When they arrive at Farengar's laboratory, there's a woman bent over a tome on his desk and he's talking animatedly to her. "You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other later texts."

    "Good. I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

"Oh, have no fear. The jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research."

    "Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back."

"Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable... Now, let me show you something else I found—very intriguing—I think your employers may be interested as well..."

    Then the woman looks up from the book and notices Ruby, Onmund, and Erandur. "It seems that you have visitors."

"Hmm? Ah, you've returned! And in one piece, it seems. ...well, three pieces, but each of them whole enough."

Ruby, Onmund, and Erandur exchange looks.

That woman is... the innkeep from Riverwood, right?

Oh, yeah. What the fuck.

"I believe we found the dragonstone," Ruby says, grabbing it from the bag attached to his hip and offering it to Farengar.

"So you did!" he says, accepting it and bringing it over to the apparently-more-than-just-an-innkeep. "Is this what you were looking for?"

    "Indeed," she says, and then she looks at the trio again. "And one of you claims to be the Dragonborn?"

"That would be me."

"What proof do you have of this?"

Heeere we go.

"While I was exploring the ruins of Saarthal, a man claiming to be from the Psijic Order stopped time to tell me that, plus some other cryptic things. Then we found some carvings on a wall that were making sounds only I could hear, and when I got close enough this word started glowing and then I knew what it meant—"

"A Word Wall," she says.

"—I guess that's as valid a name as any? There were many words though."

She shakes her head. "When Arkay gave mortals the means to learn the dragon tongue, he gave us the means to record individual words like that, to preserve them for the future and allow transmission. What word are you claiming you learned?"

"Ice. Iiz."

"Hmm. I see. Go on."

"So immediately after that I passed out and had a vision of Alduin attacking Helgen—"

"Alduin?"

"Don't ask me how I know it. I heard there's a prophecy?"

"Yes. If all you say is true, they name you the Last Dragonborn."

"...no pressure or anything."

"Yes pressure. The fate of the world may rest on your shoulders."

"Yeah, the Psijic implied something like that."

Man, this woman must be fun at parties.

"So you had a vision and... decided to come here?"

"I met with the Archmage, who also thought I was Dragonborn, and then we rode to Helgen. We arrived too late and only found its ruins. Then we came here, and the rest you know. —well, no, there was also a Word Wall in the Barrow, for fus."

"An intriguing tale. We will find the truth of it in time, I am sure." Then, to Farengar: "Come to me as soon as you've deciphered this. You know where to find me." She nods to him, then to the trio, and then she leaves.

    "Well, this is perfect timing. Ah, do speak to the jarl, he will want to reward you. You've done a great service to the realm."

Reward them, hmm? Well, he knows exactly what he wants.

"You wish to retake the Valtheim Towers?" he asks, his incredulity entirely unconcealed.

"Yes, jarl. I trust the three of us can do it on our own, but having more men to help would make it a surer bet, and furthermore we will need someone to hold it lest some new people move in."

"That... is a great ask. I am stretched thin as is, and spreading my forces farther when there are dragons loose..."

"Having a major trade route held by bandits may not be as obviously a problem as dragons but it costs you a constant amount in lives."

"And in money. The economy of the hold cannot be having a great time with traders disincentivised to cross from Eastmarch."

"My lord, while they do have a point, Ulfric will most certainly believe this is hostile action."

"We plan to speak with him, too," Ruby counters. "Eastmarch has just as much interest in holding the Towers as Whiterun does, and Ulfric should send his own men to help. If he doesn't—well, at least he will know that the goal here is not to open hostilities."

   "That is hostility," insists the jarl's steward. "Whiterun holding the fort on our own would be an advantage Ulfric would be loath to let us have, so taking unilateral action to keep the fort is in effect forcing him to either do the same, and be weakened, or refuse, and be weakened. Without mutual agreement, there is no way for us to do this."

