them, brandishing a sword he must have taken from one of the fallen soldiers. “We’re escaping, Hadvar!” Ralof yelled to the Imperial who had been guiding Vara, and she could hear a familiarity in the Stormcloak soldier’s voice. Somehow, Ralof knew this Imperial soldier. “You can’t stop us this time!”

Hadvar snarled, making Vara back up and fall into a defensive stance, although she didn’t have a weapon to defend herself with. “Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” he yelled and then ran past Ralof and into the keep.

Ralof ran to Vara’s side and gestured to another part of the keep. “We can escape through there! Jarl Ulfric is leading some of the others through another exit, but we have to move now before that dragon decides that the keep is a little topo undamaged for his liking!”

Vara wanted to run and find Ulfric, but she knew that it was pointless. There was nothing that she could do to help him, and if she didn’t move now, she and Ralof would likely both end up dead. Sending a quick prayer to the Divines that they would keep Ulfric safe, Vara followed Ralof into the keep.

Chapter Text

Vara stumbled into the keep behind Ralof. The room they were in was circular and made of stone, although Vara’s fuzzy mind barely noticed. A dragon. She had been saved from execution by a dragon. A headache that was building in her skull told her that if she dwelled on that thought any longer, her head would explode, so she pushed her shock to the side and tried to focus on what Ralof was doing.

The soldier was kneeling beside the body of a man in Stormcloak colors. As she looked closer, Vara realized that it was Gonjar, a young soldier who had enlisted after his family farm had been raided by Imperials, who lay dead before her. Closing her eyes, she sent a brief prayer to the Divines to watch over his soul. How many more would die before this day was over?

Ralof stood, a look of grim determination on his face. “Jarl Ulfric is going to try and lead as many people as he can through one of the gates on the north side of the city. He ordered me to find you and get you out of this nightmare as quickly as I could,” the soldier stated. A flash of worry for Ulfric ran through Vara, but she pushed it aside. There was nothing that she could do for him right now, and the only thing fear would do was get in her way. “There’s an old tunnel in this keep that will take us out of Helgen and away from that beast.”

Vara nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a sound to her right. “Imperials,” Ralof hissed, drawing his ax. Vara’s hand instinctively went to her side, but there was no sword there. The Imperials must have confiscated it while she had been unconscious. Swearing under her breath, Vara pooled her magic into her hands, forming her staff of electricity. It seemed the gods were determined to force her to use her magic to defend herself. And she would defend herself.

As soon as the Imperial captain saw them, she ordered her soldiers to attack. Even as one of the men ran toward Vara, she couldn’t help but think how pointless this all was. There was a dragon burning the city to the ground, and they were still slaughtering each other. Vara wasn’t sure if that was a sign of extreme loyalty or of extreme stupidity, although she was leaning toward the latter.

Before she could finish that train of thought, the Imperial swung his sword toward her, and she danced away from the blade. Her staff crackled in the air as she swept it in front of her, causing the Imperial to jump backward. Before the man could find his balance, Vara brought her staff crashing into the man’s skull. The magic fizzled and popped and the man fell dead, his helmet smoking faintly.

Turning to where Ralof had been fighting, she found the Imperial captain as well as the other soldier lying dead at his feet. “That was for Jorgrek and Gonjar,” he declared softly, looking down at the corpses for a long moment before meeting Vara’s eyes. “The captain had a key on her, and I bet it opens that door. We should keep moving.” Vara nodded and followed Ralof as he led the way deeper into the keep.

They were met with more Imperials as they made their way through the keep. The first few times, Ralof tried to get them to come to some sort of peace, but once they reached the torture chamber, it was obvious that peace was the furthest thing from his mind, and Vara couldn’t blame him.

Cages hung from the ceilings filled with bones still wearing the tattered remains of Stormcloak uniforms. Racks covered in blood lined the walls, various tools scattered around them. It seemed that the Imperials had learned a lot from their Thalmor allies. Vara bowed her head in reverence to those who she knew must have suffered here, but her trance was broken by the sounds of battle coming from the room below them. To her left, Ralof’s head snapped up, and they shared a hasty look before charging down towards the source of the noise, weapons in hand.

They broke into the large room to find two Imperial torturers fighting against a handful of Stormcloaks. A fierce anger rushed through Vara’s veins, and she let out a loud cry as she slammed into one of the torturers, saving a Stormcloak from having his head separated from his body.

Emboldened by the unexpected appearance of aid, the Stormcloak soldiers dove back into the fray with renewed vigor. Before long, both of the torturers lay dead, Vara having driven her staff through the throat of the one who had appeared to be in charge.

She banished her staff with a flick of her wrist and turned toward the other soldiers. Ralof was holding his arm, which appeared to have been hit during the fight, and the other three men looked equally beat up. “Soldiers,” she asked, “have you seen anyone else from our company?”

They shook their heads. “No, commander. We stumbled into the keep in an attempt to escape that dragon, but the only people we’ve seen have been Imperials,” one of them stated with an angry scowl. “I think most of the company was following Jarl Ulfric, though.”

Vara nodded. Hopefully, Ulfric and the soldiers following him would make it out safely. They had to. “There is a tunnel through this keep that will lead us out of Helgen. Will you come with us?”

The three soldiers exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them before the one in the middle spoke up. “No, ma’am. We’ll keep watch for any other stragglers of our company. If no one comes in the next hour, we’ll find our way out and make for Windhelm.”

“Very well, but first, come here and let me do what I can for your wounds,” Vara ordered, her hands beginning to pulse with a soft healing light. One by one, she healed the soldiers, patching up scratches and burns in a few gentle touches. Once she was finished, she stood back and smiled softly at the men. “Talos guide you,” she said. The soldiers echoed the farewell before turning and walking back the way Vara and Ralof had come from.

Once they were out of sight, Vara turned to Ralof. “I saw you holding your arm, Ralof. Come here and let me heal it.”

Ralof shrugged. “It’s nothing, commander. You shouldn’t waste your magic on me. I’m sure we’ll need it when we run into more Imperials.” Vara didn’t reply, but raised an eyebrow and gave Ralof a disbelieving look. Eventually, the man sighed and walked over to Vara, offering out his arm for her to heal.

A few seconds later, the angry-looking cut on the soldier’s arm had disappeared. Ralof moved his arm back and forth experimentally, before grinning slightly. “We need more mages in the army,” he stated, looking at his healed arm in awe.

Despite their grim situation, Vara couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her lips. “Indeed.” Ralof looked as if he was going to reply when his smile suddenly fell. “Is something wrong Ralof? Did I miss an injury?” Vara asked, her own smile disappearing.

Ralof shook his head. “No, no. I’m worried about you. You were out cold for over a day; there’s no way that you aren’t injured. Jarl Ulfric will kill me if I get you out of Helgen only to have you die because I was too foolish to ask after your injuries.”

Not for the first time, Vara was struck by how deeply Ralof seemed to care for her. She knew the other soldiers in her company were the same way, and it was something she was extremely grateful for.

“Until you mentioned it, Ralof, I had forgotten that they were there,” Vara said. And that was the truth. Now, however, the pain of all of her injuries seemed to crash down on her, making her want to collapse right then and there.

With effort, however, she remained standing and summoned a slightly different healing magic to her hands. She had never been as good at self-healing spells as she was at spells that could heal those around her, so the spell consumed more of her magicka than she would have liked. After a few moments, the glow faded. Vara carefully prodded at her arm and the back of her head where the worse injuries had been and found no sign of them. Thank Talos, she hadn’t been sure that she had enough magicka to do that.

“Shall we press on?” Vara asked. Her words seemed to shake Ralof out of an awed trance, and the man nodded.

After what seemed like hours, Vara spotted the exit of the tunnel. They just fought and killed a large cave bear, and exhaustion was threatening to overcome both of them, but the sight of sunlight shimmering through the darkness of the cave brought a new energy into her bones. She caught Ralof’s eye, and they shared a triumphant smile before they both sprinted out of the cave and into the sun.

Ulfric counted the soldiers following him once again. Eight. There were only eight Stormcloaks with him. He and Vara had led a small company of twenty men, and now there were only eight. A few others might have managed to escape with Ralof; Ulfric had sent the young man to find Vara and make sure that she got out of Helgen. He had wanted to go after her himself, gods he had wanted to, but the soldiers had looked to him for guidance, and he had had to put his duty above his personal wants. He would get these few soldiers back to Windhelm, and hopefully, Vara would be able to make her own way there.

Vara breathed in deeply, and the feeling of the fresh mountain air rushing into her lungs was one of the best things she had ever felt. Her happy trance was broken, however, when a loud roar shook the earth. Immediately, she and Ralof dove behind a large boulder and froze. A few seconds later, a large shape flew in front of the sun, plunging the world into a sudden darkness. An instant later, though, the light returned and Vara dared to peek over the rock they hid behind. The dragon was gone.

At her side, Ralof stood. “We made it,” he whispered. Vara only nodded, her exhaustion catching up to her all at once. Hopefully, the others had made it out a different way, as the tunnel had collapsed behind them at one point, blocking off the way for anyone else to come through.

For several moments, they stood there in weary silence. Finally, Ralof spoke. “This place will be swarming with Imperials soon,” he stated. “Riverwood is nearby, and my sister owns the mill there. I’m sure she would let us rest with her for a little while before we head to Windhelm.”

“That sounds good,” Vara agreed. “I’m in no mood to be captured by Imperials again after all the work we just did to escape them.”

Ralof chuckled. “Aye, I know the feeling,” he said before turning and walking down the dirt path that led away from the cave. Vara followed him, doing her best to stay focused on putting one foot in front of the other instead of collapsing the way her tired body wanted to.

It wasn’t long before they reached the Guardian standing stones. Vara had visited the place once before several years ago with her father. She couldn’t have been much older than twelve, and it had been one of the first hunting trips that had taken her outside of Eastmarch and the Rift. Vara’s fingers skimmed over the Mage Stone as her memories overtook her.

“What are these, Ata?” Vara asked, looking up at the three large stones that circled the platform where she stood. The air felt different around them, but she didn’t know why.

“Those, my Little Cub, are the Guardian stones. Each one bestows a blessing according to its star sign. The gods will only let each person have one blessing though. This stone,” he said, gesturing to the one in the middle, “will help a person become a great warrior. That one will give thieves even greater skill to hide in the shadows.”

“What about this one?” Vara asked, waving to the statue in front of her. There was a picture of a man in billowing robes carved into it that Vara was drawn to.

“That is the Mage Stone. Those who touch it and accept its blessing will become powerful mages if they work hard enough to master their abilities,” her father said with a small smile.

“Can I touch it?” she asked, looking up at her father’s elven face. “I want to be a great mage like you are!”

Ancanmir chuckled and ruffled his daughter’s hair. “You will be an even better one, Varaduilwe, even better. Of course, you can touch the stone.”

Vara smiled and immediately touched the stone in front of her. A gasp escaped her as the stone began to glow blue, and she watched with wide eyes as a pillar of light erupted from the stone and into the afternoon sky. Then, as the lights faded, a tingling sensation ran through Vara’s body. She turned back to her father with a smile, and declared, “I’m going to make you proud, Ata!”

Her father bent down and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “You already have, Little Cub.”

Vara was drawn from her memories by the sound of Ralof’s voice. “Are you alright, commander?”

Vara shook her head, driving away the last threads of the memory. “I’m fine, Ralof, simply lost in memories. My father brought me to these stones when I was young, she said, stepping down from the platform and beginning to walk down the path.

Ralof quickly caught up to her. “Which one did you choose?” he asked.

Vara chuckled. “What do you think? I was drawn to the sign of the Mage.”

“I suppose I should have figured that out,” Ralof stated with a laugh. “Not many people choose that stone, based on the general feeling that people seem to have against magic. But going off of what you’ve done, commander, I think that might be a mistake.”

“Have fun convincing the rest of the strong nords of Skyrim of that,” Vara said with a laugh. “I have to admit, though, that the prevailing distrust of magic does have its advantages. People tend to underestimate what I can do, and that gives me the upper hand.”

Ralof chuckled. “Poor fools don’t know what hit them.”

Their conversation was cut off as they stepped into Riverwood. Vara followed Ralof over a small bridge towards the large mill. Before Ralof could announce their presence, a female voice called, “Ralof, is that you?”

A smile broke onto Ralof’s face and he rounded the corner of the mill to hug a woman who stood there. “Gerdur!”

Gerdur, who Vara assumed was the sister Ralof had spoken of, pulled away. “I heard that Ulfric had been captured and sent to be executed! I was scared that you were with him!”

“I was,” Ralof responded, the smile leaving his face. “The Imperials ambushed us and sent us to Helgen to have our heads lopped off.”

Gerdur’s eyes widened. “What happened? Are you okay?” Her gaze turned to Vara, who was standing a little ways away, not wanting to intrude on the family reunion. “And who is this, one of your comrades?”

“My commander, actually,” Ralof said with a small smile.

Vara stepped forward and held out her hand to the other woman. “Vara Oaken-Song, at your service,” she said by way of introduction.

“Gerdur, at yours.” The woman turned back to her brother. “Now, tell me what in the name of Talos happened to you two. You both look as if you’ve seen ghosts!”

“Calm down, sister. I’ll tell you everything, but we should get somewhere more private first. There’s no telling when news of Helgen will reach the Imperials,” Ralof said, worry in his voice. Vara nodded to herself. They couldn’t be too careful, especially considering the fact that the Empire was likely scouring every inch of forest in an attempt to recapture Ulfric.

“Of course,” Gerdur said, shaking her head in wonder before turning towards the mill. “Frodnar, get over here!” she called.

An instant later, a small form came running towards them and tackled Ralof, who stumbled backward from the force of the impact. “Uncle Ralof! Can I see your ax? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?" the boy asked, only stopping his questions when his mother interrupted him.

“Hush, Frodnar, this is no time for questions. Go and watch the south road. Find me if you see any Imperial soldiers coming,” Gerdur ordered.

“But I want to stay and talk with Uncle Ralof, mama!” the boy whined.

Ralof knelt down in front of Frodnar and looked him over. In his eyes, Vara could see the soldier’s love for his nephew, and she wondered if he was part of the reason that Ralof chose to go to war in the first place. “Look at you! You’re almost a grown man! It won’t be long before you’re joining the fight yourself,” Ralof exclaimed.

Frodnar’s small chest puffed out with pride. “That’s right, Uncle Ralof! Don’t worry, I won’t let those Imperials sneak up on you,” the child declared and ran off.

“Come, let’s get to the house, and then I expect you to tell me everything, Ralof,” Gerdur said, and Ralof nodded.

Vara followed the two of them across the town to the small house where Gerdur lived. Once they were inside, she and Ralof took a seat at the small table and then Ralof began to speak.

“Where to start?” he mused in a weary voice. “Well, the news you heard about Ulfric was true. The Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing. Like they knew exactly where we'd be. That was...two days ago, now. We stopped at Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up for the headsman's block and ready to start chopping!”

“Those cowards!” Gerdur ground out between clenched teeth.

Ralof nodded. “They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial. How would they be able to accuse him of treason for fighting for his own people? All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then.” Ralof sighed. “Then the dragon attacked.”

Gerdur gasped, and Vara could practically feel her disbelief. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, listening as Ralof recounted their tale, a tale she still had trouble believing, even though she had been there.

“I can hardly believe it myself,” Ralof muttered. “As strange as it sounds, we would be dead if not for that dragon! The commander was about to be executed when it arrived and sent everything plunging into chaos. We managed to slip away in the confusion. Helgen must be nearly destroyed.”

Although Vara couldn’t see the woman with her eyes closed, she could picture the stunned look on her face. After a long moment of shocked silence, Gerdur spoke. “You are the only two I’ve seen come from the south road. I don’t think anyone else will be following you.”

Next to her, Vara heard Ralof let out a small sigh of relief. “Good, that means we should be able to lay low here for a while. The last thing I want to do is put you and your family in danger, Gerdur.”

“Don’t worry, Ralof. You and Commander Oaken-Song can stay for as long as you need. I’m honored to be the host of a Stormcloak commander.” Vara’s eyes opened at that, and she had the urge to inform the woman that she and Ralof had basically the same amount of experience when it came to warfare. She had a feeling that that wouldn’t be very good for morale, though, so she resisted the urge.

“Thank you, sister,” Ralof said with a small smile. “I knew I could count on you.”

“I have to get back to work before I’m missed, but I have to know, did Jarl Ulfric make it out?” Gerdur asked, and Vara could see the fear in the woman’s eyes, a fear she knew all too well.

“The last time I saw him, he was leading what remained of our company out of Helgen,” Ralof answered. “I’m sure that he’s fine. I have a feeling that it would take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak!”

Gerdur chuckled slightly at that. “You’re probably right about that, brother. You two get some sleep and a new change of clothes; you look terrible.” Gerdur stood and walked to the door, but hesitated. “There is something that one of you could do for me, though. If there really is a dragon roaming nearby, Jarl Balgruuf should know. Riverwood is defenseless.”

“I’ll deliver word to him in the morning, sister. I should be heading back to Windhelm as soon as I can anyway,” Ralof said.

“No,” Vara said, speaking up for the first time. “You won’t, Ralof.” Ralof raised an eyebrow, but Vara ignored the look. “You deserve to spend some time with your family and rest. I can deliver the message tomorrow and help the Jarl in whatever way I can.”

“And what will Ulfric do to me if I return to Windhelm before you do?” Ralof asked. “He ordered me to watch out for you.”

“He ordered you to help me escape Helgen,” Vara corrected. “And you’ve done that. If it would make you feel better, I can leave a letter with you to deliver to Ulfric so that he has proof that I’m alive,” Vara said half-jokingly. “I won’t be gone for more than a week, I expect.”

Ralof narrowed his eyes and seemed to think about the offer for a long moment before he finally nodded. “Fine, but if Ulfric kills me, I expect you to pay for my funeral.”

Vara laughed and shook her head. “Very well,” she said, grateful that the soldier had kept his sense of humor despite the horrors that they had faced in the past few days.

“Thank you, Commander Oaken-Song,” Gerdur said. “Riverwood is in your debt.”

“Please, call me Vara. And it is my pleasure,” Vara insisted, waving the other woman’s thanks away.

Gerdur nodded and slipped out of the door, leaving Ralof and Vara alone in the house. For a long moment, neither of them moved, then Ralof stood. “I am going to take a nap!” he declared before walking over to the other side of the room and falling onto the bed there without even bothering to take off his shoes.

Vara laughed and sent a prayer of thanks to the Divines. They had made it this far, and with any luck, Ulfric was safe as well. Not bad for having been kneeling at an executioner’s block that same morning. With that thought in mind, Vara kicked off her shoes and let herself crash onto the smaller bed opposite Ralof’s.

Chapter Text

Nightmares, as it turned out, weren’t very conducive to sleep. For an hour or two, Vara tried to sleep, but her efforts were futile. Every time sleep would begin to claim her, visions of the fiery oblivion that had swallowed Helgen would cause her to wake, gasping and clutching her bedsheets in a white-knuckled grip. Finally, she gave up on sleep and rose from the bed, careful not to wake Ralof who was lying in the other bed nearby.

For a moment, Vara hesitated at the door. She would leave for Whiterun in the morning, and it was likely a few hours before sunset now. She would need new clothes and other supplies, which meant that she needed money. She had a feeling that Gerdur would be happy to supply her with money, but Vara didn’t feel right taking coin without doing anything in return. She would have to ask Gerdur if there was any work to be done that she could help with. With that thought in mind, Vara pushed open the door and stepped into the crisp air of Skyrim.

Outside, the street was fairly quiet. An old woman sat on her porch mumbling to herself, and the blacksmith was working at his forge, but otherwise, the inhabitants of Riverwood seemed to favor the indoors. Vara crossed the bridge that led to the mill, waving up to Gerdur as she did so. The other woman quickly made her way down from the mill, calling down to Vara as she did so.

“Vara! What are you doing awake?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Vara replied in a light tone. There was no need to worry Gerdur; the woman had more than enough on her plate already. “I figured I might as well get my supplies ready for tomorrow. I doubt the jarl would see me in these clothes, no matter how urgent my message.”

Gerdur chuckled slightly. “You do look a bit like death warmed over if you don’t mind me saying. The Riverwood Trader should have the supplies you’re needing. Let me fetch some coin for you.” The woman turned to walk away, but Vara stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Please, I don’t feel right taking your coin without giving you something in return,” Vara stated. “Is there anything that I can do for you around the mill?”

Gerdur gazed at Vara for a few moments before answering. “We could do with some more firewood,” she said. “There’s an ax by the table over there and a stack of logs and a chopping block by the bridge. I’ll pay you five septims per piece of firewood.”

“Thank you, Gerdur,” Vara said with a small smile before walking past the woman.

Vara spent the next hour or so chopping wood. Something about the feel of the ax in her hands as it connected with the wood was therapeutic, and after the first few swings, she let her body fall into a rhythm, allowing her mind to wander.

Ulfric was safe, Vara was almost certain of that. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. Something told Vara that if Ulfric had been killed, she would have been able to feel it. Hopefully, he was making his way back to Windhelm. Galmar would have sent out patrols after they failed to return on time, so it was likely that Ulfric and whoever was with him would be found by the Stormcloaks soon if they hadn’t been already.

He would be worrying about her. Vara wished that she could get a message to Ulfric sooner to let him know that she was alive, but she didn’t want to rush Ralof. She had seen the way the soldier looked at his family; she had seen the homesick longing in his eyes. He deserved to spend some time with his family before he marched off to war again. Ulfric would have to wait.

Hopefully, he would be able to root out the traitor before she returned. If not, well, Vara refused to be held responsible for her actions. The man would die, she would make sure of that. Vara shook her head, clearing it of the violent images that danced in her mind’s eye. Ulfric would take care of the traitor, whoever they were.

Before long, her mind wandered to other thoughts. She knew little about the current jarl of Whiterun besides his name. What she did know seemed to suggest that Balgruuf the Greater was a man of honor and principle, but he refused to join Ulfric’s cause, which set Vara on edge. He hadn’t joined with the Empire either, though, so she shouldn’t have to worry about being captured by Imperials again. She would be keeping her eyes open regardless.

Finally, Vara put the ax down, satisfied with the work she had done. After carefully piling the firewood on the side of the mill, she waved to Gerdur once again. The other woman left her place on the deck of the mill and joined Vara near the pile that she had made.

“That’s a fair number, Vara,” the woman said with a pleased look. “More work than most of my men get done in a day, that’s for sure. As promised, here’s two hundred and fifty septims for your work. I appreciate it.”

A part of Vara wanted to protest that Gerdur was offering her too much money, but the logical side of her brain won out in the end. She would need the money for clothes and supplies, not to mention a bed at the inn when she reached Whiterun, so instead of protesting, she thanked the woman.

“Thank you, Gerdur. Is there anything else I could do to help you?” Vara asked as she tied the pouch of gold to the ragged belt at her waist; she really needed new clothes.

Gerdur thought for a minute before answering. “Well, two of my workers, Sven and Faendal have been arguing more than they’ve been working, lately. If you could talk to them and try to sort out whatever it is between them, I’d be grateful. If not, don’t worry about it.”

Vara nodded. “Do you know where they would be at this time of the day?” she asked.

Gerdur rolled her eyes. “Where they should be is here at the mill working, but it’s more likely that you’ll find Sven at the inn playing and singing; he fancies himself a bard. As for the wood elf, I have no idea. He could be anywhere in the nearby woods hunting and fishing, or he could be at his house.”

“I’ll head to the inn and talk to Sven first then try and find Faendal if I need to,” Vara stated. Gerdur nodded and then turned back to the mill.

The inn was warm, something Vara greatly appreciated. The smell of baking bread and sweet mead drifted through the air along with the sound of someone humming a familiar melody. For a short moment, Vara let herself enjoy the feeling of blissful peace that was so evident here. Then she took a deep breath and strode to the man who stood by the fire, humming.

“Excuse me, are you Sven?” she asked the nord.

The man, whose eyes had been closed as he hummed, looked up. “Hmm? Oh, yes, I am. Do you need something, miss?” he asked.

Vara nodded. “I’m a guest of Gerdur’s and she said that you and another worker have been arguing. She asked me to help out if I could,” she explained, hoping that the other man wouldn’t get defensive. Her hope was quickly crushed.

“Why?” the nord asked, his eyebrows drawn together and arms crossed in front of him. “I haven’t done anything wrong unless falling in love is a crime now. It’s that elf that’s the problem!”

Vara raised her hands in surrender. “Peace, friend. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, I’m trying to help. Now, tell me what is going on between you and Faendal,” Vara requested, letting a bit of the tone she used when commanding her soldiers slip into her voice.

For a moment, Sven hesitated. But then he sighed and said, “The elf and I are both in love with the same maiden, an Imperial named Camilla Valerius. Faendal is fooling himself if he thinks that Camilla will choose him over me, but she has been allowing him to visit her far too often recently…” the man trailed off, and Vara had to bite back the sarcastic comment at the tip of her tongue.

Suddenly, a light came into Sven’s eyes. “Say, there is something you could do for me. Give this letter to Camilla and say that it’s from Faendal. I have a feeling she won’t be spending much time with him after that.” Before Vara could protest, the man shoved a letter into her hands and strode out the door of the inn.

Vara sighed. She had needed to stop off at the Riverwood Trader anyway to get some new gear and supplies, so she might as well sort this problem out too. She wouldn’t be delivering the letter though, or at least, not the way that Sven wanted.

Opening the door to the Riverwood Trader, Vara immediately identified Camilla. She was arguing with a man who stood behind the store’s counter, who Vara assumed was Lucan Valerius, Camilla’s brother and the owner of the store.

Vara stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the argument, which was getting rather heated. Finally, Lucan noticed her presence and immediately quieted his sister. “A customer,” he said with a smile, “I’m sorry you had to hear that. What can I help you with?”

Vara stepped up to the counter. “I need some basic supplies, healing and magicka potions for example as well as a decent satchel.” Vara looked down at her ragged Stormcloak uniform. The outfit was cut in at least a dozen places and singed almost beyond recognition. “And I could use some new clothes,” she added.

Lucan nodded. “Very well, miss. Let me see what we have. Why don’t you have a seat while you wait?”

Vara thanked the man before sitting down at the small table situated in front of a modest fire. Camilla was seated on the other side of the table, gazing into the fire. “Miss Valerius?” Vara asked, getting the other woman’s attention.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was lost in thought,” Camilla said by way of apology. “Can I help you?”

“I have a letter here that Sven wrote. He wanted you to believe that it was from Faendal,” Vara stated as she slid the object in question across the table to the other woman. “I haven’t read it, but I highly doubt that it’s very flattering.”

Looking concerned, Camilla picked up the letter from off of the table. Vara watched as the woman’s eyes scanned the page and her face became increasingly angry. Finally, she slammed the letter back onto the table and looked up at Vara, eyes alight with fury.

“Sven wanted me to believe that Faendal wrote this?” she asked, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage. Vara nodded. “That skeever! How dare he? Who I spend my time with is none of his business, and if he is willing to sink to such depths in order to win my favor, he doesn’t deserve to have it!”

Vara watched as the woman stood angrily and strode to the door. She tried to feel sorry for Sven but found that she wasn’t capable of the emotion. He would soon learn to fear the rage of a righteous woman, and Vara wished Camilla luck.

Her attention was drawn away from the door, which had just slammed closed, by Lucan Valerius, who was now standing in front of her, arms laden with her supplies. “The only clothing we had that I thought might fit you is a hunting tunic,” Lucan said. “It isn’t armor, but it’s better than the rags you’re wearing. What happened to you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Vara let out a humorless chuckle. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she muttered under her breath. Then she said in a louder voice, “It’s a long story. A hunting tunic will do me just fine, thank you very much.”

Lucan nodded, letting the subject drop. “I only had a few healing potions, and they’re the weaker things. I did have one stronger magicka potion, but no one here buys the things, so I don’t keep many in stock.”

“That’s fine, thank you,” Vara said, accepting the items that the Imperial handed her. “How much do I owe you?”

“Well,” Lucan said, “the tunic isn’t worth much, and I won’t charge you for the magicka potion seeing as no one else around here would buy it anyway, so how does one seventy-five sound?”

Vara nodded. The price seemed a little high, but she could pay for it, and it left her with enough money to buy a room at the inn when she reached Whiterun. “Very well.”

After the gold and goods had been exchanged, Lucan spoke again. “You can change into that tunic upstairs if you’d like. Judging from the look on my sister’s face, she won’t be back for a little while, and I have things to do down here in the shop. Just don’t touch anything.”

“Thank you,” Vara said and grabbed the tunic from the pile of supplies before making her way upstairs to change.

When Vara came back down the stairs, Lucan was muttering to himself as he straightened up the store’s counter. Vara frowned slightly, remembering the argument she had overheard between the Valerius siblings. “Mister Valerius,” she asked, “what was the argument with your sister about, if I may ask?”

Lucan waved a dismissive hand. “Call me Lucan. And we had a bit of a break-in the other night. A couple of thugs stole an ornament, a claw made of solid gold,” the man stated with a sigh. “Camilla wants to go after the thieves holed up in Bleak Falls Barrow, but I convinced her not to. She’s no warrior, and I refuse to lose my sister over some trinket.”

Vara nodded. “I’m sorry about that.”

Once again, Lucan waved his hand. “Don’t be. I wasn’t planning on ever selling the claw, so the only value it had was sentimental,” Lucan said before turning away from Vara and back to the counter.

Sensing an end to the conversation, Vara gathered the supplies she had purchased and placed them in the satchel. Her tattered Stormcloak uniform, now folded to the best of her ability, went in the bag too. Then she slung it over her shoulder, said goodbye to Lucan, and left the Riverwood Trader.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set. For a moment, Vara debated her options of what she would do tonight. One side of her mind insisted that she return to Gerdur’s house and get some sleep; she had had a long day. That thought made her chuckle to herself. Long didn’t even begin to describe the day that she had had. The other part of her brain yearned to be in the woods, to feel the fresh air without worrying that Thalmor or Imperial soldiers would find her. In the end, that side of her mind won the argument.

She headed down the path to Gerdur’s home anyway, though. She needed to write a letter to Ulfric for Ralof to deliver, and she didn’t want to have to do it early in the morning.

Inside, Gerdur and her husband, Lod, were sitting in front of the fireplace eating their dinner. A glance over at the beds told Vara that Ralof was still sound asleep. That was good. If he had slept this long already without nightmares, it was doubtful that they would come at all. Vara sent a thankful prayer to the Divines for that small blessing.

“Vara!” Gerdur exclaimed with a smile. “Come, join us for dinner. We have more than enough food for you and Ralof if my brother ever decides to wake up.”

For a moment, Vara thought about declining the invitation, but then the smell of the soup that they were eating hit her and she couldn’t say no. “Thank you very much, Gerdur,” Vara said as she accepted a bowl from the other woman and sat down next to her. “Where’s Frodnar?”

Next to Vara, Lod spoke. “The boy is playing with Dorthe, the daughter of Alvor the blacksmith. We may be on different sides of the war, but Alvor understands the importance of family. He’s going to watch Frodnar for us tonight.”

Vara nodded. It was good to see that people could still get along, despite their opposing views on the war. If everyone turned against each other, the country would end up broken, no matter who won the war in the end.

The rest of the meal passed with light conversation about different topics. Vara voiced her opinion and comments now and again, but she mostly stayed quiet and simply enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere of the home.

Eventually, Vara finished her soup and placed the bowl carefully to the side with the other dirty dishes. “I hate to interrupt, but is there some paper and a quill I could use?” she asked Gerdur, who had just begun another conversation with her husband about the finances of the mill.

The woman smiled. “Of course! You need to write your letter to Jarl Ulfric for Ralof to deliver. I had completely forgotten,” she said. “Give me just one moment.” Gerdur stood and walked over to another area of the house and rummaged around for a few moments before returning with paper and a quill and ink. Vara took the items and thanked the woman, then her thoughts turned to the letter she had to write.

What would she say? No matter what she wrote, Ulfric would still be worried and upset. She knew that like she knew her own name. She could try and minimize his worry, but she wasn’t sure how. She didn’t know what would happen with the Jarl of Whiterun, and she didn’t want to say something that would prove false. Eventually, she decided to play it safe and avoid too many details.

The finished letter was short and to the point, but Vara felt that it also conveyed the emotion that she wanted. Carefully, she read over it one more time.

Ulfric,

If you are reading this letter, that means that Ralof has arrived in Windhelm before me. Please try and avoid yelling at the man too much; he did his job and got me out of Helgen safely. The reason I am not with him is that I was asked to inform the Jarl of Whiterun about the defenseless state of Riverwood. That dragon is a dangerous thing, Ulfric, and the people need to be ready for it. I’m going to help the Jarl in any way that I can, but it shouldn’t take too long. I don’t know when Ralof arrived at the Palace, but I shouldn’t be more than a week behind him. Stay safe, Ulfric, I will see you soon.

Love, Vara

Standing from the table, Vara handed the letter to Gerdur. “Thank you for the hospitality that you’ve shown me,” she said. “Please give this letter to Ralof when he wakes, along with my gratitude to him.”

Gerdur nodded. “Won’t you at least stay the night with us?” she asked.

Vara shook her head. “Thank you, but I would prefer to be outside. I am a creature of the woods, and I was a hunter long before I was a commander in the Stormcloak army,” she explained. “Please, watch out for Ralof, and make sure that he stays here at least a few more days. He deserves the time to rest.”

Gerdur nodded. “Of course. Talos guide you, Vara Oaken-Song.”

“And you and your family,” Vara replied before turning away and slipping out the door and into the cool Skyrim night.

Chapter Text

The sun was halfway through its daily journey across the sky when Vara walked through the gates of Whiterun. The guards had tried to stop her, but she had persuaded them to let her through by saying she had news of Helgen. Their faces had quickly drained of all color, and they had ushered her through the doors as quickly as they could.

Once inside, Vara headed down to the market along the main street. A large nord stopped her before she could enter the marketplace proper though.

“Hold there, stranger,” the man said. “What brings you to Whiterun?”

“I have a message to deliver to the jarl, and I am here to help in any way I can,” Vara replied honestly. “Perhaps you could point me in the right direction?”

The man blinked in surprise. “Truly?” He barked out a short laugh. “By Shor, this city could use more people like you! If you follow this path it will lead you to the large building up in the Cloud District, Dragonsreach. It’s impossible to miss,” the nord directed, pointing the way. “Once you’ve spoken with the jarl, stop by the Bannered Mare over there and I’ll gladly buy you a drink.”

Vara smiled. “Thank you, mister–”

“Battle-Born,” the nord quickly supplied. “Jon Battle-Born. And you are?”

For a brief moment, Vara contemplated lying. After all, the Imperials could be looking for her, and Whiterun wasn’t allied with Ulfric. She quickly dismissed the idea though. “Vara Oaken-Song,” she said.

Jon extended his hand, and Vara shook it. “Welcome to Whiterun, Miss Oaken-Song.”

Vara thanked the man and bid him farewell before turning onto the path that he had pointed out to her. Looking up, she could easily see the large keep that towered over the rest of the city. The legendary Dragonsreach. She had about the ancient building in several different books, but she had never seen it in person until today.

On her way to the keep, she overheard a man preaching the word of Talos. The sound took her by surprise, as did the large statue of Talos. Rumor had said that Balgruuf was leaning more toward the Empire than the Stormcloaks, and yet here was open worship of Talos in the heart of his city. Vara shook her head, she hadn’t even met the man yet, and Jarl Balgruuf was already confusing her. This meeting would be interesting, for sure.

Finally, Vara reached the doors of Dragonsreach. She pushed them open and stepped through. As the doors closed softly behind her despite their size, Vara took in her surroundings. The Great Hall was warm and almost cozy. The space was about the same size as the Great Hall in the Palace of Kings. That thought sent an unexpected pang of sadness through Vara, but she pushed the feeling aside.

The room was warmed by a large fire pit in the front of the room that was lined with long tables where several people sat, members of the court, Vara assumed. In the very front of the room was the throne on which sat a man, no doubt Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. He seemed to be deep in conversation with an Imperial man who was likely his steward. As Vara approached the throne, however, the Dark Elf woman by the Jarl’s side drew her blade and began to stalk towards Vara.

“Hold! The jarl is not receiving visitors. What business do you have with the throne?” the elf demanded.

Vara held her hands up in a gesture of peace. “I bring news of Helgen along with a plea from Riverwood. They are in desperate need of aid,” Vara stated in a calm voice.

The woman surveyed her for another moment before nodding. “Very well, you may approach the throne, but watch yourself. I will not hesitate to strike you down should the need arise,” she warned, and Vara nodded in understanding. She wasn’t planning on dying today.

Vara walked towards the throne, the conversation between Balgruuf and his steward had died away, and knelt.

“Rise and speak,” Jarl Balgruuf commanded.

“My lord, I come from Riverwood by the request of Gerdur. A dragon attacked and destroyed Helgen and she fears that Riverwood is in danger,” Vara said after she had stood.

The jarl frowned slightly. “Gerdur. She owns the lumber mill if I’m not mistaking and is a true pillar of the community. She isn’t prone to flights of fancy.” The man paused to give Vara a hard look. “Are you certain that it was a dragon that attacked? Not some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?”

“As a commanding officer in the army of Ulfric Stormcloak, I can assure you that it was no Stormcloak raid. My company along with Jarl Ulfric were being lined up for execution when the dragon attacked and burned the city to the ground. I have no idea who made it out of there alive,” Vara stated in a calm voice. She didn’t know what had possessed her to reveal the fact that she was an officer in the Stormcloak army, but she couldn’t take it back now. “If that same dragon heads to Riverwood, they will be defenseless.”

Balgruuf was silent for several moments. “A dragon saved Ulfric Stormcloak from execution. The gods have a strange sense of humor indeed.” The man turned to his steward. “What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

At the jarl’s side, the dark elf spoke up. “My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger if that dragon is lurking in the mountains..." The steward cut her off.

“The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him,” the man insisted, causing Vara to roll her eyes inwardly. It was evident to her that this Imperial man was far too concerned about politics. Yes, there was a war going on, but it was their duty to protect their people first.

Thankfully, Jarl Balgruuf seemed to be thinking something similar. “Enough! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once,” he ordered. The Housecarl bowed and moved to obey the order, but Proventus interrupted once again.

“We should not–” he began, but the Jarl cut him off.

“I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" Balgruuf exclaimed, fury in his eyes. The steward held his gaze for a few moments before nodding slightly and turning away. The jarl shook his head and then turned his attention back to Vara.

“You have done Whiterun a great service by bringing me this information when you could have been safely in Windhelm by now, Miss–”

“Oaken-Song, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song.”

If Balgruuf found anything about her name strange, he didn’t show it. Instead, he continued by saying, “Please, Miss Oaken-Song, allow me to have the smith make some armor for you.”

Vara thought about declining, but a glance down at the flimsy tunic she wore convinced her of her need for new armor. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, bowing slightly.

“Visit Adrianne, the smith, at her forge by the gates of the city later today. I will send someone to inform her of the situation.”

Vara thanked him once again then hesitated before asking, “Is there anything else I can help with, my jarl? I told Gerdur that I would help you in any way that I could, and I intend to keep that promise.”

For a few moments, the jarl said nothing, instead surveying Vara with keen eyes. Vara didn’t know what it was the man was searching for, but it was evident that he found it, for he smiled slightly as he said, “There is something that a warrior such as yourself might be able to assist me with. Come, let us find Farengar, my court wizard. He has been looking for insight into this dragon business.”

Vara followed the jarl to a room situated off of the Great Hall. Inside, a man in robes was leaning over a book, obviously deep in thought. He started when Vara and the jarl stepped into the room, looking up from his book. His expression was one of annoyance but quickly changed to a look of interest.

“My jarl,” he said. “Who is this?”

“I’ve found someone to help you with your dragon research, Farengar,” Balgruuf replied. “Go ahead and fill her in on all of the details.”

The mage turned to Vara. “I need someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there,” he said.

Despite herself, Vara chuckled slightly. “Very well,” she said. “Where am I going, and what am I fetching?”

Farengar regarded her for a moment before replying, “Straight to the point. I like that. The item you are fetching is housed in Bleak Falls Barrow and is no doubt interred in the main chamber. Once you have his tablet, the Dragonstone, bring it to me.”

Vara nodded. “Dragonstone in the main chamber of Bleak Falls Barrow got it.” She turned to Balgruuf, who had been watching the brief exchange with a slight smile on his face. “I’ll head to the ruin tomorrow. For now, I’d like to rest.”

Balgruuf’s smile grew. “Of course. Stop by the blacksmith first, and she will deliver the finished armor to the Bannered Mare by morning. I’m assuming that is where you’ll be staying.”

“It is,” Vara affirmed. “I should be back with the stone in a day or two. It isn’t far to the Barrow from here.”

“Very well. Talos guide you, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song,” the jarl said.

For a moment, Vara was too stunned to return the farewell. Having a priest preaching in front of a statue of Talos within his city was one thing, but to openly admit his personal worship of Talos was another, far more dangerous, thing altogether.

Finally, Vara recovered from her shock and found her manners. “And you, my Jarl.” Balgruuf smiled and nodded to his court wizard before turning away and heading back to his court. Farengar muttered something about continuing his research and focused once more on the book in front of him.

For a moment, Vara didn’t move as she processed just what she had promised the jarl. As she had told him, the trip would take a day or two depending on what she found within the ruins. Thankfully, she would still be able to make it to Windhelm within her self-imposed one-week deadline assuming nothing else happened.

The thought of seeing her home again soon energized her, and Vara spun away from the court wizard and strode toward the doors that lead out into Whiterun. She had to see the smith about some new armor. Ulfric’s vision was beginning to blur. He had been pushing the soldiers following him night and day so that they could reach the safety of Windhelm, and the hard march was beginning to take its toll on all of them. Their speed had paid off, however, as the walls of Windhelm were rising in the distance. The sight invigorated Ulfric, and he pushed his body just a little faster. They were almost home.

When they finally stumbled across the long bridge to the city they could barely stand. Then the great doors to the city opened to reveal Galmar, Wuunferth, and almost every citizen in the city. Ulfric gave his old friend a tired smile. “I told you they wouldn’t kill me so easily,” he joked weakly and then promptly collapsed.

When Ulfric came to, he was lying on the bed in his room with a very concerned looking Galmar standing over him. Before his housecarl could say anything, Ulfric sat up and asked in a rushed voice, “Is Vara here?”

Even before Galmar answered, Ulfric could tell by the man’s face that she wasn’t. “No, she isn’t. Your group is the only one that has made it here. What happened, Ulfric?” the general asked, the bed sinking under his weight as he sat.

A sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over Ulfric, and he closed his eyes for a few moments before saying, “We were betrayed, old friend.” Ulfric could practically hear Galmar tense up angrily.

“What? How? More importantly, who?” Galmar asked, his voice shaking with barely suppressed rage.

Ulfric shrugged tiredly. “We were ambushed by Imperial soldiers just as Vara returned from her successful mission. General Tullius himself was there. He said that someone within the Palace sent him a letter with our location. They must have sent it as soon as the meeting ended for it to have reached him in time for him to ambush us.”

“A traitor within the Palace. That is a disturbing thought. I’ll order everyone who was in that room when we decided where you would be stationed to meet again tomorrow. No one will leave until we root out the Talos-forsaking traitor!” Galmar declared, his voice promising pain.

Ulfric only nodded. The past week had been hard, and right now all he wanted to do was drift back into the blissful embrace of sleep. But he couldn’t. He had to tell Galmar what had happened. They needed to be prepared if a dragon decided to attack Windhelm.

“We fought the Imperials well, but they outnumbered us. In the end, Tullius took us prisoner and decided to cart us to Helgen for execution.” Galmar let out a curse at that. “He had already executed Jorgrek and Vara was kneeling at the block when the dragon came,” Ulfric continued. “It started setting fire to everything, and in the chaos, I managed to escape with the few soldiers I could find. I sent Ralof to find Vara and get her out of the city.”

For several moments, Galmar was silent, and Ulfric allowed his eyes to drift shut. Finally, the general spoke, both fear and awe mingling in his voice. “A dragon? If such creatures have truly returned are the end times upon us?”

“I don’t know, Galmar. I don’t know,” Ulfric admitted. “What I do know is that we need to do our best to prepare for a dragon attack. I don’t know if one would attack us, but we need to be ready.”

“Aye, that we do. Don’t know how much good it will do though,” Galmar stated. “Our men are trained to fight Imperials, not dragons.”

Ulfric sighed. “I know, Galmar, but it’s all we can do.”

Galmar nodded and stood from the bed. “Sleep, Ulfric. Tomorrow, we will root out this traitor, but for now, you need to gather your strength. The people will need a strong leader to look up to in the coming days.”

Ulfric didn’t respond, his eyes already beginning to drift closed. Galmar gave him one last pat on the shoulder before exiting the room, closing the door softly behind him. Ulfric’s last thought as he fell into the inviting realm of sleep was a prayer that Vara would be safe.

Vara stared up at the wooden ceiling, simply enjoying the feel of a soft mattress underneath her. She had seen the blacksmith earlier, who had taken her measurements and promised to have a full set of leather armor, minus the helmet at Vara’s request, ready by morning.

After that task was complete, Vara had headed back up the large steps to the statue of Talos. The priest had taken a break from his shouting, something that Vara was grateful for, and the bustle of the city seemed to fade into the background as she knelt in front of the shrine, the amulet of Talos Ulfric had given her clutched tight in one hand. She had expressed her thanks to the gods that she had escaped Helgen, asked for guidance and protection as she completed her task tomorrow, but most of all she had prayed for Ulfric.

After she had finished her prayers several minutes later, she had stopped by the alchemy shop to use the alchemy station there and made a few health potions. They weren’t terribly powerful, but they were better than nothing. She and the alchemist, a very kind woman by the name of Arcadia, had chatted for several minutes about different potions and ingredients before another customer had come in and Vara had bid the other woman goodbye.

Finally, she had entered the Bannered Mare. For an hour or so, Vara had simply sat by the fire and enjoyed the comfortable atmosphere. She bought some food from a young Redguard woman and ate in peace before approaching the innkeeper and requesting a room. The woman had shown her the way to the room, and as soon as she had left, Vara had collapsed onto the bed without even removing her boots.

That was where she was now, still staring up at the ceiling, her mind drifting from one thought to another. Eventually, her thoughts settled on the return of the dragons.

Vara didn’t know much about dragons. She had read about them in several different books, but most of those books had treated the creatures as myth, or, at the very least, monsters that had all been slain in an age that man barely remembered. Yet the beast that had attacked Helgen had been very real and very alive. Somehow, the dragons had returned.

Deep in her mind, a thought stirred, but Vara didn’t pay it much mind. After all, it was impossible. But she couldn’t banish it completely, because, despite herself, a small piece of her believed; her fate was somehow intertwined with that of the ebony dragon that had razed Helgen to the ground. It was a ridiculous notion, but the uneasy feeling that it caused lingered regardless.

Finally, Vara’s eyelids began to grow heavy. With effort, she sat up and removed her boots, throwing them into one corner of the room. Then she fell back onto the sheets, snuggled into the blanket, and drifted to sleep. And this time, her dreams were free of visions of a city on fire.

Chapter Text

Draugr. In truth, Vara should have expected an ancient crypt like this one to be filled with the undead creatures, but for some reason, they had slipped her mind. The bandits she had been prepared for and had eliminated with ease. After all, Lucan Valerius had said that the thieves were likely holed up here. The draugr were another story.

She had fought the creatures once before a couple of years ago with her father. The two of them had been hunting and decided to stay the night in what looked like an abandoned ruin. They had just laid out their bedrolls and started a fire when the dead had awoken. Her father had quickly jumped into action, burning the first few draugr to a crisp before they had taken more than a few shambling steps. After a few moments, Vara had shaken off her shock and joined her father, their combined flames twisting in the air and striking the draugr. The fire had been remarkably effective thanks to the dry linen that the creatures were wrapped in.

Now, she slowly crept through the ruin, flames swirling in her hands. She would prefer to use magic based in electricity, as that was the kind of magic that she was the most proficient in, but she couldn’t deny the powerful effect that fire had on the creatures. She cast a bolt of fire that slammed into a lesser draugr’s chest, and an instant later the creature had crumpled to the ground in a charred heap.

A few minutes later, Vara stopped to allow her magicka to regenerate. While she rested, she pulled dug through her satchel and pulled out the golden claw. It had to be the same one that had been stolen from Lucan’s shop. Vara had found it when she had come across a bandit hanging in a spider’s web. After killing the large spider, Vara had cut the man down, but the thief had tried to make a run for it. A bolt of lightning to the back of his head stopped that. The claw had fallen to the ground when the man died, and Vara had scooped it up and placed it in her bag.

It was beautifully intricate. Vara was no smith, but she had a feeling that only someone with great skill and patience could create something like this. On the back of the claw three little figures were carved in a line. A bear, a moth, and an owl all carved into the metal with great detail, although Vara could tell that some of the most intricate work had become worn down with time. A part of Vara wondered what the object had been used for, if it had been used for anything at all.

Shaking her head, Vara put the claw back into her satchel. She needed to get moving. She really didn’t want to be in this ruin any longer than was absolutely necessary.

The next room was full of even more draugr, something that didn’t even faze Vara anymore. Instead of the shock she had felt on that hunting trip with her father, all she felt was a sense of grim determination as she blasted the draugr with flames. A few of the draugr she encountered seemed stronger than the others. Instead of wielding an ax, bow, or sword like the others did, these ones were able to cast magic. Those dragur Vara had to deal with a little differently.

As if summoned by her thoughts, one of these draugr rose from its resting place as Vara turned the corner. In an instant, the magic in Vara’s right hand changed from flickering flames to popping sparks. She threw them at the draugr, draining the creature’s magicka so that it wouldn’t be able to summon any magic of its own. Then she sent a ball of fire hurtling towards the draugr’s chest. A moment later, the creature was ablaze. This type of draugr, however, seemed more resilient to fire than the others were, so Vara shot a few more bolts of flame into it, just to be safe. The draugr collapsed and, after kicking it with her foot to ensure that it was truly dead, Vara moved on.

After what seemed like hours of walking through the dim ruin, Vara reached a hall. The walls appeared to be carved, but Vara couldn’t make out much in the dim light. Curious, she dispelled the fire that had been smoldering in her hands and summoned instead a ball of light that would hover over her head as she moved around the room. Walking over to the walls, Vara couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her lips.

The carvings were beautiful. The walls had been worn by time, but it didn’t take much in the way of imagination for Vara to picture how they must have looked the day that they were carved. Together, the images seemed to tell the story of the people who had built this tomb long ago. With a start, Vara realized that this tomb must have been built during the Dragon Age.

She immediately felt somewhat foolish. Of course the tomb had been built in the dragon age. That was why there was a stone tablet called the Dragonstone in the main chamber and the golden claw was in the shape of a dragon’s claw. After getting her embarrassment out of the way, Vara turned her attention to the large puzzle door at the end of the hall.

The door was imposing, its carvings far stronger and less delicate. In the middle of the door was a carving of a claw, as well as three holes, as if for talons. Above the keyhole was three rings, each with a different animal carved into it. Animals carved in the same style as the ones on the back of the golden claw. Vara didn’t believe in coincidence, so she pulled out the claw.

Moth. Bear. Owl.

Hesitantly, Vara pushed the bottom ring. The stone made a low rumbling sound and then slowly began to turn. The image in the center changed, and so Vara pushed the ring again until the ring showed the image of an owl. Vara repeated the process for the other two rings as well. Then, once the carvings were aligned with the carvings on the back of the claw, Vara pushed the golden claw into the keyhole and turned it. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, stone ground on stone as the rings all turned and the door lowered into the ground below.

Vara ducked as bats flew screeching past her head. When she rose, she had to blink a few times in order to believe what it was she was seeing. When Farengar had said, “main chamber”, Vara had been picturing a room that was slightly larger and perhaps more painstakingly carved than the other rooms had been. This however, was not a room. It was a cavern.

To one side of the spacious cavern, a waterfall rushed, filling the air with its pleasant sound. To the other side, a small stream ran and rocks rose. The middle of the space, however, was the most impressive. In the center of the cave, rose a massive wall, carved with symbols that Vara couldn’t quite make out from where she was standing. A dragon word wall. It had to be. Vara had read about them in a few different books and had even spoken with Wuunferth about them on occasion, but the descriptions she had been given didn’t do the structure justice.

With effort, Vara drew her attention away from the word wall and to the chest and sarcophagus that sat in front of the wall. The chest likely contained the dragon stone that she had been seeking, but she had a feeling that as soon as she opened it, whatever was in that sarcophagus would wake up. Well, she needed that stone, so she didn’t have much of a choice.

As Vara carefully crept towards the center of the cavern, she began to hear a soft chanting. She paused, her pointed ears twitching as they tried in vain to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. She began to move forward again, this time with flames dancing across her fingers, just in case. Finally, she reached the middle of the room, and the chanting had risen to a crescendo. The sound was coming from the word wall, Vara realized.

As if in a trance, Vara walked toward the wall, hand outstretched. The chanting grew louder and louder until she could feel it echoing in her very bones. The chant was in a language she didn’t recognize, and yet it felt so familiar. It felt like it was a part of her. Then, as her hand made contact with the carved surface of the wall, the sound was abruptly cut off. Vara frowned, but before her mind could even begin to question why the chanting had disappeared, a strange power slammed into her, causing her to stumble backward and gasp for air. Somewhere deep in her being, a single word resonated: Fus.

Vara didn’t have a chance to process what had just happened. Behind her, the sarcophagus lid clattered to the floor, and she could hear the shambling sound of a draugr rising.

Although her mind was still in a state of confused shock, Vara whirled around, flames already flickering in her hands. She fought the draugr out of instinct, not really thinking about what she was doing. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn’t have concentrated on the fight. Her mind was numb, still echoing with the power of that single word.

She was finally brought back to reality as the draugr, who was much more powerful than even the magical ones that she had faced earlier, struck at her, and she moved out of the way a little too slowly. The creature’s blade scored a long and jagged cut down her side. The pain of it brought Vara back, and she jumped away from the next strike that had been aimed her way, tossing a fireball at the draugr’s exposed stomach as she did so.

A few minutes later the creature was dead, for good this time. For several moments, Vara stood over the corpse gasping as she tried to catch her breath. Once her heartbeat had slowed to a somewhat regular pace, she summoned her magic once again and carefully healed the wound in her side. The broken flesh sealed itself back together as she watched, and the angry redness faded to the color of her pale skin until she couldn’t even tell that there had been a gash there only seconds earlier. Her leather armor, however, was not so easily repaired. She would have to take it to the smith when she returned to Whiterun.

The thought of Whiterun brought Vara’s focus back to the task at hand. Opening the chest, Vara found a large stone tablet, undoubtedly the Dragonstone that Farengar was wanting. The chest also contained several gemstones and a sword.

For a moment, Vara gazed at the weapon. It looked old, and it shimmered with a soft blue glow; it was no doubt enchanted. She had once told herself that she wouldn’t fight with her magic, and yet that was all she had done for the past few days. Now, she could take this sword and that promise she had made herself wouldn’t be a problem. And yet, it didn’t feel right, somehow.

She had been given her magical abilities by the gods. That was something that she deeply believed. Those same gods seemed keen to throw her into the thick of things, and if she was going to try and make a difference, she would have to be able to show that she was a competent fighter; that she could protect herself and others if need be. She would show Skyrim, and herself, that her magic could be used for good. And one day, when the war was over, she would show them art.

With that thought in mind, Vara scooped up the gemstones and closed the lid of the chest, leaving the ancient sword for some other person to find.

When Vara exited the barrows, the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. She had told Farengar and Balgruuf that she might be back tomorrow, so she could set up a camp here in the mountains for the night if she wanted. There was plenty of game around, not to mention the supplies that she had brought. She could leave early in the morning and arrive in Whiterun just as the city would be waking up.

But then Vara remembered the power that had washed over her, into her very soul. She needed to know what had happened, needed it like she needed air. The court wizard Farengar seemed to be something of an expert on the subject of dragons, and it was possible that he could tell her what had happened to her.

If she left right now and pushed herself, she would arrive at the city just as dusk settled. All of the fighting she had done in the ruin, coupled with whatever it was the word wall had done to her, had left her tired, but the thought of knowing why she had heard that chanting energized her. Nodding to herself, Vara straightened her gear and set off down the snow-covered mountain.

Ulfric was outraged. He had a reputation for having a temper, he knew, but that reputation was greatly exaggerated. Today, however, his fury was the stuff of legends. It raged inside of him, causing his blood to boil. That anger was more than obvious to those around him, and the poor guard who was standing in front of him looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor.

“Tell me again, soldier, what you saw,” Ulfric ordered, his voice little more than a growl.

