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It took me several hours to get Mjoll to Anga's Mill. The shadows were long and they were just finishing up work when we stumbled up the road. They charged me a ridiculous amount of gold for a creaky old hand cart that looked as though it hadn't been used in years. I tried to hire one of the men to help me push it but they all shuffled away no matter how much gold I offered. One mumbled after us about strangers bringing nothing but trouble. He wasn't wrong. Sometimes it seemed that was all I brought. The curse of the Dragonborn.

I helped Mjoll get settled in the cart and tossed our knapsacks in after her. By that time Mjoll was drifting in and out of consciousness sometimes mumbling softly, other times I had stopped to check her breathing. I tucked both our bedrolls around her, trying to keep her warm. Satisfied she was comfortable I set off downhill towards the city at a brisk trot. The pace didn't last. I may have the soul of a dragon but i don't have their strength and my shoulder still throbbed from the dragon attack. What little strength I had I spent half carrying Mjoll to the Mill.

By the time I crossed the river and the fires of Windhelm came into view it was long passed sundown. My arms were shaking and my legs burned as I pushed the cart up the last hill. I was forced to leave the cart near the stables. Only foot traffic was permitted on the bridge.

I hadn't been to Windhelm in years. Not since I discovered I was Dragonborn and declined Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak's invitation to publicly support his rebellion. I even made it a point to avoid the city while on Guild business. But here I was walking back across the bridge towards the main gate. In the dark the three eagle head statues that adorned the stone monolith seemed more sinister than I remembered. The bridge felt narrower as well and it seemed as though every guard was staring at me. The last time I was in the city Ulfric publicly labeled the dragonborn an enemy of the Stormcloaks and declared I was to be arrested on sight. So maybe that had something to do with it.

I slung Mjoll's arm and our gear over my shoulders and trudged towards the gate. It felt like the eyes of every guard were on us. I had no idea what I would do if they stopped us and tried to arrest me. There would be no fighting my way out of this. Begging for help sounded about right. I could feel Mjoll's strength leaving her. She had nearly stopped being able to help me at all by the time we entered the city.

Lucky for us the city's inn Candlehearth Hall was directly inside the gates. It was late enough, drunken revelers were falling over themselves both inside and outside the inn so we were able to enter without garnering too much attention.

I pushed open the door and leaned Mjoll against the wall near the stairs, setting our packs at her feet. The goat horn sconces cast only a flickering light. She was deathly pale. Her eyelids only fluttered at my words but she somehow managed to keep her feet.

I elbowed my way to the counter. The nord woman looked up. She blanched a little at the sight of me. Had I not been so concerned about Mjoll I never would have shown up in my Nightingale armor, it drew too much attention. It only took a moment for her to regain her composure and the shrewd business woman took over. "Got some fresh baked bread and cheese, if you're looking for a bite to eat."

"No thank you," I said as politely as possible. "But I'd like to rent a room."

Her eyes drifted over to Mjoll. "Just the one?"

"Yes ma'am," I responded, though I dropped enough gold on the counter for three rooms. I sincerely hoped the added gold would encourage her to keep her tongue about our presence in her establishment.

"Sure thing. It's yours for a day. First room on the left." She whisked the coins off the counter and replaced them with a key. Her movements were so smooth and fast even I had to appreciate her skill.

I quickly brought Mjoll to our room and helped her out of her armor. Her injuries were worse than I thought. There was blood coating everything and she was still bleeding as I removed her ebony chest plate. I frantically pulled rolls of clean linen out of Mjoll's pack and applied pressure to her wounds. My hands were immediately slick with blood.

"Mjoll," I whispered, terrified my friend was dying.

Her lips moved but she didn't say anything. I dug out more clean linen and a spare tunic I had never seen her wear. I wadded it all up against her chest and used another linen wrap to hold it in place. Once satisfied the bleeding was at least slowed I stepped back.

"I'm going to find help," I promised.

I slipped out of our room and moved with brisk efficiency to the door. There was no avoiding being seen, even for me but I didn't care any more. By morning rumors of a mysterious stranger would circulate and I could only hope Mjoll and I were long gone by the time anyone of importance came to investigate.

It was late enough, or early enough that the snow covered cobblestone streets were empty. I could see the guards but this late they were as tired as I was and they only cast a glance in my direction. Once they saw I was headed towards the Temple of Talos they all but ignored me. It would be a stretch to assume I was a pilgrim but at this point I was sure they had seen stranger things.

Most priests in Skyrim knew some element of healing. I was banking Mjoll's life on the priest's of Talos also knowing. It would make sense given this was the heart of the rebellion and even Ulfric would have to care for his soldiers.

I resisted the urge to run through the doors of the temple. If the priests couldn't help her I would try the court wizard, but sneaking into The Palace of the Kings without getting caught was bold even for me. It didn't matter though. I would let Ulfric arrest me himself before I would let Mjoll die because of me.

I practically ran up the icy stairs to the temple. The door was heavy, but silent as I slipped inside. I froze as the door clicked shut behind me. The temple was mostly dark. The priests had extinguished most of the torches except for the few surrounding the alter. The torches cast eerie flickering light on the imposing two story statue of Talos. There was a small bowl for offerings at his feet and four large benches lined up leading from the door to the alter. On the first bench before the alter, blonde head bent in prayer, was none other than Ulfric Stormcloak.