"I'm afraid Proventus is right," says the jarl. "I cannot help with that. But if you speak with Ulfric Stormcloak and he is willing to send his own forces, we could come to this agreement. I know I have already asked much of you, but..."

"Sure, I can play courier, it's not much different than what I was planning to do, is it?"

But also: ugh.

"We are in your debt. Shor go with you, Dragonborn."

Oh, he's Dragonborn, now, is he?

Well, that was a dismissal, so they don't have much more to do here.

"So, walk me through the reasoning, here."

"...I guess things did sort of grow in scope since I first came here, didn't they? But..." He shrugs. "The basics are still the same. There's a major fort on a major trade route taken by bandits who are charging five hundred septim for passage—"

"Five hundred septim—"

"Yeah. So it's basically impossible for anyone who isn't themself either rich or a merchant to cross, and even people who are still won't want to. You were extremely correct when you told the jarl people are disincentivised to cross."

"Disincentivised is one thing, but five hundred septim?"

He shrugs. "You see why I'm angry beyond reason at these people."

"I guess."

"And I do want to talk to Ulfric Stormcloak. I want to know the man behind the rebellion, if nothing else. Understand his motivations."

"He will not share his plans very readily. You could be a spy, if nothing else."

"Oh, sure. But I want to know whether the Valtheim Towers were an acceptable cost or if he just didn't think about them at all."

"Huh?"

"Did he go 'starting a civil war will have these consequences for the people of Skyrim under the current circumstances' or did he just go 'I hate the Thalmor and the Empire and want to fight them'? The second one isn't something I'd want in a High King even if I grant that on the object level he's right that Skyrim would be better off separated from the Empire."

"And the alternative would've been... just letting the Thalmor do whatever they wanted?"

"If that's what served the people of Skyrim, yeah."

"The people of Skyrim are being oppressed and murdered by the Dominion and the Empire just rolled over and let the high elves do that."

"Sure, so Ulfric may be right! But that's the kind of thing you gotta think about. If you fight the Empire, you're letting bandits also murder the people of Skyrim, and then your forces get weakened by that fight in a way that causes them to not be as good at dealing with the Dominion... which might be worth it but I don't know if he thought about it.

"Maybe I'm just biased because I've seen many bandits and bands of refugees from the Civil War over the past few months and no Thalmor executing people so I don't get it in my gut. But that's what I'm feeling."

"Mm."

"And the thing is, if the peace agreement between the Empire and the Dominion was that disadvantageous to the Empire it must be because that was the best the Empire could get. Maybe if the Empire had kept fighting the Dominion would've just massacred them, maybe with heavy casualties but won anyway, and then that would've been worse for everyone in the Empire."

"That's easy for the Empire to say, it's not like worship of Talos is as common elsewhere as it is in Skyrim."

"Wasn't he the founder of the Empire?"

"Yeah, but he was from Skyrim. Well, raised here, anyway. The people of Skyrim see him as our god, he founded the Empire but he's ours and when he ascended he was still ours. Nowhere else in Tamriel is he as revered as here, especially amongst the common people. We grow up with his stories."

"I guess that makes sense."

"And besides, you... you weren't raised here, you don't know what it means, to be a Nord. Sometimes you fight even if you're going to lose, even if you know you're going to die, because the alternative is worse. So maybe the battle against the Empire is one we'll lose, but it may be better to fight and lose than to not fight at all."

"You're right, I don't really understand that."

Onmund shrugs. "Yeah. So... that's something to keep in mind. And if you're our Dovahkiin* then... everything you do is important. If the Dovahkiin backs Ulfric Stormcloak then more people will want to join him."

(* Dragon tongue word for "Dragonborn", one of the handful of expressions in that language that has seen widespread usage, mostly in Skyrim.)

"And if the Dragonborn condemns Ulfric, then..."

"Yeah."

"No pressure or anything."

"I know you're joking but, uh, Nords consider the Dragonborn to be the ideal for what to strive to be. Maybe not any given Dragonborn, but."