The soldier gulped before nodding and saying for the second time, “I found everyone on the list that you gave me and told them that you needed to see them as quickly as possible, sir. Councilman Olflnar was the last one on the list. I arrived at his house and knocked on the door, but there was no response. The door was unlocked, so I pushed it open, announcing my reason for being there as I did,” the soldier explained. “When I turned the corner to the stairs, he was-” the man paused, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he continued, “He was hanging there, dead.”

At Ulfric’s side, Galmar spoke up. “He couldn’t have been like that for more than a half hour, several people reported having seen him in the marketplace this morning.”

Ulfric muttered a curse under his breath and had to resist the urge to Shout. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “He must have known that we were on to him. He had to have been the traitor. I don’t want to believe it, but by Talos, it seems like the only explanation!”

Galmar nodded, and opened his mouth to say something when another guard burst into the Great Hall. “He-he’s dead, my jarl!” the man stuttered out breathlessly. “I-I went down to give him his meal for the day and he was lying there in a pool of his own blood!” The end of the man’s sentence rushed out of him in one breath, and it took Ulfric a moment to decipher what the soldier had said.

“Slow down there, soldier,” Galmar ordered in a stern voice. “Who’s dead?” Even before the soldier answered, Ulfric knew what he was going to say. The Thalmor were one step ahead, as always, and now his only source of information was dead.

Sure enough, when the soldier had caught his breath, he said, “The Thalmor assassin; the man who tried to kill the jarl.”

Ulfric groaned and buried his head in his hands. They were back to square one again, this time with two dead bodies and what was undoubtedly a city full of rumor, confusion, and fear. He prayed Vara would return soon; he needed her calming presence in the city now more than ever.

Vara pushed open the door to Dragonsreach, barely registering the feeling of the warm air of the hall as it washed over her. Most of the members of the court were sitting and having a late dinner, and their heads all turned to Vara as she stalked up the steps, but she paid them no mind. Farengar wasn’t at either of the tables, so she headed for the room where he had been working earlier.

She found the wizard in almost the exact same spot she had left him, pouring over several open tomes and papers that were scattered rather haphazardly across his desk. He look up as she barged in the annoyance on his face quickly fading into surprise as he realized who had interrupted his study.

“Back already? Did you find the Dragonstone?” Farengar asked, and excited gleam in his eyes. “The jarl wants this information as soon as possible, but I can’t do anything else until I have the information on that stone.”

“Yes, I found it,” Vara assured the eager wizard, pulling the large stone out of her satchel and placing it on his desk. Farengar immediately began examining it and making quiet comments to himself, but Vara interrupted him before he could become too absorbed by his work.

“Farengar,” she said. “When I was in the barrow, I found a dragon word wall.”

The wizard nodded, but didn’t look up from the stone. “Yes, I suppose it does make sense that there would be a word wall in Bleak Falls,” he mused. “But it is of no matter. While interesting, the word wall is unlikely to contain anything that could be of use to my investigation.”

Vara shook her head. “No, Farengar, that’s not the point. When I touched the wall, something happened. Some kind of power-”. Vara was cut off by the jarl’s housecarl, Irileth, bursting into the room.

“Farengar, come quickly! You should come to,” she said, looking at Vara. “A dragon has been spotted at the Western Watchtower!”

Instantly, the thought of the word wall and the strange power Vara had felt there was forced from her mind. A dragon was attacking near Whiterun! Vara had only been in the city for less than a day, but she felt a connection to the people here and a dragon was a graver threat than any of them could face. She had to help somehow, and so she ran after Irileth, praying to the gods above that they would be able to keep the beast from turning Whiterun into a smoldering ruin.

Chapter Text

Vara raced up the stairs after Irileth, heart pounding. A dragon. Images of Helgen in flames flashed through her mind, but she pushed the memories down and tried to listen to what the young soldier across from the Jarl was saying.

“The dragon was circling the watchtower when I left,” the soldier panted. It was obvious that the man was terrified, but he squared his shoulders as he continued. “I don’t know what good we can do against a dragon, but those guys at the watchtower need backup.”

Vara’s attention turned to Jarl Balgruuf, who had listened to the soldier with the same grim expression the entire time. Now, he smiled comfortingly and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “And we will provide it,” he said. “You, however, should get some rest. You have done your part, son.”

For a moment, the soldier looked like he wanted to argue, but then he sighed and nodded. “Yes, my jarl,” he said, bowing slightly, and Vara could read the slightest amount of relief in his movements. But then the young man turned towards where Vara and Irileth stood. “You send that thing back to the depths of Oblivion for me, housecarl.”

Next to Vara, Irileth grinned ferally. “We will,” she promised, her eyes glinting to match her smile. Vara was suddenly very grateful that she didn’t have a reason to be on the dark elf’s bad side, yet. She was a terror to behold.

“Irileth.” Jarl Balgruuf’s voice drew Vara from her thoughts. “Be careful. This is not some death and glory mission. I need you alive, and I need that dragon dead. Understand?”

For a moment, Irileth’s ruby eyes softened. “Of course, Balgruuf. I will be the very soul of caution,” the housecarl promised. The jarl held her gaze for a few moments before turning to Vara.

“I hate to ask more of you, Varaduilwe, but you survived Helgen, and we need every advantage that we can get against this dragon,” he said grimly, and Vara nodded her understanding. Were she in his shoes, she would enlist all of the aid that she could. “Talos guide you,” the jarl blessed, and Vara and Irileth both bowed before rushing back down the steps and out the door.

They met up with a small group of soldiers near the gates of the city. Irileth spoke to the men, rallying them for the fight to come, but Vara tuned the woman’s words out, focusing instead on the men before her. They were terrified. She could see it in the way they gripped their swords just a little too tightly, in the way their feet shuffled as the housecarl spoke, in the lilt of their voices as they cheered just a bit too loud. Yes, they were afraid of the fight to come, but they were fighting it anyway.

With one final cheer, the group of soldiers with Irileth as their lead charged down the street and through the wide city gates. Vara followed at their heels, focusing on each step and trying in vain to drive the images of Helgen from her mind. Her attempts to smother the memories was unsuccessful, so she forced herself to draw strength from them instead.

She had been helpless at Helgen as the dragon had rained chaos from the skies. She had ran and hidden because it had been the only thing that she could do. Now, however, she had a choice. Now, she could fight back. Now, she could protect these people, protect her country, or die trying. It was a strangely satisfying thought. Vara shook her head vigorously, forcing her mind to focus on the present. She wouldn’t be able to protect anyone if the dragon killed her because she was too lost in her own thoughts.

After a few more minutes of running across the rocky ground of the road that led to the western watchtower, Irileth stopped the group and gathered them behind a large rock in an attempt at a shelter. Vara had a feeling, however, that a rock wouldn’t stop a dragon. Nevertheless, she joined the huddle around Irileth. Together, they looked over the still-smoldering ruins of what was once the watchtower.

Vara let out a hissing breath. They were too late. Irileth, however, seemed to disagree. “I know it looks bad, men, but you need to spread out and search for survivors. Keep your eyes on the sky; we don’t know if that creature will come back to finish what it started.” the men nodded grimly before splitting off and running towards the broken tower. Vara was about to follow them when Irileth put a staying hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, looking Vara in the eyes. “This isn’t your home, and these aren’t your people, and yet here you are, willing to face a creature straight from a nightmare.”

Vara smiled slightly. “Skyrim is my home, and I am glad to do what I can to protect her people; all of them.” Irileth nodded, and an understanding passed between the two women.

Irileth opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment an ear-splitting roar sounded, shaking the very ground with its power. Vara and Irileth shared a wide-eyed look before running out from behind the rock, magicka swirling in their palms.

This dragon did not have scales that seemed to be made of ebony the way the dragon at Helgen had had. Instead, the creature seemed to shimmer a red and bronze color that would have been mesmerizingly beautiful had the dragon not been blasting a stream of fire towards Vara and Irileth. The two women rolled away from the blast, and although she avoided the flames, Vara could still feel some of the searing heat as the flames charred the air.

She got her feet under her as quickly as she could and was ready to fire a bolt of electricity towards the dragon, but before she could, the creature pushed off of the ground and took to the air. Her magic wouldn’t be able to reach the dragon when it was that high, Vara knew, and so she ran towards the ruined watchtower. Hopefully, she would be able to avoid the creature’s flames there until the dragon landed again.

Once inside, Vara was met with several guards who seemed to be thinking the same thing she had. A few were holding their arms or legs where they had been burned or cut by the dragon, and Vara did what she could to heal them, although she had to be careful how much magicka she used. All too soon, though, she heard the heavy sound of the dragon landing on the ground at the base of the tower. For a moment, none of the guards moved, then, almost as one, they seemed to shake off their fear and charged out from the meager shelter that the broken tower provided.

In the clearing, Irileth and another guard were fighting the dragon alone. The housecarl was firing bolts of electricity into the creature’s hide with one hand and wielding her sword with the other. The dragon snapped its huge maw at her, and the dark elf deftly leaped to the side. The other guard, however, was not so lucky. In a single bite, the dragon practically cleaved the man in two.

The guards around Vara roared in anger and crashed into the side of the dragon, hacking and slashing at everything that they could reach. Vara ran around to the other side and began blasting the creature with carefully placed bolts of electricity. The magic was able to find into the chinks of the dragon’s armor. The creature threw back his head and roared. The sound shook Vara to her very bones, but instead of terrifying her, it made her smile grimly. That roar had been one of pain.

For the next several minutes, Vara, Irileth, and the guards threw everything they had against the dragon while trying to avoid being killed themselves. And finally, the creature’s movements began to slow. Vara fired a few more bolts in between the dragon’s scales, and as the creature tried to bite Irileth, the housecarl instead jumped onto its head and plunged her sword into its skull. For a few seconds, the dragon thrashed around before finally laying still.

Vara watched as Irileth jumped down from the head and turned to her men. Before the housecarl could catch her breath enough to say anything, though, the dragon behind her burst into flames. She and the men jumped back and quickly drew their weapons again.

Vara, however, found herself drawn to the flames, and as she stretched out her hand, she heard chanting again. The same kind of sound she had heard in Bleak Falls Barrow. Then, ribbons of gold and white began to stream away from the dragon towards her. All at once, the ribbons of light seemed to crash into her, entering her very soul. Vara gasped, staggering backward as the chanting reached a crescendo before abruptly halting.

One of the guards shook off his stupor enough to rush forward as she faltered and fell back. He caught her and helped her steady herself. As she stood, he whispered a single, awe-filled word, “Dragonborn.”

All around Vara, the other guards echoed the word, louder and louder until they were practically yelling. Vara could only look at them, her mind still numb and confused by whatever it was that had just happened to her. Finally, Irileth quieted the guards with a sharp command.

“Hush, all of you!” she ordered. “What in Tamriel is this Dragonborn nonsense?”

One of the men, the same one who had caught Vara, stepped forward. “You wouldn’t understand, housecarl. It’s an ancient nord prophecy told to young nords when we dreamed of glory and adventure. A hero in the body of a nord but with the soul of a dragon; someone who can slay dragons and absorb their souls,” the man’s voice grew more excited as he continued. “The Dragonborn can use the souls of dragons to Shout, even without practice, according to the legends.” The man turned toward Vara. “Can you? Can you Shout?”

Vara opened her mouth to say no, but something stopped her. Something deep within her soul, primal and powerful. Instead, Vara turned back to the corpse of the dragon, now nothing more than a pile of bones. In the pit of her stomach that primal force seemed to build until it clawed its way into her throat and exploded from her in a single powerful word. “Fus!”

The dragon bones quivered under the force of her Shout. She stumbled backward as well, surprised by the power that she had. She turned back to the guards, uncertain. What did any of this mean?

Another man spoke, his voice soft, “You are Dragonborn, miss.” The statement felt heavy on the air and on her soul. She was the Dragonborn. What in the name of Talos did that mean? She was not some great nordic dragonslayer! She wasn’t even a full-blooded nord!

Thankfully, Irileth seemed to sense her confused frustration. “You should head to Dragonsreach, Varaduilwe. The jarl will be able to help you,” she promised. Vara nodded gratefully and turned away. She began walking back to Whiterun in a daze, her mind numb.

Vara didn’t truly notice the stone of the walls or the wood of the gates as she walked into Whiterun. She didn’t hear the people of the city as they whispered to one another, wondering if a beast as great as a dragon could truly be dead. She didn’t see the way that the statue of Talos seemed to shine with an inner light as she passed. She did, however, feel the dusty stone underneath her hands when the force of the word threw her to the ground. “Dovahkiin!” several voices seemed to shout, although no one around her had spoken. And this word was different from the chanting she had heard, as it seemed that everyone around her heard the word. Immediately, the people began to whisper that a Dragonborn had been summoned.

Suddenly, Vara was exhausted. She had already cleared out Bleak Falls Barrow today and fought and apparently absorbed the soul of a dragon today. She really didn’t need any of this Dragonborn business on her shoulders right now. And yet there it was. With a sigh, she pushed the great oaken doors of Dragonsreach open just enough for her to slip through and began to make her way to where Jarl Balgruuf sat on his throne.

Vara knelt in front of the throne, and when Balgruuf motioned for her to rise she almost couldn’t find the strength. Finally, when she was standing with her feet planted firmly under her, she said, “The dragon that attacked the watchtower is dead, my jarl. The watchtower is in ruins, however, and we lost several good men in the fight.”

Balgruuf nodded gravely. “We will rebuild,” he declared, voice reverent. “Lives lost, however, are not so easily replaced. But thanks to you, Irileth, and her men, fewer died than would have had the dragon attacked the city.” Vara nodded solemnly; the jarl was right, of course.

For a moment, Balgruuf was silent. His gaze seemed to pierce into Vara’s soul, reading the things he found there. Finally, he gently asked, “What happened at the watchtower, Varaduilwe?”

Vara sighed. “If I’m being honest, my jarl, I don’t know.” Vara rubbed her temples slowly, exhaustion washing over her. “Irileth had just delivered the final blow and jumped down from the dragon when the creature’s remains burst into flames. Then, I felt this...power rush into me.” Vara shook her head. It was a difficult feeling to explain. “The men called me Dragonborn and then, well, I Shouted. I don’t know how and I don't know why, but it felt natural.” Vara shrugged.

For a moment, Balgruuf was silent. Then he turned to the large man who stood by the side of his throne where Irileth typically was. “What do you think, brother?” the jarl asked. “Is she the one who the Greybeards were calling.”

“Aye,” the man answered before turning to Vara. “The Greybeards have summoned you and named you Dovahkiin, Dragonborn in the ancient language of the dragons. It is a great honor. They haven’t done this since they called Tiber Septim when he was still Talos or Atmora,” the man explained, his eyes bright. “They are masters in the Voice. They will be able to teach you.”

Vara didn’t have a response to that. She had read about the Greybeards before, but that was years ago, and the book hadn’t exactly been a manual on what to do if you were called as Dragonborn. Balgruuf seemed to understand the way she felt.

“The journey to High Hrothgar will be long, you should rest first. You are welcome in Whiterun for as long as you need to stay, Varaduilwe,” he offered in a kindly voice. Vara appreciated the gesture and told the man as much, but he waved away her thanks.

“There’s no need to thank me, in fact, I should be thanking you,” Jarl Balgruuf insisted. He then looked over at his steward, and some silent conversation passed between them as the steward nodded. Balgruuf turned back to Vara and continued, “I spoke to Proventius before you returned, and he has informed me that there is room in my court for a new thane. I would like to offer this title and the benefits that come with it, to you, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song. You came into my city only a day ago, but you have done more to help my people than many of my citizens have in years. I would be honored to number you among my court.”

For a moment, Vara was too surprised to react. Finally, she said, “You honor me, my jarl, but I feel that I would be doing your hold a disservice by accepting the title. If I have truly been called as a Dragonborn, I don’t know what will happen. I may have very little time to devote to anything else. I also have my duties as an officer in the Stormcloak army as well.”

To her surprise, Balgruuf smiled. “I know. The title is mostly honorary, and I wouldn’t expect you to spend much time with my court. Instead, I offer the title as a tie to my city.” He looked Vara in the eyes. “I am not gifted with foresight as some are, but I can tell that your path as Dragonborn will not be an easy one. I offer Whiterun as another home to you, when your journeys take you across Skyrim.”

Somehow, Vara could tell that this man meant what he said. Although she had only spoken to the jarl a few times, Vara felt a connection to the man, in a fatherly sort of way. And so she nodded. “Very well. I accept the title, and I will do my best to remain worthy of it,” she promised solemnly.

Balgruuf smiled. “I doubt that will be a problem,” he said with a chuckle before growing serious again. “By my right as Jarl I name you, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, Thane of Skyrim and bestow upon you all of the rights and privileges that the station affords.”

Vara bowed deeply. “Thank you, my Jarl. If you have no further need of me tonight, I believe there is a bed in the Bannered Mare that is calling my name.”

The jarl chuckled. “Of course. In the morning, drop your armor off at the forge and I will see to it that it is repaired.”

Vara thought about protesting, but her exhaustion was beginning to overwhelm her, and so she simply nodded and bid the jarl and his court a good night before heading down to the Bannered Mare for some hard-earned sleep.

Ulfric Stormcloak was standing on the roof of the Palace of Kings looking over Windhelm when the Shout broke the still air of the night. He recognized the voices of his old mentors, just as he recognized the name they called. A Dragonborn had been summoned to High Hrothgar.

Part of Ulfric was glad that a hero had risen to deal with the problem of the dragons, but mostly, he worried. Who was this hero? Were they a true son or daughter of Skyrim, or would they betray their Nordic blood and join the Empire? Or would they remain neutral?

Ulfric sighed deeply. He didn’t want to make an enemy of the prophesied savior of the world, but if this Dragonborn sided with the Empire, he wouldn’t have much of a choice. It would be far better, however, to make an ally of the hero. Far better indeed. With that thought in mind, Ulfric stepped away from the edge of the roof and turned to reenter the Palace. He had to find his steward; they had a Dragonborn to locate.

Chapter Text

The morning after he had heard the Greybeards summon the Dragonborn, Ulfric was woken by a knock at his door. He called to whoever was on the other side, saying that he would be at the door in a minute, then he tried to find some suitable clothes. Ulfric was far from a morning person, and he had been awake long into the night, so the process took longer than it should have. Finally, Ulfric opened the door, now dressed in one of his more regal robes and cloaks.

“Soldier,” he said, addressing the man who stood at attention by his door. “What do you need from me?”

“There’s someone who asked to see you, sir. A soldier from Commander Oaken-Song’s company by the name of Ralof, sir,” the man replied crisply.

Ulfric had to make an effort not to shout at the man as he asked, “Where is this soldier? I must speak to him at once.”

“General Stonefist is debriefing him in the war room, sir.”

Ulfric nodded and thanked the soldier before turning and striding down the corridor, trying not to think too much about what he was about to find and hear. If Vara had been with Ralof, he would have been informed. Not only was she a high-ranking officer in his army, but most of the Palace knew by now that there was something going on between them, a rumor Ulfric didn’t do much to discourage. But if she wasn’t with Ralof, where was she?

Ulfric pushed those thoughts away with a firm shake of his head. They wouldn’t do him any good now. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to the war room and stepped inside to find Galmar seated at one end of the table and Ralof standing at his side. The two were deep in conversation, but they cut off as Ulfric closed the door behind him.

Before Ulfric could say anything Ralof walked over to him, holding a parchment out to him in one hand. “Commander Oaken-Song made it out of Helgen,” Ralof said, and Ulfric couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped his lips. “She told me to give this letter to you. It explains why she isn’t here with me.”

Ulfric took the letter, and the soldier quickly backed away, out of arm’s reach. Ulfric shook his head inwardly at the man’s unwarranted fear, but his attention was swiftly drawn away from Ralof and towards the unfolded letter that now lay in his hands.

Ulfric,

If you are reading this letter, that means that Ralof has arrived in Windhelm before me. Please try and avoid yelling at the man too much; he did his job and got me out of Helgen safely. The reason I am not with him is that I was asked to inform the Jarl of Whiterun about the defenseless state of Riverwood. That dragon is a dangerous thing, Ulfric, and the people need to be ready for it. I’m going to help the Jarl in any way that I can, but it shouldn’t take too long. I don’t know when Ralof arrived at the Palace, but I shouldn’t be more than a week behind him. Stay safe, Ulfric, I will see you soon.

Love, Vara

Ulfric’s eyes scanned the letter again before he looked up at Ralof and Galmar. His general raised an eyebrow and gestured to the letter, which Ulfric carefully folded and placed in a pocket of his robes.

“Thank you for bringing this letter to me, Ralof,” Ulfric said gratefully. “The rest of your company has been given the north end of the barracks. You all deserve a rest, so you won’t be sent out for a few more weeks. Training times, however, are the same.”

Ralof nodded. “Thank you, my Jarl.” He bowed and walked to the door, but hesitated before opening it. “Commander Oaken-Song is one of the most caring people I’ve met, sir. You’re lucky to have her.”

Unbidden, Ulfric’s lips curled into a hint of a smile. “Indeed I am, soldier. Indeed I am.” Ralof bowed once more before slipping out of the room, closing the door softly behind himself.

Ulfric turned to Galmar, who still wore that asking expression on his face. “So, Ulfric, what did the letter say?” the general asked, leaning forward in his chair slightly.

Ulfric took a seat across the table from his old friend before answering, “It says that Vara is going to be Vara.” At Galmar’s confused look, Ulfric expounded. “Someone asked Vara to inform Jarl Balgruuf about Riverwood’s defenseless state. She agreed, of course, and said that she was planning to help the jarl in any way that she could.”

“Aye,” Galmar said with a nod, “that sounds like Vara. The woman can’t turn away a person in need. Did she say when she would be back?”

“Yes,” Ulfric said. “She doesn’t know what Balgruuf will need her for, but she said that she shouldn’t be more than a week behind Ralof.”

“Good, good. The city could use her right about now. I don’t know what it is about that woman, Ulfric, but the people respect her, and somehow, she makes life around here a little easier for everyone.”

“That she does, my friend,” Ulfric agreed. For Ulfric, Vara made life more than just easier, she made each day beautiful. She gave him the strength to carry on. It was strange that she had been able to intertwine her life with his, with the city’s, so easily, but she had, and now the thought of a Windhelm without Vara was near impossible.

Ulfric was drawn from his thoughts by the scraping of a chair across the stone as Galmar stood. “You should let Wuunferth know that Vara should be back soon,” he suggested. “The wizard had practically adopted the girl.”

Ulfric let out a slight chuckle. “Indeed he has. I’ll let him know.” Galmar nodded and gave Ulfric a pat on the shoulder before leaving the room to attend to his other duties as general. Ulfric had his own duties as well, but for some reason, the thought of them didn’t seem as dismal as it had when he had woken up. After all, Vara would be home in seven days. He could make it until then.

Vara wasn’t going to be able to make it back to Windhelm within her one-week deadline, a fact that was becoming increasingly obvious to her. She had spent the last three days in Whiterun in preparation for her trip to High Hrothgar. At her request, Jarl Balgruuf had promised that he wouldn’t tell anyone that she was the Dragonborn and had sworn his court and the soldiers who had been at the watchtower to the same oath.

A part of Vara felt bad about the deception. After all, the people of Skyrim looked to the Dragonborn to be a legendary hero, and she was depriving them of a person to fit that symbol. The rest of her, however, believed that this was the best move. Until she could figure out just what this Dragonborn thing was and what she needed to do, she didn’t want to get the people’s hopes up only to let them down if she failed. ‘And you’re scared that they won’t believe that you’re the Dragonborn because of your elven blood,’ another part of her mind whispered.

Vara pushed that thought away, instead focusing on the task at hand. Ulfric. Her last letter, which she was sure he had received by now, was wrong. There was no way that she would be able to climb to High Hrothgar, speak to the Greybeards, climb back down, and make it to Windhelm in time. Even if Ralof had arrived late and only delivered the letter today, she wouldn’t be able to make it in a week, and that was if the Greybeards even let her return to Windhelm at all.

She didn’t know what to tell him. Informing someone that you are apparently a mythical hero of Nordic legend didn’t seem like the kind of thing that one could do in a letter. But how else could she explain her absence? Finally, she sighed and began to write. Almost an hour later, Vara put the quill down and looked over the letter. It was short and far too vague, but hopefully, it would be enough.

Ulfric,

I know, I know, I’m late. I’m sorry, I truly am. Once again, I ask that you please don’t yell at the poor soul who had to bring you this letter, save it for me when I return. I don’t know when that will be, anymore. Things have changed, and I’ve realized that there are more people that I can help, that I need to help. I realize that this is probably some kind of abandonment of duty on my part as a Stormcloak officer, but the only thing I can do is beg your forgiveness. I’m needed here, even more than I am needed in Windhelm. Please watch over my company and let Ambarys, Ninesea, and Wuunferth know that I am thinking of them often. Stay safe, Ulfric.

Apologetically yours, Vara

P.S. Please don’t try to send a response to me. The courier wouldn’t be able to find me. I’m not planning on staying in any one place for very long; I don’t feel like being captured by Imperials a second time.

Vara read the letter again and felt like crumpling it up and throwing it away, but she didn’t. The desk that she was writing on already had the crumpled remains of no less than four other letters scattered across its surface; this was the best she was going to come up with. It wasn’t good, and it would drive Ulfric crazy, but it was the best that she could do. Hopefully, Ulfric would forgive her for it eventually.

After staring at the folded letter for a few more moments, Vara addressed it to Ulfric at the Palace of Kings and left to find a courier who could make the trip. She didn’t know how long she would be gone, but she had a feeling that this might be the only letter that she would be able to send. After all, reclusive monks that live on the highest mountain in Tamriel don’t exactly receive much mail.

A few hours later, Vara stood before Jarl Balgruuf, saying her goodbyes before she left for High Hrothgar. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a horse, Varaduilwe? It’s a long walk to Ivarstead,” Balgruuf asked for the third time.

Once again, Vara shook her head. “I don’t know how long I would be in the monastery, and it seems wrong to leave the creature in someone else’s care while I’m gone. Besides,” Vara added with a wry grin, “I never learned to ride.” Balgruuf raised an eyebrow in disbelief, causing Vara to chuckle slightly. “I always meant to ask Ulfric, I mean Jarl Ulfric, for lessons, but I never got around to it.”

For a long moment, Balgruuf studied Vara. They were alone in the great hall as Irileth was overseeing the training of the guards and the steward was off drafting a proclamation about new policies that were to be implemented regarding the dragons and what to do if one attacked.

Finally, Balgruuf said, “You are closer with Jarl Ulfric than the typical Stormcloak commander.” It was a statement, not a question. “And yet you aren’t going to tell him who you are.” Once again, the sentence was a statement, but this time, Vara could see the question in Balgruuf’s eyes.

“No, I’m not,” she said in a quiet voice. “It would be too easy for someone to use me against him, my jarl. If I am truly the Dragonborn, I am bound to make enemies. I don’t need those enemies hunting down Ulfric as well.” She paused before saying much softer, “I want somewhere where I can just be Varaduilwe Oaken-Song.”

Balgruuf nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Just remember that while I may not be able to grant you normalcy here, you are always welcome in Whiterun.”

Vara smiled slightly. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, my jarl. May the Divines watch over you,” she said, bowing low.

“And you. Good luck, Dragonborn.”

Vara left Dragonsreach and made her way down the grand steps to the statue of Talos. The priest, whose name was Heimskr she had found out, was preaching loudly to anyone walking by, but he quieted as she approached the statue and knelt in front of it. His preaching, she knew, was largely against the Thalmor, but it occasionally extended to elves in general. She ignored the harsh words, as she knew that Talos welcomed all who would follow him and defend the people of the Tamriel he fought so hard for.

Bowing her head, Vara began her prayer. ‘I don’t know if you are listening, mighty Talos, but if you are, I could use some help. The legends say that you were called as Dragonborn once, long ago, and now that same calling has come to me. I will never be as great as you, and I’m not trying to be. However, Skyrim deserves a hero that it can look up to, someone that is capable of protecting the country and the people within, all of them,’ she prayed. ‘I’m not that person. Not yet. I may never be the hero that this country deserves. However, I ask for your hand to guide me so that I may be able to carry Skyrim’s burdens as I am called to. I cannot do it alone.’ Vara ended her prayer and opened her eyes, quickly wiping away the tears that pricked at her eyes, threatening to fall. Divines above, she needed all the help she could get.

Standing, Vara made her way through the city, saying goodbye to a few of the people she passed who had been kind to her during her stay. Jon Battleborn nodded to her as she passed, and she returned the gesture. His family, she had discovered, were strong supporters of the Empire, but it was obvious to her that the man loved his city far more than he did politics. A couple of people stopped her, and she spoke with them each briefly, but before long, she was out of the gates of the city and had started to make her way down the road.

It was almost noon already. She had meant to leave much earlier, but she had procrastinated writing the letter to Ulfric until the last minute, which had turned out to be a mistake that had put her far behind schedule. Still, she had a feeling that, as urgent as her summons to High Hrothgar were, the Greybeards could wait a few days longer. After all, they had been waiting for a new Dragonborn for centuries. Despite that, Vara quickened her pace.

It would take her at least a full day, possibly two, to reach Ivarstead, and judging by how Balgruuf had described the seven thousand steps, climbing those to High Hrothgar could easily take up half a day. That meant she would be spending the night under the stars today, something she didn’t really mind.

She had bought a map of Skyrim from the general goods store as she didn’t know this part of the country as well as the woods around Windhelm and further south in the Rift. The road that she was following, according to the map, didn’t lead straight to Ivarstead. Instead, it followed the river and wound its way over to the marshes of Eastmarch before entering the Rift and circling back towards Ivarstead. That trip would take several days, so as soon as the road reached the river, Vara was going to turn and follow the mountain instead, trusting her directional senses to lead her the right way.

As the sun continued its journey across the sky, and as the hours passed Vara found her thoughts wandering to Windhelm and its citizens, as they often did. She hadn’t seen Ninesea or Ambarys in what seemed like ages. Hopefully, Ulfric had let them know that she was alive when he had gotten her first letter. She hadn’t even said goodbye to them when she had left on her undercover mission with the Thalmor, a fact she now regretted.

Hopefully, things were going well in the Grey Quarter in her absence. Ulfric would take care of the city, she knew, but she also knew that he tended to find himself by people with louder voices and Nordic accents, especially when it came to the upkeep of the city. And that wasn’t to mention the war that was no doubt about to begin in earnest.

Up until Helgen, Ulfric had mainly been fortifying his borders and occasionally striking Imperial supply caravans. Other than that, he had been using words far more than swords to convince others to join his cause. After facing execution at the hands of General Tullius himself, Ulfric was likely going to step up his plans. Part of Vara worried what would happen to Skyrim as the war increased. Would it be torn apart so horribly that it couldn’t be put back together? Would the people suffer more than they could bear? She hoped that that wouldn’t be the case. The people of Skyrim were hardy and had endured the test of time already; they would weather this storm as they had all of the others that had come before. This time, however, they would come out on top.

The storm of war, however, might prove to be nothing more than a summer shower in comparison to the chaos that the dragons might bring, especially if Vara failed in her role as Dragonborn. A role she knew nothing about. What would be expected of her? Why had she been chosen? Would she even be able to survive whatever it was she had to do? What did the ebony dragon have to do with her? These questions and so many more swirled restlessly within her, yearning to be answered. The only people who had even a chance at answering those questions, however, were at least a day and a half of walking away. With that thought in mind and her questions fueling her, Vara pushed on as the sun continued to sink in the sky.

Chapter Text

The Throat of the World was cold. The snow and ice didn’t bother her, she had been in Windhelm too long for that, it was the wind that had her shivering like a leaf in a snowstorm. Cold and biting, the wind had started a few minutes after she had passed a pilgrim who had been kneeling in front of a small shrine. Vara had been curious, so she had knelt beside him. The shrine, as it had turned out, held an etched tablet that had seemed to be the first in a series of messages. Vara had read it quickly before moving on.

Now, she was stepping through the snow, careful of where she placed her feet on the icy steps. Her hands crackled slightly with magic; she had already had to fight off a few wolves and spiders. It had hurt her to leave the wolves behind without skinning them first, but she had to conserve her strength for the climb, and being out in this cold any longer than necessary could be dangerous.

Several minutes later, Vara rounded the side of the mountain, following the winding path of stairs that were mostly buried in the snow, she found herself facing a strange sight. The path continued on, this time bending away from the mountain somewhat rather than following the natural curve, cutting right through the ice and snow and giving the impression of a small canyon, minus the river at the bottom. Vara was so distracted by the strange sight that she didn’t notice the frost troll until it roared and dropped down from its perch on one side of the canyon, lumbering toward her at an alarming speed.

Vara jumped backward as the troll neared her, quickly switching the sparks in her hands to flames, which would be far more effective on a creature like this. As soon as the troll was within range of her spells, Vara threw balls of flame into the creature’s chest, causing it to stagger. While it was disoriented, Vara cast a quick rune on the path in front of her before backing away. The troll followed her, and the second his foot hit the rune he let out a howl of pain so loud Vara was worried that it might cause an avalanche.

A few well-placed bolts of fire later, the troll was dead. For a moment, Vara stood next to the large corpse as she tried to steady her breath. As she did so, she couldn’t help but think how different this all was from the life she had led not that long ago. Before today, she had never actually fought a troll, only watched her father do so years ago. And yet she had jumped into battle with barely a second thought. Vara wasn’t sure if she proud of that fact or worried by it.

Shaking her head, Vara took one last deep breath before continuing on up the snowy path. The steps, if there truly were seven thousand of them, were mostly buried in snow or worn beyond recognition. This path was old, likely older even than Windhelm, the city of Ysgramor. The thought made Vara wonder how many others had climbed these steps before her, unsure what their destiny held, not knowing what would happen when they reached the top. Had they been worried? Frightened? Curious? She knew she was.

The steps continued on, and the wind grew even colder, whipping at her clothes and pulling her hair free from the ponytail she had put it in. Finally, when she had almost lost all feeling in her fingers and toes, she saw the dark stone of High Hrothgar, stark against the white snow. The sight stirred something within her, and her steps sped themselves, as if drawn to the monastery.

A few minutes later, Vara was closing the lid of the offering chest in front of the building having delivered supplies for one of the villagers in the town below. Before entering the monastery, however, she strode over to the statue of Talos that stood off to one side. She knelt in the snow in front of the statue and bowed her head. ‘Talos, guide me,’ she prayed, desperately hoping that the god would hear her; she would need all the help she could get. Then, she stood and climbed up the last few steps to one of the large doors. And, without giving herself time to think about what she was doing, Vara pushed open the door and stepped into the monastery.

Inside, the air was cold, but, compared to the howling wind that Vara could still hear through the closed doors, it was practically toasty. Those thoughts were quickly driven from her mind though as she stepped down into the room, drawing the attention of the men there. The Greybeards.

One of the men, who were all dressed in grey robes that seemed to fold into infinity, beckoned her closer. Vara obeyed the silent command and stepped forward until she was in the center of the room, the four men surrounding her like points on a compass with her as its center. The monk standing directly in front of her spoke, his voice somewhat scratchy as if it hadn’t been used for normal speech in some time.

“Greetings, child. I am Master Arngeir; I speak for the Greybeards. Why have you come to High Hrothgar? Few make the climb, and fewer still step through our doors,” the man asked.

Vara bowed to the monk before answering. “My name is Varaduilwe Oaken-Song; I have come to answer your summons, Master.” As she spoke the words, her voice trembled slightly and she hoped that the Greybeards couldn’t hear it. She was here to claim her destiny, and that terrified her.

Across from her, Arngeir nodded. “Ah, so you are the one the gods have chosen as Dragonborn,” he mused. “Please, show us the power of your Thu’um.”

For a moment, Vara didn’t react. This old man wanted her to Shout at him? Then she remembered what Balgruuf had told her about the strength of the Greybeards, how a single whispered word could tear a normal man apart. Someone with that kind of strength could withstand her Shout, surely. As if he could sense her thoughts, Arngeir nodded slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Vara Shouted. “Fus!” The force of the word crashed into Arngeir, but the man only stumbled slightly. The pots behind him, however, were sent flying. Vara winced slightly as one of the pots, which was likely older than she wanted to think about, crashed against the far wall and shattered. Oops. Arngeir, however, didn’t seem to mind.

“Incredible!” he exclaimed, brushing off his robes. “You have known this Shout for less than a week, and already it is stronger than one that most people would have to spend months, even years, learning. You truly are Dovahkiin, Dragonborn. Welcome to High Hrothgar.” The man bowed, and the other three monks followed suit.

Once Arngeir straightened, he said, “We will aid you in your training, Dragonborn, and we will teach you the Way of the Voice. Shall we begin?” Vara hesitated for a brief moment before nodding firmly. It was time.

A few hours later, Vara was sitting cross-legged in front of one of the many windows in the monastery, gazing at the snow that drifted lazily past the glass. The Greybeards had taught her the second word to Unrelenting Force, Ro, as well as the first word in a shout called Whirlwind Sprint. It had taken her a few tried to get used to that shout, which sent her rushing over the ground at a startling speed, but once she had, she discovered that she loved the thrill of the wind whistling in her ears as she was propelled across the ground at an inhuman speed.

After she had practiced Whirlwind Sprint for several minutes, Arngeir approached her once again and told her of the last trial she had to face. Apparently, the founder of High Hrothgar and the Way of the Voice, Jurgen Windcaller, was buried with a special horn in an ancient tomb called Ustengrav. The Greybeards wanted her to bring them that horn. Vara had agreed to, of course. These men were the only people who had answers to what it was the gods had called her to do, and they wouldn’t be giving her those answers until she completed this ‘trial’.

The Greybeards had offered her a bed and food for as long as she needed, an offer she had accepted for the night, seeming glad to extend their hospitality to the Dragonborn. At first, Vara had tried to get Arngeir to call her Vara or at least Varaduilwe, but she had since given up. Here, it was obvious that she wasn’t Varaduilwe Oaken-Song; she was the Dragonborn. If only she knew what in the name of Talos that even meant.

Sighing quietly, Vara rose from her place in front of the window, nodding respectfully to one of the Greybeards, Borri, she believed, as she did so. Arngeir had shown her the way to her bed earlier, and so she made her way through the dark halls of the monastery. The bed was made of stone, like most of the furniture in High Hrothgar. She supposed it made sense as the monks likely didn’t focus on the material much, however, it made it difficult for her to fall asleep, despite the exhaustion that seemed to cling to every piece of her. Finally, her eyes drifted closed and she settled into an uneasy sleep.

Ulfric was tired. He had been in meetings all day, and dealing with the politics that came with those meetings had worn his patience thin. His attitude, he knew, was worse because Vara was gone. Galmar had pointed that very fact out, and Ulfric hadn’t even bothered to argue otherwise; his friend was right. Vara just seemed to make life so much easier. Shaking his head inwardly, Ulfric focused once more on the conversation going on in front of him.

“We have to reinforce the western border!” Hjornskar, one of Ulfric’s generals, insisted, waving his hands animatedly. “That coward Balgruuf refuses to join our cause. He is against us!” Before Ulfric could respond, another soldier, Kai Wet-Pommel, spoke up.

“No! All we will be doing is wasting our men! Balgruuf may not have sided with us yet, but he hasn’t sided with the Empire either. Putting more men on the border with Whiterun may convince Balgruuf that we’re going to attack him and cause him to join the Empire.”

Hjornskar opened his mouth to argue, but Ulfric held up his hand, silencing them both. “We will reinforce the Whiterun border with a few small squads of experienced soldiers,” he declared, looking both Hjornskar and Kai in the eye in turn. “It will be too few men to cause Balgruuf to feel threatened, but the men will be able to shore up our defenses and hold their own long enough for us to muster a full force of men should they be attacked.”

Both Hjornskar and Kai nodded. “Very well, my jarl,” Hjornskar said, bowing slightly. “I will muster the men and depart for the Whiterun border the day after tomorrow.”

Good,” Ulfric replied. “See Galmar before you leave, he has our latest information regarding the Whiterun border as well as the details for your assignment.” Hjornskar nodded, and he and Kai both sat back down. Turning his attention back to the rest of the war council, Ulfric gestured for them to continue.

Almost three hours later, the last of his generals, excluding Galmar, had left the room. The meeting, which had been the last one of the day, had been productive and vital, two facts he knew well. That hadn’t made it any easier for him to stay awake during it, however.

“Get some sleep, Ulfric. You need to keep your strength up,” Galmar said, standing from his chair at the other end of the table. “Besides, what will Oaken-Song say when she hears that you haven’t been sleeping as you should?”

Ulfric raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know how she would know anything of my sleeping habits unless a certain general told her. And I highly doubt he would do that; he values his head too highly.”

Galmar chuckled. “Aye, I do. However, I don’t think she would need me to tell her anything. You look exhausted.”

Ulfric sighed. “I am. These constant meetings are more tiring than any battle,” he grumbled, standing from his chair on unsteady legs. By Talos, he was tired. “And yet I can’t sleep.” The last few words were muttered under his breath, but Galmar seemed to hear them anyway.

His old friend frowned. “Have you seen Wuunferth?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “I know that the draughts haven’t been as effective lately, but something is better than nothing, especially in this case.”

Ulfric shrugged listlessly. “I’ve taken a potion every night this week, but even then I only manage an hour or two of sleep,” he admitted. “I asked Wuunferth yesterday if he had anything stronger, but he said that I was already taking the highest dosage. Any more and it could kill me.”

Galmar’s eyes were alight with anger. “Talos curse those Thalmor! It wasn’t enough for them to capture and torture you. No, now they must steal your sleep as well!” he growled out, fists clenched at his sides.

Ulfric only shook his head. The gods had truly blessed him when they had placed Galmar in his path; the man was the truest friend he could ask for. “Peace, Galmar. Vara will return soon, and this will be behind me,” Ulfric stated, offering the grizzled man a weary smile. “There are far more important things than my sleep to worry about.”

Galmar didn’t seem to agree with the last statement judging by the frown that pulled at his lips, but he nodded anyway. “Very well. I’ll see you in the morning for an inspection of the latest batch of recruits. Try and get some sleep.”

“I will. Sleep well, old friend.”

Galmar bowed slightly before leaving the room. Once he was alone, Ulfric ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. Vara would be home in a few days, but it seemed like ages.

Vara woke sometime in the early hours of the morning before the sun had begun to rise. For several minutes, she lay on her back, staring at the stone ceiling above her. She didn’t remember any dreams, but a feeling of unease lingered that made Vara want to check over her shoulder to see if someone was watching her, despite the fact that the bed was backed against the wall and there was no one else in the small room with her. When the feeling didn’t disappear after a few minutes, Vara gave up on the trying to sleep for a little while longer and stood.

After a few minutes of wandering, she found herself back in the courtyard where she had learned Whirlwind Sprint. The wind had died down somewhat, so it wasn’t as cold as it had been the day before. Vara hesitated in the middle of the courtyard before making her way to the tower that stood off to one side. Arngeir had shown it to her earlier.

The top of the tower had a breathtaking view of the mountainside and the world below. For several minutes, Vara simply stood there, enjoying the peace as she looked over Skyrim. Eventually, she sat cross-legged in the middle of the space, summoning her magic to her fingertips. She had used her sparks for fighting far too much recently, and it felt good to be using them to meditate.

After a while, her eyes closed, and her mind began to wander as her body relaxed into the familiar movements of her meditation. Her thoughts drifted from one memory to another, not staying on any one idea for very long. Until that was, they settled on Ulfric. In her mind’s eye, Vara saw Ulfric as he had been the day she had last seen him, right after she had woken on that cart.

The strong features of his face had been shadowed with grief and guilt. She had realized immediately that they were going to die. At first, she had been filled with terror, but then, the feeling faded, leaving her instead with a deep sense of peace. When she had looked back to Ulfric, she had smiled slightly, hoping that he would be able to understand. There was no one she would rather die beside.

She had leaned her head against Ulfric’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. They had stayed that way, except for a brief interruption by that fool horse thief, until the cart had shuddered to a stop in Helgen, and they had stood, ready to face their death with honor.

And yet, they hadn’t died in Helgen. Instead, they had been saved from execution by an ebony dragon, one that Vara now knew she was inexplicably tied to, although she didn’t know how. That had been the last time she had seen Ulfric. When they had parted he had promised that they would see each other again soon.

A few tears traced their way down Vara’s face at the thought. She didn’t know when she would see Ulfric again, or even if she ever would. While she hadn’t got much information from Arngeir about what she would be called to do as Dragonborn, he had told her enough for her to realize that the path ahead of her was going to be dangerous, even more so than her infiltration of the Thalmor in Darkwater Crossing had been. It was possible that, in her attempt to fulfill whatever destiny it was that the gods had planned for her, she would die.

The thought of death didn’t frighten her. Her parents would be waiting for her on the other side, and she would have died in an effort to save the country she loved. The thought of being separated from Ulfric, however, did. She had told him once that she didn’t expect their relationship to last, that she knew he would move on. And while a large part of her still believed that, she had given him her heart. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when it happened, but it had. Even though she knew it could never happen, she wanted to spend her life with him. If she died, that possibility, small though it was, would be taken from her.

She sighed heavily and banished the thoughts, opening her eyes. In front of her, a creature of woven sparks hung in the air in front of her. A dragon, its wings outstretched and its maw open wide. A creature of legends now returned to Skyrim. A creature she had fought and killed. Vara gazed at it for a few moments before flicking her wrist, dispelling the magic. She had work to do.

Chapter Text

Ulfric had to resist the urge to stand from his throne and start pacing the great hall. He had been anxious all day, but now that the sun was beginning to set, his nerves felt as if they would snap at any moment. It had been a week since Ralof returned to Windhelm, alone. Today was the day that Vara was supposed to arrive.

Logically, Ulfric knew that he should have been working. Between the city and the war, there was plenty to be done, but he had found that he was incapable of focusing today. He had zoned out no less than five times during his first meeting, much to the annoyance of his councilors. After that, he had cancelled the rest of the meetings that he had planned for the day.

He tried to busy himself by reading reports and other important documents, and that had worked for a few hours. Then, he had opened his doors for a few citizens so that he could address their concerns in person, instead of having them write him a letter or speak to one of the councilors as he normally did. An hour later, however, and he had found himself right back where he started.

Ulfric was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of the great hall doors swinging open. He looked up, hoping to see Vara walk in, a smile on her lips and snow in that beautiful hair of hers. Instead, he was met with a courier. The man looked worn, as if he hadn’t slept much for the past few days, a feeling Ulfric could relate to. He approached the throne and bowed deeply before straightening and saying,

“I have a letter for you, Jarl Ulfric.”

Ulfric waved a dismissive hand. “Give it to my steward, Jorleif,” he ordered. It was strange that the man had come all the way to his throne to deliver a letter; normally, they were left in a specially marked box outside of the Palace.

The courier bowed again. “Apologies, my jarl, but I was told to deliver it to you directly. I was paid well to ensure there were no delays in getting it to you.” That would explain the man’s exhausted appearance. Ulfric took the letter, wonder just who it could be from. Then he saw the neat handwriting that addressed it to him. Without a second thought, Ulfric tore open the envelope and quickly read the letter inside.

Ulfric,

I know, I know, I’m late. I’m sorry, I truly am. Once again, I ask that you please don’t yell at the poor soul who had to bring you this letter, save it for me when I return. I don’t know when that will be, anymore. Things have changed, and I’ve realized that there are more people that I can help, that I need to help. I realize that this is probably some kind of abandonment of duty on my part as a Stormcloak officer, but the only thing I can do is beg your forgiveness. I’m needed here, even more than I am needed in Windhelm. Please watch over my company and let Ambarys, Ninesea, and Wuunferth know that I am thinking of them often. Stay safe, Ulfric.

Apologetically yours, Vara

P.S. Please don’t try to send a response to me. The courier wouldn’t be able to find me. I’m not planning on staying in any one place for very long; I don’t feel like being captured by Imperials a second time.

For several moments, Ulfric sat frozen on his throne as his mind tried to come to terms with what he had read. Vara would not be returning to Windhelm anytime soon. His first instinct was to yell at the courier who brought the letter and demand answers, but he knew that would be pointless. Instead, he took a few deep breaths, calming himself, and looked up from the letter.

“Thank you for delivering this to me,” he told the man in a steady voice. His councilors would have been proud of how well he could conceal his emotions. “Please, see my steward and he will provide you with the money for a night’s stay at the inn and a warm meal.” Ulfric nodded to Jorleif, and the steward gestured for the courier to follow him out of the room. Once they were both gone, the room was empty besides himself and Galmar, and he let his emotionless mask fall.

“Vara will not be returning to WIndhelm today,” Ulfric told his friend, a swirl of emotions coloring his voice.

Galmar frowned sharply, concern in his eyes. “What? Why? Is that letter from her, or…” he trailed off, but looked expectantly to Ulfric.

“It’s from her,” Ulfric confirmed, running his finger over the paper where she had signed her name. “She says that things changed, and she realized that there were more people she needed to help. She doesn’t know when she’ll be able to return.”

Galmar nodded. “That’s just like her. She can’t turn away a person in need,” he said, a small smile on his face. “If she believes that she is needed where ever she is more than she’s needed here, it’s for a good reason. She knows how much you value her, Ulfric.”

“Does she, old friend? What if I’ve somehow pushed her away? What if this letter is just her attempt at telling me something that I would rather hear, instead of the truth?” Ulfric asked, doubts swirling in his mind.

To his surprise, Galmar’s eyebrows drew together angrily. “Do you truly think so little of her, Ulfric? Vara Oaken-Song is an honorable woman, you know that. If she wanted to leave Windhelm, leave you, she would have told you,” he declared in a firm voice that brooked no arguments.

“You’re right, of course,” Ulfric admitted with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. Vara would never lie to him like that. “I suppose I’m just worried. Something could happen to her, and we wouldn’t even know. She told me not to try and contact her, as she’ll be moving around too much for the courier to find her. I’m worried about her, Galmar.”

“She’ll be fine,” Galmar promised, looking up at Ulfric with sympathetic eyes. “She’ll be fine and she’ll return.”

Ulfric didn’t reply, instead turning back to the letter he still held. Closing his eyes, he sent a brief prayer to the Divines. ‘Watch over her,’ he prayed. ‘Keep her safe, and bring her home to me. Please.’ Then, he opened his eyes and stood. Nothing he did would bring Vara back any sooner; she was in the hands of the Divines now.

“Galmar, have runners gather the council,” Ulfric ordered, stepping down from his throne. “Tell them that I want a full report of the city and its problems in front of me no later than tomorrow morning.” He had a city to keep, with or without Varaduilwe Oaken-Song at his side, and he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. His voice softened, however, when he glanced back down at the parchment he still held in his hands. “And bring this letter to Wuunferth.” The old mage didn’t show it, but Ulfric knew that the man had been looking forward to Vara’s return almost as much as he himself had.

Galmar nodded. “Of course.” The general turned to leave before turning back to Ulfric, a thoughtful frown on his lips. “Vara will return, Ulfric. This is her home.” Ulfric didn’t have time to reply before his old friend turned away and strode out of the room.

Ulfric watched Galmar leave, a small sigh slipping from his lips as he did. He hoped his friend was right. He truly did.

Vara stumbled as her foot caught a rock in the road. The last few weeks had left her exhausted, both mentally and physically. Ahead of her Delphine stopped, turning to face Vara. “Are you alright, Dragonborn? We can stop to rest soon if you need it.”

Vara shook her head. “I’m fine, Delphine. We aren’t that far from Kynesgrove. I can rest later,” Vara assured the woman, successfully hiding the exhaustion from her voice. Once again, Vara found herself grateful for the dragon priest mask she now wore, which covered all except her eyes.

She had obtained the mask after killing its owner at Shearpoint, a dragon lair that she had picked up the bounty for on the way back from Ustengrav. It turned out, however, that the mountain was inhabited by a dragon priest as well as the dragon she had been sent to kill. Between the priest and the dragon, Vara had almost died. The metal mask, uncomfortable though it was, was useful. She had already decided that she wanted to keep her identity a secret in order to protect Ulfric, and the mask had been the perfect solution, something the Greybeards had pointed out when she had returned the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to them.

The thought of the Greybeards made Vara frown. The old monks didn’t approve of her association with Delphine. They claimed that the woman would try and pervert her Voice to be used for evil. Vara wasn’t sure if she agreed, but she had to admit that something about the woman who walked in front of her seemed off. Vara needed answers, though, and Delphine seemed to be the best place to get them. She just had to prove that she was truly the Dragonborn first.

A part of Vara was offended that Delphine didn’t trust her. Even after she had demonstrated her Thu’um, the woman didn’t seem to believe that she was truly the Dragonborn. Most of Vara’s mind, however, understood Delphine’s wary distrust. She didn’t exactly look like the Dragonborn from the children's stories with her pointed ears and hands that crackled with magic instead of gripping a battle ax or whatever it was that ‘real’ Nord warriors used.

Vara shook her head. Her exhaustion really was getting the best of her. Hopefully, they would be able to kill this dragon that Delphine expected to find in Kynesgrove and then Vara could sleep for the next week or so. She could deal with everything else when she woke up again.

About an hour and a half later, when the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, Vara and Delphine stepped into Kynesgrove. The small settlement was in an uproar, with its citizens running for cover and shouting loud enough to make Vara’s tired ears ring. Delphine grabbed a woman by the shoulder as she ran past.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

The woman, whose face was paler than the snow that lay around them, was too frightened to speak. Delphine repeated the question, her tone demanding, and the woman finally managed to say, “A dragon! There’s a dragon! By the Gods above, we’re all going to die, aren’t we?” She ripped herself from Delphine’s grip with ascream and ran down the road as if Hircine himself were at her heels.

Vara and Delphine looked over at each other. “This is your chance,” Delphine declared. “Time to prove if you really are the Dragonborn.” Vara didn’t reply, but she began to pool her magicka into her hands as she followed the woman up the worn path to where the burial mound was said to be.

The dirt path was surrounded by trees, which cast long shadows over the ground that Delphine and Vara ran across. Those shadows, however, were eclipsed by a greater one, and Vara looked up to see the ebony dragon she had seen in Helgen fly over the trees above her. What was it doing here?

The answer became all too clear when Delphine and Vara broke into the clearing to see the dragon speaking to the skeleton of another dragon in Dovahzul. As they watched, too stunned to move, the skeletal dragon rose from its burial mound. It bowed to the ebony dragon, and as it did so, its body seemed to reform. Starting at the tail, as if the dragon were putting on an outfit, the scales spread up its body until it looked almost exactly like the dragon Vara had killed at the watchtower outside of Whiterun. The setting sun caught the bronze dragon’s skin perfectly, causing the scales to shimmer as if they were made of a living flame.

Vara was so entranced by the dragon’s terrible beauty that she forgot, for an instant, the ebony dragon’s presence. Then, the creature turned and spoke to her, its voice grating on Vara’s ears like harsh metal. At first, the words were in the dragon language. After a few moments, however, the dragon switched to Tamrielic.

“You do not even know our tongue, do you?” The dragon’s voice was mocking, and Vara could hear the sneer in his words. “Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah.” Then, the ebony dragon turned back to the dragon he had raised and spoke once more in the dragon language. Vara couldn’t understand the words, but it wasn’t hard to guess. With a great flap of his wings, the black dragon flew off, and the newly risen one turned to Vara.

It opened its giant maw, but instead of speaking, the dragon Shouted, shooting a jet of flames towards Vara and Delphine. Vara jumped to the side, and the flames brushed past her, close enough for her to feel their heat, but not too close to burn. She rolled to her knees, her hands frosting over with ice. She had learned from the Greybeards that most dragons either prefered ice or fire Shouts, and that the opposite element would do far more damage than her typical sparks would.

She fired a few ice spikes into the dragon’s wing, causing the creature to let out a roar that shook the ground with its strength. Vara dashed around to the back of the dragon, shooting a few more icicles into its scales as she went. The dragon turned to snap at her, but Delphine drew its attention by driving her sword into a weak point on its neck. The creature roared once more, and tried to bite at Delphine, but the woman danced nimbly out of the way. Vara impaled the dragon with several more shards of ice, the magic finding its way into the chinks of the creature’s scaly armor.

Before she could gather her magicka for another attack, however, the dragon took to the air. Vara and Delphine immediately scrambled for cover, and Vara dove behind a large boulder just as the dragon let out a stream of fire that washed over the place where she had been standing only a few seconds ago. The dragon circled the clearing a few more times with little success before landing once more.

Delphine sprung out from behind the tree she had used for cover and began to slash and hack at the dragon’s head once more. Vara focused her attention on the creature’s great wings, searching for weak spots in its armor. Everytime she found one, she sent a cluster of icicles into the dragon’s hide. More than a few times, she had to roll out of the way of the dragon’s tail, which thrashed about wildly as the dragon drew closer and closer to its end.

Finally, the great beast stilled. Vara strode over to where Delphine stood as the dragon’s scales began to turn to flame. The woman was watching the process with a mixture of awe and fear in her face, something Vara understood all too well. Then, the first ribbons of light began to arc toward her, and Vara turned back to the dragon’s remains.

