"I'm sorry," says Jorleif, looking a little bit wretched and resigned. "There's nothing I can do. Was that all...?"

"...yes," Ruby says, all of the wind gone from his sails. "Thank you for your time."

As they slink off Onmund says, in a low voice, "They'd have listened if you'd told them you're Dovahkiin."

"They might have listened if they knew I'm Dovahkiin, but I've nothing to prove it. I can't even Shout."

"...are you sure? You got two words from ruins, didn't you?"

"If there's a way to do it I don't know what it is. I can just literally shout,

"FUS!"

Onmund flinches at the noise.

"...and nothing happens."

"...you might need to visit the Greybeards."

"The who?"

"They live atop the Throat of the World. They're monks and they're meant to spend their whole lives studying the Way of the a Voice. Only..."

"Only?"

"You can't really get an audience with them. They summon you, if they want you, but if you just climb the steps there you can get to the door and no further."

"How did Ulfric learn?"

"...I don't know. Maybe he was summoned and taught?"

"Well fat lot of good that does me. We can't even get an audience with him to ask."

"You! Mages!"

Ruby and Onmund turn around at the same time to look at the source of the voice.

It's an old Nord, bald and bearded, built like a barn, a glass right eye, wearing the kind of leather one wears if one is prepared for the possibility of needing to don heavier armour at a moment's notice. He's catching up with them from the Palace, and once he does he stops and says, "Hail, friends."

Onmund and Ruby exchange looks and decide that the Nord will continue to be the one to take point. "May we help you?"

"Maybe. I'm Brunwulf Free-Winter. I heard what you told the steward."

"...okay?"

"You're right," he says, looking directly at Ruby this time. "I've said similar things to Ulfric, myself."

"Similar things?"

"That his war is bleeding the realm dry just as surely as the Empire and the High Elves. Everything you said. Without the specifics."