"No pressure or anything, huh."

"Just something to keep in mind, I guess."

"But I—well, I don't really disagree with anything I'm doing here. If I did, I wouldn't be doing it. But I think I'll need to understand what you meant there, with the whole 'sometimes it's better to die than to not fight' thing, before I take any very meaningful and impactful actions. It seems like I'm missing quite a lot of cultural context."

"You'll probably get it eventually. I—Ulfric will probably be able to relate a lot of it to you, honestly, he cares a lot about the Nord way."

"So let's make for Windhelm posthaste, yeah?"

The Valtheim Towers are kind of anticlimactic, after all the buildup. None of the bandits, there, are mages—there aren't even that many of them, it's just a very very defensible position, and anyone trying to outrun their arrows on a horse would have a porcupine'd horse while anyone not riding a horse wouldn't be able to run past fast enough to avoid paying the toll; Ruby succeeded at it by having a ghostly horse, high pain tolerance, and healing magic. But a smallish force of well-trained soldiers would be able to retake the fort pretty easily.

An even smaller group of mages can also do it.

After the mages down a couple of them, however, the bandits become a lot more careful, and after a couple more they just sound a generalised retreat and give up. It's just not worth it, they're clearly outmatched, the mages can just heal themselves in between blows especially when they have a dedicated healer, they won't go down. There's no point in staying.

"...so I guess we didn't need Whiterun's and Windhelm's help after all."

"Not to take the fort, no, but someone will still need to hold it. We just leave it empty, they'll come back pretty soon."

"I suppose."

"We really do need to talk to Ulfric Stormcloak."

"I guess that is the next step in our plan, yeah."

The trip to Windhelm is as uneventful as these things go. There are no other forts overtaken by bandits or mages on the way and a quick detour to Morvunskar (asked for by Ruby) reveals that it has not acquired new tenants. They get to the large, long bridge leading into frosty Windhelm in short order.

The first impression that Windhelm gives you, when you walk through its gates, is that it's probably seen much better days. It's not as bitterly cold as Winterhold, but it's somehow more depressing. At least Winterhold's bareness was austere. Windhelm looks, well... poor. There are more beggars in sight than in any other city Ruby's been to, in this life, and they seem disproportionately nonhuman. Some people huddle around piles of refuse that have been set on fire, and the city guards turn a blind eye to it because, well, people gotta survive, right? But the city is noticeably barely limping along.

"This place is..."

"Yeah."

"Let us find an inn."

Candlehearth Hall is a big building, found across a small plaza from the main city gates. Once the three mages push the doors into it open the barmaid beams widely at them, then pauses as she takes in their attire, and scowls and looks back down at the mug she's cleaning.

Right, then. He supposes it makes sense that the city held by the guy who wants to be the High King of the Nords would have a Nordic attitude to mages. "Good evening," says Ruby to her, taking a seat at the bar, trying to look harmless and normal.

"Evenin'," she says, without looking up at him.

She's breaking the script! At this point she's meant to be asking them what they want and stuff. "Do you have lodgings for three weary travellers?"

"For coin."

"—naturally. How much?"

"Twenty-five septim a night, for each of you."

Onmund freezes where he took a seat next to Ruby and looks at him sideways.

Ruby isn't sure whether this is because this place is falling on hard times or if they're being overcharged because they're mages but that's more than twice as expensive than most other places.

"Sounds good," he says, cheerfully, anyway, because they do have enough money, actually, for that, right now.

—she doesn't look like she was expecting him to accept without any haggling like that. "And we don't offer discounts to groups."

"I wouldn't expect you to. Do you have any rooms for the three of us? Or only singles?"

"Got doubles too."

"Then one double and one single, please?" The assumption that he'll share a room with Onmund and that Erandur will have his own room is shared by all three of them without fuss.

"...right, then. I'll show you to your rooms."

"Lead the way."

She does, two rooms side by side. "Well, if... you need anything I shall be downstairs," she says, after accepting their money for their first night.