The light swirled around her, dancing in the sky, the gold and white mixing with the red and orange colors of the sunset. Then, the dragon’s soul entered her in a rush of power. Despite having felt the feeling twice before, Vara gasped as the soul crashed against her own with astounding force. The other two dragon souls she held within her seemed to roar a greeting to the third soul. Finally, everything stilled, and Vara turned back to Delphine, whose eyebrows were in danger of being lost to her hairline.

“It’s true,” the woman breathed, her voice filled with respect. “The Dragonborn has returned.” To Vara’s surprise, Delphine knelt before her on the rocky ground, her head bowed. “Dragonborn, I owe you an explanation,” she said, and Vara was too stunned to react. “I am one of the last surviving members of the Blades, an ancient group that was sworn to protect the Dragonborn. Once, that meant we served the Septim Emperors, but when it became clear that they no longer carried the Dragon Blood, we faded into the shadows, waiting for a true Dragonborn to appear.” Delphine paused, and Vara could hear the sharp and bitter pain in the woman’s voice as she said,

“The Thalmor have hunted us almost to extinction. I haven’t had contact with another Blade in years. I may be the only one left,” Delphine’s voice trailed away.

Vara motioned for the Blade to stand. “What does this have to do with the dragons’ return?”

At that, Delphine grinned ferally. “The Blades remember what everyone else has forgotten: the Dragonborn is the greatest dragonslayer. If anyone has a chance at stopping the dragons from plunging Skyrim into another Dragon Age it's you. Now we just have to figure out why the dragons are returning in the first place. I have a feeling that it has to do with those Thalmor scum.”

In Vara’s opinion, raising dragons from the dead seemed a little extreme, even for the Thalmor, but she listened as Delphine explained the next stage of their plan.

“The Thalmor keep dossiers on everything. If they know anything about the dragons, that’s where the information would be. Those dossiers are kept in the Embassy under lock and key, but I think I know a way for you to get inside.”

Delphine went on to explain that she had a contact who could get Vara an invitation to an exclusive party that the Thalmor would be holding at the Embassy. Once she was inside, she would have to slip away and find the dossiers, which were likely kept near or in the interrogation room.

“It will take me a few weeks to sort all of this out,” Delphine stated thoughtfully. “I’ll send you a letter once I have the invitation. Where will you be, Dragonborn?”

The question caught Vara off guard. She hadn’t thought much about what she would do next, and she certainly hadn’t expected any breaks. She was close to Windhelm now, but could she really go back there and pretend that nothing had happened to her. What would she do when Delphine called her away once again? But she would see Ulfric and Wuunferth and Ninesea and Ambarys. She would be able to walk the streets she knew so well.

Vara sighed heavily. She knew that she would regret this choice eventually, but she turned to the Blade anyway and said, “You can address your letter to Varaduilwe Oaken-Song at the Palace of Kings in Windhelm. It will reach me there.”

To her credit, Delphine didn’t even bat an eye at the words. Instead, she nodded. “Very well, Dragonborn. I will see you in a few weeks. Gods guide you.”

“And you.” Vara watched as Delphine turned away and headed back down the hill to Kynesgrove below. For a few moments, Vara didn’t move. She was going to return to Windhelm. Despite the fact that she knew keeping this secret from Ulfric would be painful, she was glad to be able to go home. With a small smile decorating her hidden lips, Vara started down the dirt path.

Chapter Text

Vara kept to the shadows that the walls and houses of Windhelm cast as she made her way to her home. Her first instinct had been to run straight to the Palace of Kings, but her common sense had won out in the end. She had taken her mask off just before she reached Windhelm, but there will still several things on her that could mark her as the Dragonborn if someone were to look closely. And so Vara did her best to avoid being seen by any citizens who roamed the darkened streets.

When she finally reached Hjerim, she quickly unlocked the door and slipped inside. The house was dark and cold, but despite that, Vara instantly felt safer than she had in weeks. She was finally home. With that thought, she began to make her way through her house, lighting several torches with a flick of her wrist as she went.

She tossed her bag containing her mask and the other nicknacks she had collected under her bed upstairs. Then she changed out of the tattered leather armor she wore, folding the outfit carefully before placing it beside the bag under the bed. She would need to get it repaired before she left Windhelm again.

After a few minutes of debating, Vara pulled one of her green hunting tunics over her head and pulled on a pair of pants. The clothes weren’t exactly the most appropriate for a meeting with a Jarl, but Vara had a feeling that Ulfric wouldn’t care in the slightest what she was wearing. With a quiet chuckle, Vara laced up her boots and made her way back downstairs.

Vara hesitated at the door. It was late, and she had no doubts that the last few weeks had been hard on Ulfric. Maybe she should wait until morning to see him. Her hand left the handle, and she was about to turn around when she shook her head fiercely. Three weeks. It had been over three weeks since she had last seen Ulfric. Three weeks since they had almost died together on the headsman’s block. She would not wait any longer. Vara flung the door open and strode through, not even noticing as it slammed shut behind her, disturbing the quiet of the night.

One of the soldiers who stood guard outside the Palace held out a hand to stop her as she neared the great doors. “Hold, citizen,” the man said, “The Palace of Kings is closed until the morning. The Jarl is not receiving visitors. If you would like, you can leave a message for him.” The man gestured to a large box on one side of the courtyard. “Otherwise, I must ask you to leave.”

Vara’s lips pulled upwards in a slight smile. “I think I may be an exception to that rule, soldier,” she said. “My name is Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, and I have a feeling the jarl would like to speak with me as soon as possible.” Inwardly, Vara cringed. The words sounded far too arrogant. She didn’t even know what her place in Ulfric’s court was anymore; who was she to demand entry? But she needed to see Ulfric, needed it more than she needed air to breathe.

The guard opened his mouth to speak, anger beginning to color his features, but the other soldier stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let her pass,” the man commanded, and the guard stood to the side reluctantly. “Jarl Ulfric is in the war room with a few of his generals,” he said, addressing Vara. “Welcome home, Commander.” The man saluted sharply before standing to the side. Vara nodded her appreciation and stepped through the large doors.

The Great Hall was empty, except for the few soldiers who stood guard around various rooms. The men outside of the war room recognized her instantly and both saluted her before moving to the side. Vara thanked them and then, taking a deep breath, pushed open the door.

“I don’t know Galmar,” Ulfric mused, gazing at the map in front of him. “Whiterun is strong, if indecisive. What do you think of Falkreath?” When Galmar didn’t reply, Ulfric looked up from the map at his old friend. Galmar wasn’t looking at him, and the rest of his generals seemed equally distracted. He was about to ask what was wrong when his eyes followed Galmar’s to the door and the woman who stood in front of it.

Ulfric had to blink several times before he was able to convince himself that she was real and not just some illusion of his sleep-deprived mind. When he had finally decided that she was truly there standing in front of him, Ulfric’s jaw dropped to the floor In an instant, he had rounded the table and taken a few long strides until he was barely inches away from her.

His eyes roamed Vara’s smiling face, drinking in the sight of her greedily, like a man dying from thirst. There were deep bags under her green-gold eyes, and a thin cut ran down one cheek. A thousand questions swarmed his mind, but he pushed them all aside. There would be time for that later. For now, Ulfric just wanted to enjoy the feeling of having Vara close, but he stopped himself. They weren’t alone here.

Ulfric wasn’t alone in his examination. Vara’s eyes scanned his face, and the small smile that decorated her face slowly turned to a frown. Her hand reached toward him, but froze in the air, hovering less than an inch above his skin. It was obvious she had realized the same thing; their relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, but it wasn’t a public matter either.

For several moments, there was silence. Then, from the back of the room, Gonnar spoke up. “Just kiss her already, Ulfric!” the man hollered, and the other generals voiced their own agreement with whistles and yells of their own. Ulfric chuckled and pulled Vara toward him. For a few seconds, they gazed at each other before Ulfric kissed Vara deeply. His eyes slid closed as his lips moved against hers, and for a few moments, it was as if they were the only two people in the room.

Eventually, Vara pulled away, needing air. Around them, the soldiers laughed and whistled and applauded, and Ulfric watched as Vara’s cheeks began to flush. Sensing her embarrassment, Ulfric looked up and locked eyes with Galmar, nodding subtly to the door. Thankfully, Galmar took the hint.

“Alright boys, let’s give the lovebirds some space. Everyone out,” Galmar ordered with a deep chuckle. The officers grinned and obeyed the command, filing out of the room one at a time. Several of them welcomed Vara home as they passed, and the woman smiled softly at them in reply.

The door had barely closed before Ulfric was turning back to Vara. The blush was fading from her cheeks, returning them to their pale color, and a smile danced on her lips. Ulfric paused for a brief moment before leaning in and capturing Vara’s lips in another kiss. After a few moments, she pulled away.

“I missed you too,” she said with a light laugh. The sound lifted Ulfric’s heart, and it seemed that the exhaustion and fear that he had been feeling for the past several weeks melted away. Vara was home.

Vara rested her head on his shoulder, and they stayed that way, simply enjoying each other’s presence for several long moments before Ulfric broke the silence. “I almost killed Ralof when he returned to Windhelm without you,” he admitted. “When I found out he had returned alone, I feared the worst. Then he handed me that letter.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Vara murmured, her face still buried in his shoulder. “I wanted to come home earlier, but I couldn’t. People needed me.”

Once again, a million questions flooded Ulfric’s mind, and once again he pushed them aside. Vara had had a long journey, and it was obvious that she was exhausted. His questions could wait for now.

“You’re here now, and that’s what matters,” Ulfric declared softly, kissing Vara on the top of her head lightly. “Come on, let's get you back to Hjerim. You need rest.”

Vara moved to look up at him at those words. A playful smile rested on her lips, and her eyes sparkled in the light of the flickering torches. “Very well, my jarl,” she said, putting extra emphasis on the last two words, “Lead the way.” She bowed low and made a wide sweeping gesture towards the door, a laugh bubbling from her as she did so.

Ulfric rolled his eyes, but the wide smile on his face betrayed his true feeling. By Talos, it was good to have Vara home! Taking her by the arm, Ulfric led them out of the room, and with every stepped he thanked the Divines that Vara was standing by his side.

They stopped just outside of the door to Vara’s house. For a long moment, neither of them moved, then Vara slipped her arm out of Ulfric’s and turned to face him. Silence hung in the air for a few seconds longer before Ulfric said, “We found the traitor, the one who sold us out to the Thalmor.” The words slipped from Ulfric’s mouth unbidden. He was stalling, and he knew it.

Vara smiled grimly. “Who was it? I’d like to pay him a visit myself,” she said, and for a moment, something feral flashed in her eyes reminding Ulfric that this woman was, first and foremost, a hunter. He found himself very glad that he wasn’t her prey.

“Olflnar,” Ulfric replied in a low growl, unable to keep the contempt out of his voice as he continued, “He committed suicide before we could question him, however, as did the assassin that the Thalmor sent to kill you.”

Vara muttered a sharp curse under her breath. “The Thalmor are always one step ahead!”

“They always have been. I should have known better than to send you to Darkwater. I nearly got us all killed,” Ulfric declared, looking down at the stones beneath his feet.

“Look at me,” Vara ordered in her quiet voice. Ulfric obeyed, meeting her green-gold eyes with his own. “I volunteered for that mission, and you know it. There is nothing you could have done to prevent what happened. I didn’t die, and neither did you. That’s all that’s important now.”

Ulfric gazed into Vara’s eyes and saw powerful emotion swirling in their depths. Without thinking, he let five little words slip from his lips. “I love you, Vara Oaken-Song.” The sentence hung in the air, and Ulfric braced himself for Vara’s reaction. They had never dared to put a name to this thing between them, and now he had crossed a line neither of them had dared to think about.

To his surprise, Vara smiled, lighting up the darkness of the night. She leaned forward and place a light kiss on his lips, which he eagerly returned, before echoing his declaration. “I love you too, Ulfric Stormcloak.”

For a few moments that seemed to stretch on forever, they held each other close, smiling like fools in the darkness of the night. Finally, Ulfric pulled away. “You’ve had a long journey. Sleep, Vara. I’ll come and get you in the morning and you, Galmar, and I can discuss things.”

“Very well. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well, Ulfric.” Vara’s lips fluttered against his one last time, and then she slipped through the door.

Vara walked through the streets of Windhelm at a leisurely pace. A few of the citizens recognized her and nodded in respect or thanked her for her service. She wanted to argue that she hadn’t really done anything besides nearly get the jarl killed, but instead, she simply smiled and nodded back at them.

She had met with Galmar and Ulfric an hour or so ago to discuss her position in the Stormcloaks. A part of Vara had been worried that she would be relieved of duty because she had been gone so long. She would have understood, even agreed with, the order if it had come; she had been away for weeks. But it was never even mentioned.

Instead, they spoke of her unit and what they were doing now. Nine soldiers had been killed in the ambush, the execution, and the dragon attack. Seven soldiers were still in the infirmary recovering from serious burns and other wounds they had sustained. The rest of the soldiers had been given a few weeks off before being sent to one of the nearby forts.

Finally, they had reached the question of what Vara would do now. There had been silence for a few moments, and so Vara had proposed that she stay at the Palace of Kings to help train the new recruits there, giving Galmar more time to focus on their strategy. Ulfric had quickly agreed to the idea, as had Galmar. They had discussed the details of the plan for a little while longer before Galmar had had to excuse himself, leaving Ulfric and Vara alone.

Ulfric had offered to take Vara to lunch, but she had declined with a smile. She needed to see Ninesea and Ambarys. Thankfully, Ulfric had understood and escorted her to the doors of the Palace. She had told him goodbye and promised to attend the council meeting tonight. Now, she was walking along the Grey Quarter, making her way to the Cornerclub.

She opened the rickety wooden door and stepped into the dim room, closing the door carefully behind her. For a few moments, she simply stood in the doorway and looked over the Cornerclub. It was remarkably clean; Ambarys had always hated dirt and grime. In one corner an elderly dark elf woman was sitting and talking in a slow voice to a younger woman, who listened intently. In another corner, a group of dark elf men, likely on their lunch break, laughed and told stories. And standing behind the bar was Ambarys, carefully cleaning out a set of mugs one by one.

Ambarys looked up from the mug he was cleaning, and his eyes met hers. The mug fell from his hand and clattered on the counter, rolling along the wooden surface before tumbling to the ground below. “Varaduilwe!”

Vara smiled and strode over to the counter, picking up the fallen mug and handing it back to the elf. “It’s good to see you, Ambarys,” she declared with a smile, sliding onto one of the stools that stood in front of the bar. “Has Ninesea been by today?”

Ambarys shook his head. “No, but she’ll likely be by soon. She always eats lunch late.” Ambarys looked over Vara, shaking his head in wonder. “The jarl told us that you were alive, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. We were worried the Empire had captured you again.”

Vara looked down guiltily. “I’m sorry about that, Ambarys. I had to keep moving around and I wasn’t able to send any more letters.”

Ambarys waved a hand dismissively. “I understand. Azura knows you can’t stay away from people who need your help, child.”

“I’m not a child. I’ve told you that before,” Vara said with a glare, but there was no heat behind it. “You can pour me a mug of that Ashfire Mead to make up for it.” The dark elf laughed and shook his head but reached underneath the counter and pulled out a bottle anyway.

Vara had just taken her first sip when the door to the Cornerclub opened. She twisted around to see who it was, but before she could finish turning, a loud squeal of delight sounded from the doorway. “Varaduilwe!” Ninesea exclaimed running over to the bar faster than Vara thought should have been possible. “When did you get home?”

“Only last night,” Vara replied with a laugh, gesturing for the dark elf woman to take a seat on the stool next to hers. “Ulfric hogged my time this morning, or I would have come sooner.”

Ninesea’s expression immediately shifted to one of mischievous curiosity. “He did, did he?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Are the two of you finally going to make things official?”

Across the bar, Ambarys shook his head. “She’s been gone for weeks, Ninesea, and that’s the first thing you ask her?”

“It’s a valid question!” the woman protested. “They’ve been dancing around each other for ages!”

Vara couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her at the dark elf’s words. It seemed to bubble out of her, until she was doubled over the bar, laughter pouring out of her until she couldn’t breathe. Finally, she managed to reign in her mirth enough to say,

“Yes, Ninesea, I think we may be. Or at the very least, we won’t be hiding our relationship.” She wiped away a stray tear that had leaked from her eye and continued with a chuckle, “Being almost executed only to be saved by a dragon from the children’s stories has a way of straightening one’s priorities.” Ninesea smiled, looking very much like a proud parent as she did so. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ambarys cut her off.

“So it’s true? The dragons really have returned? What was it like?” he asked, leaning over the bar eagerly.

Vara spent the half hour describing both her infiltration of the Thalmor and Helgen. The two dark elves listened closely, asking questions every now and again when Vara began to ramble. She left out a few of her closer moments with Ulfric, though. Those memories were hers, and she selfishly wanted to keep it that way.

Eventually, Ninesea stood from the counter. “I have to get back to work,” she said with an apologetic smile. “You should come over tonight, Varaduilwe. My husband and I would love to have your company.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but I’m expected at tonight’s council meeting. Maybe tomorrow?”

Ninesea smiled. “That sounds wonderful; if Ambarys can tear himself away from his precious club for a few hours he could come as well.” The man rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything to contradict her. “I’ll see you then. Don’t have too much fun at the meeting tonight!” Vara laughed and shook her head, waving goodbye to her friend as Ninesea left the Cornerclub. It was good to be home.

Chapter Text

Vara stayed at the Cornerclub for another hour or so, talking to Ambarys and the other patrons and generally just enjoying the feeling of being back home where she belonged. The calming atmosphere was a greatly appreciated change of pace from the chaos of the past several weeks.

Eventually, she stood up from the stool and said goodbye to Ambarys. She still had a few hours before the council meeting, but she wanted to visit Wuunferth before then. It seemed like it had been ages since she had seen the old wizard. She smiled to herself and pushed open the door of the Cornerclub, stepping into the crisp Skyrim air.

Vara wound her way through the cobblestone streets, nodding to a few people as she passed. It was a little after two in the afternoon, and the city was alive with people and sounds. People gathered on street corners and exchanged gossip and news, hundreds of words floating through the cool air. Vara lingered at one such spot, listening to the conversations around her.

Most people spoke of the war. Some believed that Ulfric had been too cautious thus far, that they needed to strike and remind the Empire of the strength of the Stormcloak army. Force was the only thing those Talos-forsaken dogs understood, they said. Others disagreed, saying that they needed to stockpile resources and recruit more heavily. Patience would win the war, they argued. But there was one thing everyone seemed to agree on; this war hadn’t truly begun, not yet. And so the people argued tactics with voices that were tinged with worry and anticipation. If the war hadn’t begun, how many more would die before it ended? Vara shook her head, knowing that that was a question no one really wanted to know the answer to.

A few minutes later, Vara found herself standing in front of the door to Wuunferth’s room. She knocked on the wood, pushing the thoughts of war away for now. Right now, she just wanted to spend some time with the old wizard, without the worries of the world hounding her. She faintly heard Wuunferth tell her to come in, and so she pushed open the door, a smile already forming on her lips.

The mage was bent over his alchemy table when Vara walked in, obviously brewing some kind of potion. She stepped up behind him, peering over his shoulder at the brew, which was an otherworldly purple color. As she watched, he dropped in a few dried flower petals, and the potion changed to a glowing red.

“What kind of potion is that?” she asked. Wuunferth started at the sound of her voice, nearly dropping the potion. He whirled around angrily, but the expression quickly faded to one of surprise before shifting to one of happiness and finally changing back to one of anger, all in the space of a few seconds.

“Varaduilwe Oaken-Song,” the wizard said, his voice cold and disapproving. “I see you’ve finally decided to visit.”

Vara frowned in confusion. “I only got back to the city yesterday, Wuunferth,” she explained.

“And yet you found time to meet with Ulfric not once, but twice,” the mage grumbled. “He wasn’t the only person who thought you might have been dead, you know.”

Vara laughed as the wizard’s words registered. “Were you worried for me?” she asked, smiling.

Wuunferth snorted. “Nonsense. I simply didn’t want to have to go through the trouble of finding someone else to gather ingredients for me.”

Vara laughed again, the sound filling the small room. “Of course. How could I have been so foolish?” Her face fell back into a serious expression as she continued, “I’m sorry, Wuunferth. I really am. I just couldn’t return to Windhelm, not when-” Vara cut herself off and looked away, refusing to meet the wizard’s eyes.

She could practically hear the man’s eyebrows furrow as he asked, “What is it, Vara? According to Ulfric, your letter said that you were helping the people of Whiterun. But that wasn’t all you did, was it?”

Vara hesitated in answering. Logically, she knew that she shouldn’t tell Wuunferth the truth if she wanted to keep her secret from Ulfric; the wizard was too close to him. And yet, the idea of having someone in Windhelm that she could talk to about all of this was intoxicating. Already, the burden of her secret seemed to weigh on her shoulders, and she knew that it would only get heavier as time went on.

Finally, she sat heavily in the chair next to the alchemy table, burying her head in her hands. After several long moments, she looked up, meeting the old wizard’s eyes with her own. “No,” she admitted, “that wasn’t all.” She took a deep breath. She could trust Wuunferth with this, she could. The wizard wouldn’t tell Ulfric anything. “I’m the Dragonborn.” The words were heavy in the air.

For a long time, Wuunferth was silent, and Vara could almost see the gears turning in his head as he thought. After several long moments, he asked in a slow voice, “Have you told Ulfric?”

Vara shook her head. “No, I can’t. I don’t know what all I will have to do as the Dragonborn, but I am certain to make enemies. I can’t risk telling Ulfric the truth only for someone else to find out and use him to get to me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want him to look at me any differently, Wuunferth. I want him to still see me, not the legendary savior of Skyrim,” Vara admitted, looking down at her tightly clasped hands.

Once again, the wizard was slow in replying. “Ulfric doesn’t appreciate lies, you know that. If he finds out that you’ve hidden the truth from him-”.

“He won’t,” Vara interrupted, looking back up at the mage. “When the time is right, when he is safe, I’ll tell him. But not now.”

Wuunferth let out a long sigh. “Very well, I will keep your secret, despite my better judgment.”

“Thank you, Wuunferth.”

The wizard only snorted in reply, turning back to his potion. After a few moments, he asked, “Why return to Windhelm? You won’t exactly find any dragons here.”

Vara settled back into the chair as she said, “I killed a dragon in Kynesgrove yesterday with the help of a woman who claims to be one of the last surviving members of the Blades. She believes that the Thalmor may have something to do with the dragons returning, or know something about it at the very least,” Vara explained. “She’s looking for a way to get me inside, but it may take her a couple of weeks.”

“And what will you tell Ulfric when this woman tells you that you have to leave? He’ll want to know why.”

Vara sighed. “I know he will. I’ll figure something out.” She had no idea what she would do, what she would say to convince Ulfric that she had to leave him once again, but she would cross that bridge later. Right now, she didn’t want to think about it. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy being home.

Thankfully, Wuunferth didn’t say anything else about it, and for the next hour or so they talked about a variety of things. They spoke of the war, of Helgen, of the going-ons of the city, and the various potions that Wuunferth was making. The air around them was still heavy with the weight of her revelation, but slowly, the feeling faded and she was able to enjoy speaking with the wizard.

Eventually, however, Vara had to bring the conversation to a close. Standing from her chair, she said, “Thank you for everything, Wuunferth. Are there any ingredients you would like me to get you?”

“I could use a few more mountain flowers, a few thistle branches, and a couple of slaughterfish scales, but don’t bother hurrying. I have a feeling that Ulfric will be keeping you busy enough for a while.”

Vara nodded. “I’ll see you later then.” The wizard didn’t reply; he had already turned back to his potions. Vara chuckled softly and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. For a few moments, she stood in the hallway before she turned and strode toward the doorway that would take her back down to the Great Hall and Ulfric’s war room.

. . .

Ulfric sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the table and his head sat upon his hands as he thought. The meeting didn’t start for several more minutes, but he had decided to come early in order to have some time to ponder the topics that his council was meant to discuss today. Most important of these was, of course, the war. Ulfric was ready to push the Empire back, ready to force them to yield ground to his army. The only problem was finding a good place to strike.

This question was one that he and Galmar had debated into the early hours of the morning several times in the past week. They couldn’t attack anywhere too deep in Imperial territory, or they would risk spreading themselves too thin. They needed to focus their assault somewhere that would hurt the Empire, somewhere that would remind them that the Stormcloak army was a force to be reckoned with. The most obvious choice that fit those requirements was Whiterun, and yet Ulfric found himself reluctant to give the order to attack.

Jarl Balgruuf was a true nord who loved Skyrim and her people, Ulfric knew that. The man hadn’t liked the White-Gold Concordat anymore than he had when he had been forced to sign away Talos. There was a rumor that worship of Talos, while technically illegal, was tolerated within the gates of Whiterun. All of this should have made Balgruuf an ideal ally in this war for their beloved homeland, but the man still refused to choose a side.

Part of Ulfric wanted to send his army crashing over Whiterun’s walls, securing the city in a single vicious strike. It would be simpler; there would be no dancing around words or exchanging carefully indecisive letters. Men on both sides would die in the fight, of course, but that was the way of war. The prize of such a significant city would be worth the cost, however much the thought of his soldiers dying pained Ulfric.

Something held him back, however. He would much rather have Balgruuf the Greater as an ally than an enemy. The man was well respected in all nine holds, and his citizens almost always deferred to his judgment without question. In the minds of many, he was a hero, practical and cautious, always putting the needs of his people first. Having him at his side would be beneficial to Ulfric. The question was, however, how could he persuade the man to join his cause? Ulfric sighed heavily, and his eyes unfocused as his mind slipped deeper into his swirling thoughts.

A soft knock on the door roused him from his thoughts several minutes later. “Come in,” he called, straightening in his chair as he did so. The door swung open, and Vara stepped through, closing it gently behind her.

“You’re here early,” she observed, walking over to him and settling in the chair next to him. As she did so, he noticed that she no longer carried a sword. The one she had made had been confiscated by the Imperials, he knew, but he had figured that she would have gotten another one by now. After a moment, Ulfric realized that Vara was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an explanation.

“I wanted some time to think before everyone else arrived,” he said. “These past few weeks have been eventful, and there are a lot of things to consider when it comes to the decisions I’ll be making tonight. Everyone had been working day and night to prepare, and I’m no exception.”

Vara looked away. “I should have been here,” she muttered, almost too quietly for Ulfric to hear.

He shook his head, smiling slightly. Of course, Vara would find a way to blame herself. “You were where you believed you were needed. If you say that Whiterun and other citizens of Skyrim needed your help, I trust you.” He paused to lean in and plant a small kiss on her forehead. “After the meeting though, I would like to hear more about what you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.”

Something flashed through Vara’s eyes too quickly for Ulfric to identify it, although it was likely another wave of guilt. The woman really did blame herself for things far too often. “Of course,” she replied.

They fell into silence, but it was a comfortable one. Ulfric took the time to examine Vara, his eyes wandering over her, looking for any subtle changes that he had missed this morning. The cut on her face was gone, she had likely healed it using her magic, and the bags he had been able to see under her eyes the night before had faded almost completely. It was obvious that the woman had needed sleep, and Ulfric found himself immensely grateful that she had gotten it.

There were other changes too, ones that he could feel more than he could see. Something about Vara was different, something in the way she held herself. It wasn’t confidence, not quite, she had always been humbly confident in her own way. The way she held herself now seemed to closer to the look of a woman who knew everything she did was being watched and evaluated. That thought made Ulfric frown to himself. Why had this change come over Vara? Could it have something to do with their relationship? Although they hadn’t discussed it in so many words, they had silently agreed that they wouldn’t do anything to hide their love any longer. Did Vara believe she had to behave differently now because of that?

Ulfric opened his mouth to ask that very question, but at that moment, the door to the room opened and his councilors and generals filed in. The men quickly seated themselves, and the meeting began. He would have to save his questions for later.

. . .

Vara listened carefully to the meeting, grateful for the distraction from her thoughts. Ulfric’s earlier request to know more about what she had been doing for the past several weeks had sent her mind plunging into a panicked spiral that she had barely been able to control. She would have to lie to him she knew, or at least disguise the truth, and she hated herself for it. And yet she would be doing it anyway. She pushed those thoughts away, however, and focused once more on the discussion going on before her.

It was obvious that everyone in the room could feel the tension that covered Skyrim like a blanket. Everyone seemed to know that something big would happen soon, and these men were ready to strike out at the Empire, ready to truly begin this war. And yet they were divided as to where they should attack.

“Falkreath would be a perfect start,” argued one of the councilmen, a man whose name Vara couldn’t remember at the moment. “It’s near enough to our forces in the Rift that gathering men for an attack wouldn’t take too much time. It isn’t too well defended, but it is an important supplier of lumber to the Empire’s forces in the area.”

On the other side of the table, one of the generals shook his head. “No, the region isn’t important enough to the Empire for taking it to be a strong enough blow. Those dogs need to know that we aren’t playing their Talos-forsaken games any longer!”

Another general cut him off. “If we strike too hard now, we could overextend ourselves. This war will not be won in one day; we need to be careful.”

The discussion continued. Neither Ulfric or Galmar spoke up as the councilors and generals argued back and forth and among themselves, however. Watching them, Vara could see the two exchanging looks; it was obvious that they had already discussed all of these points before and had been unable to reach a solution they had liked. Finally, one of the generals, Hjornskar Head-Smasher if Vara remembered correctly, addressed Ulfric directly.

“My jarl,” the man said, bowing slightly to Ulfric, “we should send our forces to Whiterun. The city is an important center of trade for both sides, and if we can secure it for ourselves alone, it will be a huge blow to the Empire. Balgruuf refuses to join with us, and if he is not with us, he’s against us!”

A flash of alarm bolted through Vara, and she unconsciously moved to the edge of her seat, turning to look at Ulfric as he considered his response. His brows were furrowed, and it was obvious that he had already given the subject deep thought earlier.

“It is true that Balgruuf has refused to join with me, despite several attempts on my part to persuade him of the justness of our cause,” Ulfric admitted after several moments. “And yet, the man loves Skyrim just as much as each of you. Do we want to destroy such a strong potential alliance before we have the opportunity to form it?”

“We already have such an alliance with Vignar Grey-Mane. If we take the city, we can instate him as Jarl. He and his family hold a strong sway over the city already,” Hjornskar replied. “Wouldn’t it be wiser to rely on a man that has pledged his allegiance to the Stormcloaks over one who refuses to commit?”

Ulfric frowned thoughtfully. Vara could tell from the pain in his eyes that he didn’t like the idea of attacking Whiterun; he didn’t want to waste lives if he didn’t have to. And yet, she could also see the acceptance in his expression. He could see the logic in Hjornskar’s words, and he needed to strike somewhere soon. He would order his armies to march on Whiterun and the one place where Vara felt safe outside of Windhelm would fall, and she would have betrayed the trust Balgruuf had placed in her blindly. And so she spoke up for the first time since the meeting began.

“My jarl, may I propose an alternate solution?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm. Ulfric turned to her, a single eyebrow raised. His eyes locked with hers, and she silently begged him to let her speak. He nodded slowly, and she continued. “Through a series of events over the past few weeks, I have found myself in Jarl Balgruuf’s good graces. The man loves Skyrim and Talos just as everyone in this room does, he has told me as much himself. He despises the Thalmor and their puppet empire, but he will place the safety of his people above even his own most sacred beliefs. If we can convince him that we can keep his people safe from the Empire’s retaliation, he will join us.” As she spoke, Vara’s voice grew more confident. Balgruuf would gladly side with them if they proved their ability to protect his hold.

Ulfric listened to her words silently. She could almost see the gears turning inside of his mind as he thought, and she prayed to Talos that he would trust her. Before he could speak, however, one of the councilmen asked, “How can you be so certain that Balgruuf would be willing to join us? How do you know he wasn’t lying?”

Vara turned to the man. “Worship of Talos is openly allowed within the walls of his city. I highly doubt that they constructed a statue of Talos simply to fool me. Besides,” Vara added, unable to keep the words behind her teeth as she should, “I doubt the Jarl would lie to his own Thane.”

The man’s eyes widened, and next to her, Ulfric turned. “Thane?” he asked.

Vara nodded. “Please, trust me on this, Ulfric. Whiterun is surrounded by Imperial-controlled holds. However, if we can attack and hold Falkreath, Balgruuf would be much more willing to listen.”

“How can we be certain he wouldn’t join the Imperials in the meantime?” Ulfric questioned. “This war is on the verge of something big; Balgruuf would have to be a fool not to feel it. How can you be sure that he won’t decide that the Imperials are the ones who will be able to keep his people safe before we have a chance to prove ourselves?”

Vara answered by turning to Galmar. “How long would it take for our forces to secure Falkreath?” she asked.

“With the way things are now, I would say we could have control of the hold within a month, three weeks if we marched in a few extra companies from the forts in the Rift.”

Vara nodded, turning back to Ulfric. “I can convince Balgruuf to give us a month to prove ourselves.” She held his gaze, hoping her eyes could convince him of her surety. “Jarl Balgruuf is more valuable as an ally than a bitter exile.”

After several long moments, Ulfric slowly nodded. “Very well. We will march on Falkreath, however, I want our border with Whiterun strengthened in case the Empire decides to try and take advantage of our forces being spread out.” Around the table the men nodded, some accepting the order more willingly than others. The rest of the meeting was spent discussing the logistics of the next month. Vara leaned back in her chair, watching and praying that she wasn’t wrong about Balgruuf.

Chapter Text

“So,” Ulfric said, holding open the gate that led to the courtyard for Vara. The woman stepped through, and he followed after her. “Thane of Whiterun? How did that happen?”

Vara laughed as she looped her arm back through his. “It’s kind of a long story, but really, all I did was help his people, like I did with you. Instead of buying me a house, however, he made me Thane.”

Ulfric chuckled. “There is an old saying about becoming Thane of Whiterun. It says, ‘Tell the Jarl of Whiterun that you have helped a cow across the road, and he will tell you that you are a Thane,’. I doubt the saying still applies with Balgruuf, however. He always was a man of careful judgment.”

Vara didn’t reply for several moments. Her eyes had a faraway look in them, and Ulfric could tell that she was thinking of something more than just her newfound position in the courts of Whiterun. Eventually, however, she came back to the present and smiled apologetically.

“Forgive me, Ulfric. These past few weeks have been hectic. I’m still trying to sort everything out in my mind.”

Ulfric nodded his understanding. “Perhaps it would help you to relate the events to someone else? I know you intended to train, but I have nothing else to do tonight. Walk the city with me,” he suggested.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Vara agreed, and Ulfric changed the direction of their walk, guiding Vara now to the gates that led into the city rather than the portion of the courtyard dedicated to training. For a few minutes, they walked in silence before Vara spoke.

“In truth, it’s less the events of the past few weeks that mix in my mind, it’s more of the reason why these things have happened.” Her voice was thoughtful, which only served t make Ulfric more curious about what exactly had occurred. He held his questions back, however, as she continued. “There are people in this country that are suffering, Ulfric, and many of their neighbors watch with emotionless eyes. It’s more than just this war. Our country is missing its soul, Ulfric. I’ve seen it, but I don’t know what more I can do about it.”

Ulfric was stunned into silence for several moments. He hadn’t expected such deep contemplation from Vara. He likely should have; he knew that the woman cared for Skyrim as much as he did. Still, the words took him by surprise.

Finally, he replied as they turned the corner into the marketplace. “Our people have lived in a state of uncertainty and fear for so long. All they can do is look after themselves, feed their own family. The concerns of others only make them feel more acutely their own pain, and so many of them have hardened their hearts to empathy.” He looked over the market, now almost empty as the stall vendors cleaned up in the fading light. “There are some, however, who still feel.”

Vara sighed deeply. “I don’t want you to be the ruler of a broken country, Ulfric,” she said, leaning into his shoulder as they moved, turning now down another street.

The light of the setting sun struck the stone, and for a brief moment, it blazed as a bonfire. The image reminded Ulfric of a conversation he and Vara had once had, and he said, “You once told me that it was only the flames of war that could turn some men into soldiers. Perhaps those same flames can reforge the broken pieces of this country into something new, something stronger.”

“Or they could reduce Skyrim to nothing but ashes.”

“True,” Ulfric admitted, drawing to a stop and turning so that he could face Vara. The flecks of gold in her eyes seemed to glow in the light of the fading sun. “But our people are strong. There are others like you, Vara, who wish nothing more than to aid their fellow countrymen. Several of them fight under my banner already. The others will rise up, and they will inspire others to do the same. This land will not break, the people will not let it.” As he spoke, Ulfric felt the truth of his words, and he knew, somewhere deep within, that it would be through Vara that they would come to pass. Hopefully, she would be at his side when that happened.

Vara smiled slightly. “This is why you will make a wonderful king, Ulfric. You can give these people hope. Thank you.”

Ulfric didn’t reply except to match her small smile and link his arm back through hers, leading them once more down the cobblestone streets of the city they both loved. He hoped that Vara was right. He would one day be king, and it would be his duty to hold the country together. The thought, if he was completely honest with himself, terrified him, but for now, he pushed it aside and focused on the here and now. Turning to Vara, he asked her another question about her stay in Whiterun, and their conversation continued.

Over an hour later, the pair found themselves standing in front of the Temple of Talos. Their conversation had faded with the light, and for a while they had simply walked the streets in comfortable silence. Now, they entered the temple, still linked arm in arm.

As they stepped inside, Jora caught Ulfric’s eye and raised an eyebrow at the sight of them. Ulfric felt his cheeks flush slightly, and he pushed the feeling down. Detaching himself from Vara, he made his way over to the priestess, leading her out of earshot from Vara.

Once they were at a safe distance Jora spoke. “Have you asked her yet?” she asked, her voice excited.

Ulfric glanced worriedly over his shoulder at Vara, who was sitting in the last pew with her head bowed. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have heard the priestess’s words. “No,” he said in a soft voice, “and I’m not sure if I should. Galmar worries that I’m acting too quickly, that this will distract me from the war.”

The priestess smiled in understanding. “An engagement is a serious thing; it isn't something to be done lightly. I must say, however, that there are few if any, in this city who could rival Varaduilwe Oaken-Song in kindness, loyalty, and honor.” Jora walked away before Ulfric had a chance to answer, and after a few moments, he walked over to where Vara was praying and sat beside her. He bowed his head, praying that the Divines would guide him.

. . .

Ulfric left Vara’s side to speak to Jora, the priestess of Talos, and she watched him walk away with a small smile before seating herself on one of the back pews. For a while, her thoughts were peaceful, happy even. Eventually, however, they grew dark as her mid reminded her of the lies she had already told Ulfric, and others, today and of the lies she would soon be telling. She had convinced herself that this was for the best, that she was protecting Ulfric. And she still believed that. Unfortunately, that didn’t keep the pain away.

She wanted to be happy. Talos, she did. She wanted to be able to enjoy the feeling of Ulfric’s arm through hers, of walking the cobbled streets with him. And for a while, she had. Eventually, though, the darkness had crept back in. She felt torn as if she was only halfway in Windhelm. Her other half was standing in the icy courtyard of High Hrothgar, kneeling before the throne of Whiterun, standing over Delphine’s shoulder, worrying. How soon would she be torn from this place? Even with the conflicted pain, she was in, she would rather be here in Windhelm at Ulfric’s side than anywhere else.

That thought calmed her. She would rather be here, despite it all. She knew that she would have to leave eventually, and since she didn’t know when the call would come, she had to make the most of her time. She nodded to herself and looked up from the stone floor, her mind decided.

. . .

Ulfric finished his short but earnest prayer before turning his attention to the woman sitting next to him. Her hair gleamed like fresh snow in the light of the torches that flickered along the walls, carefully braided down her back. He couldn’t see her features with her head bowed, but he could picture them perfectly in his mind. Her strong but delicate jaw, her proud cheekbones, her elegant nose, those perfect lips, and the eyes that he had lost himself in on more than one occasion. A smile crossed his face, and he didn’t bother to hide it. Simply having her next to him was like a glimpse of Sovngarde that he knew he didn’t deserve.

The smile faded into a concerned frown, however, as he looked past the physical details. There was a sense of weariness that still surrounded her, something Ulfric understood well enough. She had been away from her home for over a month; that kind of thing took a toll on a person, especially considering what had happened within that time. Her shoulders seemed to sag a little as if she were carrying a great weight on them. Once again, Ulfric was curious about what had happened while she had been away. He resolved not to ask, however. Vara had already answered his questions with answers that were satisfying, but just vague enough for Ulfric to realize that there was something that Vara didn’t want to talk about. And he respected that. If she changed her mind, she would tell him, and until then, he could be patient. As he came to that decision, Vara looked up from her prayer, and Ulfric glanced away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks, thankfully unnoticeable in the dim light.

Vara touched him gently on the shoulder, and Ulfric turned back to her. “It’s late, Ulfric,” she said quietly. “And we both need sleep for tomorrow.”

Ulfric nodded, standing. “Of course; you start training tomorrow, don’t you?” Vara stood as well, linking her arm back through his as she nodded. Ulfric led them out of the pew and thanked Jora and her husband, who had just stepped out of the room in the back before leaving the peaceful temple.

. . .

The next morning found Vara standing in the middle of the training courtyard in a fresh officer’s uniform, her hands crackling with magic. She had fallen asleep almost instantly the night before, and thankfully, her sleep had been dreamless, which was a rare occurrence these past several weeks. The exhaustion that had been lingering from her return had finally disappeared, leaving her energized and ready to train the newest batch of recruits.

“You are all Stormcloaks,” she told the men and women gathered around her. They were all dressed in their brand new uniforms, and they all gazed at her with varying degrees of surprise, uncertainty, and impatience. “You have all sworn the oath. You have all joined together as the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim. Now, you must become soldiers. I don’t care how good you think you are at swinging a sword or an ax, you have plenty to learn. So let’s get to work!”

As she had done all those months ago, Vara started the day by putting every single one of the recruits on the ground and then challenged them to do the same. She stepped to the side of a particularly solid blow, and as she did so, she remembered the ferocity of a man she had trained, a man who had stood bravely even in the face of his death. A wave of sadness washed over her, and it served only to strengthen her resolve to train these men and women to the best of her ability.

After allowing the soldiers to try and knock her to the ground for several minutes, Vara called them off. “Footwork,” she declared, her voice loud in the crisp air, “is vital. Without it, it doesn’t matter how strong you are, you will fall and you will die. With it, however, you will be able to put more force behind each blow and cause the enemy to overextend themselves in an effort to stumble.” This time, no one questioned her words. Instead, the recruits nodded, ready to learn all that they could. She paired them off and showed them a few basic stances to practice for a little while. Once she was satisfied that the recruits could practice without her constantly peering over their shoulders, she turned away and walked over to where Galmar was standing at the other edge of the courtyard.

“Don’t you trust me to train your soldiers, Galmar?” she asked the general jokingly.

“I thought I’d watch just in case you needed anything, but you seem to have this rabble under control.” The man shook his head. “Ulfric always said that you were special, even in the beginning, but if he had told me that you would be training the future of the Stormcloak army a few months ago, I would have laughed and asked how many bottles of mead he had had.”

Vara chuckled at that comment, turning her gaze to the recruits. “This batch seems grimmer than the last,” she said after a few moments of silence. “The people can feel that the conflict will truly begin soon. This country has been at war for over a year, but the people know that the real danger, the real destruction, is yet to come.”

Vara saw the general nod out of the corner of her eye. “Aye,” he agreed, “the worst of it is on the horizon, and now there are dragons added to the mix.” Vara tensed at the mention of dragons and had to consciously relax as Galmar continued, “It’s as if the gods are testing us. If Skyrim can survive this and come out stronger, we can deal with anything that comes our way. If not…” the man trailed off, and Vara understood the uncertainty that he felt.

“Skyrim will survive, Galmar. We will see to that,” she reassured the general. ‘And I’ll deal with the dragons...somehow,’ she added inwardly, grimacing at the thought. Thankfully, Galmar didn’t seem to notice her inward conflict, and the two of them watched the recruits train in silence for a few more minutes before Galmar sighed and turned back to Vara.

“Ulfric and I have another meeting with the councilors in half an hour to discuss just how we’re going to make sure that Falkreath is waving a Stormcloak flag in less than a month. Talos, how did you manage to get Ulfric and I to agree to this?”

Vara chuckled again. “I can’t say I envy you,” she declared, clapping the general on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Enjoy the meeting.” Galmar only grumbled a reply before stalking off, and Vara turned her attention back to the recruits.

She spent the next several hours training the recruits, most of whom were farmers and merchants and trying her best to turn them into soldiers. Thankfully, they caught on to her instructions fairly quickly, and by the end of the day, they were all able to stay standing for several minutes while she attempted to get them to fall.

Finally, she called them all around her. “You’ve done good work today,” she told the men and women who had pressed closer to hear her, as Vara didn’t bother to shout. They all wore exhausted expressions, but she could sense the pride that lay underneath the surface. These men and women were willing to train, willing to push themselves beyond anything they had ever done before, for their country, and they were proud to know that they could maybe, just maybe, make a difference.

“Tomorrow, we will work with weapons. If this were the Imperial army in the days of peace, we would work on forms for another week, but it isn’t. The war is now, and we have to be ready for it. Training starts an hour after dawn, and I expect everyone here and ready by then. The entire company will stay an hour later to work on forms if anyone is late. Understood?” The men and women nodded, their weary faces grim. Vara looked them each in the eye, holding their gazes for a few seconds, seeing them for who they were. Finally, she nodded to herself, pleased with the passion she saw. “Dismissed.”

Vara watched them file away, their fresh uniforms now sweaty and smeared with dirt. A few of them spoke to one another, sharing stories and laughing through their exhaustion. One day, they would truly become brothers and sisters, and they would rejoice in one another’s happiness and feel one another’s sorrow as sharply as their own. She had seen it; she had felt it. They wouldn’t all make it out of this war to go back to their old lives. Some would fall, some would break, and some would never be the same again. And yet, they were still more than willing to fight. They knew that their freedoms, the freedoms of their families, were worth bleeding and dying for. They knew the world would be better off because they were willing to fight.

As she watched them grow, Vara felt tears come to her eyes because she knew she felt the same way. She had been called as Dragonborn, and when the call came, she would leave. She would leave because she loved WIndhelm, loved Skyrim, too much not to. These men and women were risking their lives to free their country, and it was her duty to make sure that they could fight without the fear of dragons haunting every moment. They were scared, and so was she, but they would all face their duties because they loved this land more than they loved themselves. They valued their freedom more than they valued their own lives.

Tears streaked down Vara’s face, and she fell to her knees, a watery smile spreading on her lips.

Chapter Text

For the next week, Vara worked with the new recruits, slowly but surely turning them from farmers into soldiers. Every now and again Ulfric would stop by the courtyard between meetings, and she would leave the recruits for a few minutes to speak with him. They never had long to talk, but Ulfric always made sure that visited as often as he could, which Vara greatly appreciated. She knew that he was under an enormous amount of stress as he and his council prepared for the assault on Falkreath. Already, they had spies and scout parties moving into place, sending reports back to Windhelm of the weakest links in the hold.

Every evening after Vara had finished training the soldiers she would go down to the Grey Quarter and visit with Ninesea and Ambarys or help out some of the other residents. Once Ulfric was done with his meetings he would come and find her, and the two of them would spend a few hours together. It didn’t really matter what they did, often they simply walked the streets or sat by the fire in the kitchen of the palace, Vara enjoyed the time she was able to spend with Ulfric.

Now, it was Sundas, and the two of them were sitting side by side in the war room in comfortable silence as Ulfric reviewed the deployment plans for a few different companies of soldiers and Vara read through a stack of letters that had been addressed to Ulfric that he hadn’t had the time to look at. Jorleif had asked her to go through them in Ulfric’s place, and Vara had gladly accepted the task as both she and her soldiers had the day off from training.

Most of the letters were from citizens across the hold who were expressing their concerns about various troubles. Vara made note of the most severe ones that were within Ulfric’s power to fix and set the others to the side. A few, Ulfric would need to respond to personally, as they dealt with important matters of the war, and Vara set these in their own pile to one side of the table. A few of the letters were angry messages from people all over Skyrim who were angry at Ulfric for starting this war and disrupting their lives. The letters were nothing but hate and contained no pertinent information, so Vara summoned a careful flame to the tip of her finger and burnt those letters, sweeping the ashes into a neat pile on the edge of the table. Ulfric looked up from his plans at that, but Vara only shook her head. He gazed at her for a moment, shrugged, and went back to his work.

Finally, Vara reached the last two letters in the stack that Jorleif had handed her. The first was addressed to her from Whiterun, and she opened it with eagerness, knowing it contained Balgruuf’s reply to the letter she had sent him several days ago. She scanned through it quickly before saying to Ulfric, “Jarl Balgruuf has responded to our proposal.” Ulfric looked up from his papers, apprehension in his eyes.

“What did he say? Has he agreed to your terms?”

Vara nodded. “Let me read you what he wrote. He said ‘I will give you one month, Varaduilwe, for this plan of yours. I won’t lie, I’d much rather join with Ulfric Stormcloak than the Empire, and if you can show me that the Stormcloak army will be able to protect my people by taking Falkreath, you will have my support. I thank you for what was no doubt an intersession from you on my behalf when Ulfric was coming up with a plan of attack. I know how he feels about this war. Remind him that though I am not with him yet, I am not against him either. Talos guide you both.’”

Vara chuckled as she finished reading the letter aloud. “It seems Balgruuf knows you better than you might believe, Ulfric.”

Ulfric nodded, a relieved smile on his face. “I’m glad that he decided to name you as Thane. I’m not sure if a letter from me or my council would have been received as well,” Ulfric admitted. “Now that Balgruuf has promised to give us the time we need, I can order my generals to begin marching the soldiers down to Falkreath as soon as I finish these deployment plans.” Ulfric nodded to himself, and his eyes took on a faraway look as his mind began to spin through the situation. Vara watched with a slight smile for a few moments—she loved the way his brows drew together as he thought—before turning back to the letter in her hand.

Balgruuf went on to say a few more things about his love of Skyrim and his determination to protect his people at any cost, but towards the end of the page was a paragraph meant just for her. She reread it, and once again found herself grateful that Balgruuf had decided to trust her those weeks ago.

“I got word from a courier the other day that you are staying in Windhelm for the time being,” the letter said. “I won’t ask why you are there instead of traveling the countryside in search of more dragons to slay—I’m not the Dragonborn. However, I must tell you that I am glad you are taking a rest. This country needs you, and you wouldn’t be doing it any favors by burning yourself out. Rest.” Vara smiled to herself, silently thanking the Divines for blessing her with a person like Balgruuf on her side.

Her smile quickly fell, however, when she put Balgruuf’s letter aside and turned her attention to the other one she held. The envelope was dirty and bent in a few places, but Vara could read the name of the sender perfectly clear. Delphine. She ripped the envelope open and pulled out the letter within. It was a single paragraph, hastily written.

“Dragonborn,” it said, “we have a problem. The Thalmor are stepping up their security in light of the recent dragon attacks and expelling all foreigners from their service. My contact has gone missing; he’s probably dead. I have no way to get you into the Embassy now without him. I’ll contact you when I have some kind of plan, but I have a feeling I won’t be able to come up with anything pretty.”

Vara read through the letter a few more times, her fingers clutching the paper tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her mind was churning with a million thoughts and emotions. A part of her was glad that Delphine had been delayed; it meant Vara had more time to spend in Windhelm with Ulfric. Her more logical side, however, was worried. If the Thalmor were stepping up their security, getting the information that they needed was going to be even more difficult and even more dangerous.

Taking a deep breath, Vara read it through several more times, committing the words to memory. Then, she summoned a flame to her finger and carefully burned the letter. It wouldn’t do to have something as incriminating as this lying around where anyone could find it. For several moments, Vara stared at the pile of ash until Ulfric’s deep voice broke through her thoughts.

“Are you alright, Vara?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “You look shaken. What was that letter about?”

Vara shook her head vigorously to clear it before replying. “It’s nothing, just some bad news from one of the people I helped in Whiterun. I’m fine.” Ulfric looked skeptical, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he changed the subject. Gesturing to the many maps and papers that were spread out in front of him, a few overlapping the piles of letters she had made, he said,

“I’ve finished the deployment plans and triple-checked the supply routes. We’re ready to start our march on Falkreath.” He hesitated, and Vara frowned in concern.

“What is it, Ulfric? Is there something wrong with the plans?”

Ulfric shook his head and glanced down before saying in a somewhat embarrassed tone, “Galmar is going to be leading the soldiers and organizing the attacks in Falkreath. He’ll leave either tomorrow or the next day,” he said, and Vara nodded, not quite understanding what the point was. “Among the soldiers he’ll be taking are the men, and woman, that remains of your company. However, I would like you to stay.” Ulfric kept his eyes on the floor as he spoke, refusing to meet her gaze.

Vara let out a chuckle and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m not going to run off to the war, Ulfric. I told you that I wanted to stay in Windhelm and train soldiers, and that’s what I intend to do,” she declared, resting her head against his shoulder. “Unless, of course, you decide to go and fight, and then I would have to come along to keep you out of trouble.”

Ulfric sighed, and Vara could feel as his muscles untensed themselves. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. They stayed that way in silence for several long moments before Ulfric pulled away. “Thank you,” he said. Vara only nodded in reply. Ulfric sighed again. “I need to call a meeting of my generals and let them know that Balgruuf has agreed to the plan,” he stated in a reluctant tone. “You can stay if you would like, but I have a feeling that sitting in on another meeting isn’t really your idea of fun.”

Vara laughed at that and shook her head. “You aren’t wrong,” she admitted with a smile. “I’ll see you later, Ulfric. Try not to take too long.” With those words, Vara placed a quick kiss on Ulfric’s lips before gathering up the various piles of letters to give back to Jorleif and leaving the room.

. . .

The meeting was brief. Ulfric informed his generals of Jarl Balgruuf’s acceptance of the plan and discussed a few of the remaining logistics of the march, but all-in-all, it didn’t take more than half an hour. However. Galmar pulled him aside after the meeting was over.

“You remember how you asked me to look into this ‘Dragonborn’ a few weeks ago?” Ulfric nodded. “Well, I dug around through various reports for as much information as I could, but there wasn’t much to find, and most of it is contradictory,” the general explained, handing Ulfric a slim stack of papers. “All of the reports agree that the Dragonborn is a tall, fair-skinned female, but that’s where the similarities end. Some reports claim she’s an elf, others say she’s a Nord native to Skyrim. No one can agree on what she looks like; apparently, she wears an iron mask at all times. There are reports of her fighting with another woman, but most say she works alone. Apparently, she’s killed at least three dragons, including one in Whiterun.”

Ulfric nodded thoughtfully. “If the Dragonborn was in Whiterun, Vara might have seen her or at least heard of her. I’ll have to ask her if she knows anything about this mysterious woman. Most importantly, we must know where her allegiances lie in this war. If the Dragonborn decides to side with the Empire, it will cause trouble for us. I don’t want to be seen as a tyrant who stood against the destined savior of Skyrim.”

Galmar nodded, his face grim. “Aye. It would be far better if this woman were to join our ranks, or at the very least stay out of the war. To have her at your side would be a powerful symbol. Your combined Voices would topple this puppet empire.”

One side of Ulfric’s mouth twitched upward in a faint grin. “That would be a blessing of the gods. Either way, we need to know more about this woman and her intentions. Assign a few people to keep digging for information about her, and I’ll ask Vara what she knows of the woman.”

Galmar leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of himself. “Speaking of Vara, when are you planning on asking her?”

“I don’t know,” Ulfric stated. “Jora asked me the same thing last week, and I’ll give you the same answer I gave her. I’m still not certain if I even should ask her. You told me that I was being hasty, Galmar, and I respect your judgment, old friend. The time might not be right yet.”

Galmar gazed at Ulfric for several long moments before speaking. “You don’t believe that,” he said at last. “I’ve seen how easily the two of you have become a part of each other’s lives as if you were never apart. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You love her, and whether you ask her to marry you tomorrow or in five years, you will ask her.”

“Yes, I will.” The admission was easy, as Ulfric knew his friend was right. Ulfric couldn’t see himself with anyone else standing at his side in marriage. Regardless of her mixed race and humble upbringing, Ulfric knew that there wasn’t a woman in Skyrim who would make a better queen. Varaduilwe Oaken-Song cared about the people of Skyrim, and that love she had influenced everything she did.

Galmar nodded. “I know, so if the two of you aren’t engaged by the time I get back from this mission in Falkreath I’m going to propose for you.” Ulfric raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Weren’t you just saying that I need to be cautious?”