I remembered the first time I met him. Hard to forget your own execution. I was trying to cross the boarder from Cyrodiil back into Skyrim when I stumbled into an Imperial ambush. This was long before I knew dragons to be anything but old legends and bedtime stories. The Imperials easily overpowered and knocked me out.

When I awoke I was bound in the back of a wagon with three others. The two across from me were a Stormcloak soldier and a horse thief. They spoke quietly as the wagon rumbled down the bumpy road. A particularly hard jolt nearly knocked me from my seat and sent me into the silent man to my right. It was then I noticed the reason for his silence was a gag tied around his handsome face. The worn cloth was so tight it bit into his face, rubbing the skin on his jaw red. He looked to be a nord warrior through and through. His leather armor and wolf skin cloak were battle worn and had seen better days. A single braid hung forward as he leaned his elbows against his knees.

When the Stormcloak soldier identified him as Ulfric Stormcloak I was shocked. I had always envisioned the Jarl of Windhelm as an older man. This was a man in the prime of his life, a powerful warrior. His blonde hair hung in his eyes and when he looked up his blue-grey eyes were somehow both intense and exhausted. I looked away before he caught me staring.

There was something both alluring and charismatic about the leader of the Stormcloak's. At the time it made me uncomfortable, but now looking back I was positive the attract had just been a part of me recognizing one who knew The Way of the Voice.

Working together we escaped not only the Imperials but also the first attack of Alduin and Helgen as it burned. It was the last time Ulfric had seen me without a cowl and he had not recognized me on the few occasions we interacted since. Such as the time he threatened my life and labeled me a traitor. But I recognized him, even in the dark from this distance.

There was a strength to the leader of the Stormcloaks. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. He was a man willing to do whatever it took to free his people and i grudgingly respected his conviction.

I let myself watch him for a moment longer than I should. Just making sure he hadn't heard me enter. He still wore the same worn wolf skin cloak. His head was bent in prayer which surprised me. I never thought of Ulfric as being pious. I didn't have time to dwell on him however. He was between me and the priests' rooms behind the alter.

It was so silent even with my gift of nocturnal I didn't think I would be able to slip past him. Even from across the massive temple I could hear the flames flickering on the torches. I drew the shout I would use to the forefront of my mind. It was an old trick and I didn't have high hopes of it fooling Ulfric for long. Maybe just long enough for him to summon his guards. But I was desperate and every minute mattered to Mjoll.

I drew the invisible cloak of Nocturnal around me as I released the shout. I would have to move fast. Her gift would only last for a minute.

"ZUL MEY GUT." I was already moving.

Ulfric went very still for a moment and as I crept closer his head turned in the direction of my thrown voice. He rose slowly with his back to me. His coiled and controlled movement reminded me more of a cat than the bear that adorned his banner. He moved towards my thrown voice then paused and began chuckling.

"You must believe me to be quite the fool to think you can deceive me with such petty tricks- Dovahkiin."

I froze, I was only halfway to the alter and my minute was nearly up.

Ulfric was turning in a slow circle, his keen eyes missed nothing as his hand dropped to the handle of his axe. It suddenly occurred to me that Ulfric might think I was here to cause him harm. I had made it very clear I did not support the war. Though that didn't mean I had sided with the Imperials. To someone like Ulfric I doubted that would matter.

"It is you who is foolish to think I would not recognize your Thu'um Dovahkiin." He placed a hand on his chest. "I feel it here." He turned another, slow circle. "Foolish..." he repeated. It was as though he were tasting the word, rolling it around in his mouth like a fine mead.

I crept closer to the alter still. I was pressing my luck, I was only a few feet from him now. This close I swear I could feel the tension in his body. I took another step and Nocturnal's cloak of darkness left me. I silently cursed myself up and down. Had I at least brought my knapsack I would have had a potion that could help me. But I was in too much of a hurry and had not thought I would be facing off with Ulfric in the Temple in the middle of the night. Ulfric was right, foolish Freyja indeed.

I crouched behind a bench and waited for him to find me.

"Foolish-" Ulfric said again, and it was like salt in the wound. I had failed Mjoll but the last thing I needed was Ulfric Stormcloak mocking me. It took me a moment to realize he was further away, but I dared not look.

Ulfric's voice was low and gravely. What I had mistaken for anger now sounded like exhaustion. "You are many things Dovahkiin- a thief, a murderer, but not a fool. Certainly not a fool...desperate perhaps."

I heard the Jarl sigh and couldn't resist peaking now. He was facing the door, his back to me. His muscular shoulders slumped to match the exhaustion I heard in his voice. "As we are all desperate now. For only desperation would bring the Dovahkiin into an enemies city, to the Temple of Talos in the middle of the night. This war has raged on, but it is the dragons who threaten to send us all to Sovengard before this damnable conflict has ended. The priests here are excellent healers. If you require more - visit the court wizard. I will not interfere." And the Jarl slipped out of the door in a blast of cold air.

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