And after she's gone: "We could've just camped. She doesn't want us here, and twenty-five septim—"

"Yeah, but we're here partly to fact find, right? So, we'll fact find. And people are a lot looser with their tongues when you've made them richer than they'd expected, and the barmaid at the city inn is likely to have heard all sorts of useful things."

"And she may also know of ways to get an audience with the jarl."

So when they come back downstairs Ruby orders mead and bread and cheese and some cuts of meat for the three of them and they sit at the bar again. There's a bard singing songs about heroic Nords back across the room from them, and Ruby elbows Onmund lightly. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?"

Onmund gives him a look. "Why are you mentioning this."

"Bards can also be pretty good sources of information. You could talk to him."

"...he's a Nord. I'm not going to flirt with him, I'm as like to be stabbed as anything else."

"I'm not saying you necessarily should. He could just be eye candy while you chat him up between songs. But you never know, bards are known to be fickle and a lot more licentious than most people..."

"Fine."

"Pay attention to his eyes, if he's into guys he will absolutely want to cop a few looks at your monster."

"My mo—oh." He flushes. "You're terrible."

"I'm very conscious of every advantage at my disposal and the fact that my boyfriend is painfully attractive and walks around with his humongous cock hanging out is one of them."

"...I'm going to need to wait a little bit before going."

"Why? ...ah. I see. Yes, one of the dangers of being mostly naked, you can't hide anything. Although I'm not sure there's any piece of garment that could hide that thing—"

"Let's stop talking about my cock."

"As you say."

She returns in short order with their drink and meals.

And Ruby picks up some innocuous topic to talk to the other two about, the weather or food or whatever. Nothing about magic, nothing about politics, a little bit of gossip from other cities.

The barmaid can't help but join in. Her job isn't the most engaging possible job and even if the three of them are wizards gossip is gossip.

Excellent.

Once they're done with their food and Onmund has some alcohol in his system, and most importantly his "monster" is no longer standing at attention—don't think about it—he gets another cup of mead and meanders over to the bard that's now singing a song about the Dragonborn.

"So, Elda, we've talked a lot about Whiterun and Dawnguard but I'm afraid I know nothing about Windhelm and I'm sure you do."

"Oh, what's there to know? All cities in Skyrim are the same."

"That is most certainly not true! Every city has its own character. If I said Markarth was the same as Winterhold you would be right to accuse me of lying through my teeth."

"You've been?"

"I have! It's beautiful, in a completely different way from Windhelm. It's set on a mountainface so many of the streets are slanted, which can get exhausting to climb, but when you're high up you can see the whole city before you."

"Oh I hope I get to visit someday, that sounds lovely..."

"Oh? Most people I meet don't really think of leaving the place where they live."

"Well, most people don't live in Windhelm."

"You don't like it here?"

She sighs. "It used to be better, but now... Ulfric Stormcloak is using all of our tax money to fund his war."

"Instead of caring for his people."

She nods. "He recruited a lot of city guard for his army so now we have thieves and murderers and elves on the loose!" She glances at Erandur. "Ah, no offence," she adds, sounding like she very much intended the offence.

"None taken," says Erandur, who is constitutionally incapable of taking offence but is nevertheless extremely confused by why "elves" are said in the same breath as "thieves and murderers".

"That... matches what I've seen, yeah. —but, ah, 'elves'?"

"With the Aldmeri Dominion you can never be too careful, and the Dunmer are nearly as bad, present company excepted," except not really. "Any crimes in this city, five of them were elves, two were argonians, and two were those cat people."

"Erandur is a priest of Mara, and a good friend besides. I trust him implicitly."

She's less reassured than she could be, hearing this from a mage, but still not none reassured. And this explains why the elf is the one in the thick robe while the humans are naked.

"But still, those are the problems that plague Windhelm. And I understand, I do, the Dominion has been hurting us for years and the Empire's just their lapdogs, we need to get Skyrim back, but..."