“You are either going to marry Varaduilwe Oaken-Song or no one, you’ve said as much yourself. Life is short in Skyrim, and so is courtship. If you’re determined to ask her, do it soon before this war truly begins,” Galmar said. “There’s no telling how long this war will take, or even if you’ll both make it out alive. You have to ask her while there’s still some semblance of peace in your lives.”

Slowly, Ulfric nodded. “Very well. I’ll ask Vara sometime in the next month, before you and the men capture Falkreath.”

“Good.” With that, Galmar pushed himself off of the door frame, opened the door, and stepped through, leaving Ulfric alone to his thoughts.

. . .

Ulfric found Vara in the courtyard, training with that lighting staff of hers. Night had fallen by now, and the electricity of the staff and the dim light of the stars were the only sources of light to illuminate her movements. She swept the staff around her, snapping it left and right, always hovering an inch above her skin except where her hands grasped its center. For several moments, Ulfric watched from the entrance of the courtyard, entranced by the elegant movements. Eventually, he shook himself from his dazed and walked forward, approaching her carefully so as not to startle her and wind up on the wrong end of her staff.

Thankfully, Vara noticed his presence before he came too close and dissolved the staff. Stepping closer, Ulfric could see the shining layer of sweat that covered her face, causing bits of hair that had escaped the tight ponytail she wore to cling to her skin. Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion and her eyes shone, even in the darkness of the night. Ulfric couldn’t help but notice just how beautiful she looked even like this.

“How did the meeting go,” Vara asked, breaking Ulfric’s train of thought.

“Hmm? Oh, it went fine, thank you. Galmar and a few of the other generals will march out with several companies tomorrow, and I’ve already sent a few couriers to spread the word to Gonnar Oath-Giver in the Rift. He will march his men to the nearby fort to meet up with Galmar and the others. We’ll have control of Falkreath in a month or less.”

“Good!” she exclaimed before continuing. “You were gone longer than I thought you would be. Did something else come up?”

Ulfric nodded. “A few weeks ago I asked Galmar to put together a report on the Dragonborn for me, and he pulled me aside to talk about it for a while. He said that the Dragonborn is rumored to have killed a dragon in Whiterun a few weeks ago. Do you know anything about that?”

Without the light of the staff to illuminate her, Ulfric couldn’t clearly make out Vara’s expression as she replied, “Balgruuf did say something about the Watchtower being attacked, but he didn’t mention the Dragonborn. Does Galmar have any information on who this Dragonborn is?”

If the question was asked in a too casual voice, Ulfric didn’t catch it. “Apparently most of the descriptions are contrary to one another. All we know is that the Dragonborn is a fair-skinned woman who almost always wears a metal mask. The reports can’t even agree on her race, although I’m inclined to believe she’s a nord.”

“Interesting. Is there any word on where the woman is now?”

Ulfric shook his head. “No. According to the reports, she moves around frequently, which makes her hard to pin down. The most recent news is from about a day before you came back. Kynesgrove was attacked by a dragon, and apparently, she was there to kill it.”

“Kynesgrove? The town just down the road from Windhelm?”

“Aye. I sent extra soldiers to the town a week ago along with a few volunteer craftsmen to help make any necessary repairs. It’s a good thing the Dragonborn was there, though. There’s no telling what that dragon would have done, where it would have gone if she hadn’t killed it.”

“Dragons. Dragons, the Dragonborn, the outlawing of Talos, and a civil war.” Vara’s voice was a murmur, her words almost swallowed up by the night. “The gods truly are testing us.”

Ulfric nodded. “They are, and we will prove worthy. Skyrim will get through this.”

Vara didn’t reply for several long moments, then she shook her head, seeming to drive away some unwanted thoughts. Changing the subject she asked, “Care for a little bit of late-night training? I need to get up early in the morning, but I have a feeling my mind won’t be letting me sleep any time soon. I could use the practice dueling someone more experienced than me.”

Ulfric debated the offer for a few moments. He wasn’t exactly dressed for sparring with his more regal attire, but he could certainly use the opportunity to get some exercise and work out some of his frustration. “That sounds perfect,” he declared. In the night, Ulfric saw Vara smile.

“Then draw your blade, Ulfric Stormcloak, and we will see how you fare against a true storm,” she exclaimed, her hands already beginning to glow with magic. A few seconds later, she was holding a glowing staff of pure electricity that cast a purple glow on her fair features.

Ulfric obeyed the order and drew his sword and as a copy of her grin appeared on his lips, made the first move. His sword clashed against her staff, which despite being made of magic was solid. Before long, they fell into the rhythm of the fight, paying no heed to the steadily darkening night around them.

Chapter Text

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Vara had returned, and Ulfric couldn’t remember when he had last been so happy, even with the threat of all-out war growing with each passing day. With Vara by his side, he felt as if nothing the world could throw at him would knock him down like he could win this war with ease. It was an intoxicating thing.

“You’re doing that thing again,” the laughing voice at his side said.

Ulfric turned to look at Vara, raising an eyebrow. “What thing?” he asked, his smile growing wider.

“The thing where you start smiling for no reason. Honestly, it’s a good thing that the meeting was canceled. I have a feeling your councilors wouldn’t have appreciated you smiling like a fool while they were delivering their reports.”

Ulfric chuckled in reply. “How am I supposed to do anything but smile when I have you by my side?” Vara rolled her eyes at that and swatted him lightly on the arm. Ulfric only chuckled again. The amount of time he had been able to spend with Vara these last few weeks was like a blessing from the gods. Unfortunately, he still hadn’t found the proper way to ask her to marry him yet.

He wanted to do it properly, he knew that. The problem was, he had no idea what properly was. Traditionally, someone who wanted to get married in Skyrim would wear an amulet of Mara in the hopes of attracting the attention of the one they want to marry. That particular strategy, however, wouldn’t work for Ulfric. If he openly wore an amulet of Mara, he would have seven marriage proposals before he made it out of the palace. Besides, he didn’t know if Vara was familiar with that tradition. She was amazingly knowledgeable about a large number of subjects that she wouldn’t have encountered while she lived as a hunter for the vast majority of her life, but Ulfric doubted that marriage rights would have been of any particular interest. No, he would have to find some other way to propose.

Once more, it was Vara’s voice that drew him from his thoughts. “And now you’re doing that other thing where you go silent for ages. I can practically see the gears turning in your head, Ulfric. What were you thinking about?”

Ulfric smiled and shook his head. “Nothing important,” he assured her, glad for once that his father had forced him to take classes to teach him to conceal his true emotions. He doubted that this was what his father had had in mind when he had ordered the classes, however.

Vara looked a little suspicious, but after a moment she shrugged. “Very well. Just try to stay in the present while we’re with Ambarys, Ninesea, and her husband Reyyl. They are already somewhat suspicious of you, and I don’t want them to think you’re being rude.”

Ulfric grew serious as he nodded. “Of course.” He and Vara had been invited to have dinner with the three dark elves. At first, Ulfric had been hesitant to accept the offer. He knew the tensions that existed between the residence of the Grey Quarter and himself, but Vara had pointed out that the offer was a rather significant sign of goodwill, and so now he and Vara were walking down the streets of the Grey Quarter arm in arm as the sun sank lower in the sky.

Before long, they were standing in front of Reyyl and Ninesea’s house. Vara shot Ulfric a reassuring smile before raising her hand and knocking on the wooden door. Before long, movement could be heard within the house, and a moment later the door swung open to reveal a dark elf woman smiling widely.

“Vara! It’s so good to see you!” the woman, who must be Ninesea, exclaimed, and Vara detached herself from Ulfric to give her a hug. After a moment they broke apart, and Ninesea turned to Ulfric. “My jarl,” she said, bowing. Her voice seemed injected with too much cheer, but Ulfric decided to ignore that. She and her husband were extending an olive branch, and Ulfric wouldn’t be so rude as to reject it.

“Please, call me Ulfric. There’s no need for titles here,” he said with a smile. Ninesea looked taken aback but nodded.

“Very well, please, come in. Ambarys just finished making dinner. He’s a much better cook than I am,” the dark elf woman explained, leading them into the house.

As the walked to the dining room, Ulfric took in his surroundings. The house was old and worn down, but he could see the places where its residents, likely with the help of Vara, had worked to improve it. Several sections of the walls were obviously new, the fireplace had been recently rebricked, and the cracks around the window had been carefully sealed. In all, the house had the air of a place that was worn, but well-loved despite its flaws.

They stepped into the dining room, drawing the attention of the two dark elves there. Their reactions were much the same as Ninesea’s had been. Both seemed overjoyed to see Vara, embracing her and sharing smiles, while they were far more wary of Ulfric. He could understand their hesitation, and so he simply nodded to them respectfully, thanked them for their invitation, and requested that they forgo his title while he was within the home. They agreed, and before long, everyone was seated around their table, which appeared to have been lovingly crafted by one of the dark elves; Ulfric didn’t recognize the carving techniques as being Nordic. Vara helped Ninesea serve the food, and before long everyone was eating.

After taking several bites of the food, a dish that Ulfric didn’t recognize but enjoyed nonetheless, he started the conversation. “What is this dish made of?” he asked, directing his question at Ambarys who sat at the head of the table while Ulfric and Vara sat on one side and Reyyl and Ninesea sat on the other. “It’s very good.”

Ambarys smiled. From what Ulfric remembered Vara telling him about the man, Ambarys enjoyed cooking and made all of the meals at his cornerclub on his own. “It’s a family recipe that’s been passed down for generations. It’s very simple really, just good meat, venison in this case, with sauce over saltrice.”

Ulfric nodded. “Saltrice is native to Morrowind, isn’t it? How did you get it out here?”

From across the table, Reyyl spoke up, answering Ulfric’s question by saying, “About twice a year, one of the local ships makes a trip to Morrowind, and all of the residents of the Grey Quarter pitch in to order different things from our homeland. The ship came in a week or two ago.”

Ninesea nodded. “Thankfully Ambarys decided to get something other than Sujamma for once.”

Ambarys made an indignant noise. “The only reason you don’t appreciate my Sujamma is because none of you can hold your liquor. This is why I have to stick to mazte.”

Vara raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that, Ambarys? I seem to recall a night when I out drank you and Reyyl both.”

Ambarys shook his head. “You don’t count, Varaduilwe,” the dark elf declared adamantly. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I have a feeling you could drink an entire case of Sujamma and not even have a headache in the morning. I’d accuse you of cheating somehow, but I was watching you the entire time, and there wasn’t so much as a glow, so you can’t have used your magic. I don’t know how you do it.”

Vara chuckled. “A magician never reveals her secrets, Ambarys.” That response earned a laugh from everyone around the table, and from that point on, the air was far friendlier and the conversation was easy on all sides. Eventually, after the food had been eaten and the dishes cleared away, the conversation turned to more serious matters.

“I heard that soldiers have been sent to Falkreath,” Ninesea said, turning her attention to both Vara and Ulfric. “Is the war truly beginning?”

Ulfric and Vara shared a long look before Ulfric replied. “Yes, I believe it is. I’m expecting word from my general any day now that we have captured Falkreath. It will be a significant blow to the Empire, and we will have to step up our defenses in order to repel the attacks that are sure to come.”

This announcement caused a solemn and thoughtful silence to fall for a few minutes. Eventually, however, Reyyl spoke. “If my legs weren’t crippled as they are, I would join your army, Ulfric Stormcloak.” His voice was grim, and his words caused Ambarys to start in surprise that he couldn’t quite disguise.

“Once, I believed you to be an arrogant man who cared nothing for anyone besides himself. Now, however, I know that that judgement was an erroneous one. Relations between the Nords and Dark Elves are better now than they ever have been, although they are far from perfect. I can tell that you care for Skyrim, and with Varaduilwe at your side, I believe you could make Skyrim a place of freedom and opportunity for all of its inhabitants.”

From the corner of his eye, Ulfric saw Vara tense and glance over at him, worry evident on her face. However, Ulfric wasn’t offended by the man’s words, far from it in fact. “Your first judgment of my character wasn’t entirely false,” Ulfric admitted. “I have always cared for Skyrim, but there have been times where I have allowed my own hatred and false prejudices to eclipse that love.” Ulfric turned to smile at Vara. “Now, however, I have someone to remind me of why I fight. Vara is a light in my life. Without her, I would be lost.”

Vara rolled her eyes. “You should join the Bards’ College if you’re going to make metaphors like that. You could write me a poem or two.”

Ulfric shrugged good-naturedly before saying, “It’s true, Vara.” Those words caused the woman to look down, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. Ninesea let out a soft ‘aww’, which only served to cause Vara to blush even more. After several more minutes of talking, Ulfric and Vara bid their hosts goodbye and stood from the table. Ninesea pulled Vara away to whisper something in her ear, which caused the woman to chuckle quietly then the two embraced, and Vara returned to Ulfric’s side, a small smile decorating her lips.

Once they were outside, Vara turned to Ulfric. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said. “I know it was a lot to ask of you, but I wanted them to see you as I do, to see the man that is willing to give everything to Skyrim and her people, all of them.”

Ulfric smiled. “You’re welcome, Vara. They are good people, and I can tell that they are fiercely protective of you. They more than had the right to see us together and to meet me. I only hope that I was able to do you justice,” Ulfric replied honestly. In truth, he really had enjoyed being able to talk to Vara’s dark elf friends; they had given him a greater insight into the struggles that the dark elf population of WIndhelm faced, but they had also reaffirmed Ulfric’s belief that the dark elves were willing to try and reach some form of harmony with the nords.

Vara smiled brightly. “You did, Ulfric, of course you did. One day, you will be king, and it won’t be just the nords who support you,” Vara declared, and her voice held such a firm conviction in it that Ulfric couldn’t help but believe her, at least for now. Linking his arm through hers, he led her down the streets of the Grey Quarter, beginning the walk to her home.

. . .

After kissing Ulfric goodbye, Vara stepped into her home. She was about to head straight upstairs to her bed, when something caught the corner of her eye, laying on the floor right in front of the door, a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been shoved under her door. Vara bent down and gingerly picked the parchment up. In a daze almost she stood and walked toward the nearest chair, absentmindedly flicking her wrist to light a few nearby sconces as she went. She sat heavily in the chair, her features frozen in terrified shock as she read the letter.

“Dragonborn,” it began, “I’ve found a way to get you into the Embassy. It’s going to be messy and dangerous, and you won’t like it, but we have to get the information that the Thalmor have on these Talos-forsaken dragons before anything worse happens, and you’re the only one who can do that; they know my face too well.

“I can’t get you in under the disguise of a party, but we can use the next party that Elenwen will throw as a distraction.” At those words, Vara felt a sickening unease make itself known in her stomach, and the feeling only continued to grow as she read on. “You’ll have to get yourself captured. As the Dragonborn, the Thalmor would love to question you and find out what you know about the dragons and the Thu’um. Those greedy skeevers will do anything for a bit of knowledge. They won’t kill you, though; you’d be far more valuable to them alive, and we can use that to our advantage.

“In three weeks, Elenwen will be hosting a party in order to ‘foster goodwill’ between the Thalmor Embassy and the elite of Skyrim. During this time, security around your cell will be the most relaxed, and then we will be able to get the information that we need.”

The letter went on to explain what Vara would need to do, including a recipe for a potion she could take that would allow her to access her magicka, even if the Thalmor put her in shackles that were designed to cut her off from it. The potion’s effects lasted for weeks, as Delphine was certain that in order for the Thalmor to not be suspicious, Vara would have to allow herself to be captured weeks before the party. In fact, Delphine wanted her to leave as soon as she was able to. Another list was attached with the locations of various Thalmor scout parties and patrols as well as suggestions on how to get herself caught by them without raising their suspicion.

For what seemed like hours, Vara stared at the pieces of parchment in her hand, her mind in too much shock to truly comprehend what she had just read. Eventually, however, the realization crashed into her, and Vara began to shake uncontrollably. Waves of tears rolled down her cheeks, and she held the papers in a white-knuckle grip as she rocked back and forth in the chair, very nearly falling off of it.

She had to leave Windhelm, and she had to do it soon, tomorrow. Not only did she have to leave, she had to figure out how to tell Ulfric that she was leaving. What could she say that wouldn’t make him hate her? It was rather obvious from the various comments he made that he believed the Dragonborn to be a strong nord woman who had grown up in the ancient traditions and was the perfect symbol for Skyrim to look to in these dark days. How disappointed would he be when he realized that the Dragonborn wasn’t some hero of legend but her, lowly Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, the half-blooded mage who had lived in the woods all of her life?

Those thoughts scared her, but the one that truly terrified her to her core was the thought that she had to willingly give herself over to the Thalmor. Those monsters had already tortured her once, and she knew that what had been done to her was mild in comparison to what would happen to her when they had weeks to play with her and try out all their latest inventions on her. She shuddered, and another sob escaped her, triggering a fresh wave of red-hot tears. These people, although she wasn’t sure they deserved that title, had killed her parents in cold blood, and she was supposed to just deliver herself to them!

Vara fell from the chair and onto her knees, burying her face in her hands and staining the parchment with her tears. Why had the gods chosen her of all people as the Dragonborn? What had she done to deserve this painful responsibility? Because she knew she couldn’t run from her destiny. She knew that in the morning she would put on that metal mask once again. She knew she would leave Ulfric and Windhelm behind. She knew that she might never return. She knew, and she would do it anyways. Her tears continued to fall.

Chapter Text

Vara woke slowly. Her back and shoulders ached, and as she gradually became aware of where she was, she realized that she had fallen asleep on the floor in front of the chair she had sat in the night before. Rising slowly to her knees, Vara looked down at the ground around her, illuminated by torches that were almost burned out. There at her side was the letter from Delphine, although it hardly resembled a letter anymore. Her tears had caused the parchment to tear in several places, and she had crumpled and uncrumpled the paper so many times throughout the night that most of the words had been smudged beyond all recognition. But she didn't need to be able to see the words. No, the contents of that letter had been seared into her brain letter for letter, word for word. She felt tears begin to pool in her eyes, but she blinked them away. If she started crying now, she would never leave. And she had to leave.

Standing, Vara made her way to her room. She ignited the torches there, the flickering light catching the edge of her metal mask that she had shoved under her bed weeks ago. Now, she pulled it out, and for several moments, she simply held it in her hands, staring at the engraving. With a heavy sigh, she placed it on the floor next to her and pulled out the rest of the supplies she would need, her armor, bag, and several potions. She changed into the armor; it wasn't so conspicuous as to draw attention or look out of place in the city, and placed her mask in the bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

She still needed the potion that Delphine had given her the recipe for. She didn't have the skill or the resources to make something that complex, she knew, which meant she had to go to the Palace. A bolt of fear ran through her. She couldn't face Ulfric. If she spoke to him, if she told him the truth, he would forbid her from leaving, and she would obey the order. She knew that like she knew her own name. She had realized that she couldn't tell him the full truth of what she was doing late last night, and so she had written him yet another letter. He would hate her for leaving, she knew, but hopefully, the letter would be enough to convince him not to go after her. If Ulfric decided to storm the Thalmor Embassy in search of her, all of the careful planning Delphine had done would be wasted. With her mind made up, Vara walked back down the stairs and carefully picked up the letter she had written to Ulfric, placing it in her bag and stepped into the still-dark city, leaving her home for what might be the last time to find Wuunferth. Hopefully, the wizard would help her.

. . .

"No!" Wuunferth bellowed loudly enough to make Vara's ears twitch at the sound. "There is no way in Oblivion that I will help you throw your life away, Varaduilwe! This plan is madness, surely you can see that!"

Vara let out a heavy sigh. "I have to do this, Wuunferth. We need information on the dragons, and if Delphine says that the only way to get that information is through the Thalmor, then I believe her. She's a Blade, Wuunferth, this is what she's been doing for all her life."

"And some of Ulfric's councilmembers have been in politics for all of their lives; that doesn't make them good at it!" Wuunferth retorted. "I will not let you be tortured by those fiends for weeks on end with the barest hope of finding what you need." His voice was quieter now, but each word was heavy with concerned anger. "There has to be a better way."

Vara sat heavily on the chair by Wuunferth's side and buried her head in her hands. "If there is, I can't see it. If the Thalmor are suspicious of me, they'll kill me. I can't risk that. I don't want to do this, Wuunferth. I don't. But if I don't, who will? I'm the Dragonborn; this is my duty."

"Your duty," Wuunferth said angrily, "is to slay dragons, not be interrogated by monsters." He turned away from her, and Vara could hear him take several deep breaths before turning back. "Say you have to be captured and interrogated, say that's the only way. Why does it have to be for weeks?"

"I told you this before, I can't risk making the Thalmor suspicious," Vara replied wearily.

"But why two weeks? Would it really be that suspicious of you to be captured a few days before? It's not as if you're surrendering to them," Wuunferth pointed out, his brows drawn together in a look of deep thought. "The Thalmor are cruel and cunning, but I doubt that they would see your arrival as anything other than a blessing from their gods. Above all else, they are sadistic. They'd be too pleased by your sudden appearance to look too deeply into things."

Vara nodded slowly. "You might be right." She paused for several moments before looking up into the wizard's eyes. "Will you do it then? Will you make the potion if I follow your plan? I can take a carriage to Whiterun and spend a few days there before making my way towards Solitude. I'll go slowly, and I won't engage any Thalmor until a few days before the party."

Wuunferth held her gaze for a long time, and Vara could see the conflicting emotions battling within him. He wanted to protect her, but he knew that she had to go, and without his help, her plan would fail. Eventually, the wizard let out a long sigh before nodding reluctantly. "I'll help you. I don't want to, but I will, if you promise me one thing, you have to tell Ulfric the truth in person." Vara opened her mouth to argue, but Wuunferth continued before she could get a word out. "It doesn't have to be the whole truth, but you have to at least tell him who you are. He deserves to hear it from you, not read it on a scrap of parchment."

Vara hung her head, closing her eyes to stop the tears from falling. Wuunferth was asking her to do the very thing she had told herself she couldn't do without falling apart. How could he expect her to face Ulfric and still be able to leave him? How could she see the hurt and betrayal on his face without staying behind to mend the wounds she knew she would cause?

"Vara. Do you understand me? If you want my help, you have to speak to Ulfric." Vara nodded miserably. "Very well. He should be awake by now. If you ask Jorleif, I'm sure he can tell you where Ulfric is. Now go, I'll have the potion ready by the time you get back."

Wordlessly, Vara stood and wiped away her tears before leaving the room.

. . .

Ulfric paced his room anxiously. He had finally decided late last night after he had taken Vara home how to propose. He had decided against the amulet already, but after several hours of agonizing over what else he could do, his eyes fell on the ring he wore. It was a signet ring, one that marked him as a member of the house of Stormcloak, the rightful heirs of the throne of Windhelm. Everyone in his family had one made when they came of age, and his father had sent him his while he had been studying at High Hrothgar, only a few months before he left the monastery to join the army and fight in the Great War. He had taken the ring off only while he was fighting, as it didn't fit under his gauntlets. That was what had spared its destruction when he had been captured by the Thalmor. In all, it was a powerful symbol. And that was when he had decided.

The blacksmith must have thought him insane when Ulfric knocked on his door at midnight and requested a copy of the ring made but in a smaller size. The man had agreed to the job of course, even when Ulfric had added that he wanted the finished product by the next morning. There were a few perks to being the jarl, he supposed. Now, he was waiting for the blacksmith's apprentice, a young woman of considerable skill, to deliver the ring.

Once it arrived, Ulfric knew exactly what he would do. It was still early yet, and the group of soldiers Vara had been training had been deployed two days earlier, so the woman would likely still be at home. He would take the ring with him and knock on her door, praying to Talos that she was awake. Then, when she opened the door and invited him inside as she always did, he would pull the ring from his pocket and kneel in front of her, asking, begging her to marry him. And hopefully, she would say yes. It wasn't exactly the traditional way to ask a woman's hand, but Ulfric had a feeling Vara would appreciate it anyway. Divines, he hoped she would.

At that moment, the door opened, and Ulfric whirled around. The young apprentice stood in the hallway, a small package in her hands. "Here's the item you requested, my jarl," she said with a bow. Ulfric took the package eagerly and unwrapped it, revealing a gleaming silver ring inside, engraved with the image of a roaring bear with amethyst eyes.

"It's perfect," he told the woman, not taking his eyes from the ring. He could practically picture it sitting on Vara's finger; it would look beautiful. "Tell your master that he can charge the price to my steward. And please, give him my sincerest thanks," Ulfric said, finally looking up. The woman nodded and bowed once more before leaving the room, closing the door carefully behind him. With a large smile, Ulfric pocketed the ring, pulled on his cloak, and left his room. It was time.

. . .

Vara stepped carefully into the great hall, praying that Ulfric wasn't there. Of all the places, it was likely the worst to have an argument with him in; there were far too many prying ears and watching eyes. Thankfully, the man was nowhere in sight, and so Vara made her way over to Jorleif.

"Do you know where I can find Ulfric?" she asked the man, doing her best to keep her voice steady. There was no need to have everyone see her break down and cry. No, she would allow herself this small dignity.

The steward frowned. "He just left. I believe he went to your home to call on you. Did he not tell you he was coming? He looked very happy."

Panic flashed through Vara, but she shoved it down. "No, he didn't. Thank you, Jorleif, I'll go and find him."

She left the palace quickly, her mind surging with questions. What did Ulfric want? What was so important that he would leave the palace early in the morning to find her, even when he knew that they had planned to have lunch together? What was it that was so important that he couldn't wait until then? Maybe he had finally received word from Galmar that Falkreath had been captured. Shaking her head, Vara sped her feet, making her way back to her home. It was better to just get this all over with.

She finally caught up with Ulfric right outside of her house, seconds before the other man raised his hand to knock on her door. "I'm not home," she said, by way of greeting, trying her best to keep her emotions from her voice. She didn't need this conversation to be horrible from the very start.

Ulfric turned around, his features showing surprise. That surprise, however, quickly turned to concern. Evidently, Vara hadn't done a good enough job at concealing her emotions. "Vara. I was looking for you. I was going to ask you something, but..." he trailed off, and Vara saw his features could with an emotion she couldn't identify before he shook his head. "Are you okay?"

"No," Vara answered honestly. She couldn't help herself. Seeing Ulfric standing in front of her, concern etched into his strong face made her willpower dissipate like fog on a sunny day. "I'm not. I have something to tell you, Ulfric, but you might need to sit down. Follow me." Ulfric looked like he wanted to say something, or reach put to her, but he didn't. Instead, he obeyed the command and followed after Vara as she stepped past him and opened the door to her house.

She lighted the torches with a flick of her wrist and gestured for Ulfric to sit in one of the chairs. He did, and Vara leaned against the wall across from him. They stayed that way in silence for a few moments, as Vara tried in vain to gather her courage to say what needed to be said.

Eventually, Ulfric broke the silence. "Vara? Is something wrong? You look upset. Did I do something?" he asked, his voice soft and hesitant. At those words, Vara shook her head and had to blink back tears. No, he hadn't done anything wrong. Of course he hadn't. No, it was she who had sinned.

"No, Ulfric, you haven't done anything," Vara assured, trying to keep her voice steady with some success. "It's me. I've been lying to you, and it's time for you to know the truth." At this, she had to take a deep breath and look away from Ulfric's concerned face. Divines, why did he have to make this so hard by being so good?

"I told you that when I was in Whiterun, all I did was help the people there. That's only partially true. While I was in Whiterun, something happened, something that changed me." Vara looked back at Ulfric and saw the confusion in his eyes. And yet, that confusion couldn't completely mask the other emotion that dwelt there, love. Ulfric loved her, and now she had to go and destroy that love.

Vara took a deep breath, and then told him the truth of what had happened in a single, rushed sentence. "A dragon attacked a watchtower near the city, and Balgruuf asked me to help kill it, as I had already proven myself to be a capable fighter; I did, and when the dragon died, I absorbed its soul, and the soldiers named me Dragonborn." Vara looked away, unable to meet Ulfric's gaze. "The shouting that you no doubt heard weeks ago was the Greybeards, calling me to High Hrothgar. I answered their summons, and they confirmed that I was the Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn. Now, I'm working with a member of the Blades to learn more about the dragons and how to stop them. I have to leave, Ulfric." Vara glanced back at Ulfric and saw the confusion and disbelief there. He couldn't believe what she was saying, and Vara understood that.

"I know that this is hard to believe. I know you thought that the Dragonborn was a nord, and maybe it should have been, but it's just me. I'm sorry for lying to you, but this was the only way to keep you safe."

There was a painful silence for what seemed like hours. It weighed on Vara's chest, making her chest hurt, made it hard for her to breathe. Finally, Ulfric spoke. "You're the Dragonborn?" Vara nodded, unable to meet his searching gaze. "And you didn't tell me?" Again, she nodded. "And now you have to leave? Why?"

"The Blade I'm working with is convinced that she knows someone who can get us the information we need about the dragons in order to stop them from coming back to life. I have to meet with them and get the information before it changes hands again," Vara explained in a broken voice. "I can't tell you any more than that."

"Why?" Anger was beginning to creep into Ulfric's voice, and even though she expected it, it still hurt like a dagger to her heart.

"Because. I'm trying to keep you safe, Ulfric. Even telling you this much is dangerous. You can't tell anyone what I've told you here. I can't risk someone finding the connection between us and using you to get to me," Vara said, and she met his eyes, begging Ulfric to understand the severity of her words.

"Protect me?" The anger was obvious now. "How does lying to me protect me? Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

Vara looked away once more, unable to stand to see the anger in his eyes. "I am going to make enemies, Ulfric. The fewer people know that the Dragonborn is associated with you, the safer you will be from those enemies. Besides," she added in a softer voice, "I didn't want you to see me differently. Everyone looks at the Dragonborn as a mythical savior of Skyrim, as a woman who knows exactly what needs to be done. I didn't want you to see that image instead of seeing me for who I am."

From the corner of her eye, Vara saw Ulfric shake his head. "I'm not sure I know who you are, Vara," he admitted. "I always knew that you were different, but I didn't think you would be the Dragonborn. But it's more than that," the severity of Ulfric's voice caused Vara to look up, and she caught his eyes. "I never thought that you would lie to me, not about something this important. I thought that I could trust you."

The tears that had been pooling in Vara's eyes throughout the conversation fell now. They fell in a torrent, and she could barely get the next words out. "You can trust me, Ulfric. I swear it. All I wanted to do was protect you and me. I didn't want anything to change between us."

"And yet, it has. You're leaving me, Vara, again, and you can't even tell me where you're going. What am I supposed to tell the council when they find out that you've abandoned your duties?" Ulfric demanded, his voice sharp.

"Tell them that I've gone to deliver the news to Balgruuf that Falkreath has been captured," Vara said. "Tell them I've gone to attend to my duties as Thane. Tell them anything, anything but the truth."

"You want me to lie to my council?"

"Yes. You don't know who can trust. You've already been betrayed once," Vara's voice was quiet, nothing more than a whisper.

"Apparently so," Ulfric said with a snarl and stood from his chair. "Goodbye, Vara. Don't come back until you're sure you can stay." With those words, Ulfric strode out of the house, the door slamming behind him.

Vara sank to her knees and cried until there were no tears left. And then she stood, her face a blotchy mess, and left the house to find Wuunferth.

Chapter Text

The wooden wheels of the cart creaked and rattled over the road, keeping Vara from sleep. She had tried closing her eyes, but the sound of the wheels bouncing over rocks and grinding across the ground reminded her too much of her trip to Helgen. She had been riding to her death that day, and she couldn't help but wonder if this trip would be any different. Her hand reached into one of the pockets on her belt, and she fingered the small glass vial there. Wuunferth had made her the potion, as he had promised he would. She wouldn't take it until she was near the Thalmor, though. She couldn't run the risk of it wearing off and leaving her trapped in the clutches of the Thalmor. The thought made her shiver, and she shook her head, banishing it. She leaned back against the wood, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. They were a few hours away from Whiterun now having traveled through the night, and Vara needed to rest at least a little before they arrived. After telling the driver to wake her when they reached Whiterun, Vara stretched out on the bench and willed herself to sleep.

. . .

Ulfric paced the small room, his thoughts a mess of memories and emotions, feelings of her. She had left him, lied to him, and yet he found himself wishing that she was by his side. She had been gone less than a day, and already he missed her. What did that say about him? About how completely Vara had him wrapped around her finger? Already, he regretted his angry outburst, his demand that she leave and not return until she was certain she could stay. And now, he didn't know if she would ever come back to Windhelm, back to him.

"Ulfric, if you don't stop pacing, you'll wear a trench in that stone," a gravelly voice stated. Ulfric turned around to face his old friend, sighing heavily.

"I'm just worried, Galmar. Vara refused to tell me where it was that she was going or what she was doing. Why wouldn't she tell me unless it was something dangerous? She looked scared, Galmar, and that fear was about more than just my reaction to her lies. What have I done?" Ulfric sat heavily in the chair across from Galmar and buried his head in his hands.

For a while, Galmar was silent. Eventually, however, he stood from the chair and crouched in front of Ulfric, looking him in the eyes. "You reacted just as anyone would when faced with a lie, especially one as large as what Vara was hiding. She would have left with or without your actions, Ulfric, she told you as much herself. You can't blame yourself for her choices."

Ulfric sighed before nodding. "I know she would have," he admitted. "I just can't help but worry. If she gets hurt, I won't know about it, not until the rest of Skyrim knows too. I want to be able to protect her, Galmar, but instead, I pushed her away." He buried his face in his hands once more, closing his eyes to stop the tears from escaping. "I was going to propose last night," he whispered through his fingers. "I was going to ask her to marry me, and now she's gone."

At those words, Galmar was silent. Instead of speaking, he laid a hand on Ulfric's shoulder. They stayed that way in silence for several moments, until a knock sounded at the door. Ulfric looked up, quickly blinking away his tears and forcing his face into a neutral expression before he called for the person to come in. The door opened to reveal Wuunferth; the mage stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind him.

"I informed Ninesea and her husband as well as the Cornerclub owner, Ambarys, of Vara's departure," he stated. "They seemed surprised, but they believed me when I told them that you had sent her to deliver news of Falkreath's capture to Whiterun. Apparently, they were aware of her status of Thane in that hold."

Ulfric nodded. "Thank you, Wuunferth," he said. "I don't like having to lie to the entire city about where Vara is and why. It would be so much simpler if we could just tell everyone the truth."

Wuunferth shook his head. "Would it? Don't you think that telling everyone that the Dragonborn is really Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, the Jarl of Windhelm's romantic interest, would only put a larger target on both of your backs? As wrong as it was for her to lie to you, Vara did have a good reason. She knows that the Thalmor and their puppet Empire will do anything to get you out of the way, Ulfric, and if they knew that the Dragonborn was a Stormcloak sympathizer, it would only hinder her. As much as you hate the idea, Vara is going to need cooperation from everyone, including the Empire, in order to put a stop to this dragon threat," the wizard pointed out in a tone carefully devoid of too much emotion. Wuunferth knew something more than what he was telling, but Ulfric knew that the mage wouldn't divulge his secrets freely, especially if he had promised Vara that he would keep them.

Ulfric sighed again, the sound heavy in the room before he stood. "I need to meet with my councilors. They need to be informed of Falkreath's capture, as well as Vara's departure. The quicker we get the information to them, the fewer rumors will spread through the city about Vara's absence. Both Galmar and Wuunferth nodded. "Galmar, I would like you to deliver a full report of everything that happened during the attack to the council, the same report you gave me. Wuunferth, I'd like you to gather the council." Both men nodded once again and left the room, closing the door behind them.

As soon as they had left, Ulfric's head sunk once more into his hands, and the tears he had barely been able to hold back leaked from his eyes until they were pouring down his face in torrents. Vara was gone, and he wasn't sure if she was ever coming back, and he couldn't do anything to help her. He was trapped here, helpless. Eventually, the tears stopped, and Ulfric was able to compose himself. Vara might be gone, but he was still the Jarl of Windhelm, and he had a job to do and a war to win.

. . .

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Vara woke just as the driver touched her shoulder. "We're here, miss. Would you like me to show you to the inn? The beds there are better for sleepin' than this wood."

Vara shook her head. "No, thank you, sir. I know where it is. Thank you for the ride," she said, stepping down from the carriage as she spoke. The man only nodded and wandered away to speak with the owner of the stables. For a moment, Vara stood behind the carriage, her feet unwilling to move. Finally, she squared her shoulders and adjusted her mask before striding away from the carriage and toward the city gates.

She reached Dragonsreach half an hour later. No one had stopped her in the streets, unlike the first time she had been in the city. She could blame the metal mask she wore for that. The rumors of the Dragonborn were conflicted, she knew, and she doubted that many, if any, of the citizens of Whiterun knew who she was, but the mask gave her a dangerous, authoritative air, and the people gave her a wide berth. The guards outside of Dragonsreach didn't even question her as she stepped passed them and pushed open the door, striding into the Great Hall with a confident air. Vara had realized, sometime when her mind had been spiraling out of control over the past two days, that the most important part of being the Dragonborn was going to be acting. She was a symbol of Skyrim, and the people needed to see strength and confidence when they looked at her, even when confidence was the last thing she felt.

She walked up to Balgruuf's throne and knelt in front of it, drawing the jarl's attention away from his steward, whom he had been arguing with. Vara felt his eyes sweep over her a few times, and she knew that he was searching for something in her. She wasn't sure whether or not he had found it, but eventually, he ordered her to rise. "Dragonborn," he said, "what brings you here?"

"Good news, my jarl," she replied after she had stood, injecting false cheer into her voice. Evidently, she didn't do a very good job of concealing her true emotions, for Balgruuf narrowed his eyes.

He turned to his steward. "Cancel my meetings for the rest of the day," he ordered the man. Then he turned back to Vara, "Follow me, Dragonborn. We should speak in private." Vara obeyed the order, following the jarl out of the Great Hall and to the large porch where the soldiers of the city guard often trained. With a wave of his hand, Balgruuf ordered the area to be cleared, and the men who had been training there quickly left, swords and bows still leaning against practice dummies, arrows still stuck in the straw.

Balgruuf gestured for Vara to sit, and she did. He took the chair across from her, and for a few moments, they were both silent. Eventually, Balgruuf spoke. "You don't need to keep that mask on here. No one will disturb us." Vara nodded and pulled the metal mask off, her mussed hair falling down around her, sweaty from being held next to her scalp for so long. She ran her fingers through her hair, combing it a little in an effort to make it lie flat instead of the tangled mess it was.

"You look tired, Varaduilwe," he stated, and Vara couldn't find it within herself to argue otherwise. She was exhausted down to her very soul, and it was only going to get worse over the next few weeks. "Why are you here?"

"I do have good news for you, my jarl," she said. "I left before the report was official, but I can tell you that Falkreath is now under Stormcloak control. General Galmar Stonefist is likely debriefing Jarl Ulfric as we speak."

A smile crossed Balgruuf's face, and although it was brief, Vara could see the happiness he felt. This man had never wanted to join with the Empire, and doing so would have killed him inside, although he would have for the safety of his people. And now, the Stormcloaks had relieved him of that painful choice.

"That is good news indeed," he said. "I will send Ulfric a letter pledging my allegiance tonight. Thanks to your efforts, my people will be safe, and they will be free to worship the Gods as they choose. Thank you, Varaduilwe; I know you must have interceded on my part."

Vara bowed her head slightly. "It was my pleasure. I can see the love you have for your people, my jarl. I knew that you would do anything for them, and I knew that that love would be far better in an ally than an enemy. I managed to convince Ulfric of that easily; I have a feeling he wasn't too eager to make an enemy of you."

The corner of Balgruuf's lips turned up slightly, but the smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "There is something more to your visit, Varaduilwe; as much as Ulfric values our alliance, he could have sent a letter informing me of Falkreath's capture, rather than one of his commanding officers, he pointed out. "Why are you really here?"

Vara sighed and ducked her head, avoiding eye contact with the man across from her for several moments. After a heavy silence, Vara looked back up and said, "I need to infiltrate the Thalmor. They have information about the dragons that I need, but in order to reach it, I'll have to get myself captured and wait until they are distracted enough to break free."

Balgruuf's eyes widened. "You're going to willingly allow yourself to be captured by the Thalmor? Do you know what those elves are capable of?" he questioned, concern lining his voice.

Vara nodded. "I do, but it needs to be done. I came here in hopes of lying low for a few days before I head to Solitude. I plan to allow myself to be captured about a week from now."

Balgruuf looked at her like she had just suggested a stroll through the Shivering Isles. "The Thalmor are relentless and sadistic. What made Ulfric think this was a good idea?"

The sharp, concerned words caused Vara to look away. "He doesn't know," she admitted in a small voice. "I told him that I needed to leave in order to find information about the dragons, but he doesn't know that the Thalmor have anything to do with it. If he knew the truth he never would have let me leave."

"I can understand why," Balgruuf stated, sounding pained. "How can I, in good conscience, allow you to leave, knowing you could very well be heading to your death?"

Vara found herself repeating much of what she had told Wuunferth a day before. "I'm the Dragonborn. The Thalmor will want to know about me, how I do what I do. That will keep them from killing me long enough for me to get the information that I need."

Balgruuf looked doubtful, and Vara could see the conflict that was raging in his mind. After several moments, he shook his head and leaned wearily back in his chair. "I have to trust that you're right. You are the Dragonborn, and the Gods have put you on the world for a reason, hopefully, they won't allow you to leave it before you've completed that purpose." He paused for a few moments. "I need you to promise me something, though."

Vara nodded, curious.

"Promise me that you will make it out of there alive and that when you do, you will rest. Whatever it is that the Thalmor have information on can wait. You'll need time to recover," Balgruuf said, and he held Vara's eyes with his own until she nodded slightly.

"I promise," she said.

"Good. Now, what can I do to help? It takes three, maybe four, days to reach Solitude on foot from here; what do you need from me for the next week?"

Vara looked the jarl in the eyes for a few moments before replying, and the two of them discussed things for the next few hours until the sun began to set, turning the sky to blood.

. . .

"Now that Falkreath has been captured," Ulfric continued, addressing his council, "we can count on Balgruuf the Greater's support. He is a man of his word, and he will side with us. By now, Vara will have delivered the news to him, and I expect a letter pledging his allegiance within the next two days. Now, we need to plan our next move."

The men around the table nodded. It would be important for them to move quickly. Now that they had taken territory from the Imperials, the Empire would be looking for a way to strike back. They had to be ready for any possibility.

"We need to train the men in Whiterun," one of the generals mused. "They can fight, of course, I heard a group of them was able to take down a dragon, but they need to learn to work together with Stormcloaks at their side. Would Oaken-Song be able to do that?"

Ulfric's heart clenched at her name, but he pushed the feeling aside and shook his head. "No. Varaduilwe will be busy doing specialized missions for the Jarl of Whiterun, and I don't know how soon she will be able to return. I'll send someone to work with the soldiers in Whiterun within the next week," Ulfric decided. He would have to wait long enough for Vara to be out of the city, however. Talos he hated lying to the people he was supposed to be able to trust with his life! But the thought of Vara getting hurt because Ulfric had said too much to the wrong person held his tongue in check.

"I'll go," Hjornskar, a general who hadn't yet been assigned a permanent post said. Ulfric nodded.

"Very well. At the end of this week, you will leave for Whiterun with two companies. We need to be sure that Whiterun is protected. As soon as the Imperials find out that Whiterun, the center of their trade with the rest of Skyrim, is unavailable to them, they will retaliate, and we have to be ready. Hjornskar nodded gravely, and the conversation turned to the many different scenarios that they had to be ready for.

Hours later, the meeting drew to a close, and the generals and councilors filed out until only Galmar and Ulfric remained. Ulfric let out a long and tired sigh, leaning back in his chair as he did so. He was exhausted, but he knew that his dreams tonight would be far from peaceful. Galmar seemed to know what he was thinking, and he said, "Have you been over to Vara's house since she left? There might be something there that explains what she's doing. I know you won't be able to sleep tonight, so you might as well do something."

Ulfric was about to decline the suggestion, he wasn't too keen on digging through Vara's things, but he stopped himself. If Vara had left something, anything behind that explained more about just what she was doing, Ulfric needed to find it. He needed to know as much as he could.

"Very well. Sleep well, old friend. Without Vara here, it's up to you to train the recruits that are sure to come once word spreads of our victory." Galmar nodded and stood, clapping a hand on Ulfric's shoulder before leaving the room.

For a moment, Ulfric hesitated, then he left the room and made his way out of the Palace to vara's house.

The house was locked, but Vara had given him a key about a week before she had left. He twisted over and over in his fingers before finally putting it in the lock and turning it, pushing open the door. The house was dark, and Ulfric hadn't brought anything to light the torches scattered over the walls. He wouldn't find anything here to use, either, Vara had always lit them with a simple flick of her wrist.

Eventually, Ulfric found himself sitting at the table in the small kitchen that Vara had loved to use to cook. He sat there in the darkness for several minutes and was about to leave when a sliver of moonlight fell on something across the room, something that looked like parchment. Slowly, he stood and made his way over to where the letter lay on the counter, looking as if it had fallen out of a bag or something similar in Vara's haste to gather the supplies she needed and leave. With shaking hands, Ulfric picked it up and read the name on the front. It was addressed to him. Taking a deep breath, Ulfric tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter.

'Ulfric,' it read. 'if you are reading this, then I am gone. I would say sorry, but I know that wouldn't be enough. How could it be, when I have lied to you? You have been so good to me, done so much, and in return, I have lied about who I am.' The letter went on to explain everything that Vara had told him the night before, and Ulfric could imagine Vara sitting in the dim light, penning this letter with tears streaking down her face. The ink was ruining in a few places where it was obvious that her tears had fallen onto the paper. Then Ulfric reached the bottom of the page.

'I know you're angry. I would be too. One day, I hope that you'll be able to forgive me. I can't tell you where I'm going, you would try to come after me, but I will say that it will be dangerous. I don't know what kind of shape I'll be in after this is over, but I need you to know that I am doing this for you. I love you, Ulfric Stormcloak, I know you might be thinking otherwise, considering my actions, but I swear by the Divines that it's the truth. The thought of you getting hurt because I have been hiding from my destiny as Dragonborn hurts me even more than your anger does. I can't stand idly by when I could do something to protect you, even if it means that I lose your love in the process. Stay safe, Ulfric.' The letter was signed, although Vara's name was shaky as if she had been sobbing when she wrote it.

For several moments, Ulfric bowed his head, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. All of the anger he had felt was gone, leaving an empty feeling behind. Vara had left him, knowing he would be angry. She thought that he would no longer love her if she left him behind, and yet she had done it anyway. For him. And now Ulfric had no way to tell her just how much he loved her still.

Chapter Text

Ulfric jumped to the side, plunging his sword into the straw dummy in front of him. He had been out here training for nearly two hours, and yet he didn't want to stop. Everything was so much simpler when he could just fight and ignore the fact that his world seemed to have crashed around him. He had been in three meetings today. One had been about the state of the city, specifically that of the Grey Quarter, and the others had been about the war. Gods, everything seemed to be about the war. All day, Ulfric was making decisions, decisions that would affect hundreds, even thousands, of lives. This war of his was tearing Skyrim apart, and he told himself that it was necessary, that some things had to be broken before they could be remade, but it was on days like these when he found himself doubting. Galmar must have noticed the conflict in his mind, for he had told Ulfric to take the rest of the day to train, claiming that he needed to keep his skills up.

Ulfric slashed at the dummy once again, savoring the dull sound his sword made as it connected with the wood. He had readied himself for another attack when he heard his name being called. Turning, he sheathed his sword. "Galmar. What do you need?" he asked the general. Instead of speaking, Galmar held out a piece of parchment. Ulfric took it and read it quickly.

"That's a report from one of our scouts in Whiterun. You said you wanted any information they could find on the Dragonborn, and here it is. It isn't much, but at least it's something."

Ulfric nodded absently. "This report, when was it dated?" he asked, scanning the words again.

"Four days ago," Galmar replied. "Vara left the city right before Hjornskar got there."

Ulfric didn't comment. Part of him was frustrated that Hjornskar hadn't had the opportunity to see Vara; the general could have given him a far more detailed report about her, how she seemed to be feeling, what she was acting like, and where she had gone after leaving the city. On the other hand, Ulfirc was relieved that Vara had managed to leave before Hjornskar had gotten to the city. The man would have recognized her, and as much as Ulfric hated lying to his men, Vara had wanted her identity to be kept a secret to protect both Ulfric and herself. Hjornskar's arrival could have ruined that.

Eventually, Ulfric let out a sigh and handed the paper back to Galmar. "Thank you for bringing this to me, old friend," he said.

Galmar nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry there isn't more, but Vara seems to be doing a good job of keeping out of the public eye." He hesitated for a few moments before adding, "I don't think it will last, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a feeling that once Vara does whatever it is that she left to do, we'll know, and so will the rest of Skyrim," the general explained, looking thoughtful. "The Dragonborn is supposed to be a symbol of the people, a hero all of Skyrim can look to, according to the old legends." Ulfric nodded. "Vara isn't that symbol, not yet. But she will be soon."

Ulfric nodded slowly. "You think that she'll do something that everyone in Skyrim will talk about."

"I do."

"Then let's pray that whatever she does, she'll come out in one piece."

. . .

Vara ran through the sparse trees, jumping behind a large rock as a bolt of fire whizzed past the place where she had been standing only a moment before. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and when she put her hand to her side, she felt blood. One of those skeevers had managed to hit her. Taking a deep breath, Vara steadied her fingers and reached into one of the pockets of her armor and drew out the small vial she found there. The liquid within glowed slightly in the night, its blue light illuminating her pale fingers but not much else. For a moment, she stared at the potion, but then the sound of crunching leaves not far from where she was hiding spurred her into motion. In a single movement, Vara opened the vial and drank it. She felt the liquid slide down her throat, leaving a tingling sensation behind. A moment later, the feeling spread to her entire body, and she knew that it was taking effect.

To her right a Thalmor dressed in dark robes appeared from behind a tree, his hands glowing red with flames. In an instant, he had spotted her and sent a bolt of fire straight for her head. She raised a hasty shield, which deflected the magic, but only barely. Scrambling, Vara jumped to the left and dashed for the small group of trees not too far away. It wasn't much, but at least it would provide her with some cover. She had barely finished the thought, when a blast of magic hit her square in the back, throwing her violently to her feet. She felt her skin crackle under the heat, but she pushed the pain away and rose to her feet, running once more. She jumped behind a tree just as another fireball slammed into it.

Vara gasped for air, every breath sending flashes of pain through her back, side, and half a dozen smaller injuries. The Thalmor had been chasing her for a little over an hour now, and she wasn't doing anything to make it easy on them. She knew she had to be captured, but that didn't mean she would go down without a fight; she aimed to kill at least one of those Talos-hating skeevers before they took her. She was weakening though, she could feel her reactions slowing. She couldn't continue the chase much longer, and so she would have to take a stand and fight and pray to the gods that the Thalmor wouldn't kill her in their overzealous rage.

Taking a deep breath, Vara carefully healed her wounds as best as she could; there was no point in going into her torture any more injured than absolutely necessary. Then, summoning lightning to her hands, she stepped out from behind the tree and fired a blast of electricity into the chest of the closest Thalmor. The elf was one of the soldiers, not a mage, and so he couldn't put up a shield to block the powerful magic. He crumpled to the ground, dead before he hit the forest floor. One of the mages yelled something to the others that Vara didn't catch, but she hoped they realized who she was.

Two of the three mages fired bolts at her, and she had to duck back behind the tree to avoid being hit. Peaking out, she shot her magic at the other soldier in the group. The electricity hit the elf's sword arm, and he dropped his blade with a yell of pain. One of the mages glanced over at him, but instead of rushing to his side to heal him, the elf sneered and turned his attention back to Vara. Did these people really care so little for one another?

The fireball that hit her exposed arm yanked her from her thoughts. She gasped, and for a brief moment, she found herself frozen by the astounding pain. The three mages began to close in, and she shook herself from her trance. She almost tripped on a protruding rock as she retreated, her good arm held in front of her, channeling the most powerful shield she could muster. She was running out of magicka.

In front of her, one of the mages stumbled on the same rock that had caught her foot, and she took the advantage of the elf's disorientation to send a ball of electricity hurtling through the air at her. The magic caught the woman directly in the face, and she fell before she could scream. Vara smiled grimly behind her mask, but the spell had used the last of her magicka. Determined to fight until the end, she drew her dagger and charged the Thalmor, Shouting as she did so. They would know exactly who it was they were dealing with before they captured her.

. . .

When Vara woke, she was surrounded by darkness. She blinked her eyes a few times, hoping that they would adjust to the dim atmosphere, but they remained the same. Raising her hands to rub her eyes, Vara found them shackled to the wall behind her. All at once, her memories came rushing back to her, and she smiled grimly. So far, Delphine's plan was working. The Thalmor had captured her instead of killing her and, as Vara focused on her other senses, she realized she was still wearing her mask. Why had they let her keep it? The people who had captured her; after she had killed two of them and injured the rest, her mind added were likely underlings and probably weren't important enough to know the identity of the Dragonborn. Vara couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, but she instantly regretted it. A flash of pain shot through her, and she couldn't even identify which parts of her hurt the worst; her body felt like one giant injury.

Her arms were chained to the wall above her, but her feet seemed to be free. Moving carefully in the darkness, Vara explored her cell with her feet. They had stripped her of her shoes at some point, and the stone underneath her toes was cold but dry. Idly, she wondered how long she had been unconscious. Her question was answered when a door on the opposite side of the cell opened, and light streamed in to reveal a Thalmor woman standing there.

"So, you're finally awake," the woman sneered. "It's been a day and a half since my Justicars brought you in. They say you killed two of the group and that Morrodei is in the infirmary for the next week thanks to the injuries you gave him. I must say, that's quite the feat, taking on five Thalmor alone." She stepped further into the cell until she was a little more than a foot away from Vara. "Still, it was foolish, even for the Dragonborn. You should know that the Thalmor cannot be defeated."

"We will see," Vara replied in an even tone, keeping the pain from her voice. The woman arched an eyebrow but made no comment on the defiant words.

"I told them not to remove your mask until I got here, but now, I don't think I care who the Dragonborn is," the woman stated, leaning in. "Either way, I will break you, and you will tell me everything I want to know."

Vara smiled even though the Thalmor couldn't see the expression. "And what could the Thalmor possibly want to know that I know, hmm?" Vara asked. "You already told me that you didn't care who I am."

"Ah, but I already know who you are," the woman replied. "You are the Dragonborn, the so-called savior of Skyrim, and you are going to tell me everything you know about the Greybeards, the Blades, and the dragons."

Vara cocked her head, holding eye contact with the woman who loomed over her. She knew she should be afraid, she was chained to the wall of a Thalmor cell after all, but she wasn't. "And if I say no?" she questioned, staring the Thalmor in the eyes.

"I'll persuade you."

Vara pretended to consider the offer before leaning back against the wall. "Have fun with that," she said, her voice completely devoid of fear.

"I will," the woman promised darkly, and those words, spoken with such certainty, caused a shiver to run down Vara's spine, but she pushed her fear aside and smiled once again. The Thalmor woman spun on her heel and stalked out of the cell, slamming the door behind her and plunging the cell into darkness once more.

. . .

Ulfric woke from his dream Shouting. The cabinet across the room from his bed rattled, but this time, nothing fell over. The guards outside of his room opened the door and stepped in, but Ulfric waved them out wearily. He had woken like this at least once, sometimes twice, every night since Vara had been gone. Almost every nightmare had been about Vara, and this one was no different. This time, instead of him being tortured after the Thalmor had captured him, it was Vara. She screamed under their knives and magic, and he stood helplessly, unable to do anything but watch.

Ulfric sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands. The idea that Vara could be anywhere in Skyrim by now, doing anything, terrified him. He couldn't protect her from the evils of the world, and while he knew that she was a capable woman, he worried that there were some evils she just wasn't ready to face. How could he have let her go? He had asked himself that question more times over the past week and a half than he had thought possible, and he still didn't have an answer. Some part of him knew that Vara would have left the city no matter what, she had a destiny to fulfill, but Ulfric knew some of the blame lay on his shoulders. Fate may have set the wheel into motion, but everything after that was on them.

As reluctant as he was to see the terrors of his mind play out again, Ulfric knew he needed to sleep. Wuunferth's sleeping potions had been able to secure him two maybe three hours of sleep per night, and he knew he needed to do all he could to rest. He had to be able to lead the city and the war, even without Vara by his side. With that thought, he laid back down and closed his eyes, praying to the Divines that this time his sleep would be free of dreams.

. . .

Vara couldn't sleep. She was still in the same position she had been in when the Thalmor woman had come in to speak to her, and she had no idea how long ago that had been. It was hard to tell the passage of time in this darkness. She was hungry, but that pain seemed minimal compared to everything else. The muscles in her shoulders felt as if they were made of fire, and every movement that jarred them pained her. The Thalmor had done a good job at making her as uncomfortable as they could.

Eventually, her eyes shut, and she drifted in and out of consciousness. She was finally brought back to herself when the door opened again. This time, instead of the Thalmor woman she had spoken to earlier, a young girl dressed in the clothes of a servant stepped in looking skittish and holding a bowl of what smelled like soup. She approached carefully and held the bowl up to Vara's lips.

"I can't eat this," Vara said, her voice hoarse. "How do I know it's not poisoned?"

"It isn't, I promise. Mistress Elenwen told me to drink some to prove that," the girl explained, but she looked frightened.

"What else did she tell you, child?" Vara asked, her voice soft.

The girl looked down before whispering, "She said she'll kill me if you don't eat, and she'll make sure you can hear my screams." A choked sob escaped her, and Vara felt a burning flash of anger run through her that drowned out all of her pains.

"Elenwen. Was she the woman who spoke to me earlier?" The young woman nodded slightly. "Very well; hold the bowl up and let me drink."

"Don't you...don't you want me to drink some first?"

Vara shook her head, even though the movement brought the pain in her shoulders flaring back to life. "No, child. If the food is poisoned, there's no need to punish you as well." The girl nodded shakily and held up the bowl for Vara to drink. The soup was cold and watered down to the point that it was almost flavorless, but it felt good sliding down her parched throat nonetheless.

When she had finished, the girl pulled away. "Thank you," Vara said. The young woman didn't respond, but she did smile slightly before turning away and leaving the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Vara in the darkness once more.

The darkness, however, didn't last long. A few minutes after the servant girl had left, the door opened once again to reveal the woman who Vara had spoken to earlier, Elenwen. "So, my servant was able to get you to eat," she said after she had stepped into the room. "Good, I can't have you dying of starvation before I get the information I need." She smiled wickedly, and once again, Vara had to repress a shiver. "You see, I'm not exactly a native of Skyrim; I'm not privy to all of your ridiculous nordic traditions. I do know, however, that the Dragonborn is one of those traditions." Elenwen walked to the far corner of the room, an area shrouded by darkness even with the light from the door. When she returned, she was holding a wicked looking knife, and Vara refused to think about just what that knife was going to be used for.

"I want to know exactly what kind of power you hold, Dragonborn. And you are going to tell me."

Once again, Vara cocked her head to the side. "No," she said after a few moments.

Elenwen's calm exterior faltered for a moment, and Vara could see annoyance flicker in her eyes. But then the mask was back, and all insight into this Thalmor woman was gone.

"You know," she mused, stepping closer to Vara, "a part of me hoped you would say that. It will be so much more fun that way." With those words, Elenwen jabbed the knife she held into Vara's already aching shoulder.

Chapter Text

Vara bit back the scream that threatened to claw from her throat, grateful that the mask hid her expression. Elenwen stepped back and tilted her head, examining the knife that was now buried almost to the hilt in Vara’s shoulder. After a few moments, she reached forward and touched the part of the blade that was still visible, sending an electrical shock through the blade and into Vara’s body. She gasped at the unexpected and painful jolt causing Elenwen to smile sadistically.

”I figured, ” the elven woman said, ”that since you seemed to enjoy throwing sparks around so much, you should have a taste of what they feel like.” She sent another bolt of electricity through Vara, causing her body to spasm.

Once again, Elenwen regarded her for several moments before turning away and walking back to the darkened corner of the room where Vara suspected a number of torture devices were laid out. When she returned she was holding another knife. This one was longer and jagged along one edge. Dread filled Vara, and she barely had time to brace herself for the pain before Elenwen stabbed the knife into her leg. Her leg immediately buckled under the pain, causing her entire body weight to be supported by her arms, still chained to the wall. The wound in her shoulder flared, and coupled with the pain in her leg, she had to bite her lip to keep in her scream. Blood trickled down her chin, and she couldn’t do anything to wipe it away.

After a few moments, Vara gathered the courage to look down at her leg. Her leather armor had done next to nothing to stop the blade, and the light brown material was quickly turning dark with her blood. A part of her itched to use her magicka to break free and kill the woman in front of her, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to wait, endure. Her time would come.

Vara was pulled from her thoughts by an electrical current that ran through her entire body, stemming from the fresh wound in her leg. Elenwen grinned wickedly, jolting her again. "Now that I have your attention, I'm going to explain how this is going to work," the woman stated, and Vara dragged her head up to look her in the eyes. "I want to know about you, about the Dragonborn. Now, I'm going to ask you questions, and you are going to tell me what I want to know, or I will put you through more pain than you can imagine. Understood?"

Vara didn't reply but held Elenwen's gaze, refusing to let the fear that she felt show in her eyes. Elenwen narrowed her eyes and zapped Vara again, causing her to gasp. "I asked you a question, that means you answer. Now, did I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Vara growled, using her anger to hide her pain.

"Good, now, let's begin. How did you become the Dragonborn?"

Elenwen was standing less than a foot away, and her hands hovered near the knife in Vara's leg, ready to shock her if her answer should displease her. Vara contemplated her answer for a moment before settling on just telling the truth. This woman likely wanted to harness power, and the truth was that Vara hadn't done anything special to obtain it. And so, knowing her answer would likely earn her another jolt of electricity, Vara said, "I was chosen by the Gods, as Talos was when he was still Tiber Septim."

As she had expected, Elenwen didn't appreciate the truth. A shock ran through her body, and Vara once more had to bite down on her already bleeding lip to keep her scream from escaping. She wouldn't be able to take much more torture before she broke and screamed, she knew, but by the Divines, she was going to hold out for as long as she could.

"Tiber Septim was just a man, and so are you," Elenwen snarled, leaning in until she was only a few inches away. "All power comes from somewhere, now, tell me where you got it."

Vara shrugged, and the wound in her shoulder brought tears to her eyes that she couldn't hold back. Still, the gesture would annoy Elenwen, she knew, and that made the pain worth it. "I told you. I was born this way; I didn't do anything."

Elenwen narrowed her eyes but didn't shock her. "If you have always been the Dragonborn, why had no one heard of you until a few months ago?"

This time, Vara wasn't sure if she should tell the truth. Saying that she had slain a dragon might give Elenwen the wrong idea, but then again, if the woman tried to send her soldiers out to kill dragons in an effort to make them Dragonborn, well, that was less work that Vara had to do. "I killed a dragon for the first time about two months ago. That's when I discovered I was the Dragonborn."

Elenwen stepped back, and folded her arms, tapping her foot thoughtfully. "Two months ago... that's about when the dragon was slain at the watchtower in Whiterun," she mused. "That was also the same day that those Greybeards Shouted from their mountain." Elenwen turned back to Vara a light of understanding in her eyes. "They were calling you, weren't they?"

"Well, I am the Dragonborn," was Vara's reply. Elenwen's face contorted, and Vara could tell that she wanted to punish her, but the Thalmor woman restrained herself. She took a deep breath to calm herself before asking,

"What did the Greybeards want with you?"

Vara tilted her head as if she was trying to recall a fact she had forgotten. "I think they wanted to make sure I was actually the Dragonborn, the details are a little fuzzy though."

This time, Elenwen didn't restrain herself, and she touched a sparking finger to the blade sticking out of Vara's shoulder. "If you want to live longer than a few hours, Dragonborn, you will never speak to me in that tone again," she ordered, her voice low. Vara didn't respond, she was too busy trying to catch her breath from the latest round of electricity. "How did the Greybeards make sure that you were the Dragonborn?"

At that question, Vara couldn't help but smile. "They tested me, just like this," and before Vara could think about the pain that was sure to follow her actions, she Shouted. "Fus!" Elenwen, caught by surprise, went flying across the room and hit the far wall with a loud crunch. Vara's smile grew at the sight of her torturer lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, even as blood trickled down her chin.

For a few moments, Elenwen didn't move, but eventually, she rose, healing light enveloping her in a golden glow. When she turned to Vara there was murder in her eyes. Vara held her gaze despite the fear that was growing in her stomach. After a moment, Elenwen stalked toward her. She came to a stop in front of her and leaned down until her face was level with Vara's, then, she touched both of the knives, sending Vara into blinding pain. Every part of her was in agony, and she couldn't even distinguish where the knife wounds were.

When Vara finally came back to herself, her ears were ringing, and her throat was sore. She had screamed. Slowly, she opened her eyes, to see Elenwen still standing in front of her, her eyes level with Vara's. "I thought you were smarter than that," she whispered; Vara could barely hear her over the ringing. "I was wrong." With those words, Elenwen reached up and pulled off Vara's mask, throwing it to the side where it hit one wall of the cell before rolling away and coming to a stop in the corner.

The recognition was instantaneous. For a long minute, Elenwen didn't speak, and through the haze of her pain, Vara could see the mental gears working in the Thalmor woman's mind. She was deciding just what she could do with this information, how she could twist it to her advantage. Eventually, she said, "I'm surprised a half-breed like you could be chosen by the gods for anything more than servitude. I wonder if they're regretting their choice." She smiled before straightening and walking back to the dark corner of the cell. Vara prepared herself for another knife or some other torture device, but instead, Elenwen returned with a rag.

"I can't have you Shouting at every opportunity," she stated, that satisfied smirk still on her lips as she shoved the rag into Vara's mouth and tied it around her head. Vara's already damaged lips split further at the abuse, and she could feel her blood drip onto the cloth. "Now, be a good girl until I get back, Varaduilwe," Elenwen ordered, stressing Vara's name. Vara only glared at her as she turned away and left the cell, leaving Vara in darkness and pain.

A few hours after Elenwen left, the door to the cell creaked open again to reveal the young serving girl who had brought Vara food earlier. The girl gasped softly when she took in Vara's wounds, approaching as if in a daze. "Mistress Elenwen told me that you were injured, but she didn't tell me..." Her voice trailed away as her eyes fell on the gag in Vara's mouth. "She took away your mask." Vara nodded, and even that slight movement pained her. She had been in and out of consciousness for the past hour, but she had been in a haze of pain the entire time, and it hadn't abated in the slightest.

The young woman stepped up to Vara, and ran a hand over Vara's lips, wiping away the blood. "They told me to heal you," she explained in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt." Vara nodded again to show that she understood and tried to brace herself for the pain. The girl looked her over sadly one more time before going to work. The first thing she did was pull the knives from Vara, apologizing the entire time. Vara could barely hear her though; all of her attention was consumed by the pain and only the gag in her mouth kept her from screaming. Finally, the knives were out, and a warm sensation came over Vara.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, which she hadn't realized she had closed, and saw the young woman holding out her hands, which glowed with healing light. Vara's eyes slid back closed, and if she had been able to, she would have smiled. Within a few minutes, her wounds were completely healed.

The girl stood back, surveying her work. "I'm sorry she hurt you," she whispered, running a hand over the hole in Vara's armor where one of the knives had been sticking out only minutes earlier. Vara shook her head, trying to convey that the girl wasn't responsible. A sound came from beyond the cell, and the young woman's eyes widened and she stepped away from Vara hastily. "I have to leave," she said, and then she was gone.

Vara would have sighed, had she not had a gag in her mouth. Instead, she simply sagged against the chains, an action that didn't hurt nearly as much as it had earlier, thanks to the servant girl's healing spells. Unfortunately, Vara couldn't be thankful for the magic. Ulfric had told her that when he had been captured by the Thalmor, they had always healed him right before torturing him again, and Vara highly doubted that they had changed that particular tactic. All she could do now was wait, wait and think.

Elenwen had obviously recognized her, which meant that she knew of her connection to Ulfric. Would she change her interrogation now? Would she try and force Vara to reveal all of Ulfric's secrets? Vara refused to do that. No matter what Elenwen put her through, she would not do anything to betray Ulfric, she owed him that.

Vara wondered what Ulfric was doing now. Whiterun had been captured, so he obviously had to move soldiers there in order to strengthen the defenses. The other borders likely needed reinforcing as well; the Empire would be looking for places to strike after a loss so significant. But what was he doing about her? Was he searching for rumors of the Dragonborn? Was he trying to block her from his mind? Vara's thoughts spiraled away, and tears came to her eyes. Not tears of pain but ones of sorrow. She had left Ulfric alone to deal with the aftermath of a plan she had come up with. Even compared to the pain that Elenwen had already put her through, that thought was torture enough.

Those thoughts plagued her until the door cracked open again. This time, it wasn't the serving girl standing there, but Elenwen. The woman was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, a small notebook and quill in one hand. For several moments, she just stood there, silhouetted by the light from whatever it was that lay beyond Vara's cell, and examined her. Finally, she stepped into the cell proper.

"You have given me quite a lot to think about, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song," she stated, stepping up to Vara but stopping a few feet away instead of a few inches as she had done the last time. "There are so many questions I want to ask you, but I just don't know where to start." She tapped her quill against the notebook. "You are the Dragonborn, of course, and I want to know all of the gritty details about that, but at the same time, the information that head of yours must contain about Ulfric Stormcloak, well, to not ask you about him would be a crime. Don't you think?" The gag in Vara's mouth kept her from retorting aloud, but she made sure to express her displeasure through her gaze. Elenwen only smiled.

"This war of yours is so tiresome," the Thalmor woman said with a bored sigh. "Nords truly are stubborn; they never seem to give up, until I get to spend some time with them, of course. You are a half-breed, do you have that same resilience?" She stepped forward now and leaned in toward Vara. "I am going to have so much fun breaking you," she whispered in a low voice, and this time, Vara couldn't suppress the shiver of fear that ran through her. Elenwen obviously noticed it, for she smirked as she stepped away.

"Rumor has it that you and Ulfric are far closer than a regular commander and her leader ought to be. Tell me, does he still scream at night, when the vision of me comes to him in his sleep?" Elenwen asked, sneering. Vara yanked against her chains and growled behind her gag. Talos, she wanted to rip the woman's throat out! How dare she speak of Ulfric like that! She was the one who had tortured him, put him through so much pain that it haunted him even now.

"Hmm, protective, are we?" Elenwen laughed. "It seems those rumors have some truth to them. Well, if you and Ulfric are so close, I'm sure he told you about what I did to him. Wouldn't it be poetic if I did the same to you?" With those words, Elenwen turned and strode once more to the darkened corner of the room. When she returned, Vara's eyes widened in fear.

"You know, I had this whip made especially for Ulfric," Elenwen said in a conversational tone as if she were reporting on the weather. "He hadn't screamed until I used this on him, and then I could hear him even through the gag. I wonder how you will sound?" The whip was made of leather, and each of its eight tails ended in a spiked metal ball. Another shudder of fear ran through Vara as Elenwen removed the gag from her mouth.

"Now, I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer them promptly and truthfully. We'll start with something easy. How long have you been a commander in the Stormcloak army?" Elenwen asked. Vara thought about refusing to answer, but she knew that she would only be able to endure the pain that whip would be sure to inflict for so long. She had to choose her battles.

"Around six months."

"What happened to the Thalmor agents stationed in Darkwater Crossing?"

This time, Vara wasn't sure if she should answer. If Elenwen truly didn't know what had happened to those Thalmor, Vara's information could help her in some way. "I don't know," she answered cautiously. Vara heard the whistle of the air before she registered seeing the whip move. After that, the pain was almost immediate. She clenched her teeth so tightly she thought they might break, but she kept the scream in. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she couldn't hear even hear the woman as she spoke. Finally, her breathing eased, and she was able to make out the words.

"Don't lie to me. I know someone from your Stormcloak company infiltrated them and seeing as you're the only member with pointed ears, I'm going to assume it was you. Now, tell me, what happened to my agents?"

Vara slowly raised her head to look Elenwen in the eyes. "I honestly don't know," she answered in a quiet voice. "One minute they were trying to use the Belt, and the next, they were piles of ash and I wasn't."

Elenwen narrowed her eyes but didn't strike again. Instead, she turned away and walked back to the dark corner of the room, where Vara could hear scratching noises, like a quill on parchment. The woman was taking notes. A few moments later, she was standing in front of Vara again.

"How did you escape Helgen?"

"A soldier led me through a series of tunnels underneath the keep while the dragon attacked the town."

"Was Ulfric with you?"

"No, we were separated. I didn't see him again until I returned to Windhelm weeks later."

Elenwen nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, our spy on Ulfric's council did say that you were missing. Too bad he committed suicide before we could learn anything else about Ulfric's troop movements, but that's what I have you for." She smiled and twirled the whip in her hand. "Where is the next place Ulfric plans to attack?"

This time, Vara didn't answer. In truth, she didn't know, but anything she told Elenwen now would give the woman information, information that could end up harming Ulfric. And so she stayed silent. After a few seconds, the whip struck Vara again, and this time she couldn't keep the scream in.

"I asked you a question, half-breed," Elenwen snarled, the now-bloodied whip dangling from one hand. "Where will Ulfric Stormcloak strike next?"

"I don't know," Vara spat as soon as she regained the ability to speak.

"I don't believe you," Elenwen replied. "Why would a commanding officer in the Stormcloak army not know where that same army was going to strike?"

Vara smiled with bloodied lips. "Ulfric likes his secrets."

Elenwen struck again with the whip, ripping another scream from Vara's throat, before demanding to know the answer once again. It went on like that, Elenwen asking questions about Ulfric or the army and Vara refusing to answer, for hours. There were a few times when Vara lost consciousness, and Elenwen shocked her with her magic to wake her up. Eventually, however, Vara was in too much pain to answer any questions, and so Elenwen stalked out of the room, leaving Vara bleeding in more than two dozen places, her torso and legs a mess of blood and skin. And yet, before she fell into the blackness of unconsciousness, Vara smiled. She hadn't told Elenwen anything.

Chapter Text

When Vara woke, she wasn't in the cell she had been in. Instead of dark stone walls, she was looking at rusted metal bars. Beyond the bars appeared to be a hallway with wooden walls and flooring. Slowly, Vara looked down and found that her legs were chained together and attached to a metal ring in the floor. Her wrists were cuffed together, but she wasn't chained to a wall the way she had been in the other cell. Unfortunately, she had been gagged once again. Part of her found satisfaction in that, in the thought that the Thalmor feared her Voice. Cautiously, she shuffled forward, testing the length of the chain that connected her shackled feet to the ring in the floor. She was able to make it all the way to the door. The front wall was the only part of the cell made of bars; the rest of the walls were wooden.

After a few minutes of peering through the bars in an effort to see something that would give her some idea of where she was, Vara turned around and walked back to the corner of the room, sitting down carefully. Her wounds had been partially healed, although not fully. That confused Vara. The Thalmor tactic was to heal the people they tortured and then inflict more pain. Why hadn't they finished healing her? Maybe they had only wanted to heal her enough to be able to move her without killing her. She had been in bad shape, she knew. Looking down, Vara could see numerous holes in her armor where red, angry skin peaked through. The leather was little more than rags now, with the number of times it had been ripped. Vara sighed into the gag and closed her eyes, leaning her head against the rough wood of the cell. Her thoughts wandered as she tried to distract herself from the pain that flashed through her chest with every breath she took. Eventually, it settled on a conversation she had had with Balgruuf the day she had left Whiterun.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Dragonborn?" Balgruuf asked, concern in his voice. Vara knew he didn't like her plan, but she also knew that the man wouldn't stop her.

She smiled sadly. "You've done more than enough, my jarl, in opening your city to me. Thank you."

Balgruuf waved a dismissive hand. "It was nothing," he declared. "Please, are you sure I can't help you in some way?"

Vara's hand went to the amulet around her neck as she thought, her fingers rubbing the chain as her mind worked. Then she looked down and a thought came to her. "Actually, there is." Vara moved her hair out of the way and unclasped the amulet of Talos and pressed it into Balgruuf's outstretched hand. "Please," she said, "if a month passes and there is no news of me, give this to Ulfric. He'll know what it means."

Balgruuf frowned deeply, gazing at the amulet for a long moment before looking back up at Vara. "I will keep it, but only so that I can return it to you once you've returned. And you will return," he stated in a firm voice. Vara only smiled softly and thanked him once more before turning away and walking towards the doors that led to the city.

The sound of footsteps outside of her cell drew Vara from her thoughts. Her eyes snapped open and she scrambled to her feet as the door swung open. Elenwen strode in, her black robes swirling around her feet as she did. The door clanged shut behind her, and around the woman's figure on the other side of the bars, Vara could see a Thalmor soldier standing guard. Vara turned her attention back to Elenwen, doing her best to stand up straight despite her injuries; she would not let this woman think she had broken her.

"So, you're finally awake," the woman said, her smile looking more like a snarl. "You know, I thought about waking you several times, but I needed time to set up...well, you'll see." Vara narrowed her eyes. What mind game was the woman trying to play with her? "You were very uncooperative yesterday," she said, walking around Vara. Vara refused to turn to face the woman, although the hairs on the back of her neck stood up every time Elenwen stepped outside of her field of vision. "I thought about trying out a few new whips on you, or maybe this delicious little knife my enchanters made me, but I decided not to." Elenwen came to a stop in front of Vara. "You see, I've decided that torturing you until you break, while entertaining, would be far too time-consuming."

Vara frowned inwardly. What was she talking about? There was no way that the woman believed that she would work with the Thalmor willingly, and yet Elenwen said that she wasn't going to torture her. Had they decided that it would be easier to simply kill her and search for their information elsewhere? If Elenwen made a move against her, Vara would have to use her magicka, and the plan would be ruined, the pain she had already been through would be for nothing.

"No," Elenwen continued, "torturing you won't help me now, but torturing someone else, now that might." Vara's eyes widened and a bolt of panic shot through her. She wanted to yell at the Thalmor woman and demand answers, but her gag kept her from making little more than a muffled growl. Elenwen laughed at her anger and stepped forward until she was barely an inch away. "In the cell next to yours, there is a Stormcloak soldier. He was captured along with the rest of the patrol he was with. They encountered a group of Thalmor, and I'm afraid my soldiers were a bit overzealous. He was the only survivor. Unfortunately, he's too far down the chain of command to know anything useful."

Vara closed her eyes briefly. She knew what this twisted woman was saying. She knew, and by the gods, she wasn't sure she was strong enough to endure it.

"I am going to ask you questions about the Stormcloaks, their positions, fortifications, plans, and anything else I want to know, and you are going to answer them," Elenwen declared. "You see, the soldier in the next cell can hear you, and so can the interrogator standing next to him." She stepped closer, close enough for Vara to feel her breath as she said, "If you lie to me, if you refuse to answer, or if you pull any tricks, I promise you that you will hear that soldier scream through his gag. Do you understand?"

Vara held Elenwen's gaze for a long moment before nodding slowly. She understood, but by the Divines, she didn't know what to do. Any information she gave the Thalmor would help them against Ulfric, but if she withheld only the important things, she would be alerting the Thalmor to the gravity of those things, and yet, if she said nothing, they would torture the soldier until he died. Of that she was certain.

Elenwen smiled and stepped behind Vara, untying her gag, which fell to the dirty floor of the cell. "Good. Let's get started." She stepped around so that she was in front of Vara again. "Why did Ulfric Stormcloak send you to Haafingar?"

This question, Vara felt safe in answering. "He didn't. I came for my own reasons."

Elenwen raised an eyebrow. "And what were those reasons?"

This time, Vara scrambled for a believable lie. "I came to ask the Elisif the Fair for the right to travel freely through her hold during my Dragonborn duties. Somehow, I doubt that she will grant me that privilege." Elenwen laughed, the sound harsh against Vara's ears. The woman exuded evil, and that spirit seeped into every piece of her, from her haughty posture to her mocking laugh. "

"No, I don't think she will." She paused for a moment, and Vara prayed that the next question she decided to ask would be as easy to answer. Unfortunately, her prayer was in vain. "Where is Ulfric stationing his soldiers along the Whiterun border?"

"I would imagine he's stationing them everywhere he can. After all, he knows that the Empire can't bear to be without such a lucrative hold. You're too greedy," Vara replied coolly.

Elenwen's eyes narrowed. "I thought you would know better than to disrespect me now. It isn't you who will pay the price." A few moments later, Vara heard the sound of a whip whistling through the air before making contact with something, and Vara knew it was the soldier's skin. There was no other sound, but Vara could imagine the soldier biting down on the gag, doing his best not to make a sound to deprive these monsters of their satisfaction. Vara bowed her head, her heart clenching in guilt.

"Now, Varaduilwe, let's try this again. Where are Ulfric's soldiers?"

Vara grit her teeth, willing herself to stay strong. "I don't know," she ground out.

A raised eyebrow was Elenwen's only reply. Once again, Vara heard the whip whistle through the air, heard it as it hit the soldier, and this time, he couldn't contain his yell. The sound was muffled by the gag, but it pierced Vara's heart and she prayed that the gods would forgive her. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away fiercely and looked up, boldly gazing into her torturer's eyes. She would not bow to this monster!

. . .

Ulfric rubbed his temples slowly, trying to massage away the headache that had been building for the past several hours. His lack of sleep was beginning to affect him more and more. Thankfully, his meetings were over for the day. He had tried to stay busy this past week and a half, anything to keep his mind off of Vara. And it had worked. At least it had until he fell asleep each night, and then all he could think of was her. His councilmembers and others had noticed, he knew, but no one had approached him about it yet, thankfully. Ulfric wasn't certain he could handle it if someone asked him where Vara was or why she hadn't returned yet.

The door on the far end of the great hall, the one that led to Windhelm, opened, drawing Ulfric's attention. Through the oaken door stepped a slim man carrying a large sack. As he approached, Ulfric realized that the man was Ambarys, the club owner who was friends with Vara. Ulfric frowned in confusion but beckoned the man closer. Ambarys came to a stop in front of the throne and bowed deeply. Once he had straightened, he said,

"My jarl, I have lived in this city for nearly twenty years. For most of those years, I have hated this city and the people who controlled it," he stated, glancing down. "But when Varaduilwe came, that all changed. She made me see that you truly do care about your citizens, even if they have pointed ears or scaled skin."

Ulfric chuckled quietly. "Vara does seem to have that effect on people, but I can't claim to have always been the man you describe. It was Vara who opened my eyes to the plight of the Dark Elves." It was strange how one woman could cause such a change, and yet, looking back, Ulfric couldn't imagine any other way things could have happened.

Ambarys nodded as if he understood. "I came here today because I found this on the steps of my club this morning when I stepped outside," he said, and opened the sack, dumping its contents onto the floor in front of the throne. Ulfric's eyes widened in shock as the Imperial armor clanged onto the floor.

"You found this outside of your club?" he asked.

Ambarys nodded. "I did. In it was a letter stating that if I spied on you and the city for the Imperials, they would pay me 7,000 septims every month and give me a pick of any house in Windhelm once they captured the city," he explained. "I would earn more money in three months than I have ever had."

Ulfric nodded slowly. "So why come to me?"

"Because as I told you, Jarl Ulfric, Varaduilwe has convinced me that you are a man of honor. I trust her, and so I am trusting you," the dark elf stated simply.

For several moments, Ulfric was at a loss for words. Less than a year ago, this meeting wouldn't have happened. Even if Ambarys had decided not to spy for the Imperials, the guards would have never let him into the Palace, and even if he had managed to get in, Ulfric likely would have refused to see him. Without Vara, none of this would have been possible. Without Vara, there would have still been a serious rift in his city, and he would have been blind to it.

Finally, Ulfric said, "Thank you, Ambarys. The fact that you trust me is proof that Skyrim is changing for the better. I know that you haven't always been treated well, but I can promise you that I will work my hardest to see those injuries repaired. Skyrim is a home to all who love her, nord or no."

Ambarys bowed and turned to leave. He was halfway to the door when he paused and turned back around. "My jarl, you are lucky to have Varaduilwe's love." And then he left. Ulfric bowed his head, grateful that the elf had turned away before he had been able to see the tears that pricked at his eyes. He had had Varaduilwe's love, she had told him as much herself, and now, now he didn't know where they stood, and he wasn't sure he would ever be able to ask her.

. . .

Vara's eyes were itched, and she knew they were red with tears. For hours, Elenwen had grilled her with questions that she couldn't answer, and the Stormcloak soldier nearby had paid the price. Eventually, the man had fallen silent, and Vara could only pray that he had fallen unconscious and nothing worse. That was when Elenwen had changed tactics, asking her more details about being the Dragonborn.

After some fruitless questioning, she had asked about the Blades, and Vara had played dumb, although it hadn't required much acting on her part. All she really knew of the Blades was that Delphine was one of the only surviving members and that they were sworn to serve the Dragonborn and slay dragons. Elenwen, however, hadn't liked her lackluster responses. Now, Vara was leaning against the corner of her cell, careful not to put pressure on the knife wounds that now crisscrossed their way across her back. The enchanted knife Elenwen had spoken of leeched life, it turned out, and the feeling of having the life drained from her was more excruciating than the cuts themselves had been.

Vara sighed. At least Elenwen hadn't shoved that rag back into her mouth. Vara was too exhausted to muster a Shout, and the Thalmor woman knew it. In all honesty, she was too weak to stand for long. At one point, she had collapsed while Elenwen had been torturing her, and she could still hear the woman's dark laughter.

A small sound coming from the other side of the wall made Vara's ears perk up, and she quickly forgot her pain as she leaned in, pressing one ear up against the cold wall. The sound repeated. It sounded like a cough. The soldier was alive!

"Soldier?" she called, praying the man had the strength to answer her. "Can you hear me?"

There was some more coughing before a weak voice answered, "Aye. I hear ya, commander."

Vara let out a sigh of relief. "How long have you been here, soldier?" she asked.

"I...I don't know. A day, maybe two? It's all a blur. The skeevers ambushed us outside of Dragon's Bridge and killed my squad, all except me."

Vara hung her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Are you... are you okay?" It was a stupid question, she knew, and yet she couldn't help but ask it.

There was a long silence. "No," the soldier finally admitted. "That interrogator got me good. I-". A coughing fit interrupted the sentence. After the man managed to get his breathing back under control, he continued in a softer voice, "I'm bloody everywhere; I can't tell which part of me's been cut and which part of me hasn't." Vara's heart clenched and tears began to streak there way down her cheeks. "But don't worry about me, commander. The information you have is far too important to be wasted on me."

"Please," Vara whispered, "save your strength." She could barely get the words out around her tears.

"Listen to me, commander. You have to promise me that no matter what happens, you won't tell those Talos-forsaking Thalmor what they want to hear. Promise me." The soldier's voice was stronger now, urgent.

Vara's tears came faster now, a torrent of salt water streaming down her face. "I promise," she choked out.

The man sighed. "Thank you,” he whispered, and it was obvious that he was about to fall back into the dark realm of unconsciousness. A few minutes later, Vara stopped getting a response when she called for him.

For the next several minutes, Vara leaned against the wall, sobbing quietly. A part of her knew that all of this was according to the pain; the Thalmor weren't suspicious of her in the slightest. And why would they be? Any other person with means of escape would have tried to do so in order to save a comrade from so much pain. And she hadn't. Waves of guilt ran through her, and Vara knew that she would never be able to forgive herself for the pain that she had caused the soldier. He would likely die soon enough, and it would be partially her fault. How was she supposed to live with that on her conscious? She wasn't sure she could.

But she had a mission. If her internal clock was right, tomorrow evening should be the night of Elenwen's party and she would make her escape and find the information that the Thalmor had on the Blades and the dragons. And yet, Vara wondered if it was all worth it. She didn't even know if the Thalmor had the information she needed; all she had was the word of a paranoid fugitive with plenty of personal motive for suggesting the Thalmor.

Vara closed her eyes and tried to shove those thoughts from her mind. If tomorrow was to be the day of her escape, she would need as much strength as she could gather, and there was no telling when the Thalmor would leave her alone like this again. And so, Vara surrendered herself to the seductive lure of sleep.

Chapter Text

Vara wasn't sure how long she was asleep; there was nothing around her to indicate time, no windows, no candles, nothing. When she did wake, she immediately called out to the soldier on the other side of the wall. There was no answer. Vara had frantically scrambled over to the wall and pressed her ear against the wood, hoping against hope to hear something, anything, that would tell her the man was still alive. After several tense moments, she had heard a rattled cough. She had called out again, but the man didn't answer, and she prayed that the man was simply sleeping.

Now, Vara was slowly pacing her cell. Her wounds kept her from moving with any kind of speed, and each step hurt her, but she couldn't bear to sit still. If her internal clock had any merit, it was now the morning before the party, although Vara wasn't certain. Tonight would be her best chance at escape, which meant she had to plan. Not that there was much thinking left to do. No, Vara had already plotted her escape, and the destruction she would cause after, in vivid detail several times during her captivity. Her primary goal was, of course, to find any and all information that the Thalmor had on the dragons and the Blades. If she had the chance, she would also try and locate the things they had confiscated from her, especially her mask. And she had to burn the book that Elenwen had been taking notes in. If she could delay the Thalmor at all, it would help Ulfric. She hadn't given them any information they could use against him, but if she destroyed the book where Elenwen had written everything down, they may think that the information was important and send Thalmor soldiers running pointless chases.

But there was something else Vara wanted to do, and it scared her. Deep inside, smoldering like a wildfire, was a primal need to burn the entire place to the ground. She knew that if she did, she would only delay the Thalmor at best, and at worst, her actions would anger them and cause them to strike out at innocent people. And yet, her fingers itched to do it. To stand in the middle of the flames and watch it all burn. And that terrified her. There had been a time not so long ago when she wouldn't have even thought about using her magic to cause pain and suffering, even towards the Thalmor. What had changed? Where was the woman she had once been? A part of her wanted to say that that woman had died with the dragon at the Whiterun Watchtower, but a different part said that that woman had sacrificed herself months ago for a cause so much greater than herself. Vara sighed deeply, ignoring the pain that burst through her as she did and forced her thoughts to go over her plan of escape one last time.

She would have to wait until Elenwen was gone, which meant the woman was safe from her wrath, for now. Once Elenwen left to attend to the party, most of the soldiers would follow her, giving Vara a chance at survival that she wouldn't have otherwise. She was weakened, and even with her magic, she would only be able to fight off so many people. She would have to conserve her magicka, and so it was likely she would only be able to heal herself a little bit, only enough to be able to make it to relative safety.

Vara was cementing her plan in her mind when footsteps drew her attention. When she looked to the door, she saw Elenwen standing outside, the serving girl who had tended to Vara's wounds hovering behind her. Vara faced them, keeping her expression vacant. She had sacrificed too much for the plan to be destroyed now because Elenwen became suspicious. The pair stepped into the cell.

"Good morning, Varaduilwe," Elenwen said, her voice cheerful and far from the tone that belonged in a dungeon such as the one Vara was in, and Vara had the urge to rip the woman's throat out. She pushed anger aside, however, and focused on the Thalmor woman's words. "Your lack of cooperation last night was surprising, I must say. I had thought that you cared for your comrades-in-arms, but I must have been wrong. I doubt that soldier will survive the day."

Vara strode forward, anger blazing in her eyes. "You witch!" she growled. "Don't you dare act like you know how I feel! I would die for the men and women who follow the Stormcloak banner, and so would that soldier!"

Elenwen only raised an eyebrow in response to Vara's rage; she didn't even flinch. "And he will," she promised cooly. "But for now, I'm focused on you. You see, tonight I have a very important gathering of the most influential people in all of Skyrim, and yet, not a single one of them knows the things you do. They play their little games, but in reality, they are nothing more than pawns in the grand scheme of things. Now you," she stepped forward, running a gloved finger along Vara's jaw causing Vara to repress a shiver, "you are a knight, and I've captured you. And I can promise you that you will play an important part in bringing about an end to this silly little war. Maybe the people will even scorn your name in a few decades, wondering why you couldn't hold out just a little longer."

Vara stood perfectly still, refusing to flinch in the face of this woman. "You will not break me," she declared softly, her voice hoarse from the abuse and tears it had suffered the night before. Elenwen only raised an eyebrow and changed the subject.

"Since our poor Stormcloak soldier can't take any more punishment without dying, we'll have to try another tactic," Elenwen explained, turning to the serving girl behind her. A flash of fear bolted through Vara. Would the Thalmor really sacrifice one of their own? But then Elenwen turned back to Vara, and in her hands, she held a long piece of cloth. At first, Vara figured she would gag her again, but instead, Elenwen stepped forward and tied the cloth around her eyes, plunging her instantly into darkness.

Almost immediately, the hairs on Vara’s neck stood up, and her ears began to twitch as her other senses tried to make up for her sudden lack of sight. Vara had to resist the urge to turn her head as Elenwen spoke, her voice suddenly seeming to echo through the cell, making it impossible for Vara to tell where she was.

“I tried this tactic on Ulfric once,” the woman stated. “He instisted that he didn’t fear the dark, but I’m not sure that’s still the case. I’d like to think I had something to do with that.” Vara could hear the sneer in Elenwen’s voice, and she wanted to reach out and strangle the woman, but she held herself back.

“You aren’t the worst monster that I’ve met in the darkness,” Vara stated her voice level. Elenwen didn’t respond, but a moment later pain burst into life across her back. She bit down on her lip to withold her scream. The woman was using that knife again, the one that pulled Vara’s life force from her. That pain was so much worse than the pain of the actual cut. She wasn’t chained to the wall the way she had been the other times Elenwen had tortured her, and it was all she could do to stay on her feet.

After Vara's ragged gasps settled to mere heavy breathing, Elenwen spoke, her breath ghosting over Vara's ear. "All night, I thought about the questions I would ask you, the things I would force you to tell me." As she spoke, she trailed the knife lazily over Vara's back. Vara could feel it moving over her armor, leaving small grooves in its wake but not touching her skin. Yet. "Eventually," the woman continued, "I realized something. I don't want to ask you anything. No, I want to torture you until you scream, until you beg me to make the pain stop. Then I will ask my questions, and you will tell me everything I want to hear. But for now, I think I'll have some fun." As she said the last word, Elenwen pushed the dagger down into Vara's skin. Her movements were still lazily wandering over Vara's back, but now the knife left burning red lines in her skin instead of her armor.

Vara tried to control her breathing and focus on something other than the immense pain she was in. Elenwen was saying something about how beautiful her torn skin looked, but Vara blocked her voice out. Instead, she focused on her plans for freedom. If she could hold out a little longer until Elenwen got bored with her, she could make it. She would make it. Those thoughts manage to keep her occupied for several minutes, stubbornly blocking out the pain. But then Elenwen realized that her plaything wasn't listening to her.

A strong jolt of electricity ran through Vara, causing her knees to buckle instantly and ripping a cry from her throat, equal parts pained and surprised. She was still trying to get her bearings when her head was jerked to the side. "Are you listening now, half-breed?" the woman sneered, tightening her hold on the blindfold. "You are nothing in the face of my power, and you will break in the face of it. I can promise you that!"

Vara's mind was dazed from the sudden shock of electricity, but she managed to say around her bloody lips, "Maybe you could speak up? My ears don't seem to be working right. I thought you said that you were powerful, but that can't be right." As she had known they would, her words earned her more pain, this time in the form of a hard slap across her face, causing her head to snap to the side. She couldn't see Elenwen's face, but she could picture the rage in her golden features, and the thought made her smile.

"You think this is funny? Well, let's just see how you feel about your situation in a few hours," Elenwen said darkly. Vara's smile didn't disappear, instead, it widened.

"And now you're threatening me. Are you so weak that you feel the need to threaten a prisoner?" Vara knew her words were insolent, that they would only end up hurting her, but by the Divines, it felt good! Why bore Elenwen when she could anger her instead? The rational part of her mind argued that boring her would be far less painful, but she ignored it just as she ignored the pain that shot through her body a moment later as Elenwen jolted her with electricity again.

After several moments of silence during which Vara tried in vain to calm her rapidly beating heart and heavy breathing, Elenwen spoke. "Ulfric turned to insults eventually as well. Once I had forced him to break his vow of silence with the most beautiful scream, he started to taunt me. As the torture continued, his voice became hoarse from his screams, then it became a whisper until it disappeared. The next time he spoke was to give me the information that led to the capture of the Imperial City."

Vara knew the woman was baiting her, but she couldn't hold herself back from lashing out. "You are a lying skeever," she growled. "Ulfric would never betray his people, no matter what you put him through. He's stronger than I am, and he's certainly stronger than you Talos forsaken Thalmor!"

"Oh, but he wasn't. In the end, he was like all other men: weak and unworthy." Elenwen was walking around Vara again, her voice seeming to encircle Vara and echo in the cell.

"I don't believe you," Vara said calmly. How could she? Ulfric's love for his people was stronger than any other force Vara had ever encountered; he never would have willingly given the Thalmor valuable information. And yet, a small part of her wondered. Ulfric was in the Thalmor's clutches for months; the amount of torture he must have endured was inconceivable to Vara. She had only been here for a few days, and yet she knew that if she didn't have a way to escape, she would be wishing for death.

"You will," Elenwen promised. "I have to go prepare for my guests, but maybe when I get back I'll tell you more about the ways I made Ulfric spill his guts to me. Or maybe I'll tell you about your father, about the way he looked when I killed him for his treachery." Elenwen paused, and Vara knew that the woman was smiling, smiling at all of the pain she had caused. How dare she speak of Ulfric and her father that way! Her father had done nothing wrong! He had only married the woman he loved!

Elenwen spoke again, drawing Vara from her outraged thoughts, but this time the words weren't directed at her. "I'm leaving the half-breed in your hands. Have some fun with her if you want, you've earned it. Just make sure she's in one piece when I get back." Until Elenwen had spoken to her, Vara had forgotten that the serving girl was in the cell with them. But Elenwen's words made no sense. Then the girl spoke.

"Of course, mistress. I promise she will be well enough to answer your questions," the girl replied, but her voice was not soft and sweet as it had been when she had spoken in nervous whispers to Vara as she healed her in the days before. Now, it was curt and cold, the voice of someone who has done unspeakable evil and is more than willing to do it again. And again and again.

"Very well. I will see you later tonight." There were footsteps, and then Vara heard the door to her cell creak open and then close again. Elenwen was gone.

Almost immediately, the serving-girl-turned-torturer spoke, her voice sneering. "You were so kind to me every time I came in to heal you as if I was the one who was the prisoner. You thought I was scared of the Thalmor, that I didn't want to be a part of all of this, but you were wrong, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song. There is nothing else I would rather do! I am a Thalmor, and we will wipe filthy halfbreeds like you off of Tamriel, just as we will the humans!"

Vara ignored the woman's speech, focusing instead on the other sounds around her. She could faintly hear two pairs of booted feet pacing the hallway outside of her cell, and she could hear Elenwen's voice speaking to someone, but she couldn't make out the words. Eventually, the sound stopped. Elenwen had left this area of the compound, but Vara would have to hold out a little longer. The party would start in about an hour, and that would be when she would make her escape when the largest number of guards and agents would be occupied. Unfortunately, that meant that Elenwen's sadistic little apprentice had an hour to do whatever she liked.

Finally, the woman stopped talking. Vara thought about antagonizing her too the way she had done with Elenwen, but she had to save her strength. After a few moments, the woman moved, and Vara could hear her kneeling down. "The mistress told me to practice my art, and I will. I will turn your skin into a masterpiece!" she declared softly, and Vara decided then that the woman was completely insane, even more so than most of the Thalmor. At least they had a practical purpose to the torture they inflicted; all this twisted woman wanted to do was create sadistic art.

The pain started almost immediately. Apparently, Elenwen had given her apprentice the enchanted dagger, and the woman was using it with gleeful abandon. Before ten minutes had passed, Vara had at least half a dozen cuts running up each of her arms. The sleeves of her armor, already ragged from previous torture, were cut off completely, leaving her skin defenseless. For a while, Vara was able to keep the screams in my focusing on each second that passed, counting down to the moment when she could free herself. She could feel the power of her magicka swirling in her veins yearning to be used. Eventually, however, the pain grew too intense, and a scream clawed its way out of Vara's throat, causing her torturer to laugh.

After a time, the woman turned her attention to Vara's stomach. This time she cut through the armor rather than remove it, but it did Vara little good. The entire time she tortured, the Thalmor woman spoke, narrating the 'art' she was creating. It was all Vara could do to keep from strangling her, although she honestly wasn't sure she had the strength. With each swirling cut the woman made in her skin, the dagger stole a piece of her life force, ripping scream after scream from her. A part of Vara was glad that she was blindfolded, even if it meant she couldn't anticipate where the pain would strike next. She had a feeling that if she had been able to look down at her stomach and arms, she would see only the red of her blood.

Eventually, Vara's throat was too damaged to scream anymore. She could barely breathe, the action hurt her chest too much, but a small smile appeared on her face. She had endured the pain for long enough. "Why are you smiling, halfbreed? Has your mind broken?" the woman asked, stepping closer to Vara, and that step gave her the perfect opportunity.

Vara reached out with her hands, hands shackled with magic-suppressing cuffs, and touched the woman's chest. Before the Thalmor could react, Vara sent as powerful a jolt of electricity through her fingers as she could. The woman crumpled instantly, the smell of burned skin filling the cell, causing Vara to smile grimly. "That's why," she whispered before gathering the strength to freeze her cuffs and then shatter them against the floor.

She didn't have much time before the guards would arrive, she knew, so she gathered the small amount of magicka she had left and used it to heal the worst of her wounds and stood on shaky feet. She was nowhere near fully healed, but it would be enough to keep her standing. A moment later, she heard booted feet approaching; her time was up. Her magicka began to return, and as the soldiers drew closer to her cell, she cast a rune on the ground in front of her door. It wouldn't be strong enough to kill them, unfortunately, but it would incapacitate them for the next hour or so. A few seconds later, the soldiers stormed in, yelling something about punishment. Then they stepped on the rune, which exploded in a burst of purple and blue sparks, sending jolts of electricity running through the guards. They collapsed, eyes rolled up in their heads. Once she was sure the guards were out cold, Vara carefully stepped over them.

Instead of turning down the hallway that should lead her deeper into the compound where the information she needed would be kept, Vara turned right and burst into the cell next to hers where the Stormcloak soldier was being held. The cell was dark, and it took her a moment to find the man; he was huddled up in the corner, his head leaning against the wooden wall. Vara moved to his side as quickly as her injuries would allow and knelt beside him, ignoring the pain that shot through her as she did. At first, she wasn't certain he was alive, then his chest rose and fell in a shallow breath and Vara breathed a sigh of relief.

"Soldier, can you hear me? I'm going to get us out of here!" she whispered urgently, praying the man would wake. She couldn't see his wounds in the darkness, but she knew that they were bad. She could heal him, but she knew her magic would only be able to do so much. She bowed her head, guilt flooding through her. This was her fault. Then the man groaned, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Commander?" he asked, his voice barely there. Vara nodded.

"I'm going to get us out of here. Let me heal you, and then we can escape this plane of Oblivion," Vara said softly, summoning healing light to her hands. A soft gasp escaped her. The light illuminated the man's injuries, and Vara couldn't see any part of his skin that had been left undamaged. In several places, the flesh was completely mangled, and she could see bone. His right hand was missing three fingers. She closed her eyes, tears pooling; she couldn't heal this, not even if she was at her full strength with all of her magicka at her disposal.

"Commander...you need...to leave," the soldier said, and Vara could barely hear his words. She shook her head. She knew it was hopeless, that the man wouldn't survive for more than an hour longer, but she couldn't just leave him.

"It's my fault they did this to you," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "I am so so sorry."

When Vara looked back at the soldier's face, his bloodied lips were twisted into a broken smile, and he shook his head, the movement nothing more than a slight turn. "Don't...be." the man coughed, and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. With his left hand, he reached for her, and she gave it to him, tears streaming down her face. "Talos...guide...you," he whispered.

"Talos guide you." A few moments later, the soldier's grip on her hand slackened and his breathing stopped. Vara sat in the darkness, holding the dead soldier's hand for several minutes, but eventually, she had to leave. She had a mission to fulfill, and if she stayed for too long, the Thalmor could capture her again. Slowly, she closed the man's eyes and stood. The Thalmor would pay for this and all of the other crimes they had committed, she would make sure of it.

The next ten minutes were a blur of sparks and pain. Every step hurt her, but anger and determination drove her on. Any Thalmor she met along the way was swiftly incapacitated by a barrage of magic. A dark piece of her wished she could stay and force them to experience the pain that they had put the Stormcloak soldier through, but she knew she didn't have the time. Instead, she bent down and pulled a key out of the pocket of the mage she had just killed, an important looking mer who had seemed shocked to see her standing. There was a chest in the back of the room, and judging by the papers that were sprawled across his desk, this was where the Thalmor kept their reports.

Vara dug through the chest hurridly, scanning the first few pages of each booklet she came across. The first few were accounts of various prisoners, but they weren't of any use to her. Then she came across one titled 'Ulfric Stormcloak'. She held it in her hands for a few seconds, hesitating, before putting it on the ground next to her. Elenwen's words had made her curious, and she felt she had to know what had happened to Ulfric. Besides, he likely would want the information out of Thalmor hands. Although, if she was being honest, he likely wouldn't want it in her hands either, especially if it contained the things that Elenwen had hinted at. She kept digging. Another dossier had her own name on it, and she snatched it out of the chest and placed it on the floor next to Ulfric's. She definitely didn't need that to stay with the Thalmor. Finally, she was down to the last booklet in the chest. This one was titled 'Esbern'. Scanning the first few pages, Vara's eyes widened. There was another Blade out there still!

Hurridly, she gathered the dossiers in her arms and moved over to the second chest in the room. Opening it, she found her mask, her satchel, and the small dagger she wore at her side. Unfortunately, there was no replacement for the tattered armor she wore. She pulled on the mask, wincing as it brushed against her swollen and bloody lips and placed the dossiers into the satchel. It was time to leave.

An hour later, Vara was on the road. Behind her, a fire burned that could be seen for miles. She had set the Thalmor Embassy on fire on her way out, and the magic had spread easily through the mostly wooden building, and the sound of dozens of people running around in a panic had brought a smile to her face. Once she thought she was far enough away from the blaze to avoid being caught again, Vara stopped by the side of the road and began to heal herself more completely. As she waited for her magicka to regenerate, she pulled out the dossier with her name on it and began to read. A few seconds later, the book tumbled from her hands, and she was too stunned to move. The Thalmor were lying! They had to be! It couldn't be true, what she had just read! It wasn't possible!

Chapter Text

The stones under Vara’s feet seemed to blur and shift as she slowly made her way up the stairs that led to Dragonsreach. She had been traveling almost nonstop for the past three days in an effort to reach the safety of Whiterun as quickly as she could. She healed herself as much as she could, but her escape had severally weakened her. It was a miracle she was still standing at this point. The safety that Whiterun offered wasn't the only reason that she had pushed so hard to reach the city, however. In truth, she was trying her best to keep her mind focused on anything other than what she had read in the dossier. So far, her plan had worked, even if she was on the verge of collapse.

"Hold there," a gruff voice ordered, causing Vara to tiredly look up from the ground and meet the soldier's eyes. "Dragonsreach is closed, citizen. If you need to see the Jarl, you should return in the morning."

"Jarl Balgruuf will see me," Vara stated, exhaustion permeating her voice.

"I'm sorry, citizen, but the Jarl is not taking visitors."

Vara let out a sigh, but stood up straighter and forced some authority to seep into her voice. "Soldier, I am a Thane of Whiterun and the Dragonborn of Skyrim. The Jarl will see me." The man's eyes widened, and he lurched into action, stammering an apology as he opened the great door for her. Vara only waved the apology away with a slight shake of her head and stepped inside.

The hall was warm, the kind of warm that can only be felt after days of walking in Skyrim’s harsh climate. Even well into spring, the land had barely thawed. As expected, Jarl Balgruuf wasn't sitting on his throne, but his housecarl, the dark elf Irileth, maintained her usual watch over the hall. Vara approached slowly, her feet unwilling to move any faster.

"Dragonborn," Irileth greeted. "We were wondering when you would return. The Jarl is in his chambers, but I doubt he's sleeping, even if he should.” The housecarl paused and narrowed her eyes, looking Vara over. “You don’t look so good, Dragonborn. Do you need me to take you to him?"

Vara shook her head. "I’m fine, and I can find the way, thank you." Irileth nodded but didn’t look convinced. As Vara walked past her, she could feel the housecarl’s concerned eyes on her until Vara turned the corner, blocking her from view. A few minutes later, she knocked on the door to the Jarl's room. A shuffling sound came from within, shortly followed by a call to enter.

Vara stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "My jarl." she said, bowing ever so slightly, her injuries and the strange pounding in her head preventing her from doing much more.

Balgruuf looked up from the papers that were scattered across the desk in front of him, his features surprised. "Dragonborn! You've returned!" Vara’s face contorted in what she hoped was a smile. "Did you find the information you needed?"

"Somewhat. The Thalmor don't know any more about the return of the dragons than we do, but I did find information about a man who might." Her speech seemed to have slowed as well.

Balgruuf looked at Vara more closely, taking in her tattered armor, neglected cuts, and fatigue. "Well, I hope that information was worth it. Are you all right, Varaduilwe?"

Vara quickly leaned against the desk for support but smiled anyway, pushing aside the pain that hovered at the edge of her conscious like an irritating fly. "I'm fine, my jarl," she insisted. However, as she pushed herself off of the desk to move towards the jarl, the world began to spin around her. She dimly heard her body hit the ground, heard Balgruuf call her name, and then the world turned to black.

. . .

Loud knocking roused Ulfric from his restless sleep. He blinked several times in the darkness and waited for his heart to slow. He had been dreaming once again, and his dreams were never pleasant. After a few moments, he felt composed enough to stand and open the door. A courier stood on the other side, drenched to the bone and looking as if he had slept even less than Ulfric recently.

"My jarl," the man said, bowing, "I delivered a report to General Stonefist, and he told me to take it directly to you." The courier fished a thick envelope out of his pack and handed it over. "I was told to inform you it is a report of the Dragonborn."

Ulfric's eyes widened ever so slightly. News of Vara! "Thank you. Please, feel free to rest at the Inn; you may tell the owner that I will pay for your stay." The man bowed again and thanked Ulfric before turning away and walking back down the hall, leaving small puddles in his wake.

Ulfric stepped back into his room and closed the door absentmindedly, his attention already absorbed by the packet of parchment in his hands. The fire in his room had dimmed somewhat, but it was bright enough for him to read by. He sat in front of the fireplace and tore open the letter, immediately beginning to read the first page.

For the next half hour, Ulfric read and reread the report. Finally, he leaned against the stone of his fireplace, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. Vara was alive. According to this report, the Dragonborn had been sighted leaving the Thalmor Embassy three days ago, and it was suspected that she was the one responsible for setting fire to the place during one of the many parties that Elenwen hosted.

Ulfric was glad for even that small piece of information. He was sure that if anyone could cause a stir in the ranks of the Thalmor, it was Vara. Unfortunately, the nagging feeling in Ulfric's gut told him that Vara didn't just happen to be strolling by the Embassy and decided to set it on fire. No, it was far more likely that she had been captured and taken there. And capture by the Thalmor meant torture.

A small part of him worried about what information Vara may have revealed about the Stormcloak movements and plans. She knew more than most did about his plans, although those plans had changed quite a bit since she had left. However, what worried him more was the shape that Vara was in now. The Thalmor were cruel and sadistic, and if she had found herself in their clutches, they had likely treated her even worse than they treated most prisoners. He had heard the way that the Thalmor assassin had spoken of her, calling her a half-breed. The Thalmor themselves likely held even more vehement opinions. Ulfric’s mind flew to his dreams, his memories. If what she had endured was even half as bad as that...

But she was alive. Ulfric had to hold onto that thought. For the past few weeks, there had been nothing but silence in regards to Vara, and he had feared the worst. Now, however, he had hope. If she was alive, she might be able to return to Windhelm soon, return to him. And so Ulfric bowed his head and sent an earnest prayer of thanks to the gods for her safety.

. . .

When Vara woke, a familiar healing light was swirling around her. She blinked a few times to clear her vision and saw a woman through the golden light. Slowly, she sat up and waved the woman, who Vara recognized as a priestess of Kynareth, away. The woman backed up, an irritated look in her eyes. "Thank you, priestess, but I'll be okay. Please, I'm sure there are people at the temple who need you more urgently than I do," she said. The woman turned and spoke to someone out of Vara's field of vision, but her senses were still too dulled to make out the words. After a few moments, the woman walked away and someone else stepped into Vara's line of sight.

"Dragonborn, it's good to see you awake," Jarl Balgruuf said with a chuckle. "I've had the priestess healing you; it's a few hours after dawn now. Your wounds are... severe."

Vara waved a dismissive hand, although the movement aggravated the wound in her shoulder. "I'll be fine, my Jarl. Really. You shouldn't have dragged a priestess away from people who need healing," she scolded, although her exhausted voice held no heat.

"I'm the Jarl of this city; I'll do as I please. Besides, you seemed to need healing more than most of the people in the temple," Balgruuf chuckled, then grew serious. "Your body is covered in scars, Varaduilwe, and they all seem quite recent. What did those monsters do to you?"

Vara looked away. "What does it look like?” she asked, her voice bitter. Then she shook her head and her voice grew soft. “They tortured me, mentally and physically. They healed me after each session, but I think the weapons were enchanted to leave behind scars, even with healing."