"That makes sense. You miss the times before Ulfric Stormcloak turned Windhelm into his personal war headquarters."

"...yeah. Personal war headquarters, that's it." Snort. "I suppose it's to be expected of a man who calls his people the Stormcloaks."

"You know, my friends and I cleared the Valtheim Towers of bandits. It should be a lot safer to go to Whiterun nowadays, and from there if you wished to go to Markarth..."

"...the three of you cleared out the whole fort?"

"Oh, no, not just the three of us, we had a lot of help." From summoned Atronachs, so it's technically not a lie. Ruby is not going to say that. He doesn't want to terrify her with the might of mages, Nords are sufficiently scared as-is, even if he reckons the three of them are above average in effectiveness.

"Well... I suppose that does make it easier..."

"But you don't really want to, do you?"

"Maybe to visit."

"So there are things you like about Windhelm."

"I mean, yeah. It's... my home. I know everyone here. I have this place, I love the plazas, I love the market... It gets beautiful in the summer, and the port gets people from all over and gets so lively..."

"I'm not trying to convince you to leave, just telling you about the option." Pause. "And also I wanted to hear you talk about the things you do like about Windhelm, complaining is all well and good but you can't really get to know a place if you don't talk to someone who loves it."

She smiles a bit to herself. "I guess I do love it, don't I?"

"You do. The things you don't like are the ways things got worse than they could be, but you'd like to live in that place, the place that Windhelm could be."

"You have a way with words, don't you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Words are just... the way you tell someone what's in your heart. They're a means, but what's important is what you're trying to say."

"Still. I hadn't really thought of it that way. There's songs about home, about loving home and the place you're from... but I don't know any songs about loving the place that home could be. Like you said."

"You could suggest the bard write some for you."

She snorts. "That hack can't write to save his life. His voice is good, but he only sings other people's songs. Whenever he tries to sing something he wrote I lose customers."

"Really? I would've thought it was part of the job description. Honeyed words to seduce women with..."

She shakes her head and snorts again, but then turns thoughtful. "Arthor doesn't speak from the heart. He's just words, with nothing behind them. Loves the sound of his own voice, not a single thought between his ears."

"But sometimes that's all you need, isn't it? Empty words and a warm body to spend the night with, nothing serious, nothing that'll survive the morning."

"I have to deal with him every day, but I suppose the world has its share of girls who will fall for a talentless bard for a night."

"So you would fall for a man who would only stay a few nights, then?"

She looks at Ruby more intently, reevaluating some things. "Fall for? No. But a warm body could keep me company on a cold night."

"A cold night like tonight, perhaps?"

(Erandur decides it's time to retire for the night. It does not seem like his presence would be wanted.)

Elda doesn't seem to notice. "Not like tonight. I am working for all of tonight." She's still looking at him with a certain longing in her eyes.

"A bed is not the only place someone could warm you."

"...are you saying—what could you mean?"

"I mean," he says, getting to his feet (and wobbling a little, whoops perhaps that was a bit too much mead) and casually walking around the bar and up to her, "that there's no reason you should need to leave work, if all you want is some company." He is in fact getting pretty hard, from this conversation. "I wouldn't wish to get in the way of your livelihood."

She notices the way Ruby's body is reacting and decides to keep her eyes resolutely on his face. She's flushed, though, and starting to breathe heavily. "I'm not some, I'm not one of those girls you can just toss coin at and she'll—"

"You're not," he agrees easily. "And you can say no. I'm not going to press." He places his right index finger under her chin. "I'm just a warm body. If you want me to be."

She—doesn't respond. Just breathes, and blinks, and doesn't step back.

"Please tell me if you want me to stop." And he leans down to kiss her, wrapping his other arm around her waist to press her body close to his.

Her breath hitches when she feels his arm around her, and she seems ready to—do something, push him away—but she doesn't, and he doesn't really press, and she soon melts into his kiss.