Balgruuf bowed his head. "I'm sorry you had to suffer through that, Dragonborn. I'm just glad that your mission wasn't a complete failure." Vara nodded, and the Jarl fell silent for a few moments. Eventually, he pulled something from one of the pockets of his robe and pressed it into Vara's hands. Even before she looked down, Vara knew what it was. Ulfric's amulet.

As she gazed at it, the memories of Ulfric rushed to the surface of her mind, as well as the contents of the dossier that she had read. The one that had turned her world upside down. Before she could stop them, several tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Varaduilwe?" The jarl's voice was soft and concerned. "What is it?"

Vara took a deep breath, wiping away her tears. For a few moments, she debated whether or not to tell Balgruuf about the contents of the dossier. She trusted the man, but this was something close to her heart, something too painful to think about, much less speak of. And yet, she felt like she should.

"I found a dossier with my name on it in the Embassy when I was looking for the information about the dragons. It said that," she took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. "It said that my father used to be a spy for the Thalmor. He was sent to Windhelm to infiltrate the Stormcloak family and establish a relationship of trust with them so that he could spy on them." Now that Vara had started, the words came tumbling out. "He met my mother a month after he arrived in Windhelm. He had injured himself hunting, and she nursed him back to health. They fell in love during that time, and he defected. They both moved out of Windhelm and into the woods so that they would be safe from the Thalmor. Eventually, though, the Thalmor caught up to them and murdered them. I was away on a hunting trip, and when I returned, the house was in flames.

"For the past three years, I believed that my parents were murdered for their love of Talos and each other, and I was wrong. I thought that my father was an honorable man, a refugee from the Summerset Isles, a man who wanted nothing more than to flee the tyranny of the Thalmor. But I was wrong. My father worked for them for years, decades! He aided their cruelty, their twisted plots! Without my mother, he would have continued to do so; he would have spied on the Stormcloak family, maybe even assassinated them!" The tears came in angry torrents now, and she looked away from Balgruuf.

A heavy silence fell over them, and Vara found herself unable to meet Balgruuf's eyes. Gods above! She had been living a lie her entire life, and now that she knew the truth she didn't know what she would do. She didn't even know what, who, she was. The daughter of a spy? The daughter of a traitor? Or the daughter of elf who had been blinded by tradition? She didn't know.

Finally, Jarl Balgruuf reached out to Vara and covered her hand with his. "I am not gifted with foresight, nor do I know what may have happened, but I do know the man that your father became. He loved you and your mother; that much is obvious in your actions. You are a strong woman, and that strength is a reflection of the strength of your parents. A coward could not have raised a woman with a spirit such as yours. Your father made mistakes, but I believe he was a good man."

"Thank you, my Jarl. I'm sorry for burdening you with this, I know that my life is not a primary concern," Vara said, her voice soft.

"Look at me, Dragonborn," Balgruuf ordered, and Vara obeyed. "You are the Thane of Whiterun. That makes you my concern," he reassured, a gentle smile on his weathered face. "You are not alone in this world, Dragonborn." He paused for a moment, considering his words. "In that spirit, I believe you should send a letter to Ulfric Stormcloak. I'm sure he's worried about you."

Vara nodded. "I will, but I need to leave the city by tomorrow morning to return to High Hrothgar."

Balgruuf looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded. "Very well. You will ride a carriage to Ivarstead though. You are far from healed, and I don't need the Dragonborn dying before even reaching the Seven Thousand Steps."

Vara smiled a tear-stained smile. "Thank you, my Jarl."

Balgruuf stood. "Of course. I'll send someone to get you some food and a quill and ink. As soon as you finish the letter, give it to the guard outside of the room, and he will ensure that it is delivered with haste." Vara nodded, and Balgruuf left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

. . .

Evening found Ulfric in the courtyard training. After the news of Vara had arrived the night before, he hadn't been able to sleep, which had led to his mind wandering through a million situations, things that could happen when Vara arrived back home. Unfortunately, sometime in the early hours of the morning, before the sun had begun to shed her light across the earth, a thought had wormed its way into his thoughts. What if she never came back?

He had told her before she left that she shouldn't come back until she was certain that she could stay. Those words had been said in anger, and Ulfric regretted them because he knew that Vara would take them seriously. She had always followed his orders to the letter, out of respect at first and then out of love, and Ulfric doubted that this order would be any different, regardless of the circumstances in which it had been given. She wouldn't return until she could stay, and it might be that she would never be able to stay with him.

She was the Dragonborn, chosen by the gods. She had a destiny to fulfill, and she wouldn't be able to avoid it; she had proven that already. It was her duty to protect Skyrim from the tyranny of the dragons and prevent a second dragon age from coming. The first Dragon War had been long and bloody, and that was when there were hundreds of Nords fighting against the dragons, and several warriors gifted with the Voice. Now, it was just Vara. Unless she found a way to destroy the dragons from the inside out or eliminate their leader, she may never be able to stop fighting, and that thought terrified Ulfric.

He loved Vara. He did. He had been prepared to marry her before she had revealed her identity to him, and in the past few weeks, he had come to the conclusion that his feelings for her hadn't faltered. She had lied to him, yes, but he knew that she had done it to protect him and protect their relationship. She had told him that she didn't want him to see her differently, to see her as something that she wasn't. And he didn't, because the Vara he knew was already worthy to be looked up to as a hero, as a woman who could lead Skyrim to victory. She was brave, selfless, and honorable. She had deserved respect long before she was the Dragonborn. He loved her, but she didn't know it.

When she had told him the truth of her identity, there had been a look of deep sadness and acceptance in her eyes, as if Vara knew that she was losing something that she could never get back. She believed that she had forfeited her right to his love with her lies, and in the moment, he had felt the same way. Now, however, he knew that he needed Vara by his side, but she didn't. She still believed that he hated her. Why would she return to a place she felt she was not wanted?

Ulfric swung his sword, channeling his self-loathing and anger into the strike. The blade sliced through the wood at the center of the straw dummy that he had mostly destroyed already. It teetered for a moment before the upper half of the chest and head crashed to the ground, sending up a cloud of straw. For several moments, Ulfric simply stared at it, his eyes not truly seeing. Eventually, however, he blinked several times to clear his head and sheathed his sword. He was turning towards a different dummy when a voice stopped him.

"Ulfric," Galmar called from across the courtyard, motioning towards him. Ulfric glanced once more at the demolished target before walking over to his old friend, wiping sweat from his brow as he did.

"Do you have more information about the Embassy fires?" he asked. Ulfric had told Galmar to gather as many reports as he could find about the fire and Vara’s involvement.

Galmar shook his head. "I'm afraid not. However, I do have more information about Oaken-Song." Ulfric's eyes lit up and he nodded for the general to continue. "She arrived in Whiterun late last night and headed up to Dragonsreach to speak to the jarl. As of this morning, she was still in the keep. The report says that she may be injured, as a healer was seen entering Dragonsreach, however, the Jarl won't let anyone in to see her."

For a moment, Ulfric debated his options. He wanted more than anything to see Vara, to confirm with his own eyes that she was safe, and yet, he knew that if they were to cross paths now, nothing good would come from it, because in the end, she still had a destiny to fulfill, and he still had a war to win. They were on different paths for now, and all he could do was pray that those paths would merge once again soon.

"Thank you for the information, old friend. Tell our informants to keep an ear out for any other news of the Dragonborn. Gather the council. We need to plan our next move." Galmar nodded, and Ulfric watched him walk away, his heart heavy. After a moment, he bowed his head and sent another prayer to the gods, begging them to watch over Vara as she did their work. Then, he straightened his shoulders and followed after Galmar. He had an army to lead, with or without Vara by his side.

Chapter Text

Ulfric dismounted wearily from his horse. For the past two weeks, he had been traveling to the various Stormcloak outposts that were scattered throughout Eastmarch, the Rift, and Whiterun. At each post, he had done his best to bolster the morale of the troops and give them a bright vision of the future that they could hold on because he knew that the next few months were going to be harsh. He planned to fortify his defenses over the next few weeks, but soon enough, his armies would march forward towards Markarth. It was time that he take the city that had once promised his people freedom.

But that would come later. For now, he was greatly looking forward to a night of sleep in the warmth of his bed. Handing the reins to a stable boy, Ulfric headed for the palace. The rest of the party, which consisted of Galmar, Hjornskar, and a small contingent of men, followed suit, although most of the soldiers took a detour as they passed the Candlehearth Hall. Ulfric chuckled at the sight of the young soldiers piling into the inn, looking forward to a strong drink and good company. Part of him thought about joining them, but he kept walking. He was tired, and hopefully, that exhaustion would lead to a dreamless sleep.

When he reached his bedroom, he pushed the door open and was instantly greeted with a rush of warm air. Silently, he sent a prayer of thanks to the gods that someone had thought to stoke the fire. He shrugged off his traveling cloak and laid it over a chair for one of the maids to pick up in the morning. He was about to change out of the rest of his clothing and into his sleepwear when he spied a pile of parchment and packages in the middle of the table. He had forgotten that he had told Jorleif before he left to have all of the most urgent mail sent straight to his room so that he could look at it when he got back. With a sigh, Ulfric sat down in the chair, rustling his cloak as he did so, and turned to the pile. It seemed his sleep would be delayed a while longer.

The first few papers were letters from his generals that he had stationed in the field. Thankfully, the reports were all positive. Things were going well for the Stormcloak army, it seemed, although he would have to remind Galmar to send another detachment to Fort Amol in the morning. Following those reports was a request from the Jarl of Dawnstar for military action against the giants of in the hold. Ulfric put that letter aside for Jorleif to draft an adequate response to. He had already told Skald that the giants were the least of their problems right now, and that answer hadn't changed. Finally, Ulfric reached the last paper and the small package attached to it.

The single page was slightly wrinkled from its travel, but Ulfric would recognize the handwriting anywhere. His heart seemed to freeze in his chest as his eyes scanned the page, reading the single sentence written on it in the graceful handwriting of Varaduilwe Oaken-Song.

'Forgive me, Ulfric, I was never worthy of her legacy.'

Ulfric's eyes turned to the package, and even without opening it, he knew what lay within. His hands moved slowly, carefully setting down the letter before picking up the package. The wrapping was smooth and careful as if the sender had wanted to ensure the protection of the object within. Hesitantly, Ulfric tore open the packaging, hoping against hope that he was wrong, that it wasn't in there, that she hadn't done what he thought she had. But then the metal began to peek through the packaging, glinting in the flickering light of the fire, and he knew she had. Slowly, he finished unwrapping the amulet, holding it gently between his fingers.

Vara had given him back his mother's Amulet of Talos because she didn't believe she was worthy of it. What had happened to her while she had been gone to make her believe that? What had she suffered through? Ulfric bowed his head, clutching the amulet in his fist, the metal digging into his skin, his knuckles turning white. What had happened to Vara?

. . .

Vara shivered against the might of the wind that pushed against her. "Lok vah kor!" The words drove away the wind for a time and cleared the path of mist as Vara placed one foot in front of the other into the snow that covered the Throat of the World. The cold, although it was oppressive, didn't bother her much. Her wandering mind ignored it.

She had left Whiterun for High Hrothgar just as she had told Balgruuf she would do, and she had sent Delphine the dossier with Esbern's information so that the Blade could track him down. While Delphine had been busy scouring Riften for her old colleague, Vara had been recuperating in High Hrothgar.

The monks had taken excellent care of her, and she had spent a little over a week in the monastery, learning as much as she could about her calling as Dragonborn as well as the language of the Dovah. Apparently, she had a knack for the language, and Arngeir said that he had never heard of someone learning so quickly. It wasn't just words of power that she was good at remembering; she was also able to pick up the common words of the language quite quickly as well. By the end of her stay, she was able to have a decent conversation with the monks in Dovahzul.

Eventually, however, she had had to leave the safety of the mountain to meet with Delphine and Esbern, and that had led to more information, and more questions, about her destiny as the Dragonborn. She now knew that she would have to slay Alduin, the harbinger of the end times, but the questions that the Blades had been unable to answer was how. And that was why she was here, climbing the mountain above High Hrothgar to speak to Paarthurnax, the leader of the Greybeards.

She Shouted once again, the mist and wind parting in the face of her powerful Voice, and this time, she was able to see the top of the mountain. Her feet quickened, and she made her way through the snow. Eventually, she reached a large level area. To one side stood a large, and empty, Word Wall, much like the ones she had seen throughout Skyrim, and on top of the Word Wall sat an ancient dragon. Paarthurnax.

The dragon left his perch, circling Vara in the air for a few moments before landing in front of her, shaking the earth as he did so. He tilted his head and seemed to regard her with some curiosity. "Drem Yol Lok," the great creature rumbled. "Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah ... my mountain?"

For a few moments, Vara couldn't respond. The dragon before her was magnificent and obviously far older than the others that she had faced. It radiated a tired wisdom that could only come from millennia on this place of existence. Finally, Vara managed to bring her focus back to the topic at hand. "The Greybeards sent me," she explained. "I am the Dragonborn, and I need to learn a Shout that will help me defeat Alduin. Its name is Dragonrend. Do you know it?"

A light of understanding shone in the old dragon's eyes. "Drem. Patience," he said. "There are formalities that must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!" Then Paarthurnax turned to the Word Wall and Shouted, a burst of flame tumbling from his mouth as he did so, rushing over the wall and leaving behind a glowing Word of Power.

Paarthurnax turned back to Vara. "Approach the Word," he said. "Feel it in your Sil, your soul."

Vara obeyed the command, walking up to the Word Wall and touching a hand to the still-glowing letters. In an instant, she felt the Word rush into her and heard it reverberate deep within her being. Yol. Fire. Then she turned back to Paarturnax.

"A gift, Dovahkiin. Yol. Understand Fire as the dov do." The dragon bowed his head, and a rush of swirling white and golden wind surrounded them both. Vara closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing the ancient dragon's knowledge of the Word to fill her soul. In her mind's eye, images of fire arced through the air like graceful wings, burned villages to the ground, clashed in great dragon duels and smoldered along the earth. Then the feeling faded, and Vara opened her eyes. "Now," Paarthurnax said, "show me what you can do. Greet me not as half-elf, but as dovah!"

Vara smiled behind her mask before Shouting, letting her new Word explode into existence. Her fire breath washed over the ancient dragon, and Paarthurnax let out a deep rumble, sounding satisfied. "Your Thu'um, your Voice, is strong, Dragonborn. Now, tell me, what do you need?"

"To defeat Alduin," Vara stated, doing her best to keep the fear from her voice. In truth, she was terrified. She had read the stories, heard the tales, of Alduin, the dragon who would bring to pass the end of the world. He was a primal force, created by Akatosh himself, and Vara had to destroy him. Vara, who had only discovered her destiny as Dragonborn a few months ago.

Paarthurnax nodded slowly. "Yes. You are the Dragonborn, sent to battle Alduin and save the world. And yet some would say that all things must end so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?" he mused.

Vara paused. Some small part of her was irritated that the old dragon was avoiding her question, but the rest of her understood on some level his need to talk with another being. He lived alone at the Throat of the World for thousands of years, and he had had nothing else to do but think. According to what the Greybeards had told her, he was Alduin's brother, and Vara couldn't blame the dragon for thinking such thoughts.

"I cannot decide what fate the Gods will bestow upon this world. If they decree that Alduin will win, then there is nothing I can do to stop him," she said after a few moments. "However, I will do what I can to save this world, even if it is in vain." And that was the truth. No matter what pain and suffering the Gods put her through, Vara would pour every ounce of her soul into fulfilling the mission she had been given because no one else could. She was the Dragonborn, and she could not sit idly by while Alduin reigned.

"A fair answer," Paarthurnax admitted. "Not even the Dov can see the Gods' plans. Unfortunately, I cannot teach you the Shout you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me." The old dragon bowed his head, and Vara thought she could see pain in his weathered face. "To know a Shout, one must be able to understand it. An immortal being cannot understand mortality, and that is what Dragonrend does. It was created by the Tongues of old to instill faas, fear, into the dragons and to weaken them."

At those words, Vara looked down, forcing her anger into check. All of these weeks of running around, of searching for information about the dragons, it was all for nothing! She wanted to scream her rage into the sky, but instead, she took a deep breath and asked, "Is there any way for me to learn it?"

For several moments, Paarthurnax was silent. "This is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim," he finally said. "The great mountain of the world. Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the voice, brought Alduin to battle and defeated him." Vara nodded, having learned by now that the old dragon would get to the point soon enough. "Tiid krent. Time was… shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel, that Elder Scroll back here… to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound… With the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time, you may be able to… cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it."

Vara's eyes widened slightly. She had to go back in time? "Do you know where I can find an Elder Scroll?" she asked, her mind already racing with the possibilities and implications of the Time-Wound.

Paarthurnax shook his head. "I do not. Krosis. I have been removed from the world for many years. You are likely better informed than I."

"Arngeir might know. I'll ask him."

"Good. Trust your blood, it will show you the way." Vara nodded and turned away from the dragon. She was almost to the path that would lead her back down the mountain when the dragon spoke once more. "Dovahkiin," he called, causing Vara to look back over her shoulder. "Do not forget that the blood of three peoples runs through your veins. Do not deny your heritage." Before Vara could respond, Paarthurnax took to the air, causing the ground to tremble once more as he did so. For a long moment, Vara stared after him, wondering what had prompted him to say those words, before she turned away and began to make her way back to High Hrothgar once more.

Once she reached the monastery, Vara sought out Arngeir. The speaker for the Greybeards had been disappointed when she had told him that she was working with the Blades, but Vara knew that he would help her if she asked. Eventually, she found him meditating at one of the many windows. Instead of interrupting him, Vara knelt beside him and allowed her eyes to slip closed. They stayed that way for several quiet minutes, but eventually, Arngeir stood, and Vara followed suit.

"Master Arngeir," she said, bowing slightly. "Paarthurnax has told me what I need to do, but in order to learn Dragonrend, I need to find an Elder Scroll. Do you know where I could start looking?"

The Greybeard was silent for a moment, looking Vara up and down, searching for...something. Eventually, he sighed and said, "I do not know where you could find a Kel, but the College of Winterhold always seems to know of things that they shouldn't. The master of the arcanaeum there may be able to guide you." Vara nodded gratefully and was about to turn away when the Greybeard's voice stopped her.

"Be careful that you do not act too quickly, Dragonborn," he warned, his voice grave. "You are dancing among the threads of fate and destiny themselves. Do not cut a string without first understanding the larger picture it creates. Far too often, the young turn their backs on that which they do not truly understand."

Vara looked into Arngeir's eyes and saw deep regret there. "You're talking about Ulfric, aren't you?" she asked quietly. The Greybeard bowed his head.

"Ulfric Stormcloak had a gift; he had the most talented Voice I had ever seen until you arrived. And he threw that gift away and forsook the Way." Anger began to creep into Arngeir's voice now. "He threw away a gift from the Gods to go fight in a petty war. Do not let yourself become embroiled in the low things of the world, Dragonborn. You have a greater destiny than he ever will."

At those words, Vara's eyes flashed defensively. "Please," she begged, trying to reign in her emotions. "Do not speak of him that way. He made a choice, and whether or not that choice was correct is not for us to judge. He believes that he is fighting a fight that no one else is willing to. He weighed the price of his choice, and he sacrificed." Her voice grew quieter as she remembered the faraway look that Ulfric always seemed to get in his eye when he spoke of his time on High Hrothgar. "He misses this place, and I know a part of him wishes that he had never had to leave."

The monk quirked an eyebrow. "And how do you know so much about Ulfric Stormcloak? I was under the impression that he was too busy waging war to socialize." Arngeir's voice was bitter, and Vara could hear the pain in it. Even after all these years, the monk still felt the sting of what he viewed as a betrayal of his trust and guidance.

Vara looked to the side, unable to meet the Greybeard's gaze. Her relationship with Ulfric was complicated, to say the least, if she even had one after all she had done. "I was an officer in his army before I learned I was Dragonborn," she admitted. "I've listened to him talk about his days on this mountain, and I can tell you that if things were different, there would be nothing he would enjoy more than joining you here once again. But he has made his choice, just as I have made mine." She looked up, meeting Arngeir's aged gaze.

"I am the Dragonborn, and I will do what it takes to see Skyrim free, from the dragons as well as any others who would threaten her," she declared, her voice firm. "The Voice is a tool, and I will use it, however, when the day comes that it may be used solely for praising the Gods, I will welcome it gladly." With those words, she turned away from the Greybeard and began to make her way down the hall. She thought that Arngeir would call after her, warn her that that kind of thinking was against the Way of the Voice, but the monk stayed silent. After all, she was the Dragonborn, and the rules didn't quite apply.

Vara shook her head as she rounded the corner to the small room where she had been sleeping. She eyed the bed there wistfully before gathering her things and slinging her pack over her shoulder. As much as she wished she could spend another week in the monastery away from the world, she knew she had to leave. Winterhold was far, and Alduin wasn't going to wait.

Chapter Text

The trip to Winterhold took three days. From High Hrothgar, Vara walked to Riften, which was the closest city where she could hire a carriage. She stayed the night there but didn't linger, leaving at first light. She had never before visited the city, although she had hunted in the Rift several times both with her parents and on her own in the past. Her father had always preferred to sell their catches to local hunters or people in the smaller settlements of Skyrim, and Vara could understand why; the city gave her an uneasy feeling. No matter where she went in the city she felt as if she were being watched, sized up. Normally, she could blame such feelings on the distinctive mask she wore, but this was different. The people of Riften all seemed to be hiding some ulterior motive, even the redheaded man who approached her in the market, who she politely turned down. In all, she found the city unnerving and decided that if she could avoid it in the future, she would.

The ride to Winterhold was cold and overall unpleasant, but she found that she preferred it to Riften's atmosphere. Her carriage driver was a pleasant man who talked quite animatedly about the war, the return of the dragons, the price of a good steak, and everything in between. Vara's attention waxed and waned, but she appreciated the chatter, as it distracted her from the overwhelming feeling of dread that hung over her. At one point, the man had spoken of his love for Talos, and Vara's hand had immediately gone to her neck, but of course, there had been nothing there. Instead of mentioning her involvement in the Stormcloaks, Vara had remained silent, and the rest of the ride had passed quietly.

Now, Vara found herself walking down the streets of Winterhold, the midday sun reflected off of the thick snow, casting a glaring light on the dilapidated town. She had read in a few different tomes over the years about the Great Collapse that had destroyed most of Winterhold, reducing the town to shambles, but she had never seen it with her own two eyes. Instead of a thriving community, the town was little more than four buildings. The sight saddened Vara, and she felt for these people who lived among the ruins of their past glory. Her goal, however, was mostly untouched. The College of Winterhold loomed over the town, an imposing structure of stone and magic.

Vara approached the bridge that led to the College and spotted a woman standing guard there. When Vara walked up to her, the woman put out a staying hand. "The way is blocked," she declared, her voice icy. "You will not gain entry!"

Vara frowned and held up her hands in a peaceful gesture. "Please," she said, "I was told that the College may have what I'm looking for." When the woman didn't stop her, she continued, "I need to find an Elder Scroll, and I believe that your college may have information that can help me."

The woman narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "Only those with a love of magic and a desire to learn may enter. Why should I let you pass?"

Vara's first instinct was to demonstrate her Thu'um, and if the woman standing guard was thrown back a few feet, well, it would serve her right. She quelled that instinct, however, and pooled her magika into her hands instead. Carefully, she began to weave sparks in the air between them, speaking as she did so. "Because, I do love magic. I love the way that it is beautiful and useful, dangerous and enchanting. I spent years learning how to shape it from my father." The magic took the shape of a dragon with outstretched wings. And then, because Vara couldn't help herself, she added, "Also, I believe that as the Dragonborn, I may be an exception to the rule."

The woman's eyes widened in an almost comical manner. "Dragonborn? I had heard tales that the Dragonborn was a mage, but I didn't think---forgive me. I will open the way." Vara smiled and followed the woman as she lit the path and opened the gate to the College. "You will want to speak to Mirabelle Ervine, our master wizard. She can tell you where to find the information you seek." Vara nodded and thanked the woman before stepping through the gate and into the courtyard.

She made her way to the largest building but stopped when she heard sounds of an argument. As she stepped around the imposing statue that dominated the courtyard, she halted in her tracks, and her heart seemed to stop. There, arguing with a Breton woman, was a Thalmor mage, dressed in the same cursed robes that Elenwen had always worn while Vara had been imprisoned in the Embassy. Slowly, Vara unclenched her fists and took a deep breath. She needed the help of these people in order to defeat Alduin, and if they had invited the Thalmor here, killing him wouldn't help her get that information.

Thankfully, the Breton woman seemed to win the argument, as the Thalmor turned away in a huff and stalked across the courtyard. Vara waited until her vision had cleared of the red that had clouded it and then approached the Breton.

"Are you Mirabelle Ervine?" she asked, forcing herself to sound civil. She had no right to be angry at this woman, even if the Breton did willingly speak to a Thalmor instead of incinerating him.

"I am. Are you a new student? It's surprising how many of you there have been recently."

Vara shook her head. "I'm not. My name is Varaduilwe, and I've come seeking any information that the College might have about the Elder Scrolls." Before the mage could question her, Vara added, "I'm the Dragonborn."

Instantly, the woman's demeanor changed. "The Dragonborn, you say? I don't know what information we have about Elder Scrolls, but I can take you to the Arcanaeum. Urag gro-Shub may no more." Vara nodded her thanks and followed the woman into the building in front of them. After climbing a few sets of stairs, Vara found herself in a large library.

"Urag is the keeper of the Arcanaeum. You can find him behind the counter over there. If you need anything else during your stay here, Dragonborn, please let me know," Mirabelle said before turning and heading back down the stairs the way they had come.

Vara approached the counted that the woman had indicated. Behind it sat an old Orc, his nose deep in an ancient tome that was written in a language Vara didn't even recognize. After a few moments, she coughed quietly to draw his attention, and the Orc looked up, irritation in his eyes for being interrupted.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice hostile.

Once again, Vara found herself holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. The mages certainly were defensive. "I'm the Dragonborn," she said, figuring it was best to get straight to the point. "I need any information you have about Elder Scrolls and their locations."

The old Ord narrowed his eyes for a few moments before nodding. "Very well. I'll get you what we have, although it's not much, and most of it is just lies and conjecture."

"Anything is better than nothing."

The Orc only grunted in response, reminding Vara with a pang of sadness of another old wizard she knew, before turning away and walking over to another shelf. As Urag looked for the books, Vara gazed about the room, impressed with the sheer amount of knowledge that had been compiled. This collection must have taken centuries to build up, and she had a feeling that there were books in this room that no longer existed anywhere else in Skyrim, possibly even in all of Tamriel.

After a few minutes, Urag returned holding three books. "Here is everything we have. If you want, you can take a seat over there while you read. Don't touch anything, though. This Arcanaeum might as well be my own plane of Oblivion; if you disturb it I will have you torn apart by angry atronachs," he stated, his voice serious. Vara only nodded and took the seat that he had indicated and began to read through the tomes.

None of the books were very long, so she read them all within half an hour. Unfortunately, none of them said anything that even resembled useful information. It was as Urag had said, the books were mostly made of theories and conjectures. One of the books was completely incomprehensible. When she mentioned it to the Orc, Urag nodded.

"That is the work of Septimus Signus. He's a bit mad, but he knows more about the Elder Scrolls than anyone else in Skyrim. Unfortunately, he's been gone a long time, too long."

Vara frowned. "Gone? Did he die?" she asked. If this man was still alive, he might be the key to finding an Elder Scroll.

The Orc shook his head. "No. He discovered some dwemer artifact out in the ice flows years ago, and I haven't seen him since. My guess is that he's still out there. You might be able to find him in this area," he said, gesturing to a map that was spread out on the table next to Vara’s seat.

"Thank you," Vara said, bowing slightly to the aged Orc. "Your college has been a great help to me." Vara was about to turn away when she paused and added, "A piece of advice: get rid of the Thalmor mage. I don't know why he's here, but I can promise you that he will cause you more trouble than he is worth." Urag didn't respond, but the expression on his face told Vara enough; it seemed that the Thalmor was far from a welcome guest at the College of Winterhold. Vara thanked the Orc once more and then left the College the way she had come.

As she reentered Winterhold proper--if there was such a thing in a town so small--Vara found that her thoughts remained at the College, even as she left the town and headed for the ice flows. Magic was generally mistrusted in Skyrim, and judging by the reaction of the woman who had stood guard by the bridge, the College had plenty of experience with prejudice. However, within its walls, magic was celebrated and studied freely. Vara had never truly found herself in a position where her magic had caused her to be treated differently, but she had a feeling that for those who had, the College was like a beacon in the dark ignorance of Skyrim. Maybe when all of this was over, if she survived her encounter with Alduin, Vara would visit the College again. For now, however, she had to focus on other, far more dangerous, things.

. . .

The ice flows shifted under her feet as she hesitantly stepped onto them. According to Urag's directions, Septimus should be nearby, relatively speaking. The problem with that was that the ice out here was constantly melting and breaking and refreezing; finding something among the flows would be difficult, especially if it started to snow, as the sky seemed to suggest it would. Vara, however, was determined. She narrowed her eyes and summoned a ball of magical light to guide her, and then she set out, careful to keep her feet firmly planted on the ice so that she could avoid tumbling into the frigid water that rolled all around her.

After nearly half an hour of walking, Vara began to give up hope. It had begun to snow, as she had feared it would, and the weather made things even more difficult than they had been before. Now, Vara's feet slipped on both the snow and the ice, and the snowflakes in the air made it hard for her to distinguish shapes in the distance despite the light that her magic provided. For all she knew, she could be walking back to Winterhold! After several minutes of slowly making her way across the ice, Vara began to see something rising in the horizon. At first, she thought it was just a large chunk of ice floating in the ocean, but as she drew closer, she realized that this was something far more permanent, a rocky outcropping that broke up the bleak wintery landscape.

A few minutes later, Vara was on solid ground once again. The rocky island was small, barely larger than a ship, but in the side of the rock was a trapdoor, and anchored off the shore was a small rowboat. Someone lived here or had at least, and Vara doubted that there were many people crazy enough to take root in a place as frozen and desolate as this, even in Skyrim. With that in mind, she opened the trap door and slipped inside.

Vara climbed down a ladder and found herself standing in a crudely-dug tunnel of solid ice. Following it, she came to a larger room, its walls made entirely of ice. The ice, however, wasn't the first thing that caught her eye. No, the first thing Vara noticed was the enormous bronze cube that was half buried in the wall. It seemed to be of dwemer make, which likely meant that the robed figure standing and pacing back and forth in front of it and muttering to himself was Septimus Signus, the insane expert on Elder Scrolls. Taking a deep breath, Vara descended the icy walkway to the floor of the room.

"Excuse me," she said to draw the attention of the man, who was still pacing as if he hadn't noticed her presence. "Are you Septimus Signus? What are you doing out here?"

Then, finally, the old wizard seemed to see Vara for the first time. Instead of registering shock or surprise he said, "The ice entombs the heart. The bane of Kagrenac and Dagoth Ur. To harness it is to know. The fundaments. The Dwemer lockbox hides it from me. The Elder Scroll gives insight deeper than the deep ones, though. To bring about the opening."

Vara nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. If this man truly was mad, she may not be able to get anything useful from him. Regardless, Vara decided to try. "The Elder Scroll? Do you have one?"

Unfortunately, nothing could be that easy. "I've seen enough to know their fabric," Septimus said, his eyes unfocused as he recalled something from long ago. "The warp of air, the weft of time. But no, it is not in my possession."

Vara let out a frustrated breath. Maybe she should change tactics. "Urag gro-Shub told me that you are an expert on the Elder Scrolls."

Septimus nodded vaguely. "Indeed. The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think. The ones they saw. The ones they thought they saw. I know of one. Forgotten. Sequestered. But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I... I have arisen beyond its grasp," the man stated sadly. His words caught Vara's attention, and she raised an eyebrow behind her mask.

"You know where an Elder Scroll is? Could you help me find it?" she asked, praying that the man would say yes.

Septimus tilted his head to one side and frowned thoughtfully as if he were listening to someone whisper into his ear. Finally, he said slowly, "One block lifts the other. Septimus will give what you want, but you must bring him something in return."

Vara nodded instantly. Whatever the old madman needed, she would find a way to get it for him if it meant that she would be able to locate and use the Elder Scroll. "What do you need from me?"

The crazed wizard turned back to the Dwemer cube. "You see this masterwork of the Dwemer. Deep inside their greatest knowings. Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer. Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies. Have you heard of Blackreach? 'Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.'" Vara nodded, although in truth she didn't understand half of what the old Imperial was saying. "Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark. Alftand. The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock."

It took Vara a few moments to decipher what the mage had said, but when she did, her eyes lit up. Alftand! That was a dwemer ruin in Skyrim; she had read about it in one of Wuunferth's tomes during one of the times the wizard had locked her in a room in order to heal. If that was the entrance to Blackreach, then she could find the Elder Scroll. "How do I enter Blackreach?" she asked, her voice excited. Finally, she had something substantial to work with, which was somewhat ironic considering the questionable sanity of her source.

"Two things I have for you," Septimus declared. He walked past Vara and dug around on the shelves behind her for a few moments before turning back and handing Vara two objects of dwemer origin. "Two shapes. One edged, one round. The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle and needed to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But... empty. Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know."

Vara looked down at the objects she held. They were remarkably sophisticated devices. She didn't know much about the Dwemmer, but she did know that their machines were incredibly complex, and they often operated according to tonal energy, which was likely what the sphere was for, and the cube, the lexicon, would be used for transcribing the Elder Scroll without the side effects of madness and blindness that she had read about in the other books Urag had given her.

"What do you hope to learn from the Elder Scroll?" she asked Septimus. She didn't truly expect a coherent answer, but she found herself curious.

"How clever to ask of Septimus!" the madman exclaimed. "This Dwemer lockbox. Look upon it and wonder. Inside is the heart. The heart of a god! The heart of you. And me. But it was hidden away. Not by the Dwarves, you see. They were already gone. Someone else. Unseen. Unknown. Found the heart, and with a flair for the ironical, used Dwarven trickery to lock it away. The scroll will give the deep vision needed to open it. For not even the strongest machinations of the Dwemer can hold off the all-sight given by an Elder Scroll."

Vara decided not to ask any further questions. Instead, she thanked the mage and promised to return with the Lexicon, although she had a feeling it would be some time before that happened. Slaying Alduin took precedence over everything else. Septimus, however, didn't seem to hear her. He had already turned back to the Dwemmer lockbox and was muttering to himself once more. Vara lingered for a moment longer, gazing in wonder at the large contraption, before turning away and leaving the outpost. She had an Elder Scroll to find.

Chapter Text

Vara stared out of the stained glass window, her eyes not truly seeing the snow falling outside. The stone floor was cold, and her knees ached from kneeling in the same position for so long, but she didn't move. Her mind was running, and the memories and thoughts that passed through it were far from this snowy mountain.

She had returned to High Hrothgar about a week ago, Elder Scroll slung across her shoulders and bleeding from ten different wounds. She had spent over a day in the depths of the Dwemer ruin that Septimus had sent her to, trying not to get killed by any automatons as she searched for the entrance to Blackreach. The machines were resistant to her magic, which meant that she had been forced to pour more of her energy into each spell, and doing so over and over again had left her exhausted when she had finally found the way down to Blackreach.

Once she had stepped out of the lift, it had felt as if she was in a different world. Blackreach, it turned out, was a massive cavern, deep in the earth. Vara's breath had been instantly taken away by the beauty of the glimmering ceiling. It had taken her a few hours to find the lift she was looking for, and in that time, she had done her best to sear the beauty of the place into her mind. Eventually, however, she had left and obtained the scroll, just as Septimus had said. Then she had made her way back to High Hrothgar, helping a few people who seemed to need it along the way.

Once she had told Paarthurnax that she had the scroll, the old dragon had nodded slowly. She had been ready to use it then, but he had disagreed and warned her that the instant she used the scroll, Alduin's attention would be drawn to her, and she would have to face him. The aged dragon had told her to rest, to train, and to make sure she was certain she wanted to risk everything before she read the scroll, and so she had spent the last week doing just that.

Her body was ready. She had been a hunter, an agile and deft creature, her entire life, her time in Windhelm had made her into a soldier and a spy, and in these few months she had been Dragonborn, she had learned the best ways to kill a dragon using her magic. She knew Alduin would not be like the other dragons that she had faced, but she was as physically ready for the fight as she would ever be.

Mentally was a different story.

Fighting Alduin terrified her, but not because she could die. She knew that, and ever since she had been named as Dragonborn, she had considered her life forfeit. She had read enough of the ancient stories to know that the heroes rarely made it out alive or in one piece, and she was resigned to that. No, what left her frozen in fear was the knowledge that if she failed, all of Skyrim would fall to Alduin. Her home would be razed to the ground, and anyone who survived the carnage would be forced into slavery under the dragons. A new Dragon Age would dawn, and it would be her fault.

The picture of Ulfric desperately fighting a dragon in front of the gates of Windhelm rose, unbidden, in her mind. He Shouted again and again, fought and ducked and whirled, his blade a mere extension of his arm, and slew the dragon. But as he stood, his breath coming in ragged gasps, another dragon took its place, and Vara knew with certainty that this time, it would be Ulfric who fell.

That was what terrified her. If she failed, Skyrim was doomed. The country was already divided in this war, and if there was no one to stop them, the dragons would take over. Yes, there would be some like Ulfric who would try to resist, but they would eventually fall, and Alduin would reign.

She had written letters that the Greybeards had promised to deliver to the Jarls of every hold in Skyrim in the event that she should fail. They explained that she had failed in her mission and that the Dragons would come for them now. The letters urged the Jarls to send their people into hiding underground, somewhere where the Dragons couldn't reach them. But Vara knew that eventually, they would die.

At that thought, Vara's eyes flashed, anger and determination surging through her. She could not let that happen, not to her home, not to the people she loved! She would face Alduin, and she would come out victorious. She had no other option.

Vara stood, a brief spark of healing magic soothing the aching in her legs. The early morning sun streamed through the stained glass window, coloring the grey stone brilliant colors. It was time to read the scroll and face Alduin.

She walked to her room, where a new set of armor lay spread out over her bed. She had stopped by Whiterun on the way back and commissioned Eorlund Grey-Mane to make it. The old smith had raised an eyebrow at the materials she had brought with her, but he had agreed. The armor had arrived at the steps of High Hrothgar yesterday, delivered by a stalwart courier. In the dim light that had settled on the room, the dragon scales gleamed.

Vara pulled on the armor, carefully and slowly tightening and securing it. The armor was only a little heavier than her leathers, yet she knew from experience that the scales were a thousand times stronger. Hopefully, it would protect her against Alduin's attacks. If she had had time, she would have sent the armor to the College of Winterhold to be enchanted, but that would have taken weeks. She was drawn from her thoughts by the appearance of Master Bori, who gestured solemnly for her to follow him. She did so, putting on her helmet as she walked.

Eventually, they reached the courtyard where the Greybeards all stood the way they had when they had gifted her their knowledge of the Clear Skies shout. They had been angry with her then for associating with the Blades and for demanding to speak with Paarthurnax. Now, however, they all wore a grim and even worried expression that didn't exactly give Vara the confidence boost she needed.

"Dragonborn," Arngeir spoke, his voice rumbling ever so slightly with the Thu'um. "You are about to face the destiny that the Gods laid out for you long before you were born. You have learned the Way, and you will triumph over the FIrstborn of Akatosh and his tyranny, should the Gods decree it."

Vara nodded, accepting the Greybeard's words for the farewell that they were. "Thank you for guiding me," she told the men. "I came to you lost and confused, and you showed me who I was and how I could manage my power." The Greybeards nodded, and Arngeir moved to the side, allowing Vara to walk past him, as she did so the man whispered, "Talos guide you, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song."

. . .

Ulfric looked out over his city. It was early in the morning, and the light of the sun had just begun to peak over the horizon. Ulfric hadn't been able to sleep, which had become a common occurrence ever since Vara had sent him the latest letter, and he had decided to climb to the roof of the Palace to watch the sunrise. The air was cool and crisp and the sun lit up the grey stone, turning it blood red. It should have been a peaceful scene, and yet, Ulfric could feel something on the air and in the wind. Something was wrong.

. . .

Vara stood at the Throat of the World, wind whirling around her, causing snow to stick to her armor. She clutched the Elder Scroll tightly in her gauntleted hands, feeling the power radiating from it. She locked eyes with Paarthurnax, and the great dragon nodded. Vara took a deep breath and then pulled open the scroll. Her vision immediately came alive with colors and words that seemed to float off of the scroll, and the more she read, the more vivid the pictures became. The words seemed to pour from the page faster and faster until her eyes could hardly keep up with the glowing letters. And then, they were gone. Slowly, Vara looked up from the scroll, and instead of seeing Paarthurnax perched on the word wall in front of her, she saw three human figures.

She couldn't make out much through the snow, and the scene before her seemed to be tinged orange and gold, likely an after effect from the scroll. She tried to move forward so that she could hear the words that the people were saying to each other, but she couldn't move. Instead, she strained her ears and watched history unfold before her.

The people, who Vara knew must be the ancient Tongues that Paarthurnax had taught during the Dragon Age when he had betrayed Alduin, were gathered together. One, a woman wielding a giant weapon, broke away from the group when a dragon landed near them. It was dead in less than thirty seconds. The Tongues seemed to be arguing about something, but then one of the Tongues, Felldir the Old, pulled out the Elder Scroll, the same one that Vara had used moments before. The other two yelled something at him, but Felldir seemed resolute. Before they could do anything more, the ground below them shook, and a great ebony dragon landed in front of the group. Alduin.

Vara watched as the Tongues fought the dragon, their blades glancing off of his scales, only doing any real damage every once in a while. Then, the great beast pushed off from the mountainside and took to the air, far from the reach of their weapons. However, he was not out of the reach of their Voices. All at once, the Tongues Shouted, "Joor zah frul!" The Shout hit Alduin head on, and the dragon careened wildly in the air before crashing into the mountainside. He let out a roar of pain and spoke to the three Tongues, but Vara barely heard it, her focus solely on the three words of power that now resonated within her.

Joor, zah, frul. Mortal, finite, temporary. A Shout created to force immortal beings feel the pain of mortality, a pain that was a constant companion to these Tongues and all the other mortals that the dragons had enslaved. It was a powerful, angry Shout, and Vara could feel it writhing inside of herself. It was like Arngeir had said, the Shout had to be a part of her in order for her to use it. He had warned her that it was a cruel Shout, that it would be a burden to carry, and yet, that wasn’t what Vara felt. It was dark, yes, but it was nothing new to her, nor anyone else who had lived on the face of Tamriel and experienced the loss that came with loving and with life. It was a Shout the gave power to grief and pain, a Shout that an immortal dragon would be unable to fathom.

The fight in front of her caught Vara’s attention once more as the woman who had been fighting so fiercely was caught in Alduin’s claws. With a flick, Alduin sent her flying into the mountainside, and Vara knew with a certainty that the impact had killed her. The younger Tongue let out an angry bellow and charged Alduin, yelling something to Felldir as he did so. The elder Tongue hastily dropped his weapon and pulled out the Elder Scroll and began to speak, even as the other man was engulfed by the flames of Alduin’s breath. Felldir yelled the final words of the incantation, and Alduin let out a roar the shook Vara to her core. Then, the vision ended.

Vara collapsed into the snow, disoriented by everything she had seen. Dimly, she heard Paarthurnax call her. “Dragonborn! Alduin comes! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!” Those words got Vara moving, and in an instant, she was on her feet again, her magicka coalescing into spikes of ice in her hands. Her sparks, she had learned, ran harmlessly along dragon scales, whereas these icicles could lodge into between the scales and into the dragon’s skin. It was a tactic she had used several times before, and she was praying that it would work on Alduin.

She scanned the sky, her eyes searching for the ebony dragon. An instant later, a dark figure passed over the sun, and a bellowing voice shook the earth. "Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor," Alduin roared, the dragon tongue quivering with the strength of his Thu'um. "My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin. Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

At that moment, Paarthurnax took to the air, flying straight toward his brother. They clashed in the sky, claws ripping at one another, grey and black scales torn as each one made contact with the other. "You are too late, Alduin!" he declared, his voice confident. "Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

Vara gathered her Voice, focusing on the Shout she had just witnessed the Tongues of old use. It was a Shout of grief and anger and pain, and right now, she felt all three as keenly as they had. She would not allow this monster to destroy her home! As soon as Paarthurnax was out of the way, Vara let the words of power rip from her throat and into the air, "Joor zah frul!" The Shout crashed into Alduin, forcing him to land on the mountain.

"Impossible!" he roared, anger and surprise coloring his voice. "That Shout died with the Tongues!" He turned to face Vara, snarling. "It is no matter. I am the Firstborn of Akatosh! I cannot be defeated by mortal means!"

Vara said nothing. Instead, she raised her hands and fired several ice spikes into Alduin's hide in rapid succession. Only a few managed to lodge themselves between his scales, but it was enough to cause the dragon to roar in pain. He Shouted, and Vara rolled out of the way, expecting an attack. Instead, however, the sky grew suddenly dark and then, without warning, meteors began to fall, crashing into the mountainside around her. She jumped to her feet and out of the way just before a meteor fell where she had been.

Alduin took advantage of her distraction and swiped a giant claw at her. She jumped back, but the tip of one claw scraped across her chest. The armor she wore protected her, but she knew she would only be able to take so many hits before even the dragon scales she wore were reduced to mere ribbons.

As soon as she was able, she Shouted, and her voice cleared the sky of the meteors. Alduin said something to her, but Vara ignored the words, focusing instead on the magic she held in her hands. Once the large dragon turned his attention to Paarthurnax, Vara shot the ice into Alduin's side, and this time, the icicles found their mark, causing Alduin to cry out in pain. He was about to push off from the mountain, but Vara Shouted again, grounding him.

"Dovahkiin, you call yourself?" he sneered, swiping his claw toward her. "Arrogant mortal." Vara dashed to the side and fired several ice spikes into the joint where Alduin's wing met his body. She didn't respond to his taunts, saving her voice for when she needed to Shout, but inwardly, she couldn't help but laugh, the adrenaline from the fight making some of her mental barriers fall away. Alduin claimed she called herself the Dovahkiin, but it was the Gods who had done that, and he would feel their wrath.

The fight dragged on, and Vara felt her movements begin to slow. Quickly, she switched spells and healed herself ever-so-slightly, restoring some vigor to her body. She was bleeding in several places where Alduin's claws had found the weakest points in her armor, and part of her arm was burned from a blast of fire that she hadn't quite been able to dodge. She couldn't spend any more time or magicka on healing, however, so she switched back to her ice spikes, sending a few more into Alduin's hide while Paarthurnax slashed at his snout.

Once again, the dragon tried to take off, but Vara Shouted and forced him to stay on the ground. Thankfully, Alduin seemed to be weakening, and Vara was able to get in closer. After shooting several more icicles into his wings, Vara switched tactics. Alduin aimed a claw at her, and she slid under the attack, allowing the ice in her hands to disappear as she did so. When she stood up again, she held lightning between her hands.

Now that she was able to get closer to Alduin, she could utilize her staff as more of a spear, stabbing between the scales as quickly as she could before jumping out of the way of wither Alduin's tail or his claws. The dragon roared in pain and turned to face her, Vara barely rolling out of the way of his fire breath as he did so. Thankfully, Paarthurnax landed between the two of them before Alduin could attack her, and Vara jumped up and ran around Paarthurnax, beginning her barrage of attacks again.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Vara drove her staff deep between two of the scales on Alduin's hide, and the dragon bellowed, causing the mountainside to shake and throwing Vara to her feet. She scrambled to get up, but as she did so, Alduin's spoke, "Meyz mul, Dovahkiin. You have become strong.," he rumbled, laughter mixing with the pain in his voice. "But I am Al-du-in, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you mortal!" He pushed off of the mountain and took to the air. Vara tried to use Dragonrend to force him to land once more, but he dodged the Shout and was gone in an instant.

Vara collapsed in the snow, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. She had been so close, and now Alduin was gone! She pounded the ground beneath her angrily, ignoring the bolt of pain that went through her injured arm as she did so. She could have ended him here!

"Dragonborn," Paarthurnax called. Reluctantly, Vara stood from the snow, and the aged dragon landed in front of her. His snout was bloodied and his wings seemed more tattered than they had been before, but he looked like he would be okay. "You defeated Alduin and proven your might. Faas hi. Alduin fears you now."

Exhaustion washed over Vara, and all of a sudden, she felt as if she barely had the strength to stand. "But he got away, Paarthurnax," she argued wearily. "This needs to end, and I don't know how to find him again."

The ancient dragon nodded slowly. "I do not know where he is," he admitted slowly, "but one of his lieutenants might. If you can trap one, you can force him to tell you where to find Alduin."

"Trap a dragon? How?" Vara asked, the idea seeming incredulous. She had a hard enough time simply fighting them, trapping a dragon would be much harder.

"Ahrolsedovah, Whiterun as you call it," he rumbled in response. "The keep there was made to capture the dragon Numinex, and it could do so again."

Vara nodded wearily, her strength beginning to give out. "Very well, I will speak to Jarl Balgruuf."

Paarthurnax's features softened, or at least, they softened as much as a dragon's features could. "Rest Dovahkiin. You will do no one any good if you collapse." Vara smiled ever so slightly and nodded before turning away from the ancient dragon and slowly beginning to make her way back down the mountain.

Chapter Text

"Balgruuf, please, hear me out!" Vara begged, pushing away the plate of food in front of her. The two of them were sitting on the Great Porch eating lunch, and Vara was doing her best to convince the man to let her use his keep to capture a dragon, but he wasn't fond of the idea for obvious reasons.

"I am hearing you, Dragonborn, and I'm telling you that it's too much of a risk for my people!" The man declared, irritation beginning to seep into his voice. "You can't guarantee that the dragon will only go after you. What am I supposed to tell my citizens when they find out that I practically invited the dragon that burned down the city?"

"That won't happen, my jarl," Vara promised. "Dragons are guided first and foremost by their ego. If I challenge one, he won't be able to focus on anything other than defeating me. Everyone else would only be a distraction from his goal."

Balgruuf sighed deeply and rested his head in his hands, an action that reminded Vara painfully of Ulfric. Both men were only trying to do what was best for their people in the face of more opposition than any man should have to face. "I can't Dragonborn. I just can't. Maybe if I had more men that could protect the city while others manage this trap of yours, but between the threat of attack from the Imperials and the increased bandit activity in the hold, I just don't have the manpower. I'm sorry."

Vara nodded and fell silent. She understood where the jarl was coming from, of course, but this was the only sure way that she would be able to locate Alduin again before he destroyed another town the way he did to Helgen. Then, an idea wormed its way into her head. At first, she refused to acknowledge it, knowing she wouldn't like the part she would have to play, but the more she considered her options, the more she realized that she didn't have any.

"What if you didn't have to worry about the Imperials?" she asked hesitantly, almost afraid to say the words out loud. A plan had formed in her mind, and she knew she wasn't going to enjoy it.

Balgruuf frowned. "What do you mean? Jarl Ulfric is gaining ground, but victory isn't sure yet, and even if it were, he wouldn't have the ability to take Solitude for at least a few more months. Markarth still pledges allegiance to the Empire, and with that source of silver, they can continue to pay the army they are gathering."

"I know," Vara said. "But these dragons are a threat to both sides of the war, not just the Stormcloaks. If I can get both sides to agree on a ceasefire until Alduin is taken care of, you wouldn't have to worry about an Imperial attack while you have a dragon in your keep."

Balgruuf nodded slowly. "I could recall a few patrols and station them through the city in case the dragon changes its mind about attacking you and you alone." He locked eyes with Vara. "Getting both sides to agree to a truce will be difficult though, especially if the Empire knows it was you who burned down the Thalmor Embassy."

Vara grimaced at the thought. "They know. But I can convince them, especially if the meeting is held on neutral ground, a place that everyone respects."

"And where would that be?" Balgruuf asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just about every inch of Skyrim is claimed by one side or the other these days."

"High Hrothgar," Vara answered. "The Greybeards have always kept themselves aloof of the affairs of the world below them, and the mountain isn't claimed by either side. Tullius isn't a nord, but he will know the significance that High Hrothgar holds, and Ulfric respects the Greybeards."

"Aye, that he does," Balgruuf agreed. "I'm still not sure you'll be able to convince them to meet though."

"I can," she promised. "Once they agree to a truce, will you let me use the keep?"

Balgruuf hesitated for a long moment before nodding slowly. "If you can get both sides to agree to peace, I'll let you carry out your mad plan."

Vara smiled slightly behind her mask. "Thank you, my Jarl. I will see you at High Hrothgar three weeks from today."

Balgruuf nodded. "Talos guide you, Dragonborn."

"And you."

. . .

Vara's eyes darted around, scanning her environment cautiously. The darkness gave her some cover, but she refused to let her guard down here. She was about a mile from Solitude, and she had been on watch for the Thalmor for the past two days. After her talk with Balgruuf, she had returned to High Hrothgar to inform the Greybeards and Paarthurnax of her plan. Arngeir hadn't liked the idea of the monastery being the host of warmongerers, but Paarthurnax had agreed that it was the best way to find Alduin again, so the Greybeards had reluctantly agreed to host the meeting as long as Vara conducted it. She had agreed, although playing mediator between Tullius and Ulfric was the last thing that she wanted to do.

Now, she was on her way to talk to General Tullius and convince the general to attend the meeting. It wouldn't be easy, she knew, but she figured facing him would be easier than facing Ulfric. A million different emotions welled up within her at that thought, but she pushed them down; she didn't have time to sort through them all now.

Eventually, Vara reached the city and slipped through the gates, nodding her thanks to the guards as she did so. Once inside the city, she headed for the inn, aiming to get some sleep before facing Tullius in the morning. She needed to have her wits about her during that conversation, and in her present state, she was far too jumpy and sleep-deprived to be playing diplomat.

Vara pulled open the door to the inn and stepped inside. Immediately, she was hit with the smell of honey-brewed mead and fresh bread, the comforting scents combined with the warm atmosphere instantly making her tense shoulders relax. Her appearance drew a few suspicious looks, but it was late in the evening, and most people were buried too deep in their cups to care about the newcomer. The barkeeper raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, only pointed toward her room and thanked her for her coin.

Once she reached her room, Vara carefully set up a few different traps to keep out any unwanted guests. Next to the window, she set a series of shock runes that were small but would incapacitate anyone who tried to climb through, and in front of the door, she set another set of runes as well as a spell that would make a loud noise if anyone tried to open the door, waking her. After she was satisfied that she would be safe enough to sleep, Vara took off her armor piece by piece and set it on the chair next to the bed before climbing under the covers. A few minutes after her head hit the pillow, she was asleep, and her dreams, thank the Divines, were peaceful.

. . .

Ulfric woke from his dream panting, cold sweat glistening on his brow. He had to blink several times before he convinced himself that he was, in fact, in his bed and that it had all been a dream. Taking a shaking breath, Ulfric sat up, leaning against the pillows for support.

Tonight marked the seventh time in as many days that he had woken from the same dream. In it, meteors of fire rained down around him, flashes of terrible light in a realm of pure darkness. Then, out of that darkness always came a roar that shook him to his bones, but he was never able to identify where or what it was coming from. Then, he would hear a scream, and that sound cut him to his heart because he knew exactly who it was coming from. Vara. In every dream, he could hear Vara scream, and in every dream, he was unable to move and unable to see, unable to find her.

That was the worst part. Some part of him knew that the dream had something to do with the flashing lights he had seen coming from the Throat of the World a week ago, and with that same instinct, he knew those lights had something to do with Vara and the dragons. Since then, there had been no real news of the Dragonborn. There was a rumor that she had been seen in WHiterun, but Ulfric knew better than to trust it. In her short time as Dragonborn, Vraa had already established herself as a kind of walking legend in the people's minds. There were almost as many reported sightings of her as there were of the Divines or Daedra.

And yet...

Ulfric knew something had happened, something dangerous. Vara hadn't told him anything about her mission in her letter, but he knew without a doubt that whatever it was she had to do was life-threatening. And he was terrified that she was gone for good. He kept hope, however, praying to the Divines that whatever battle had been fought atop the mountain had ended in Vara's victory.

Ulfric let out a long sigh, closing his eyes and focusing on his heartbeat, forcing it to slow. Carefully, he locked all of his thoughts of Vara away, placing them in a protected vault in his mind where they wouldn't invade his dreams again. He needed his rest, and worrying about Vara wouldn't do the woman any good. With those thoughts, he laid back down onto his bed and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall once more into the dark embrace of sleep.

. . .

Vara strode through the courtyard of Castle Dour, head held high. She had learned that the trick to avoiding suspicion was acting as if she belonged. Her imposing mask and armor lent her some credibility on that front; even if the soldiers and guards didn't know what the armor represented, they knew that whoever wore it must be important, and they let her pass. The soldiers standing guard outside of the entrance to the Castle hesitated for only a second when Vara asked them to let her by before they moved. She nodded her thanks before stepping inside, taking a deep breath as the door swung closed behind her.

Stepping forward, Vara found herself in a war room. Tullius stood with his back to her. The general was leaning over the table, and past him, Vara could see a large map of Skyrim with various flags spread across it, marking Stormcloak and Imperial positions.

"General Tullius," Vara said, but the man cut her off before she could do anything else.

"Are the guards just letting in anyone now?" he demanded without turning around. "If you are here to join the Legion, speak to Rikke, if not, leave. I have more important matters to attend to than whatever it is that you want, I can promise you that."

Vara stepped past the man and into his field of vision. "I doubt that, General," she said.

The Imperial's eyes narrowed. "Dragonborn," his voice was flat, and Vara knew that he had been told who she was and what she had done to the Embassy. She could only pray that he wouldn't try and have her arrested before she managed to talk to him. "What do you want?"

Well, he wasn't attacking her, which Vara decided to take as a good sign. "I've come to you with a message from the Greybeards."

"The Greybeards? Aren't they those monks on the mountain? What do they want with me?" Tullius asked, and Vara had to resist the urge to shake her head at the man's complete lack of knowledge of Nord belief and culture.

"They are convening a peace council at High Hrothgar," Vara explained.

"Why? There won't be peace in Skyrim as long as that traitor Ulfric Stormcloak stands against the justice of the Empire."

"Because of the dragons. There needs to be a truce until I can deal with them," Vara said, hoping that this man wasn't as dense as he seemed to be. Would he really turn down an opportunity for peace?

"I was sent here to win a war, not deal with dragons. I am going to quell this little rebellion, with or without these dragons." Tullius turned away, but Vara reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing the man to face her once more.

"The dragons are more of a threat than the Stormcloaks right now and you know it, Tullius." Vara's eyes narrowed and she leaned in, her mask only a few inches from the man's face. "Or are you afraid to look weak? Ulfric is going to win this war, and you're afraid to show just how hopeless your situation is," she sneered before letting the man go.

Tullius rubbed his arm and glared at her, but didn't call for his guards. "I know who you are, Dragonborn. Once, I was standing over you, ready to kill you, and I brought Ulfric Stormcloak to his knees because of it. I will do so again. I will attend this meeting if only to see Ulfric's expression when he realizes that his little rebellion will soon be crushed under my boot!"

"Be at High Hrothgar by the 11th of Last Seed, General," was Vara's only reply before she stalked off, leaving Tullius to turn his attention back to his map, his mind likely turning with all of the possibilities that the peace council could hold.

Vara walked out of Castle Dour and down the streets of Solitude. Part of her wanted to stay and rest in the city for a little while longer, but she knew that here she was even more of a target than she normally was. Last night's lack of disturbance had been a miracle, and she didn't feel like pushing her luck. So instead, she walked back out of the gates of the city and down to the carriage she had passed on her way in.

The driver regarded her with curious eyes but didn't ask any questions as she told him where she wanted to go and handed him the money. Instead, he simply counted out the coins and nodded, jabbing a thumb at the back of the cart and telling her to jump in. She obeyed, and a few minutes later they were on the road. By carriage, the ride to WIndhelm would take about two days, assuming they weren't attacked by anyone or anything. That would give her some time to think about how in the name of Talos she was going to face Ulfric. Unfortunately, she knew that even two days wouldn't be long enough for her to do that. Two weeks wouldn't be long enough.

What was she supposed to say to the man she had abandoned? She had done her best to distance herself from him ever since she left because she knew that it would be so much easier for the both of them in the long run if they weren't tangled together in a web of emotions that neither one of them could even begin to unravel. For a while, they had been able to keep things simple, but she knew that that would be the anomaly rather than the pattern in their lives, and so she had tried to end it before it really began. How was she supposed to look him in the eye now, much less speak to him and ask him to attend a peace council with his worst enemies?

Angrily, Vara pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and laid down on the rough wooden bench and closed her eyes, wishing for sleep to take her away from the headaches that today had caused. She had only been awake for a little over three hours, but she was ready to sleep.

. . .

Vara sat in a dark corner of the inn, her mask and armor replaced with a simple hunter's tunic and deep hood to shroud her identity. She didn't need to draw attention to herself, not here. About halfway through the trip to Windhelm, she had succumbed to her fear. She couldn't face Ulfric, she had decided, and so she was waiting here at the Candlehearth Inn.

She took a deep drink from the flagon, keeping her eyes trained on the door. After another half hour of waiting, the door opened and Galmar Stone-Fist walked in. His eyes scanned the room before eventually falling on her. Even from across the room, she could see them widen, and she nodded slightly to the chair in front of her, beckoning the man over. He walked across the room and ordered a drink at the bar before casually taking the seat, the tightness with which he clutched his flagon the only sign that this was anything more than a casual meeting of two friends.

"Oaken-Song," he said in a low voice, "you're alive. After that light show on the Throat of the World, we weren't so sure."

Vara looked down guiltily. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"I'm not sure if Ulfric has slept more than two hours a night since then. What happened to you?" Galmar asked, concern in his voice.

Again, guilt clenched Vara's heart like a fist. This conversation was not going to be easy. "Alduin happened. I fought him atop the Throat of the World, but he escaped before I could slay him, and now I need to track him down again."

Galmar froze, his cup halfway to his lips. "Alduin?" he whispered, horror permeating the word. "The World Eater himself?" Vara only nodded shortly. "By the Gods!" He shook his head in disbelief. "What does this have to do with me? The letter you gave that boy didn't have much. All you said was to come to the inn and not tell Ulfric. Why?"

Vara looked away, unable to stand the concern in the grizzled general's eyes. "I can't face him, Galmar, not now. He told me not to return until I was sure I could stay, and I can't. Please, I need to convince him of something, but I'm too much of a coward to do it myself."

Galmar was silent for a long moment, and the silence weighed heavily on Vara's chest. She avoided his eyes, but she could feel them roaming her face, searching for something in her shadow-shrouded features. Eventually, he said, "I'll help you," he declared, his gruff voice quiet. Vara could tell he wanted to say something else, but he kept silent.

"I need to capture a dragon in Dragonsreach, but in order to do so, Balgruuf needs to be certain that his position is secure, that he won't be attacked by Imperials while he helps me. The Greybeards are going to host a peace council on the 11th in order to establish a temporary truce between the Stormcloaks and the Imperials until I can slay Alduin and rid Skyrim of these dragons."

Galmar nodded slowly. "You need Ulfric to agree to attend." Vara nodded. "That won't be easy, especially if he finds out that you were in the city and didn't ask him yourself. He needs to see you for himself, Vara."

She shook her head vehemently, the hood almost slipping. "I can't Galmar, not now. Please," she begged, "I need you to convince him for me. Tullius has already agreed to attend, and if Ulfric talks to the Imperials now, he can enter the negotiations in a position of strength. He is gaining ground, and the Imperials know it. They're scared, Galmar, and this peace treaty will give Ulfric time to rally his troops for the end. He will take Skyrim, and he'll do it soon."

Galmar let out a sigh. "So confident. We've missed your spirit here." He took a long drink from his flagon before slowly setting it back down. "I'll convince Ulfric to attend, and I won't tell him that you were here in person, but you need to be prepared. He needs answers, and he's going to try and get them at High Hrothgar. Don't keep pushing him away. It isn't helping either of you."

Vara copied Galmar's sigh. "I know," she said. "Thank you for your help, Galmar."

"You're welcome, Oaken-Song," the general replied. "Be careful." Vara nodded and stood from the table. She couldn't afford to stay in the city any longer; someone might recognize her despite the hood.

"I'll see you and Ulfric both on the 11th."

The general nodded and raised his flagon toward her. "Talos guide you."

"And you, Galmar."

Then Vara turned and left the inn, pulling her hooded cloak tighter around her to fend off the cold.

Chapter Text

The floor under Vara's knees was cold and hard, but she barely noticed it. She had been praying to the Divines for the last hour or so, begging for their aid today. Vara was far from a politician or negotiator, and yet, Arngeir had asked her to manage the negotiations of the peace treaty, and it had made sense for the Dragonborn to be the one to do it. Unfortunately, she had zero experience. She was terrified she would mess something up and the two sides would be unable to come to an agreement, which would ruin any chance she had to find Alduin. But that wasn't the only thing she was worried about.

Ulfric would be at the council; he had to be. That meant that Vara would have to face him after these months and see the anger in his eyes, and that thought scared her more than the negotiations did. She knew she deserved to see his scorn and even his hatred at this point, but she wasn't ready to. The days that they had spent together, the happy times, seemed like a distant dream to Vara. Her destiny had consumed her every waking thought, and it left what happiness she did remember tainted with its shadow. Maybe Ulfric would recall their happiness better than she, but she doubted that would spare her, if anything, it would make this meeting worse.

She knew that a confrontation with Ulfric was inevitable, and so she prayed to the Divines that they would both be able to remain calm during the negotiations. They couldn't afford to let their personal feeling towards each other get in the way of the treaty. Afterward, however, Vara would surrender herself to his judgment.

A tap on Vara's shoulder roused her from her grim thoughts, and she looked up to see Arngeir standing over her. "The first delegation has arrived," he said, and he sounded as if he were already regretting agreeing to hold this meeting.

Vara gave the monk a wry smile. "Well, then, we shouldn't keep guests waiting. We have a peace treaty to negotiate," Vara declared, but her voice lacked conviction. If she were being honest with herself, she would have to admit that she would much rather let whichever delegation it was a freeze on the steps of High Hrothgar than negotiate the treaty.

Arngeir raised an eyebrow. "I hope that isn't the best acting you can do, Dragonborn."

Vara sighed and stood from the stone floor. She didn't respond to the Greybeard's comment, instead, stepping past him and walking toward the door of the monastery. It was time.

. . .

Ulfric looked out from the snow-covered mountain, unable to help the feeling of awe that came with the view. It felt as if he could see half of Skyrim from up here, and the sight had always struck something within him, even when he had been younger. Memories of his time with the Greybeards flashed through his mind, and he smiled slightly. The memories were bittersweet and colored with a million different emotions, but he welcomed them.

After a few more moments, Ulfric turned away from the view and continued to climb. Galmar was silent beside him and had been for most of the laborious climb. Ulfric recognized the tension in his friend's posture, but he didn't comment. The man had a good reason to be tense, and the more Ulfric thought about what they were about to do, who he was about to have to face, the more his feet felt like lead and the less motivation he had to keep climbing.

High Hrothgar had once been a home to him, but that was no longer the case. He had abandoned the Way of the Voice and left the Greybeards behind. They had disowned him, he knew, and he doubted that they would be very happy to see him. They felt that he had betrayed them, and some small part of Ulfric agreed. He had done what he had felt he had needed to, but that didn't change the fact that he had taken the tools the Greybeards had given him and turned them into weapons. A sigh fell from Ulfric's lips, turning to a white cloud in the cold mountain air.

Unfortunately, the Greybeards weren't the only ones that Ulfric had to worry about. In fact, they were probably the least of his problems. The thing that terrified him the most about this meeting wasn't the Greybeards and it wasn't the Imperials. No. It was Varaduilwe Oaken-Song. The Dragonborn.

It had been over two months since he had last seen her, and in that time he had only received a single letter from Vara. And that letter had only contained a single sentence and his mother's Amulet of Talos. It had been an apology, and the realization that Vara thought she had to apologize to him had made Ulfric truly realize just how much damage he had done to their relationship when he had ordered her to leave.

He had been angry with Vara, of course, for keeping her identity as the Dragonborn secret from him, but that hadn't given him the right to lash out at her the way that he had. She had been leaving on a dangerous mission, a mission he now knew had to do with the Thalmor, and the last thing he had told her was to leave and not come back. She had been facing life and death and instead of encouraging her, he had scorned her. It wasn't Vara who needed to ask forgiveness.

So many times, Ulfric had wanted to track Vara down or write to her, but he knew neither he nor the couriers would be able to find her. Now, he was going to see her in person, and he wasn't ready. How was he supposed to face her after what he had done?

Ulfric was so wrapped up in the turmoil of his thoughts that he stumbled over the first step leading up to the door of the monastery. Galmar grabbed his arm and stabilized him before he could fall. Once Ulfric was straightened the general said, "Oaken-Song needs this treaty in order to capture her dragon. No matter what happens between you two, these negotiations have to work." The general looked Ulfric in the eyes. "We have an edge on the Imperials with both Whiterun and Falkreath under your banner. The Imperials will try to take on the negotiating table what they can't take in battle."

Ulfric smiled slightly. "I know, old friend. This isn't my first negotiation." Galmar held his gaze for another moment before nodding and pushing open the ancient doors and allowing Ulfric to step past him.

As soon as Ulfric entered the dim monastery, he was taken back to years ago when he had first entered these halls. The carvings on the walls, the flickering scones and braziers. The urns had been moved, in fact, if Ulfric didn't know better, he would have thought they were knocked over in a fight. He shook his head sharply, pushing the memories away and walking down the steps. He was about to turn the corner to where he remembered a large room, the kind suitable for a meeting like this one when he came face to face with Master Arngeir.

Ulfric came to an abrupt stop and bowed his head low. "Master Arngeir," he greeted, keeping his voice level, even though seeing his old master had caused a flood of memories, along with the conflicting emotions they carried, to wash over him.

The Greybeard said nothing for a long moment, and Ulfric could feel the judgment in the old monk's gaze. Finally, Arngeir nodded in return. "Ulfric Stormcloak, General Stonefist. The Imperial delegation is already here. I will show you to them." Once again, Ulfric nodded deeply before following.

. . .

Vara looked up from the stone table, and her breath was stolen away. There, standing in the doorway, was Ulfric Stormcloak. The man wore an elegant coat lined with bear fur that he still had pulled tightly around him to ward off the cold of the mountainside. His hair was tousled from the wing, and his face was tinged red with cold. His eyes, however, were the same as they always were. Deep blue and vibrant, the same eyes she had lost herself in so many times before. Those eyes fixed on hers, and even through her mask, she knew Ulfric could see the emotions warring in her gaze, as she could see them in his. They held that look for a second too long, and then Vara forced herself to look away. She couldn't allow herself to be blinded by her emotions now.

Ulfric sat at the table, although Galmar remained standing behind him at attention, his eyes sweeping the Imperial delegation for threats. Something in the grizzled general's face changed when his gaze passed over the Imperial Legate at Tullius's side, but before Vara could read very far into it, another person appeared at in the doorway, and Vara felt her heart freeze.

A deep growl came from Vara's right and she didn't have to look over to know that Galmar had moved in front of Ulfric, although whether it was to protect the jarl or to restrain him she couldn't tell. "This is a discussion of peace," Ulfric hissed through clenched teeth, "and yet you brought her, your chief Talos-hunter! How dare you defile this sacred place with your hatred!"

The anger seemed to radiate from Ulfric powerful waves, and Vara knew the man would throttle the elven woman standing in front of him if he could, and Vara couldn't blame him. In fact, she had to fight the urge to Shout the Thalmor to pieces. Unfortunately, that would be an even larger desecration of the monastery than Elenwen's presence was.

"I am a member of the Imperial delegation, and as such, I have the right to attend this meeting," Elenwen declared, her voice cool. "Now call off your war dog, Ulfric, so that we can talk about things."

Ulfric shook his head. "No. I cannot discuss the terms of peace with someone like you."

Elenwen rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything, Tullius spoke up. "Elenwen is the Ambassador for the Thalmor, and she is here to ensure that the terms of the treaty do not in any way violate the White-Gold Concordant," he declared in a weary voice. Apparently, he had had this argument with members of his own delegation already. "Dragonborn, please, settle this matter." He turned to Vara, and she could feel the judgment in his gaze. If she sent Elenwen away, she would start out the negotiations appearing biased towards Ulfric. She sighed inwardly before turning towards Elenwen and Ulfric, who were still glaring at one another with unveiled hatred.

"The Ambassador may stay, however, she must leave all decisions to General Tullius and Jarl Elisif. If there are any breaches of the Concordant, she may address them," Vara decided, keeping her anger from her voice with some difficulty. "Now, may we continue?" Vara looked over at Ulfric, begging the man with her eyes to sit down. After a few tense moments, Ulfric nodded slightly and sat, although Galmar kept one hand on the handle of his ax.

Vara turned toward Arngeir and gestured for the man to speak, however, once again, the meeting was interrupted by the arrival of new people. This time, it was Esbern and Delphine standing in the doorway. Before either Arngeir or Delphine could say anything and start another argument, Vara gestured for the pair to sit and urged Arngeir to continue.

"We are here to negotiate terms in order to call a ceasefire concerning the hold of Whiterun," the Greybeard began. "What is this peace worth to each party?"

Before Ulfric could even open his mouth, Tullius spoke. "We demand that Riften be returned to Imperial control." The order made the room go silent, and Vara couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise at the ambition of the demand.

Apparently, Galmar agreed. "You have some nerve, demanding on the negotiating table what you can't take in battle!" he growled. "This is just proof that the Empire is full of-" The General was cut off by Ulfric, who raised a hand to silence his old friend.

"That is quite the opening demand, Tullius," he said coolly. "You can't seriously expect us to just hand over Riften at the negotiating table. You haven't been able to take it back yet. Why should we give it up now?" Galmar looked as if he wanted to protest, but he kept quiet.

Tullius frowned slightly. "The Empire will have that city, along with all the others in Skyrim. We are giving you a chance to turn it over without bloodshed."

At that, Galmar couldn't keep quiet anymore and let out a bark of a laugh. "In case you haven't noticed, the Empire is losing this war," he pointed out, laughing again. "And now you just want us to hand over the capital of the Rift?"

Ulfric put a hand on Galmar's shoulder, and the man quieted. "If you truly expect us to give you Riften, you must have something in mind for us to take. So, what will it be, Tullius? I for one enjoy Markarth at this time of a year."

Tullius's eyes widened. "Markarth? Ulfric, you're being unreasonable!"

Before the two of them could begin to argue again, Esbern broke in. "Stop! Are you so blind to our danger that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about... nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!" Both Tullius and Ulfric looked surprised, but neither of them interrupted the old Blade. "Don't you understand the danger? Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?"

"That's a very pretty speech," Elenwen began, "But what does it have to do with-" Ulfric cut the woman off.

"Shut up. If he's right about Alduin..." Ulfric trailed off, and his gaze caught Vara's and she saw fear there. True fear. "We both have just as much to lose here, Tullius, remember that."

Tullius nodded. "Very well. This dragon menace has gotten too far. Let's have the Dragonborn settle this." All eyes turned to Vara.

"Jarl Ulfric will turn over Riften to Imperial control, while Tullius will surrender Markarth to the Stormcloaks," she stated. "Are these terms acceptable?" Tullius nodded, but Ulfric shook his head.

"Almost," he said, his deep voice rumbling. "We want compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten. If the Empire truly cared about the Nords, they wouldn’t have slaughtered them like animals.”

“You’re hardly one to speak, Ulfric,” Elenwen spoke up, sneering. “The only reason any of the nords of Skyrim is because of you.”

Instantly, Vara could feel the anger begin to boil outward from Ulfric, and she quickly interrupted before the man decided to kill Elenwen then and there. “Ambassador, this request is not a breach of the Concordant, and as such, your input is not needed by this council.” Vara did her best to remain diplomatic, but it was difficult.

Instead of quieting, Elenwen laughed. “Council? This is nothing more than a meeting of desperate fools scrabbling to feel important. You are accomplishing nothing here, half-breed. You are a traitor to your race.”

As soon as Elenwen spoke, the room fell completely silent, all eyes turned to Vara, the tension in the air practically physical in its weight. “A traitor to my race?” Vara repeated, her voice dangerously quiet. “What race? Under your rule, the Altmer consider me an abomination because Divines forbid an Altmer bear a Nord’s child! Once, though, love was not bound by race. It’s you and your Thalmor that are the traitors, you witch!” Vara’s voice began to rise, and she had work to keep the Thu’um out of it. “You are the ones who have reduced the Altmer homeland into a place of terror where no one is safe. How many Altmer voices have you silenced for ’the good of the cause’? And you call me a traitor?” Vara let out a humorless chuckle. Tullius swallowed the lump in his throat and moved to speak, but Vara ignored him, her attention now completely focused on Elenwen’s impassive face.

“You do not dare to fight out in the open. No, you let the Imperials do the dirty work and drag away those who cause trouble in the middle of the night, never to be seen again. You have destroyed the honor of the Altmer race and cast a shadow over a once cheerful land. I am not the traitor here, Elenwen. You are, and one day soon a reckoning will come and I really hope I have a front row seat to watch it.”

There was a heavy silence for several moments, but Vara did nothing to break it, her gaze still trained firmly on Elenwen. The Thalmor woman’s face hadn’t changed the entire time Vara had been speaking, but she could see something swirling in Elenwen’s eyes, and Vara was happy to call it fear.

Finally, General Tullius cleared his throat and spoke. “The Imperials will accept the terms of the negotiation, including the compensation for Karthwasten, even though the Empire will once again be paying for crimes that others committed.” Vara turned her gaze to Ulfric who hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“Very well. Under these terms, there will be no conflict in the Hold of Whiterun while the Dragonborn deals with the dragons.”

At the end of the table, Arngeir stood. “If both sides are in agreement, I declare this meeting adjourned.” Instantly, the Imperial delegation rose and filed out of the room, and Vara could see by the strained expression on Tullius’s face that the trip back to Solitude would be an uncomfortable one for the group. Ulfric also rose and turned to Galmar. The two began to speak in hushed tones, but before Vara could try and listen in, Esbern approached her.

“Dragonborn,” the old Blade said. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Esbern,” Vara replied, her smile hidden behind her mask. She had grown to like the man during their delve into Karthspire, and he had given her advice for her about her destiny.

“The Greybeards told me that you need to call a dragon to you, and I think I might have found something that could help. It was buried in the vault of the ancient Akaviri, and it lists the names of several dragons that they defeated. If my translation of the text is correct, one of these dragons was a lieutenant of Alduin himself, and according to Delphine’s map, he has been resurrected.” Vara nodded her understanding. “This dragon was known to be prideful, so if you summon him to a challenge, he shouldn’t be able to resist, especially since your Thu’um is so strong. His name is Odahviing.”

As soon as Esbern said the dragon’s name, Vara felt power flood into her. Instead of glowing letters in a word wall, however, the name was written in simple charcoal. The rush was still the same. In her soul, she felt the Dovahzul words echo. Od. Ah. Viing.

Once the sound faded, Vara looked back at Esbern and thanked the Blade for his help. The old man smiled before wishing her luck and wandering away to find Delphine. For several moments, Vara stood there, the feeling of absorbing three words of power at once overwhelming her. Eventually, she came back to herself and found that the room was now empty, which surprised her. She had figured, feared, hoped, that Ulfric would linger and try to speak to her, but the man was gone.

Hesitantly, Vara left the room and headed down the grey corridors to the room that she had claimed as her own. With the negotiations settled, there was no time to waste. She had to get to Whiterun as soon as she could.

. . .

Ulfric left the courtyard with some reluctance. He had come out here to gather his thoughts before facing Vara, and he had found himself reliving the memories of his youth. He still remembered waking up before the sun so that he could climb to the top of the tower in the courtyard to watch it rise. Things had seemed so peaceful then. And now… Ulfric shook his head and stepped through the stone doors, letting them close softly behind him.

For several minutes, he searched the halls with little success. Eventually, he allowed his feet to carry them of their own accord, following the steps he had taken so many times before. They carried him past the meeting room and down a side corridor before coming to a stop in front of a familiar wooden door. His old room.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ulfric raised a fist and knocked on the door. Shortly after, a soft voice called for him to enter, and he took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart before opening the door and stepping inside.

The room was just as he remembered it, the grey walls blank and the room empty except for the torches, the shrine of Kynareth along one wall and the stone bed on the other. On that bed sat Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, her now-famous dragon mask resting in her lap, and her long white hair hanging in front of her face.

He had planned what he was going to say, the way that he was going to beg her forgiveness, but now, seeing her like this, his words abandoned him. Instead, he approached her silently and knelt in front of her, waiting for the woman to speak first.

It was silent for a long while, but eventually, Vara raised her head to look at him, although she avoided eye contact. “Thank you for agreeing to this peace treaty,” she said, her voice soft. “I know Riften was a high price to pay.”

“Aye,” Ulfric agreed. “It was, but it was worth it if it means that you will finally be able to end this dragon madness.” His voice too was soft; he was afraid if he spoke any louder he would shatter the fragile peace between them, a peace that was even more tenuous than the one he had just finished negotiating.

They lapsed once more into silence, and Ulfric found himself studying Vara. The woman had removed her dragon scale armor and was wearing a simple hunter’s tunic, like the kind she had worn when she had first come to Windhelm. As his gaze traveled over her, however, Ulfric grew concerned. The tunic was short sleeved and dozens of scars littered the exposed skin of Vara’s arms, scars that he knew hadn’t been there two months ago.

“Vara,” he whispered, horrified. “What happened to you?”

Vara turned away from him and drew her arms into herself, shielding the marks from Ulfric’s eyes. “It’s not important, Ulfric.”

Ulfric shook his head. “Who did this to you?” he asked, holding out his hand. After a moment, Vara surrendered and allowed him to gently take her arm, inspecting the scars there.

She didn’t respond for a long minute, but eventually, she whispered a single name, “Elenwen.”

Instantly, Ulfric saw red. That witch! He should have Shouted her to pieces when he had had the chance during the negotiations! As quickly as the anger came, however, the shame flooded in. Ulfric’s fears had been true after all. The mission Vara had refused to tell him about when she had left had had something to do with the Thalmor, and it was obvious now that they had tortured her, possibly for days.

Ulfric looked up and caught Vara’s green-gold eyes in his own and saw the fear there. And that fear cut him to his heart because it wasn’t just a fear of the monsters who had done this to her. It was also a fear of him, of his reaction. As if to confirm his thoughts, Vara spoke,

“I never told them anything about you or the Stormcloaks,” she promised, her voice broken. “They tortured me, and I said nothing. Then, they tortured a Stormcloak soldier and I still said nothing.” She was crying now, but Ulfric was too stunned by the painful words to react. “They killed him because I refused to speak. I could have saved him, but I didn’t, because I needed to bide my time, I needed to wait until I knew I could get the information I needed. A soldier died because of me.”

At those words, Ulfric broke out of his trance and wrapped his arms around Vara, allowing the woman to bury her face into the furs on his shoulder. For several moments, the only sound in the small room was Vara’s sobs. Eventually, however, the woman pulled away and wiped her tears. She turned away from Ulfric and rummaged in the bag on her bed for a few moments before turning back, two small books in her hands.

“I found these in the Embassy,” she said, her voice hoarse from her tears. “Please forgive me for reading yours.” She handed him one of the books, and on the front was his name, written in neat gold letters.

He flipped through the book, devouring the words there, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he did so. Soon, he found himself shaking his head, unable to believe the things he was reading. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t! Ulfric looked back up at Vara, confusion and anger warring on his face.

“What is this?” he growled, anger in every syllable.

“It's the truth or at least part of it,” Vara said. “The Imperial City fell long before you broke, Ulfric. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then why am I listed as an asset to the Thalmor?” he demanded, his confusion making the volume of his words rise.

Thankfully, Vara didn’t react to his anger. “The Thalmor love to manipulate people. They had a spy in your council, remember, and they probably have others in your army. They love to feel like they have power over people.”

For several long minutes, Ulfric was silent as he processed the rush of information. So much of what he had believed was a lie, and yet, the knowledge that it wasn’t his weakness that had caused the Imperial City to fall gave him some measure of peace.

“Thank you for this, Vara,” he said quietly. Vara nodded, seeming distracted. After a few moments, she said,

“You weren’t the only one who had been lied to.” She held up the other booklet for him to see. The name on it was hers. “I told you that my father was a refugee from the Summerset Isles, but I was wrong.” Vara looked away, and the pain in her voice made Ulfric want to reach out and hold her again. “He was a spy for the Thalmor sent to infiltrate your father’s court, and he would have gone through with the mission if he hadn’t been injured and met my mother. She is the only reason he defected.” She laughed bitterly, tears beginning to make their way down her face again. “It seems you were right about my heritage, after all, Ulfric.”

This time, Ulfric wasn’t frozen. This time, he reacted instantly, pulling Vara towards him until she was looking him in the eyes. “The only thing I was right about concerning your father was that he must have been a good man to raise a woman like you,” he declared firmly. “Our past doesn’t define us, Vara.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Ulfric stood from the floor, pulling Vara up with him. “Please, listen to me. Two months ago, I said things that I have regretted ever since. If that moment is what defines me, then I have no right to be here or to fight this war or to rule Skyrim. I was heartless and selfish and I was blind. I sent you away with anger instead of the support you deserved, and I am sorry for that.”

Vara looked down at the floor sadly. “But you were right to say the things you did,” she argued quietly. “I lied to you about who I was because I was selfish. I didn’t want things to change between us.”

Ulfric placed one hand under Vara’s chin and gently lifted her head up to meet his eyes. “Yes, you lied to me, and yes, I even had the right to be angry with you, but your fears were valid. If I hadn’t lashed out at you, these past two months could have been different. I could have helped you, and I am sorry that I destroyed that opportunity.” This time, it was Ulfric’s turn to look down. “You sent me my mother’s amulet back, and the note attached said that you didn’t think you were worthy of her legacy.” Now Ulfric looked back up at Vara, praying that he could convey his sincerity with his next words.

“My mother was strong and selfless and always ready to sacrifice her personal interests for the good of others,” he began, a slight smile on his lips. “She loved deeply and passionately and there was never a problem too big or too small for her to help with. She gave everything to her people all the way up until her death. But she wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes, she snapped. She was a person, Vara, and so are you, Dragonborn or no. There is no one more worthy of her legacy than you.”

Ulfric reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out the Amulet of Talos. The embedded gems shone in the torchlight as he placed it around Vara’s neck, fastening it carefully. “I love you, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song,” he declared softly, “and nothing can change that.”

For a moment, Vara was still, then she surged forward and kissed Ulfric, pouring a million emotions into him, and he responded with just as many of his own. He pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He knew that this might be the last time that he would see her, and so he held her with no intention of letting go. Eventually, their lips broke apart as they each gasped for air, but still, he didn’t let go. “I love you, Dragonborn,” he said, breathless from their kiss.

Vara smiled, the expression tinged with a sadness that they both felt. “I love you too, Ulfric. Always.”

Chapter Text

Vara sighed sleepily and burrowed further into the warmth at her sighed. Her actions earned her a deep chuckle from the man whose cloak her face was currently buried in. “Are you cold?” Ulfric asked her, and even without looking up, Vara knew he was smiling.

“Not all of us are gifted with pure Nordic blood, Ulfric. I’ve spent so much time on High Hrothgar, it’s going to take me years to feel warm again,” she grumbled and pulled his cloak closer to her. Ulfric laughed and gently moved Vara until he could shrug off his cloak and wrap it around her properly, the fur tickling her ears as he pulled it up over them. She sighed her gratitude and leaned her head on his shoulder.

There was silence for several moments except for the rattling sound of woden wheels rolling over the ground. Eventually, Ulfric asked, “Do you remember the last time we were sitting like this in a wagon?” Vara nodded. Of course, she remembered. After all, they had nearly been killed and the only reason she hadn’t been executed was because Alduin attacked. “You were unconscious most of the time, which was something I thanked the Divines for. I didn’t want you to suffer any more than you already had. And yet, when you woke up, you realized what was happening, and then you smiled at me, despite knowing that we were doomed. And we survived.” He paused, and Vara turned her head to look up at Ulfric. He was gazing at the scenery around them, his eyebrows drawn together. “And now, I’m afraid that history is repeating itself. I’m worried that you’re riding to your doom.”

Vara sat up and shifted n the bench until she was looking Ulfric in the eyes. “This is my destiny, Ulfric,” she said quietly. “I have to do this.”

“I know,” Ulfric admitted quietly, taking Vara’s hands in his own, his calloused fingers gently rubbing circles over hers. “The Divines chose you, so they must have faith in you. And so do I.” He looked away for a moment, and Vara could see his struggle to collect his emotions. He had always been good at that, but some part of her loved to see this side of him, the side that was allowed to feel and show what he felt. “I don’t want to leave you alone again. I should have been there to support you these past few months, and I wasn’t. And now you have to face Aduin alone.”

Vara squeezed Ulfric’s hands, a soft smile pulling at her lips. “You’re here now, Ulfric, and that’s enough. I need you to promise me that as soon as I capture Odahviing you’ll leave.” She looked into his eyes, making sure the man across from her was listening. They had had this conversation earlier when Ulfric had convinced her to allow him to be there when she captured Odahviing, and she knew he didn’t like to hear it, but she needed to know that he would keep his promise. “Even having you in Whiterun at all is risky, and you need to get back to Windhelm as quickly as you can. If I fail-”

“You won’t,” Ulfric interrupted, his voice fierce and his eyes flashing.

“If I fail,” Vara repeated, her voice gentle, “you will need to rally the people of Skyrim. The Imperials will be the least of your problems if the dragons return. Promise me that you will do your best to unite and protect them, all of them.”

Ulfric nodded grimly. “I promise, but that won’t happen. When you return from defeating Alduin, find me in Windhelm. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Vara leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Ulfric’s lips, savoring the sense of safety that being in his embrace gave her, a feeling she hadn’t felt in months. “Of course,” she promised, kissing him again. Then she shifted and once again leaned her head on his broad shoulder. “Now hush,” she ordered. “I haven’t slept well in weeks.”

Ulfric chuckled deeply, the sound making Vara’s soul light up warmly. “You and me both,” he declared, his voice weary but content. Then a comfortable silence fell. They might be facing their doom and even the end of the world, but for now, they were together, and that was enough. With that thought, Vara smiled and pulled Ulfric’s cloak tighter around herself before allowing the rumble of the wheels beneath them to lull her to sleep.

. . .

Ulfric walked arm in arm with Vara, not caring who could see them. Although he had to admit that for once in his life, he wasn’t the center of everyone’s attention. As they walked through the streets of Whiterun, the noon sun shining above them, the busy market grew deathly still, and the people moved quickly out of their way. But it wasn’t because of Ulfric, no, it was all Vara. The woman had quite the presence, dressed as she was in armor forged from dragon scales. Her mask, which had become something as a symbol all throughout the country, caused people to bow reverently and move out of her way. The Dragonborn was a hero, but she was a dangerous one, and the people knew that.

Together, they came to a stop in front of the statue of Talos. The priest, who had been loudly preaching a moment before, fell silent as Vara detached herself from Ulfric and knelt in front of the shrine. Ulfric thought about joining her in her prayer, but he held back. After a few minutes of deathly quiet, Vara stood, and although Ulfric couldn’t see her face behind the mask, he could see the tears glistening in her silver-green eyes. She stared at him for a moment before linking her arm once more with his and leading him up the steps to Dragonsreach.

The guards pushed open the doors and one ran to inform Jarl Balgruuf that the Dragonborn had arrived. Balgruuf had reached the city a day ago, as Ulfric had convinced Vara to stay and rest at High Hrothgar for just a little while longer. The Great Hall was quiet, and a weight seemed to have settled over the keep, over the entire city even. Silently, they were led through the keep to the Great Porch. Stepping through the doors, they were met with no less than two dozen guards rimming the porch, with several more standing on the balcony above.

“Jarl Ulfric, Dragonborn,” Balgruuf greeted. The man was standing in the middle of the space, his steel armor glinting in the light of the sun. “I hope you have a plan. I have three dozen guards and the trap is set. All we need now is a dragon.”

Vara laughed, although there was little humor in it. “My Thu’um will draw out a dragon, but I need your men to stay under the covered area along the edges of the trap. The dragon needs to see me as its target, not your men.” Then she turned to Ulfric. “I can’t risk you getting hurt, Ulfric. Stay back with Balgruuf until he dragon is captured. If you can, use your Voice to protect the soldiers.” Ulfric wanted to protest, but he kept quiet. As much as he wished it were different, this was her duty, not his. Instead, he nodded and squeezed her hand.

Vara took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “If you’re ready, Jarl, I’ll call the dragon.” Balgruuf nodded, and Vara looked over at Ulfric, holding his gaze for a long moment before turning and striding across the porch to the very end. Ulfric watched as she planted her feet and then Shouted to the sky, the force of her Thu’um more powerful than any Ulfric had ever heard, even the Greybeards themselves. “Odahviing!” The sound shook the ground and then a silence fell, heavy with anticipation.

Vara didn’t move, her head still raised to the sky. The soldiers around Ulfric shifted nervously, and without looking, he knew that their hands clutched their swords and spears so tightly that their knuckles would be white. But then, the stillness was shattered by an ear-piercing roar that grew higher and louder as it approached. The soldiers murmured around him, their voices tinged with both determination and fear. Then the dragon appeared, hurtling across Ulfric’s view before swooping around to land on the porch in front of Vara.

The woman rolled to the side, correctly anticipating the burst of flame that scorched the area where she had been standing a moment before. Ulfric itched to run out and face the magnificent beast and stand at Vara’s side, but he restrained himself. Vara was the Dragonborn; killing dragons was her calling.

The battle stretched on for several minutes, with Vara rolling and slashing at Odahviing, constantly inching backward and drawing the dragon further into the trap. As Ulfric watched the fight, ready to use his Thu’um to Shout any soldiers out of the way or distract the dragon if needed, he realized that Vara was being careful to direct her blows in places that wouldn’t cause the dragon any permanent harm. Most of her attacks didn’t pierce the thick hide and served only to irritate the creature.

Finally, the dragon had stalked into position. With a yell, Balgruuf ordered the trap to be released. The contraption fell from the ceiling and before Odahviing could move. The dragon let out a surprised roar, which shook the timbers that held of the roof, causing dust to sprinkle down on the heads of the soldiers, but the trap held.

The dragon growled and snapped as Vara, Blagruuf, and Ulfric approached it. "Zu'u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this... humiliating position,” Odahviing growled, as Vara stepped in front of him. Hind siiv Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"

Vara nodded. “I do. Where is he hiding?”

"Rinik vazah. An apt phrase,” the great creature mused. “Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um for myself. Many of us have began to question Alduin's lordship, whether his Thu'um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. None were yet ready to openly defy him."

Ulfric expected Vara to be angry or frustrated with the dragon’s avoidance of her question, but instead, she simply asked again, “Where is Alduin?”

“Unslaad krosis. Innumerable pardons. I digress.” The dragon bowed his head slightly, and from Vara’s posture, Ulfric could tell that the woman was somewhat amused by the niceties, although not impressed. “He has traveled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejoor... the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards. His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldalfn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains.” Vara nodded slowly; evidently, the woman had heard of Skuldalfn before. “I have answered your question, mortal. Will you let me go free?”

Vara cocked her head, seeming to consider the suggestion before eventually shaking her head. “I can’t. I would be a fool to trust you not to seek revenge on me or this city.”

“Some would call you a fool for challenging one of the Dov to battle,” the dragon pointed out, and this time, Vara let out a slight chuckle.

“True, but regardless, you must stay here until Alduin is defeated.”

The scales on the dragon’s face shifted, giving him a more confident expression. “You may have the Voice of a Dov, but you do not have the wings of one, and without them, you cannot reach Skuldalfn. You may go and investigate, but my words will prove true. You cannot reach Alduin without releasing me.” There was a triumph in the creature’s voice, which put Ulfric on edge. Before Vara could say anything, Ulfric tapped her shoulder and gestured for her to step to the side with him.

“You can’t trust him,” Ulfric warned once they were out of earshot of the dragon. “You said yourself that he is Alduin’s right hand, regardless of the claims he makes about doubting Alduin. It would be all too easy for him to drop you from the skies once you set him free.”

Vara took Ulfric’s hands in her gauntleted ones, careful to avoid stabbing him with any of the scales. “I have to trust him, Ulfric. I have to defeat Alduin, and if he is truly devouring the souls of the dead in Sovngarde, I have to stop him as soon as I can. Whether I like it or not, Odahviing is the fastest way to reach that portal. Besides,” she added, “dragons are bound by their word. The Voice is sacred to them, and anything spoken must be fulfilled. If I can get Odahviing to promise me to that he will safely carry me to Skuldalfn, he will do so.”

Ulfric didn’t say anything for a long moment. He didn’t like the idea. How could he? But on some level, he knew that what Vara was saying made sense. He knew she had to leave as quickly as possible, and the dragon provided the fastest means to do so. And yet, Ulfric didn’t want to let go. Once Vara left, there was no guarantee that she would come back. He may never see her again in this life, and if Alduin really was destroying the souls of the dead, then he might not even get to see her in Shor’s halls. How could he be expected to let Vara go when he had only just gotten her back?

As if she could read his thoughts, Vara gripped Ulfric’s hand a little tighter. “It’s going to be okay, Ulfric,” she promised. “I’m going to be okay.” Ulfric looked into Vara’s eyes, which shined with a determination that he had always admire, even from the first moment that he had seen her, lying half-dead in the snow.

“I love you, Varaduilwe Oaken-Song,” Ulfric declared, squeezing Vara’s hand. “Be safe.”

“I will,” Vara promised, and Ulfric knew that under that dragon priest’s mask, a small smile was pulling the corners of her mouth into a delicate grin. Then she turned away and strode back to Odahviing, and after a brief moment, Ulfric followed her.

“I will set you free,” Vara told the captured dragon. “But you must swear to deliver me safely to Skuldalfn, and if I emerge from Sovngarde triumphant, you will swear to renounce your loyalty to Alduin and instead promise to follow me.”

The dragon looked surprised at the demand. “You would have a dragon as your servant, joor? That is ambitious, even for the Dovahkiin.”

Vara shook her head. “I don’t want a servant. I want an ally. After Alduin falls, there will be chaos among the dragons as they attempt to align themselves into new factions. I will need your help persuading them that under my direction, the dragons and the rest of the world can live in peace.”

“Very well,” the dragon rumbled. “I promise to carry you safely to Skuldalfn, and should you emerge victorious, I will aid you in uniting the dragons.”

Vara nodded before turning to Balgruuf. “Lift the trap,” she told him, her voice calm and certain. The jarl held her gaze for a long minute before nodding slightly.

“Raise the trap,” he ordered to the soldiers on the balcony above them. The guards there looked uncertain and were hesitant to move, but Balgruuf barked the order once more, and the men scrambled to pull the levers and raise the trap. After a few moments, the great dragon was completely free of the contraption, and it stretched its back, its wings flaring out and nearly hitting the soldiers gathered at his sides. Then, it turned, its tail flicking dangerously, and bounded toward the end of the balcony before coming to a stop and turning once more to look at Vara.

The woman turned to Ulfric and raised her mask, allowing him to see the beautiful features that he loved so dearly. “I love you, Ulfric Stormcloak. Never forget that,” she declared passionately, and Ulfric could only nod, his words caught in a painful ball in his throat. “Remember your promise to me. You have to return to Windhelm and rally the people just in case this goes wrong.”

Once again, Ulfric only nodded, unable to speak. Vara stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Ulfric’s torso before placing a gentle but passionate kiss on his lips. This was something Ulfric could respond to, and he kissed her back, pouring all of the feelings he couldn’t express into it. Eventually, they broke away, and Vara replaced her mask, and once more, Ulfric saw tears shimmering in her eyes. Their gazes stayed locked for a few more moments, and the Vara turned from him and slowly made her way toward Odahviing, who was crouched at the far end of the balcony, waiting for her to climb onto his back. She did so, and a moment later, they were both gone, flying into the blue sky.

Ulfric watched the dragon fly away until it was nothing more than a speck in the sky, and then he turned to the jarl at his side. “Vara will fulfill her destiny,” he stated firmly, more to convince himself than Balgruuf, “but we need to be ready for the alternative. I’m returning to Windhelm to gather my people and prepare them in case Alduin returns to plunge the world into a second Dragon Age, and you should do the same. Make sure your people know places where they can go to stay safe, caves, stone keeps, anything that the dragons won’t be able to access.” Balgruuf nodded grimly and clasped Ulfric on the shoulder.

“Varaduilwe will win,” he said quietly. “The Gods are watching over her.” Ulfric nodded, fervently praying that what the other man said was true. Vara was going to be facing the firstborn of Akatosh, the Harbinger of the End Times. If anyone needed the protection of the Divines, it was her.

Chapter Text

Vara stared at the world that passed by beneath her in a blur of colors. The feeling of being so high in the sky left her breathless from both awe and the thin air. Her hands clutched the scales of Odahviing's back in front of her tightly, but fear was the last thing in her mind. Never before had she felt so close to the Gods. Was this what the saw as they looked down on Tamriel?

"Do you feel it, Dovahkiin?" Odhaviing asked as he flew, his voice a deep rumble, even in the wind. "You have the Voice of the Dov but not the wings, and now you will forever envy them. There is no better feeling than that of bo, of flight." Vara could only nod, her voice stolen by the wind. To be able to fly like this above the world whenever she chose...it was a beautiful thought. All too soon, however, Vara saw Skuldalfn in the distance and rapidly growing closer.

"All of Alduin's mulaag, his strength, is gathered here, Dovahkiin," the dragon warned as he circled the side of the mountain on which the Nordic ruin was built. "It will not be easy to reach the portal." Odahviing landed in a relatively clear area just outside of the ruins, the ground shaking as he did so. Vara climbed down from his back and walked around until she was standing at the great dragon's head.

"I know, but I must reach it. I will defeat Alduin," Vara said, injecting as much confidence into her voice as she could. Part of her didn't believe that she could do it, but she shoved those thoughts down. She had no room for doubt, not anymore.

Odahviing regarded her for a long moment, his reptilian eyes scanning hers. Eventually, he let out the dragon equivalent to a chuckle, a deep sound that Vara felt more than she heard. "You may be right, Dovahkiin. I will look for your return...or Alduin's." With those words, the dragon pushed off from the ground and took to the sky, circling the mountain once before flying away. Vara watched the dragon go for a long moment before turning toward the ruins, already pooling magicka in her hands. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing on the power running through her. Then, she let her breath out in a long sigh and squared her shoulders as sparks crackled to life in her hands.

. . .

Ulfric dug his heels into the sides of the horse he rode, urging the creature to run faster, the trees and rocks around him blurring as he passed. His mind was a jumble of emotions and memories, but above them all was one clear thought; he had to get to Windhelm. If Vara did fail, it would be up to him to protect Skyrim. And the thought terrified him. If Vara failed, he would be left alone to hold Skyrim together. And so he urged his onward, praying that he would be able to reach Windhelm soon.

. . .

Vara rolled underneath the blade of the draugr, the sword whistling through the air above her. Before she let herself think too hard about what she was doing, Vara dispelled the flames that flickered in her palms, her magic coalescing instead into a sparking staff of pure electricity. She swung the staff as she stood, the magical weapon slicing cleanly through the undead creature's neck. The draugr fell and its sword clattered to the stone, but Vara had no time to celebrate her victory, she spun, raising her staff above her head as she did so, and the electricity made contact with the ax of yet another one of the undead. Sparks showered over the both of them as Vara pushed back against the draugr. Then she suddenly dispelled the staff and jumped to the side, the creature stumbling past her. She turned and Shouted, "Fus ro dah!" and the creature went flying, crashing into one of the many pillars around them with a crunch. She didn't stop to see if it was going to get back up. Instead, she continued to push forward, deeper into the ruins, encountering another horde of draugr at every turn.

Already, she had slain two dragons and countless draugr. Unfortunately, she knew that there were hundreds of Alduin's followers, both dragons and draugr, gathered here. She leaned against a cracked pillar, her chest heaving. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, but she seemed safe, at least for the moment, so she took a moment to summon her healing light and allow the warmth to fill her body and mend her wounds. She wasn't able to heal herself while fighting, as she had to save her magicka for her attacks, so she had accumulated a fair number of cuts. As they healed, Vara focused on getting her breathing back under control. All too soon, her wounds were sealed, and she pushed herself from the pillar, forcing her feet to move in the direction of a door that seemed to lead deeper into the ruins.

. . .

Ulfric burst through the doors of the Palace, ignoring the startled cries of the guards and councilmen there. "Galmar," he barked to the general, who was standing by the empty throne, "gather all of the generals and council members you can find, and fetch Ambarys along with whoever seems to be the leader of the Argonians outside of the city." The general blinked once, confusion on his face, before nodding and rushing out of the room, gesturing for a few of the guards to follow him. Ulfric turned his attention to the three councilmen who sat at the long table, their dinner half eaten in front of them. "You three, I need you to distribute weapons to everyone in the city and find all of the able-bodied men. Tell them to gather in the courtyard behind the Palace and bring their weapons." He turned to find his steward and Wuunferth, but one of the men stopped him.

"Are the Imperials coming?" the man asked, his eyes wide with fear. No doubt he knew he would be one f the first people executed should the Imperial army take the city.

Ulfric shook his head. "No," he said gravely. "But if the Dragonborn fails in her mission, it will be something much worse. Dragons." The man let out a soft gasp before scrambling to his feet, bowing hastily, and racing out of the Palace. His two companions sat frozen for another moment before leaping up and following him. Ulfric watched them go before turning and striding deeper into the Palace to find Wuunferth. If there was anything that the man's magic could do to protect the city…
. . .

Vara stood in front of a Word Wall, her ears still ringing with the sound of a hundred voices chanting a single word: Strun. Storm. She could feel the power of the Word echoing within her, and she knew without a doubt that it was a Shout of incredible power, but she didn't speak it. She had a feeling that summoning a storm inside. Instead, she stepped away from the wall and began to make her way deeper into the ruins. Already she had solved two of those puzzles that the Nords were so fond of, and she was hoping that there wouldn't be anymore; she had almost been killed by the last one. Thankfully, however, it was only a small room with a chest, likely full of gems, which she stepped past, the sparks in her hands throwing purple light on the walls. Carefully, Vara pushed open the door and jumped backward, her sparks at the ready in case any creature decided to jump out at her. After a moment, she stepped outside into the harsh light of day.

She was much higher up on the mountain now, and she could see for what seemed like miles. Right around her though, were pillars much like the ones below, although most of these had fallen to the ground, and Vara swore some of them had gouges in them that looked suspiciously like claw marks. Vara stepped cautiously around the rubble, ready to face the draugr she knew were sure to come. But they never did. She made her way further into the ruins, her eyes sweeping back and forth over the ruined stone, but she found no enemies.

After half an hour of searching, Vara heard it. It was a deep noise, deeper even than the rumblings of the dragons. This sound was almost grinding on her ears, although she could barely hear it. Vara walked faster, still being certain to keep an eye out for any draugr or dragons, as she followed the sound to its source. After several more minutes, Vara entered a courtyard and her breath was stolen from her chest. In the center was a pillar of light that extended to the heavens above. The portal to Sovngarde.

Vara stepped forward into the courtyard, her hands hanging limply by her side in awe, all of her focus on the magnificent portal in front of her. But she wasn't alone. Before she could snap out of her trace, a figure in front of the portal turned around, pulling a staff out of the ground and pointing at her. As soon as the staff was moved, the portal disappeared the light fading almost instantly. On instinct, she rolled to the side, her brain still not fully processing what she saw. Her movements were lethargic and she was struck with a bolt of electricity.

The pain woke Vara's mind and she jumped to her feet, her hands once more alight with magic. Across the courtyard, hovering in front of the space where the portal had been, was a dragon priest, much like the one she had slain to earn the mask she now wore. Unfortunately, this priest seemed to favor storm magic, which meant that anytime she was hit, her magicka would deplete. She jumped to the side, narrowly missing another bolt that crashed into a pillar behind her and cracked the stone. Vara grit her teeth and charged up her own spell, firing it at the priest's chest. The ancient creature raised a lazy hand and the lightning fizzled out against the powerful ward that had been summoned.

Vara frowned behind her mask. Her spells were among the strongest forms of lightning magic that she knew of; if the dragon priest had been able to dispell it, he was more powerful than the other she had faced. With that staff at his command as well, his source of magicka would be much greater than her own, and she would run out of power long before she could kill him. She had to separate the priest from his staff. With that thought, Vara dashed forward, running towards the dragon priest in an erratic motion in hopes of avoiding his attacks. One ball of lightning struck her leg, and she stumbled briefly before picking up speed again, retaliating with a quick bolt that the priest waved away with his ward. Once she was a few feet away, Vara dropped to the ground rolling underneath another attack and coming up to her knees. "Fus ro dah!" she Shouted, and the staff was ripped from the priest's hand, clattering across the courtyard.

Vara grinned behind her mask. Now the fight was even.
. . .

Ulfric looked out over the assembled men. Fear was evident in almost every face, the same fear he felt clawing at his heart, but he pushed that away because in each face he also saw a grim determination. People didn't survive in Skyrim because it was easy. Life was hard and short, but these people were ready to do whatever it would take for them to survive. "Men!" Ulfric called, his voice loud in the deathly still air. "Our way of life has been threatened for years, we have lived under the oppressive shadow of an Empire who cares nothing for us and our ways and we have survived, thrived even. Now an even greater threat looms. As we speak, the Dragonborn is fighting to free this world from the claws of Alduin the Worldeater. But the Dragonborn is just as mortal as you and I." Ulfric pushed down his emotions, pushed down his memories, pushed down the thought of Vara lying bleeding in the snow, alone. "We must be ready should she fail. We cannot slay every dragon, but we can evade them while we gather our strength. Every citizen must do his part."

Ulfric began to divide the assembled group into various tasks, charging some with finding shelters that the dragons would be unable to breach, others with collecting food and clothing, and still others with warning the smaller villages throughout the hold. The people accepted the tasks wordlessly, shock and fear evident in their silence, and yet, they all stood there, ready to do what they could, Nords, Argonians, and Dunmer together. If only it hadn’t taken the possibility of an apocalypse to bring them together.

. . .

Vara dodged, a bolt of electricity shooting through the air only inches from her armor. She had taken several hits already, and her magicka was running out. She wouldn't be able to fight much longer, but neither would the priest. She had managed to keep him separated from his staff, which had limited his capabilities significantly, and she had landed enough attacks to be relatively certain that his magicka was just as drained as hers was.

She moved again, this time rolling to the left as a burst of electricity crashed into the ground. A shock went through her, but it was weakened, and she shook it off as she stood, firing a concentrated ball of magic hitting the priest in the chest. His ward had shattered a few minutes ago, and he hadn't been able to summon another one yet, which Vara took as a good sign. She stepped past his next attack and hit him with another blast, causing the dragon priest to stumble backward. Seeing his weakness, Vara summoned her staff and rushed forward before the priest could regain his balance. A few seconds later, the priest was nothing more than a pile of ash and a metal mask, which clanged against the stone as the creature dissolved.

Stooping over, Vara plucked the mask from the ground and tucked it into the pack at her side. If she survived her fight with Alduin, she wanted to remember the priest she had defeated. Plus, she thought she detected a blue glow on the edges of the mask, meaning it might be of more use to her than the one she wore now. Then she crossed the courtyard, pushing aside the pain that shot through her leg with every step, and retrieved the dragon priest's staff. It sparked slightly as she picked it up, magicka running along the wood. This was the key to opening the portal, she was certain.

Vara walked back to the center of the courtyard and climbed the steps to the stand where the priest had been hovering before it had attacked her. There, at the edge of the platform, was a hole in the ground shaped like the bottom of the staff she held. Praying she was right, Vara inserted the staff and twisted as if it were a key in a keyhole. For a moment everything was still, then the ground began to shake, and Vara stumbled backward as the ground seemed to open and a blinding flash of light shot into the sky. The portal swirled with mesmerizing colors and radiated a power more forceful even than the feeling she got when absorbing a dragon's soul. Vara stared at the colors, losing herself in them for just a moment, and then she jumped into the light.

. . .

Ulfric knelt in front of the shrine of Talos, the world around him little more than a distant thought. He had given the soldiers, the councilors, and the citizens their assignments, and now, all they could do was wait, wait and see if the Dovahkiin of legend would emerge victorious or if Alduin would rise to swallow them all in eternal darkness. The worry that weighed on his heart was agonizing and the knowledge that Vara was facing this monster alone made Ulfric's heart clench in fear. And so he did the only thing he could do. He prayed. He prayed to the DIvines, all nine of them, that they would guide their champion, guide Vara, to victory over Alduin. He prayed that she would return to him safe. He prayed that he would be able to see her, to hold her in his arms, to kneel before her and beg her to marry him the way he should have months ago. But most of all, he prayed that he wouldn't be left alone. Even when they had been apart, Ulfric had relied on Vara for strength and he knew that if she died now, he would never be able to fulfill his promise to her. Skyrim would fall.

A million memories of Vara twisted and merged in his mind. Each was a testament to her incredible strength and goodness, traits that she had had long before the Gods had declared her Dragonborn. Looking back, Ulfric didn't know how he had ever distrusted her. Vara radiated kindness and loyalty, not to any one man or group, but to all of Skyrim. Once, he had been unable to look past her pointed ears and magic, but she had changed his entire view. She had opened his eyes to the true situation of Skyrim and all of its people. Until he had met her, Ulfric hadn't truly lived. He had been in a daze, seeing only what he wanted, his mind and heart buried in anger towards the Empire and anyone who wasn't a Nord. She had changed him, touched his soul in ways that no one else had been able to. And now, her goodness, her strength, her love of Skyrim, might get her killed.

Chapter Text

The iridescent sky above Vara seemed to shimmer blue and purple, dotted with bright points of light. The sight took her breath away, and for a few moments, she forgot why she was there at all. Sovngarde was more beautiful than any story had ever been able to capture. Then in the distance, a loud roar sounded, snapping Vara out of her dazed state and causing her to summon her magic once more. Alduin was here somewhere, and she couldn’t afford to let her guard down.

Vara descended the stone slabs that made up the steps of the portal and stepped onto the path below. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be better to walk the path and risk Alduin finding her or leave it and risk getting lost in the thick mists that seemed to cover the landscape. Eventually, she decided to follow the path in front of her. She only made it a little way before she heard a voice calling out from the mists.

“Help! Is someone there?” The voice seemed close, and Vara pressed through the fog, her eyes straining to find the source of the sound. “Please, I can’t see!”

There! Through the mist, Vara spotted the figure of a man, and as she got closer, she realized it was the ghost of a Stormcloak soldier.

“Soldier!” she called, drawing the man’s attention. “What is going on?”

The man looked at her with wild eyes. “It’s the World Eater! Alduin has come and is devouring the souls of the dead. Please, I must reach Shor’s hall!”

Vara laid a reassuring hand on the ghost’s shoulder, a chilling cold running up her arm as her gauntlet made contact. “I can clear the mist, soldier,” she said. “Stay close to me.” The man nodded, and Vara turned towards the swirling mist in front of her and Shouted, “Lok vah koor!” The fog dissipated immediately, and Vara strode forward, her magic at the ready. Hopefully, the Shout hadn’t attracted Alduin’s attention.

Together, Vara and the fallen soldier pressed on, Vara Shouting every now and then to clear the fog from the path. The landscape around them was revealed a little more every time she Shouted, and the sights were awe-inspiring. Mountains rose at the edge of her vision, and a river ran beside the path for a while before diverging, and Vara could hear the crashing sound of a waterfall somewhere in the distance. Again, Vara couldn’t help but think how wrong the great poets and writers had been when they had described Sovngarde. The place far exceeded any descriptions of beauty that a mortal could attempt to use.

After several minutes, Vara saw a bridge in the distance crafted from enormous bones, larger even than the ones that the dragons she slew left behind. Much larger. At the front of the bridge stood a giant of a man, like one of the statues of the ancient kings, his ax held in front of him as if in warning.

Vara knelt in front of the man and bowed her head. The soldier beside her copied her movements, dropping to his knees. “Tsun,” Vara said, her voice quiet in her awe.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honored dead?" the god rumbled, gesturing for Vara to rise.

“I seek entrance to Shor’s Halls to learn from the wisdom of the ones who have come before,” she declared, looking up at the man who towered over her by at least two or three heads.

Tsun nodded slowly. “No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

Vara blinked, caught off guard for a moment. Then, with a surge of confidence, she declared, “By right of birth. I am the Dovahkiin.”

“Ah!” Tsun exclaimed. “It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood."

Vara knew what came next. According to the ancient tales, nine could enter Shor’s Hall until they first proved themselves worthy in a trial by combat against the guardian of the bridge. Sure enough, Tsun readied his ax and said,

“Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'till I judge them worthy by the warrior's test." Vara nodded grimly, her magic crackling in her palms, and then the man charged her, a primal smile on his face.

Jumping to the side, Vara barely avoided the blade of Tsun's ax. The mountain of a man had a much longer reach than she did, and that ax had to be at least three times the size of a normal one. She ducked as it sliced the air over her head. Thankfully, the two-handed weapon meant that when Tsun swung, his chest was left exposed, and she fired two short blasts of electricity.

The man stumbled, chuckling as he did so, before quickly regaining his footing and swinging at Vara once again. She rolled under the swing and shot a ball of lightning into his torso as she came up to her feet. This time, it took Tsun a few more seconds to find his balance, a few seconds that Vara utilized. Before the god could get his feet under him, Vara had shot him with no less than five bursts of electricity. She was readying another when Tsun lowered his ax and gave a deep laugh.

"Ah! I have not had a fight with a mage like that for years!" he stated. "I judge you worthy to enter Shor's Halls, Dragonborn." Vara bowed deeply and stepped past the god onto the Whalebone Bridge. Behind her, he could hear Tsun challenging the Stormcloak soldier to a duel, and their axes clashed, causing the air to ring, but to Vara, it was a distant sound. In front of her loomed Shor's Halls, and the sight made her forget all else.

She approached the doors in a trance-like state. She was here, actually here. All at once, the realization of where she was crashed down on her. She was in Sovngarde, home of the honored dead. A small smile crossed her face. Her half-blooded state hadn't stopped her from entering Shor's realm. That was a great comfort to her. All her life, Vara had wished to rest in Sovngarde among the heroes of old when she died, and now she knew that she would.

Vara stared at the grand doors for a moment longer before vigorously shaking her head and pushing them open. Immediately, golden light seemed to flood her, and she had to blink a few times for her eyes to adjust to the brightness. When they did, Vara couldn't help the gasp that escaped her throat. The Halls were beautiful.

All around her, heroes of old feasted and laughed and drank and sang. From her place by the entrance, Vara could see a grand feast laid out and warriors and mages alike surrounding it. Then, off to the sides, she could see long halls where people dueled and danced in equal measure.

Before Vara could examine her surroundings anymore, a deep voice called to her. "Welcome, Dragonborn!" Vara turned to face the speaker and was greeted with a warrior dressed in ancient armor. She wouldn't have been able to tell the man apart from the other spirits, except for the ax on his back. Wuuthrad, the ax of Ysgramor himself. Vara's eyes widened behind her mask as the hero continued to speak.

"Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor's command, we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the Fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the Valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim." Ysgramor turned and pointed to a group of three spirits, and Vara recognized them from the vision she had seen on the Throat of the World. The ancient Tongues. Vara bowed to Ysgramor and thanked him before striding across the hall to the Tongues, who were deep in conversation when she arrived.

"At long last! Alduin's doom is now ours to seal!" the woman of the group, Gormlaith, exclaimed, turning to Vara as she approached. "Just speak the word and with high hearts, we'll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks."

The mage shook his head. "Hold, comrades - let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare - its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak." Vara nodded, understanding coming to her. That explained why Alduin had laid the mist down in the first place. It was more than just a way to disorient the souls he fed upon, it was actually a form of protection as well. "But with four voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

Hakon nodded. "Felldir speaks wisdom - the World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe."

Gormlaith grinned, battle-lust evident in her face. "To battle, my friends! The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted," she declared, and raised her weapon to the air. Her companions mirrored her movements, and Vara joined them, her hand crackling with magic. Together, they ran to the doors of the Hall, throwing them open and charging across the bridge. Tsun stood aside, and Vara knew that the god would not be joining their battle.

The four of them strode out to a clearing, the fog swirling around them, climbing up their legs and arms as if it were trying to claw at them. "We have to drive this fog away," Hakon stated. "Clear Skies, together!" The man counted down and then the Tongues and Vara Shouted to the sky, their combined Voices shaking the ground of Sovngarde and echoing off of the mountainside. For several moments, the mist retreated, but then another voice sounded, Shouting words Vara had never heard before and the fog returned, thicker than it had been before.

"Alduin defies us!" Gormliath yelled, but Vara couldn't see the hero through the fog. "Clear Skies, again!" Once more, the four Voices tore apart the mist, and once more, Alduin summoned it back, and this time, Vara couldn't see Felldir through it, although the mage stood right beside her. Vara's heart sunk. What hope did they have of defeating Alduin if the four of them combined couldn't dispel the World Eater's fog? Nevertheless, they Shouted once more, and this time, their Voices drove back the fog, and it did not return.

Gormlaith let out a triumphant shout, but a moment later, a shadow fell over them, and the ground trembled as Alduin landed on the hill above the clearing where they stood. His ruby eyes glinted in Sovngarde's mystic light, and he let out a deep chuckle that chilled Vara to her bones. "So, you have come to face me, have you?" he asked laughingly. "You could not defeat me on Mundus, so what makes you believe you can do so here, where my power grows with each soul I devour? I am the Firstborn of Akatosh!" the dragon bellowed. "It is my birthright to devour the world!"

Vara stepped forward. For the first time since she had been told of her destiny, she felt confidence, true confidence, run through her. "And it is my birthright as Dovahkiin to slay you," she declared, her voice rumbling with the power of the Thu'um. "Face us, dragon! Face us and fall!" Alduin let out a roar and launched himself into the air as Vara and the Tongues scattered across the clearing. If they could divide his attention between them, they would have the advantage. No matter how strong he was, Alduin was only one creature.

For a while, their strategy worked. Alduin had difficulty keeping track of all of them at once, so while Gormlaith slashed and hacked at his head, Felldir and Haon attacked his wings, and Vara searched for any weakness in the armor along his tail. Eventually, however, Alduin snapped at Gormlaith, and the Tounge wasn't able to move out of the way fast enough. The great dragon blocked Vara's view, but she could hear the woman scream in pain as Alduin's teeth no doubt tore into her spectral form. Hakon slashed at the creature's wing with renewed ferocity, drawing Alduin's attention away from his fallen comrade, but Vara knew that with Gormlaith injured, their advantage was gone.

After a few more moments of attacking Hakon, Alduin took to the sky. Felldir ran over to Gormlaith, and from the corner of her eye, Vara saw a golden light envelop her. Across the battlefield Hakon called to Vara, drawing her attention away from Gormaith. "Dragonborn, let us use Dragonrend together and ground the beast once more!" Vara nodded and a few seconds later, their combines Voices split the sky and crashed into Alduin. The dragon let out a pained cry before crashing to the ground and struggling to stand.

Before Alduin could focus on the injured Gormlaith, Vara charged the dragon, using his wing as a springboard to leap onto his back. Alduin thrashed, but Vara held to his scales and summoned her staff, driving the rod of electricity between two plates. Alduin roared again, and this time, Vara was thrown from his back as he moved. She crashed into the side of the hill with enough force to knock the breath from her body. For a few moments, she was too dazed to move. Through the ringing in her ears, she distantly heard Alduin Shout, "Yol toor shul!" She felt the heat roll over her, almost immediately followed by blinding pain. Her dragon scale armor took the brunt of the attack, but she could feel her skin begin to blister underneath from the sheer amount of heat that had washed over her. Alduin moved closer, his claws ready to slice her battered body to ribbons, but at that moment the freshly healed Gormlaith launched herself at Alduin's side, drawing the creature's attention away from Vara.

Vara collapsed to her knees and for a few moments, the only thing her mind could focus on was the intense pain that seemed to radiate from every inch of her body. Eventually, however, she was able to get her breathing under control and began to heal herself. Her magic soothed the agony of the burns, although she couldn't afford to expend enough magicka to heal herself completely. Once she was able to, Vara stood and rejoined the battle, throwing herself at Alduin once more, her magic seeking every weakness in his armor that she could find.

After several minutes of intense fighting during which Alduin nearly managed to scorch her again, the dragon tried to take to the air but stumbled and fell instead. Seeing his weakness, the four attacked with renewed ferocity, assaulting Alduin from all sides. The dragon tried in vain to snap and claw at the Tongues and Vara, but they danced out of his reach and divided his attention among themselves, leaving Alduin disoriented. Hakon and Gormlaith worked together to taunt the dragon at his head, and Vara seized the opportunity to once more leap onto the dragon's back. This time, Alduin was too weak to do much more than shudder in an attempt to throw her off, and Vara was able to keep her footing. Running up his back, Vara reached the ebony dragon's head, her staff buzzing with electricity between her hands. As one, the Tongues attacked Alduin and Vara drove her staff between two of the plates that protected the creature's head. She held on as Alduin thrashed with renewed strength before suddenly falling still. All at once, the dragon's ebony scales burst into a million multi-colored flakes of light, dropping Vara to the ground. She watched as the light ascended into the heavens before vanishing, leaving no evidence of the World Eater behind.

For a moment, the four heroes stared at the place where Alduin had fallen. Then, the Tongues burst into cheers. "Alduin is slain!" Gormlaith exclaimed, laughing. "This deed shall be sung by the Halls of Shor for millennia to come!"

Felldir's grim face lit with a smile, and he turned to Vara. "Praise to the Dragonborn! Praise to her name!" The other two Tongues echoed the cry, and all at once, Vara felt the reality of what had just happened crash down on her. They had done it, Alduin was slain. She sunk to her knees, tears of joy streaming down her face. After everything, she had succeeded. The Gods had given her a destiny, and she had fulfilled it. It was all over now.

After a few minutes, Vara regained her composure and stood, turning to the Tongues. "Thank you," she said, pulling off her mask so that the spirits could see the gratitude in her eyes. "Alduin could not have been defeated without your aid. May the host of Sovngarde always remember this great deed." She bowed to the Tongues, and they did the same before turning and walking back across the Whalebone Bridge. Gormlaith still walked with a slight limp, and Felldir had a cut on his arm that glowed with light, but here in Sovngarde they would heal and find rest.

Vara stared after them until her contemplative trance was broken by Tsun's voice. "You have slain the World Eater, and both Mundus and Sovngarde are free from his grasp. On behalf of the Gods, I thank you for this feat." Vara bowed, unsure of how to respond. "Your time has not yet come, so I will send you back to Tamriel, but first, there are two who desire to speak with you." Vara frowned in confusion, but an instant later, that frown changed to a large smile, and once more, Vara felt tears pricking at her eyes. There, behind Tsun, stood her parents, their forms glowing with the other-worldly aura that all souls in Sovngarde seemed to possess.

Vara stepped forward, almost unable to believe her eyes. "Mother, Ata?" she asked, her voice soft and choked as she tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. Her mother, looking just as Vara remembered, smiled and held out her arms, and Vara broke down. She dropped the mask that she had been holding limply in her hand and rushed forward, throwing her arms around her mother, not caring that a chill ran through her body as she did so. "I can't believe it," she said, her tears running freely now.

"What, my cub, did you really think we would let you leave without saying goodbye?" her father asked, chuckling. "You can't get rid of us that easily."

Vara let go of her mother and stood back, wiping the tears from her eyes. "How? How are you here, Ata? I thought-"

"What? You thought Sovngarde would be closed to me because I'm an Altmer?" Vara nodded wordlessly. "The Gods care about devotion far more than they care about race. I was given a choice, and I chose to remain here, with your mother," her father explained, pulling her mother close. "Now, you have to leave soon, so listen closely."

"We are so proud of you, little cub," her mother declared, eyes shining. "You have more than honored us with your actions. We are so sorry for leaving you alone so soon, but you have grown into a fine woman. You are strong, and you care for the people around you. We couldn't ask for anything else." Vara's mother reached out and caressed her cheek with a ghostly hand.

"You have a long life ahead of you, Vara, and no matter what you choose to do with it, know that we are watching over you." Her father reached out and pulled Vara into his embrace the way he had often done when she had been younger. "Please forgive me for not telling you about my past," he whispered to her, running his hands through her white hair. "I wanted you to know your father as the man I became, not the one I had been."

Vara nodded vigorously. "Of course, Ata," she murmured into his shoulder. "Of course I forgive you." Her father let go, and Vara stepped back and saw that his cheeks too glistened with ethereal tears.

"I wasn't certain at first, but I approve of your choice," her father declared, tapping the Amulet of Talos that hung from her neck. Before she could respond, her father stepped back, interlacing his fingers with her mother's. It's time for you to go, Vara. We love you."

"I love you, too," she declared, and then Tsun Shouted, and Vara's vision went black.

Chapter Text

Ulfric paced the floor of the war room anxiously. At first, Galmar had tried to get him to sit down, but the general had long since given up. It had been just over a day since Vara left Whiterun on that dragon's back, and they hadn't heard a thing. Not from Vara and not from the dragons. If Alduin had won, he wasn't making himself known yet. Regardless, Ulfric had sent the women and children of the hold with a contingent of soldiers to take refuge in a cave system nearby that his scouts had reported was safe. It was one of the many caves that Vara had cleared out during her stay in Windhelm.

The waiting was killing Ulfric. He had prayed at the shrine until he had nearly fallen asleep in front of the altar, and the priestess had sent him back to the Palace for rest. Of course, he hadn't gotten any. Every time he closed his eyes, even if it was just for a moment, Ulfric saw Vara lying in the snow, her blood staining it from white to red just like it had done on the night when he had first found her outside of Windhelm's gates. But this time, Ulfric wouldn't be able to rescue her. Vara was on her own.

Ulfric had just turned and was about to stalk across the room once more when the door behind him was thrown open, the heavy wood banging against the stone. A soldier burst through, his chest heaving from exertion. It was obvious the man had sprinted here from whatever watch post he had been assigned to.

"Dragon," the man gasped, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "There's a dragon flying toward the city."

A million emotions crashed over Ulfric and he shoved them violently to the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to think about them, think about what the presence of a dragon meant. Instead, he turned to Galmar. "Gather the men," he ordered. "If it is a single dragon, we can kill it. Its corpse will serve as a warning to any others who would dare to attack Windhelm." Even Ulfric could hear the deadness in his voice. Galmar nodded and ran from the room, but Ulfric saw the empty look in his eyes before he did. He knew what the presence of the dragon meant.

Ulfric turned back to the soldier. "Gather your wits, man," he ordered. "We have a dragon to kill." The man nodded firmly and followed Ulfric out of the door. Already dressed in his armor, Ulfric strode out of the Palace and down the streets of Windhelm to the large gates. A part of him knew that this might be the end. Soldiers would be lost in this fight, and it was very likely that he would be one of them, but he couldn't bring himself to truly care. He knew he should, for the good of Skyrim, but without Vara... He shook his head, forcing those thoughts back.

Before he could call to the soldiers or give them any words of encouragement, a roar split the air and a red and gold dragon barreled into their view. It circled the city once, twice, before landing on the wall and letting out another ear-splitting roar, its head tilted to the sky. Ulfric was about to order his soldiers to fire when he spotted the figure on the dragon's back.

"Hold!" he yelled, his voice suddenly frantic. "Hold your fire, men!" The soldiers lowered their bows, confusion and fear etched in their too-young faces, but Ulfric ignored them, pushing through them until he stood at the foot of the crowd directly under the dragon.

As he watched, the dragon bowed its head, and the figure on its back slid off, dragon scale boots hitting the ground right in front of Ulfric. For a few moments, Ulfric was speechless, unable to believe his eyes. Then, the woman reached up and removed her mask, tossing it to the cobblestone and letting her snow-white hair tumble free.

"Vara," Ulfric whispered, stunned. "You did it." The woman nodded, tears in her eyes.

"We won," she declared, her voice equally soft. "Alduin is dead."

Suddenly, Ulfric's feet unfroze and he was able to rush forward and envelop Vara in a crushing hug. Ecstatic, he lifted her from the ground and spun her in the air, causing the woman to laugh, and the sound lit up Ulfric's world. Once he had put her down, he pulled her close. "When the soldier told me there was a dragon... I thought I had lost you, Vara," he murmured into her shoulder.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Ulfric," the woman chided, but her voice was thick with emotion. Ulfric pulled away and gazed into Vara's eyes for a long moment before fishing a small object out of the pouch that hung from his sword's sheath and dropping to his knee.

"I should have done this ages ago," he began, looking up at Vara's face, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "I was going to the day you told me who you were, but instead, I lost my temper and sent you away, and I will spend the rest of my life making that up to you." Ulfric took a deep breath and held up the ring, which glinted in the light. "Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, will you marry me?"

For a moment, Vara was silent, her eyes wide. Then, she sunk to her knees. "Ulfric..." she whispered, tears tracing their way down her cheeks.

"You told me once that my marriage would be one of political convenience," Ulfric rushed to say. "You said that you weren't worthy to stand by my side and rule Skyrim. Now, I am the one who isn't worthy to rule with the Dragonborn." Ulfric's voice dropped to a whisper. "But I don't care about any of that. I care about you, Vara, you. You are the woman who I want by my side for the rest of my life, Dragonborn or no."

There was silence for a long moment, and Ulfric's heart began to sink. He should have waited. He should have asked if she was hurt. He should have given her time to settle in. He should have-- Ulfric's frantic thoughts were cut off as Vara leaned forward and kissed him passionately. Once she pulled away, she said,

"We have a war to win first, Ulfric Stormcloak. Once you are sitting on Skyrim's throne, I would love to marry you." She kissed him again, and the soldiers burst into cheers and above them, Odahviing let out a Shout, shooting fire into the air.

Ulfric kissed her back, tears staining his cheeks. "I love you, Vara," he murmured into her lips, and he felt her smile. Silently, Ulfric offered a prayer of thanks to the Divines for bringing Vara home to him.

. . .

Vara walked down the streets of Windhelm, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the night air. After several hours of explanation to the people of the city from both her and Ulfric, she had finally convinced the man to sleep. He had been reluctant to leave her side, but Vara had eventually managed to reassure him that she would still be there when he woke, and the man relented.

She had talked to Wuunferth for awhile, and for the first time, she had seen him truly smile, although the expression was fleeting and immediately followed with a sarcastic remark about the timeliness of her appearance. Vara had simply smiled, accepting the welcome back for what it was. The mage would never say it aloud, but he cared for her, and Vara couldn't help the guilt that ran through her when she thought of what these past few months had done to the elderly mage. So, she had spent some time with him, talking about anything and everything from potion ingredients to the feeling of flying above Skyrim. Eventually, however, she had bid the court wizard goodbye and left the palace.

Now, she was walking down the streets of the Grey Quarter, hoping that a few of the residents would still be awake at this hour. Thankfully, a light was streaming from under the door of the Cornerclub, and Vara pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The club was packed with dark elves, but to her surprise, a few nords mingled among the crowd, laughing and drinking with the dark elves as if they had always done so. Vara slipped through the crowd, her simple hunter's tunic drawing much less attention than her armor and mask did. A few people stopped her to thank her for defeating Alduin, and Vara responded with a simple smile, not sure what to say.

Eventually, she made it to the bar itself and took a seat on a thankfully empty stool. Ambarys stood behind the counter, cleaning out mugs and dishing up food. For a few moments, the elf didn't seem to see her, but Vara didn't do anything to draw attention to herself, instead simply watching the elf work.

After several moments, Ambarys looked up from his work and vara caught his eye, smiling gently. The elf nearly dropped the mug he was holding in surprise. Vara chuckled as Ambarys hurried to put the cup to the side and walked over until he was standing across from her.

"It's a full crowd tonight," she remarked, turning to look over the patrons once more.

"It is. For an entire day, we didn't know whether we were saved or if the world was going to end at any moment," he explained. "There's plenty of reason to celebrate. It isn't every day that the World Eater himself is slain, especially not by a half-elf." Vara turned back to Ambarys and saw the contemplative look on the elf's face. "The jarl put dark elves and nords alike together in teams to prepare for the worst, and somehow, the rift in this city has mended. Not entirely, of course, there's always going to be someone who hates anyone with a different skin color from themselves, but the open hate is gone."

Vara smiled. "When I first arrived here, I could see the division in the city as plainly as the light of the sun at noonday, but I didn't know what to do to fix it. I tried though, and I'm happy to see that the Dark Elves and Nords are beginning to realize that they aren't so different."

Ambarys nodded. "The hatred ran both ways, you know. You were the one who helped me see that not every Nord was the same. Before you came, I couldn't care less about their war or any other problem that they were facing. All I could focus on was everything they had that I didn't." He paused, and his ruby eyes took on a distant look as if he was remembering something from the past.

"I don't think I truly believed you when you said that there were Nords out there who cared about people like us. At least, not until you brought Ulfric Stormcloak himself to dinner." The elf chuckled, and Vara joined him, remembering the event fondly. "I had always thought that of all the Nords, Ulfric Stormcloak was the most bigoted. I thought the man would sooner slaughter the Dark Elves as talk to them, and you showed me just how wrong I was, how wrong we all were. And now, you're engaged to the man. A half-elf engaged to the future king of Skyrim." Ambarys shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "You've given this country a future, Varaduilwe. Thank you."

Vara shook her head. What was she supposed to say in response to that? She had no idea, so she settled for a smile instead of words and ordered a drink. "A mug of the best sujamma, please," she requested with a grin. "I have some celebrating of my own to do." The elf laughed and slid her a mug, filling it with the potent liquid before turning to another customer who needed his attention. For the next hour or so, Vara simply sat, sipping from her mug and enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by the people she had worked so hard to save. Everything she had done, she had done for them, and it had all paid off.

Ninesea came by sometime late in the night when most of the patrons were beginning to stumble from too much drink running through their blood, and Vara gestured to a recently vacated stool at her side. They spoke for a long time, long enough for Vara to have her drink refilled two for times. They spoke of life in Windhelm, and Vara apologized profusely for not telling her friend the truth of her identity as Dragonborn. Ninesea had waved the apology away with a light laugh, saying that she had suspected the truth ever since Vara had returned to Windhelm after the incident at Helgen. Vara had raised an eyebrow at that news, but the Dark Elf woman moved onto another subject, and Vara allowed the question to drop.

Vara learned that the Dark Elves were largely being paid the same as Nord laborers, and most of the residents of the Grey Quarter were planning on renovating their homes, and a few even had plans to move to houses in the Stone Quarter. The two women celebrated these victories for the strides towards equality that they were, and Vara couldn't help the small fire of pride that burned within her. Not for herself, but for the people of this city. She may have pushed these changes into motion, but it was the people who had carried the momentum forward and made a real difference.

They talked for a while longer until Ninesea excused herself to return home to her husband. Vara bid her farewell and asked the woman to convey her love to Reyyl before hugging the woman as she left. Vara finished her fourth mug of sujamma, which was one too many judging by the headache that was beginning to form, and then stood from her stool, waving Ambarys goodbye before leaving the Cornerclub and stepping into the refreshing night air.

It was well past midnight now, but for once, Vara wasn't tired enough to sleep, and so she wandered the streets, letting her feet guide her while her mind wandered. Before long, she found herself standing at the entrance to the temple of Talos. For a moment, she hesitated at the door. The temple was always open, she knew, but she didn't want to disturb Jora and her husband if the caretakers were sleeping. She was about to turn away, but a small voice told her not to, and so, with a sigh, Vara pushed open the door of the temple and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

The temple's interior flickered with the warm light of several torches that were beginning to burn down. She didn't see either Jora or Lortheim, so she stepped quietly toward the altar, doing her best to stay silent in order to avoid waking the pair. Kneeling in front of the statue, Vara simply stared up at the depiction of Talos for several moments, her mind swirling with a million different thoughts.

Talos had been chosen by the Gods long ago, just as she had been, and he had also been gifted with the dragon blood. Once, Vara had looked up at a statue of the god in Whiterun and prayed for guidance and strength as she faced the destiny she had been given. Now, that destiny had been fulfilled. Bowing her head, Vara offered the god a prayer.

'Thank you, might Talos, for guiding me as I followed my fate. I know that I doubted the Divine's choice, and I ask that you forgive me for my weakness of faith. But I know that it was through your Grace that I was able to succeed. Thank you. I was lost, and you gave me people who guided me and showed me the path I had to walk.' For a few moments, Vara's mind was quiet, but then she continued. 'However, your guidance is not the greatest blessing that you have given me. You blessed me with someone who is willing to stand by me for the rest of his life, despite the lies that I've told him and despite the pain that we've been through. Thank you, mighty Talos, for allowing Ulfric Stormcloak to be a part of my life.'

Vara's prayer ended, but she stayed kneeling in front of the altar for several more minutes, enjoying the peace that she felt here. After so many months of chaos and confusion, she was finally at peace with herself. She had fulfilled her destiny and done what the Divines had called her to do. Now, she could live, truly live, and she planned to. She would appreciate every minute of the gift of life that she had been given.

It wasn't over, of course. She and Ulfric had a war to win against the Imperials. They would see Skyrim freed from the grip of the puppet Empire; they would see Talos restored as a Divine. It was going to be difficult, she knew. She also knew that there was no guarantee that they would survive. War was harsh, and death took everyone, saint and sinner alike. But for once, she didn't fear death. If she fell, it would be by Ulfric's side, fighting with him for the country that they both loved, and when she passed, they would be united in Sovngarde. She couldn't ask for anything more.

Eventually, Vara stood and left the temple, stepping once more into the inky darkness of the night, although she knew that dawn was likely less than an hour or two away. Slowly, she made her way back to her home, a place she hadn't visited since that night that she had told Ulfric the truth about who she was. Now, however, her heart wasn't pounding in fear of rejection. She was safe. She was home.

Chapter Text

Vara's eyes swept over the crowd of soldiers gathered in front of her. Their faces were attentive, all of their focused trained on the man at Vara's side. Ulfric was speaking, his deep voice rising and falling as he rallied the soldiers and inspired them for this, the final assault on Solitude. Vara, however, wasn't truly listening. Instead, her mind had wandered back to the past three months, thinking of everything that had led them to this moment.

At first, Ulfric had demanded that she rest after defeating Alduin, but after a few days stewing inside of the Palace and making sure everyone around her was just as miserable as she was, Vara convinced him to let her back into the field. She hadn't returned to her old contingent, as it had grown and split into two, one group led by Ralof, and one by Rikkria, who had earned herself the title of The Unwavering ever since Helgen. Instead, Vara had bounced between groups of soldiers, always staying on the front lines. A week after she had returned to Windhelm, she was in Riften, fighting to reclaim the city that had been lost in the negotiations.

After that, the rest of Skyrim was quickly reclaimed. With Vara's abilities as the Dragonborn, she had been able to work with small groups of soldiers, squads no larger than ten men, and take forts left and right. There had been other larger battles, of course, and Vara had fought in those as well, enjoying the feeling of standing with her soldiers after so much time spent fighting alone.

They had lost plenty of good, noble men and women in the past few months, but the ranks of the Stormcloaks had continued to grow despite the losses. In every hold that they reclaimed, dozens of people, citizens who had been too scared of their neighbors or jarls to act sooner, joined the ranks, swearing their lives and blades to Ulfric. Now, they were gathered here, only a mile from the gates of Solitude, ready to storm the city and break the Imperial grip on Skyrim once and for all.

As Vara forced her mind to return to the present, Ulfric began to wrap up his speech, and Vara focused on his words, allowing his familiar voice to ground her to the present.

"This is it, men!" Ulfric declared, his words rumbling slightly with the power of his Thu'um. "Today, we take back what is ours! Remember, our quarrel is not with the citizens of Solitude, it is with General Tullius and his soldiers. Our goal is Castle Dour, and as soon as the Dragonborn gives us the signal, we will show those Imperial cowards the true might of the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim!" Ulfric raised his sword to the sky, and the soldiers copied his movements, shouting battle cries.

Ulfric turned to Vara, and his eyes softened. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. Vara nodded. They had discussed the plans earlier, but she knew that Ulfric didn't like the idea of her entering the city alone.

"I'll be okay, Ulfric," she reassured her love, covering his gauntleted hands with her own. "Alduin couldn't take me from you, and neither can the Imperials." Ulfric hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Talos guide you, Vara," he said, and Vara smiled before turning away and disappearing through the trees.

. . .

Vara strode up to the gates of Solitude, her hands held up in a gesture of peace. "I have a message for General Tullius and Jarl Elisif the Fair!" she called to the guards she knew were standing behind the large gate. There was no response, but Vara continued anyway, allowing a bit of her Thu'um to slip into her voice. "The Stormcloaks will accept the surrender of General Tullius and the Jarl without bloodshed. If they do not surrender, however, we will storm the city, and lives will be lost. We do not want to endanger the citizens of Solitude, and if they will remain in their homes, they will not be harmed. Tullius and Elisif have fifteen minutes to accept this offer."

Behind the gate, Vara could hear movement, and she could picture a courier dashing away to deliver her words to Tullius. She highly doubted that the Imperial man would surrender. It was said that the Imperials were cowards who valued their skin above their very honor, but Vara knew that this man was different. He didn't love Skyrim, not the way that he should, but he respected the country and its people, even if he didn't understand them. He would go down fighting. If only the man could be made to see that he was fighting on the wrong side. Unfortunately, it was too late for that. He had made his bed, and now the Stormcloaks would force him to lie in it.

A few minutes later, the gate creaked open slightly, and Vara strode forward. On the other side stood an Imperial legate, not Rikke, but someone else. The man stood tall, but Vara could sense his fear. "The citizens have locked themselves in their homes, however, the Empire will never surrender to rebels who support the traitor Ulfric Stormcloak," he declared. To his credit, the soldier's voice was firm, and he held eye contact with Vara through her imposing mask.

"Very well," Vara said, and there was real sadness in her voice. She didn't want to fight anymore, but she would. One last battle for Skyrim's freedom. "If I were you, soldier, I would back away from anything metal." The man frowned in confusion, and then Vara Shouted. "Strun bah qo!" Her words split the very sky, and within a few seconds, darkness fell over the city as clouds gathered in front of the sun. An instant later, lightning cracked through the air and struck something, someone, within the city. Vara backed away from the gates, magicka sparking in her hands in case any of the Imperials tried to escape. They had been given a chance to surrender, and they had chosen death instead.

Several minutes later, the sky cleared once more, and the sun reflected off of the stone walls as if it had always been shining. The Stormcloak army would be charging toward the city now that the storm had passed and the Imperial numbers had been weakened, but Vara didn't wait for them. Instead, she threw open the gates of the city with her Voice and stepped inside, firing bolts of electricity at any Imperial who moved against her, although there weren't very many at first.

The street behind the gate was littered with scorched Imperial armor and the ashes of those who had occupied it. Silently, Vara offered a prayer for the souls of all those who had been killed by her Shout. Then she pressed forward, ready to fight anyone who dared to still stand in her way.

. . .

Ulfric rushed up the hill towards the city. As he crested it, he was met with the sight of the city's gates torn from their hinges and laying in a crumpled heap. He shook his head inwardly, holding back a chuckle. Vara might not have become a different person entirely after slaying Alduin, but she certainly had become more dramatic.

Inside the city, the houses were untouched, as he had ordered, although he knew that Vara would never harm civilians regardless. His soldiers spread out and ran down the streets, seeking an Imperials who may be hiding or planning an ambush. Ulfric debated his own tactics for a moment before striding down the main road, following the trail of corpses covered in starbursts of blackened patches, as if they had been hit with bursts of electricity. He had been apart from Vara far too frequently these past few months, and he wasn't about to let the woman have all of the fun.

. . .

Vara spun, ducking under the blade of the Imperial woman she was fighting. As she dodged, however, another blade appeared, and she had changed directions abruptly. Maybe she should have waited for Ulfric's back up after all. Before she could hurl magic at either of her two opponents, they both went flying across the street, hitting an opposite wall with enough force to break their spines on impact. Vara turned to her savior, a smile already on her face.

"I thought I told you to wait for the reinforcements," Ulfric said, frowning behind his helmet.

"We're so close, Ulfric. I couldn't wait any longer," she replied. "I'm ready for this war to end." Ulfric didn't say anything else, but he didn't need to. Vara knew that the man felt the same way she did. They had been fighting for so long, and now, it was finally going to be over. They were going to be free.

Together, she and Ulfric pushed through the streets of Solitude towards Castle Dour. The Imperials put up barricades to hinder their progress, but between their combined Voices, the barriers were quickly reduced to nothing more than splinters. By then, a large majority of the Stormcloak forces, including Galmar, who had been leading a group of soldiers through the streets to round up the Imperials who tried to hide, had caught up to them, and Vara and Ulfric led them in a charge against the last of the Imperial forces that were gathered in the courtyard.

Swords clashed all around them, and the courtyard quickly devolved into a chaotic battleground. There wasn't much room to maneuver, and everyone was so crowded together that Vara couldn't risk firing any bursts of magic at the Imperials for fear of hitting a Stormcloak instead, so she pooled her magicka and summoned her staff, sweeping it at the three soldiers in front of her causing them to jump backward.

Eventually, the crowd began to thin, and Vara was able to push through towards the doors of the Castle with Ulfric and Galmar on her heels. In front of the doors stood a small squad of Imperial soldiers, their weapons brandished in front of them threateningly. Without a second thought, Vara threw herself at them, swinging her staff at the head of one. On either side of her, Vara head Ulfric and Galmar's weapons ring as they clashed against the blades of the Imperials.

These soldiers weren't like the other footsoldiers or even the heavy infantrymen of the Imperial army. No, these soldiers wore intricate armor that glowed with enchantments, and their gauntleted hands glittered with enchanted rings that likely gave them more strength and speed, not to mention protection against her magic. However, enchantments could only do so much, and slowly, Vara and Ulfric managed to dispatch their opponents, avoiding the strikes of the elite squad as they fought. Eventually, the last soldier fell, Ulfric's sword embedded in his chest.

Vara's heart thundered in her chest, and she paused for a moment to catch her breath before turning to Ulfric and Galmar. "Tullius is hiding, the coward," Galmar declared, gesturing with his ax toward the door they had just captured. "Our soldiers can hold this courtyard and make sure we aren't disturbed. Let's finish this." Ulfric nodded, and Vara pushed open the door, stepping into the dim light of Castle Dour.

. . .

Ulfric blinked, forcing his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. In front of him, General Tullius stood, his sword not even drawn. How was this coward of a man the leader of an army? He didn't even dare to fight beside his own men! Instead, he let them die in droves while he hid in his castle. Ulfric let out a deep growl and moved toward the general, but a blade quickly blocked his path. He turned to see Rikke, the woman's once beautiful face contorted in a sneer.

"He may have given up, but I haven't, Ulfric," she declared. "I won't let you rule this country as a tyrant! Not without trying to stop you."

Ulfric lowered his blade, despite his instincts telling him not to. "Rikke," he said, his voice soft. Once, a lifetime ago, they had been on the same side. Once, they had been close, closer than mere comrades in arms. But those days had passed. "I'm not the same man you knew. I will rule Skyrim fairly, but I will rule. I can't allow the Empire to trample my home any longer. Lower your blade, and you can walk away from this."

For a moment, Ulfric saw hesitation in Rikke's eyes, and her blade wavered. Then, however, her expression hardened once more. "Never," she said and lunged forward, Ulfric only just managing to bring his blade up in time to stop her sword from finding its mark in his heart. Instantly, the small room erupted into motion.

From the corner of his eye, Ulfric saw Vara rush towards Tullius, the general finally drawing his sword to counter her attack, while Galmar stepped up to aid Ulfric. After a few minutes of fighting, Rikke fell, clutching her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers. A part of Ulfric wanted to kneel beside her, but a soft cry drew his attention. He turned to see Vara stumble backward, a long gash visible in her armor.

Before Ulfric could move to Vara’s side, her staff reappeared in her hands, and she lunged forward, the end of the staff sizzling as it made contact with the skin over Tullius’s heart. The general collapsed, dead before his body hit the floor. A golden light enveloped Vara’s arm, and by the time she had turned back to Ulfric, any trace of her injury was gone.

“It’s over,” she said, and Ulfric could hear the relief in her voice. She had never wanted to be a soldier, he knew, but she had joined the fight anyway in order to see her country freed, and now it was.

“Not quite,” Galmar stated, standing from where he had been checking Rikke’s pulse. Ulfric caught his eye, and the general shook his head, she was dead. Ulfric offered a silent prayer for her soul before turning his attention back to Galmar’s words.

“Ulfric, the soldiers will be expecting a speech. I’ve already sent men to collect Elisif from the Blue Palace and place the rest of her court under arrest until you decide what to do with them,” he said, and Ulfric sighed. The fighting was over, yes, but now the true work began. Politics.

Vara must have sensed his apprehension, as she stepped forward and linked her arm through his. “You’ll be fine, Ulfric,” she said. “I know you don’t really believe it yet, but you will be the king that this country needs.”

Despite the fear that had settled in his stomach, Ulfric smiled. “Only if I have you by my side.” He reached out and gently removed the dragon priest mask that Vara wore, revealing her smiling face, which gleamed with a layer of sweat, a few errant hairs stuck to her skin. Divines, she was beautiful. Ulfric placed a kiss on her lips before turning back to Galmar, who rolled his eyes at the affectionate display.

“Remind me again why it took you so long to propose to her?” the general asked, causing Ulfric to shake his head with a laugh. “Now come on, the soldiers are getting restless.” Ulfric nodded, forcing his face into a more neutral expression. Vara squeezed his arm, and together, they stepped through the door that Galmar held open and into the courtyard of Stormcloak soldiers.

. . .

As soon as they stepped into the bright courtyard, the soldiers burst into cheers, and Vara couldn’t help the smile that found its way onto her face at the sound. Almost immediately, however, the soldiers quieted as Galamr began to speak.

“I present to you Ulfric Stormcloak, hero of the people, liberator of Skyrim, and future High King!” Once again, the courtyard erupted into shouts and cheers, and Ulfric had to gesture for quiet before he could make himself heard.

“I am Ulfric Stormcloak, and at my side is the woman we know as Varaduilwe Oaken-Song, who the world knows as the Dragonborn,” he declared, and there were a few shouts from people Vara recognized as former members of the unit she had once commanded.

“There are some who call us heroes, but it is you who are the true heroes! It was you who fought a dying Empire who had sunk its claws into our land, trying to drag us down with it! It was you who fought the Thalmor and their puppets who would have us deny our gods and our heritage! It was you who fought your kin who didn’t understand our cause and who wouldn’t pay the price of freedom! But more than that, it was you who fought for Skyrim, for our right to fight our own battles, to decide our own future! And this is why I cannot claim the mantle of High King, not until the Moot has decreed it. I will not replace one corrupt system with another.”

The crowd began to cheer once more, but before long a quiet fell, as a squad of soldiers marched into the courtyard, Jarl Elisif the Fair in the middle. Vara felt Ulfric tense beside her, and she squeezed his hand, reminding him that she was here for him.

“Elisif the Fair,” Ulfric called. “Will you swear fealty to me and reject the Empire?”

The soldiers guarding the woman parted, and she stepped forward. “I will not,” she said, her voice carrying across the silent courtyard. Instantly, the soldiers began to murmur, but Ulfric silenced them with a wave of his hand. “I cannot serve the man who killed my husband, ritual combat or no.”

Ulfric nodded in understanding. “Very well,” he said. “You will be given safe passage to the border, but if you step foot in Skyrim again, you will be treated as a traitor.” Elisif nodded, and the soldiers surrounded her once more.

Turning his attention once more to the soldiers in front of him, Ulfric said, “A great darkness is growing, and soon, we will all be called to fight it, whether on these shores or abroad. The Aldmeri Dominion may have defeated the Empire, but thanks to your actions, it has not defeated Skyrim!” The soldiers cheered and shouted, and Ulfric stepped back, turning to Vara.

“Not bad,” she said, smiling.

Ulfric shrugged. “I’ll need to find someone to take over Jarlship of Solitude now that Elisif is gone, and I need to decide the details of the Moot, not to mention our wedding and--” Ulfric was cut off as Vara’s lips covered his in a gentle kiss.

“Hush,” she whispered into his lips. “We won, let that be enough for today.” Ulfric didn’t reply except to kiss her back, pulling Vara close to him.

Chapter Text

"Is it decided then that Sybille Stentor will serve as interim Jarl of Solitude until a more qualified candidate is presented?" Ulfric heard Vara ask--they had agreed that as the Dragonborn, she was the perfect person to preside over the Moot-- and the Jarls all nodded. Sybille stepped forward from her place and turned to address the Jarls.

"I loved High King Torygg, and I still mourn him, but I recognize that Skyrim needed a new ruler, and I will serve that ruler as long as the decisions are what is best for Solitude and her people," the woman declared solemnly. Ulfric nodded. He knew the transition of power was going to be difficult, especially for the people of Solitude, but he had a feeling that this woman would be able to lead the city into peace.

Sybille sat, and Ulfric turned his attention to the other Jarls. "Now that we have Jarls present from all nine holds, the matter of the office of High King," Vara stated. Outwardly, Ulfric kept his face and tone neutral, but on the inside, he was a swirling storm of emotion, and a tight knot of fear had settled in his stomach. He had worked for this moment for years, but by the law of the country, his country, he didn't have to be chosen as High King. "Are there any nominations?"

Ulfric held his breath, tense as he waited for someone to speak. He couldn't nominate himself, and while he knew that most, if not all, of the Jarls in this room supported his claim to the throne, he couldn't help but worry. It wasn't uncommon in Skyrim's history for the throne to be contended by people who had once been allies.

After what seemed like an hour but could only have been a few seconds, Jarl Balgruuf spoke. "I nominate Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, to lead Skyrim as the next High King," he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

The knot in Ulfric's stomach loosened, and he struggled to keep a relieved grin from spreading across his face as Vara asked, "Is there anyone who seconds Jarl Balgruuf's nomination?" At Balgruuf's side, Korir, the Jarl of Winterhold, raised his hand.

"I second," he said.

"Are there any other nominations?" Vara asked, and Ulfric had to resist the urge to clench the arms of his chair. There was silence.

"Then I offer a vote to the Moot. All in favor of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak to take the mantle of High King, raise your hand." Around the room, eight hands went up, and after a moment of shock, Ulfric added his own. "Very well," Vara said, placing the Jagged Crown on Ulfric's brow, "I present to you Ulfric Stormcloak, High King of Skyrim." In a daze, Ulfric stood from his seat as Vara knelt before him, the rest of the Jarls following suit.

For a moment, Ulfric's voice abandoned him. Eventually, he managed to say, "I swear by my forefathers that I will serve this country with all of the strength that I possess." His voice grew stronger as he continued, "I will see that Skyrim is made whole again. This is our homeland, but it is the homeland of many others as well, and together the people of Skyrim, all of them, will make her a haven for all who seek to live in peace."

Ulfric turned to Vara and pulled her up by her hand until she was standing face to face with him. "But first, I believe I have a wedding to attend." Vara laughed, the sound clear and free, and the other Jarls stood, smiles decorating almost every face.

. . .

Vara spent the next hour or so by Ulfric's side as he accepted the congratulations of the Jarls and their entourages. The entire time, a kind of happiness radiated from Ulfric, one that Vara had rarely felt from him before. Finally, his fighting was over. There would be straggling pieces of the Imperial forces that would need to be taken care of, of course, and his rule would not be immediately accepted across the country, but for the most part, Skyrim was united. Ulfric would no longer have to battle the people he had once called friends.

Finally, the last of the Jarl's left and Ulfric turned to Vara, a happy weariness in his eyes. "That crown suits you," Vara remarked, reaching up to adjust the headpiece. And it truly did. On others, the jagged teeth would look intimidating, tyrannical even, but on Ulfric, the crown was noble, a symbol determined strength rather than simple brute force.

"Thank you," he said. "It feels strange, as if a new weight has settled on me, one far heavier than a simple crown should merit."

"Well, it is made of dragon's teeth. I can tell you from experience that their bones are heavy!" she teased, gesturing at her own dragon scale armor. Then her voice grew serious. "I know you worry about the responsibility you now have, but I can promise you that there is no one in this country better suited to bear it than you." She laced her fingers through Ulfric's. "And when that weight becomes too heavy, I will be here to help you carry it. Always."

Ulfric smiled. "I know you will," he said softly, leaning forward so that their foreheads met. They stayed that way in silence for a few moments before Ulfric spoke again. "Marry me."

"I already said that I would," Vara laughed. "I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"No, I mean do it now. I know we were planning on waiting until the New Life Festival next week, but the Jarls are already here in Windhelm, and the priest from Riften arrived early. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we moved the ceremony up."

"I don't have a dress yet!" Vara protested.

"So? We can both wear our armor. It'll be a symbol of the strength of our union." Vara swatted Ulfric's arm, but he only laughed. "I don't want to go a single day as High King without you as my Queen, Varaduilwe Oakensong," he declared, and try as she might, Vara couldn't stay angry with him.

"I can see now why you never would have made a good Greybeard," she grumbled. "You're too impatient."

"Please?"

Vara sighed heavily, but a smile found its way on her face anyway. "Fine, but I have to get ready, so you're in charge of organizing everyone and making sure this all works out."

Ulfric smiled happily. "I'll see you in the courtyard at sundown, Miss Oaken-Song," he stated, kissing her lightly on the lips. Vara simply kissed him back, shaking her head inwardly at the man's antics.

. . .

Ulfric fidgeted, his hands playing with the fur of his cloak restlessly. It was almost sundown, and Vara hadn't arrived yet. Logically, Ulfric knew that the woman wouldn't back out of their marriage, especially now, but he couldn't help the worry in his gut. And so he shifted his feet, earning him a pointed glare from both Wuunferth and Galmar, who stood on either side of the Riften priest.

They stood in the courtyard in front of the large ceremonial brazier that Ulfric and Vara had lit together almost a year ago during the New Life Festival. It amazed Ulfric to think that he had only known Vara for a little over a year; he felt as if she had always been a part of his life, and he knew that most of the city felt the same way.

Turning his gaze to the large crowd, Ulfric found himself smiling. Seated in a few rows of chairs were the Jarls and their courts, but behind that, was a wonderful mixture of people from all parts of the city. Vara had insisted that their wedding be a public one, and Ulfric found himself glad for that decision. In the crowd, Argonians, Dunmer, and Nords mixed, and as Ulfric looked closer, he saw people of nearly every race, people who must have come from other parts of the country. Instead of separating into the segregated groups that had once been so common, the people were mixing and talking to one another, smiles evident on almost every face. It was a beautiful sight to see, one that would have been impossible without the intervention and wisdom of the woman Ulfric was about to marry.

The sound of the Palace doors opening drew UIfric's eyes away from the crowd, and a gasp fell from his lips as Vara stepped into his view. The woman was gorgeous. She had worn her armor, as he had suggested, but she had forgone both her gauntlets and helmet. Her hair long white hair flowed down her back, carefully woven braids snaking throughout. Her pointed ears, a feature that Ulfric had first ignored and then found repulsive before realizing just how beautiful they were, poked through her hair and twitched slightly in the cool air.

Vara walked forward and came to a stop next to Ulfric, a radiant smile on her face. Fortunately, the Riften priest wasn't as speechless as Ulfric was. "Here's the blushing bride now!" he declared. "Shall we begin the ceremony." Ulfric snapped out of his daze to nod, Vara copying the movement. "It was Mara that first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children. It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all. We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship." The priest paused and turned his gaze to Ulfric. "Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"

Ulfric's throat went dry, but he found the strength to say, "I do, now and forever," his gaze fixed on Vara's green-gold eyes.

The priest turned to Vara. "Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"

"I do, now and forever," she replied, tears welling in her eyes, and Ulfric had to resist the urge to reach out and wipe them away, even as his own eyes began to water.

"Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed," the priest announced, and the crowd cheered. "I present the two of you with these matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together." As soon as they had each been given their ring, Ulfric turned to Galmar, who stood at his side, and the general stepped forward, a woven circlet held between his hands.

Ulfric watched as Vara's eyes widened and the circlet was placed on her head, the blue gems embedded in its surface glinting in the light of the setting sun. Then the general turned to the crowd. "I present to you Ulfric and Varaduilwe Stormcloak, High King and Queen of Skyrim!" The crowd burst into shouts and cheers as Ulfric stepped forward and kissed Vara passionately. Eventually, they pulled apart, the need to breathe outweighing their need to be as close to each other as possible but only barely.

"I love you, Miss Varaduilwe Stormcloak," Ulfric declared softly, tears now running down his cheeks freely.

"I love you too," she echoed, before kissing him again.

. . .

Vara moved through the crowd of people, a wide smile still decorating her face as it had for the past hour. For a while, Ulfric had refused to leave her side, but eventually, she had managed to convince him to talk to a few of the Jarls while she sought out Ambarys, Ninesea, and Reyyl. She found the three Dark Elves on one side of the courtyard, and before she could say anything, Ninesea rushed forward and enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm so happy for you!" the woman exclaimed. "I know I wasn't sure about him at first, but Ulfric Stormcloak is a good man, and the two of you are going to be exactly what Skyrim needs!"

"Thank you," Vara said with a laugh. "I have to admit that I'm not sure about this High Queen business, though. I'm not exactly trained in the etiquette of the court, much less the role of queen."

This time, it was Ambarys who spoke. "I think that's what Skyrim needs right now. It needs a queen who can look past the formalities and traditions and inspire change that will help the country. Thanks to you, people like us will be seen as equals. In a few decades, there may even be a Dark Elf Jarl somewhere."

"You know, Sybille Stentor, a Breton, was just elected interim Jarl of Solitude," Vara said in reply. Ambarys was right, things were changing, and Vara firmly believed that those changes were for the better.

"Congratulations, Varaduilwe," Reyyl said, his ruby eyes sparkling in the light of the sun. "You have given us hope."

Vara stayed and spoke with her friends for several more minutes before excusing herself to go find Wuunferth. She hadn't spoken to the wizard since the ceremony, and she needed to say thank you to him. He had saved her life several times since she first arrived in the city, and he had given her the support she had needed time and time again.

Eventually, she found the elderly mage leaning against the stone of an isolated corner of the courtyard, watching the crowd with an amused glint in his eye. When he saw Vara, however, his expression shifted, and the man smiled, truly smiled, a sight that was rare to see.

"Vara," he greeted. "I see you haven't forgotten me. I'm impressed."

Vara feigned offense. "Me? Forget you? I would never, you wouldn't let me!" The mage snorted at that, and Vara chuckled. "I came to thank you, Wuunferth, for all that you've done for me since I arrived in Windhelm. You literally saved my life at least twice and patched me up countless times, but more than that, you were someone I was able to turn to." She looked the mage in the eyes, hoping her words could convey her gratitude. "You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself and when Ulfric didn't either. You supported me when I told you that I was the Dragonborn, even though I know you wished I hadn't. You gave me counsel and much-needed advice, and the assorted herbs and ingredients I found for you in return will never be payment enough. So thank you, thank you." Vara hugged the old man, causing him to stiffen before eventually hugging her back.

When Vara pulled away, she saw tears in Wuunferth's eyes. "I'm proud of you, Vara. I don't say it enough, but I am. Now go and save Ulfric from those politicians before he Shouts at someone and causes another war." Vara laughed and turned away from the mage to find Ulfric.

After a few minutes of pushing through the crowd, accepting congratulations with a smile as she went, Vara spotted her husband speaking to Balgruuf. Husband. Divines above, that sounded beautiful! All at once, the reality of what had just happened crashed down on Vara, stopping her in her tracks a few feet from where Ulfric stood. The man turned towards her just as tears began to race down her face, and his expression changed immediately to one of concern, and he rushed over to her.

In an instant, Vara was wrapped in Ulfric's arms, her head resting on the warm fur of the cloak that decorated his shoulders. For a few moments, Ulfric simply held her, not saying a word. Eventually, he lifted her head so that her eyes met his and asked softly, "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Vara shook her head, a watery smile spreading across her face. "Nothing," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just so glad that I can call you my husband."

Ulfric smiled and kissed her gently on her forehead. "I am too," he said, wiping away her tears.

A few hours later, when the sky had turned to black, Vara found herself sitting on the roof of the Palace, her hand intertwined with Ulfric's. Below them, the city glowed with light, as people were still celebrating and likely would be until the early hours of the morning. She and Ulfric had retreated from the crowds about an hour ago, their escape covered by Galmar and Wuunferth, who proposed another round of toasting which allowed Ulfric and Vara to slip back into the palace unseen.

"You know," Vara said, breaking the comfortable silence that lay between them, "I never thought that this day would actually come. Even after I was named Dragonborn, I didn't think I had a chance at marrying you. Politically, I was in the clear thanks to my new title, but I doubted I would live long enough to see you crowned."

Ulfric squeezed her hand, a deep chuckle escaping him. "When I asked you to be my New Life Companion a year ago, I did it because I thought it would help bring the city together, and it did, but it also had an unintended side effect. I think I fell in love with you that day, and I knew that if I survived this war, I would make you my queen."

Vara laughed lightly, leaning her head on Ulfric's chest and staring up at the stars. "I don't know when I fell in love with you," she admitted quietly. "Maybe it was the day I joined your army."

Even though she couldn't see his face, Vara knew Ulfric had raised an eyebrow at her words. "Really, and why is that?"

Vara turned to face Ulfric, a smile on her lips. "Because," she answered, "that was the day that I realized that you were willing to do anything to make your country whole again. I fell in love with your spirit, Ulfric, and I fall in love with you every day." She sealed her words with a gentle kiss before pulling away and resting her head once more on her husband's chest. A peaceful silence fell over them once again, and Vara smiled happily. They had survived. Even after everything that had been thrown at them, they had survived, and together, they, and all of Skyrim would thrive.