He lets his right hand trail down her neck and collarbone towards her breast, but he pauses there and pulls away to wait for permission.

Why did he stop—oh. Oh. He's...

"You're very sweet," she says in a low voice. "I'll tell you to stop if I want you to stop," and she finds herself actually meaning it. She's been with men before, obviously, but they're usually not so... careful? Slow? There's a part of her that's feeling a little bit offended that he's not just taking her but another, much larger part of her is marvelling at the idea of having only and exactly the things she wants, of... getting to decide.

Oh this is heartbreaking. Well, Ruby wants to give her a good time, so he will.

He pulls her breast free of her dress—she's very buxom, and the dress wasn't so tight as to make this terribly hard, especially after he pulls one or two knots behind it loose to give it some more freedom—and starts fondling it while he resumes kissing her. He plays with her nipple with his fingers, pressing it with his thumb and pinching it a bit, paying attention to the tension in her body as he does to see if he's getting close to some limit.

A guard that had been in the main hall notices and comes over, looking ready to intervene.

But Elda waves him away frantically. She does not want to stop right now, and in fact she'll gently lead Ruby around so that her back is to the bar and grab his left hand to start pulling her dress skirt up.

Her wish is his command. He'll pull her skirt all the way up to her waist, since that seems to be what she's angling for?

That's exactly what she's angling for, and once that's done she pulls it out and back over the bar so that her bare bottom is pressed against it, and she opens her legs so that Ruby will be between them.

..................okay then? She... seems to want this? The guard will... watch... just in case she changes her mind. Yep. That's his reason and he's sticking to it.

Ruby doesn't believe him for a moment, and he winks at the guard over Elda's shoulder and hooks one hand under her leg while using the other to grab hold of his shaft and aim it at her entrance. He pulls looks at her again for confirmation...

...and she has to laugh. "Just fuck me, wizard, what are you waiting for."

"Confirmation," he replies, simply, but she is incredibly wet, so he has no trouble sheathing himself in her. Slowly, though, giving her time to get used to it.

She wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in his shoulder to moan into it. She wraps the leg he's holding around his waist and pulls him closer in.

He starts pumping into her, angling his hips out and in, resting his chin on her shoulder and watching the rest of the customers in the inn.

Most of them are watching him right back, with variously dumbfounded expressions on their faces. A couple look away when they see Ruby watching them, and a couple more look away just out of bashfulness, but they very much have an audience now.

And Onmund is finding himself in the unfamiliar position of being the least shocked person, here. He really is getting used to mage culture, isn't he? He's quickly getting erect, too, and he decides that, what the hells, he can play with his cock while watching and he can resume the conversation with the bard.

"So you were saying, about Grey Quarter?"

Arthor looks at him, face looking a little bit glazed. "...what?"

"You were telling me about the Grey Quarter."

He glances down at Onmund's considerable erection and then back up at his face. "Uh... right."

Onmund wouldn't describe himself as unabashed but he is in fact resolutely ignoring the instinct to cover himself as other people start looking at him, too, while he rubs his shaft.

And he notices, of course, Arthor's glance. "No one's stopping you from doing this, too," he says, gesturing down at his cock, "if you're feeling the need. But I do still want to continue our conversation."

He thinks Ruby is rubbing off on him.

He's had a lot of practice by now with pacing himself so he can in fact avoid coming too fast, but he has to admit that it's a close call, when he sees that Onmund has convinced the bard to start jerking off too.

The door to the inn opens and another guard walks in...

...and freezes when she takes in the scene in front of her. She notices the other guard over there and gives him a look, but he only offers her a confused shrug in response.

Elda notices her arrival, though, and lifts her face from Ruby's shoulder to say, "I'll, oh, I'll be with, ohhh, I'll be with you in a little bit, love." And she has to shut her eyes again and bite her hand to stifle a moan.

"Oh, please, take your time," says the new guard. "Don't rush on account of me."

Ruby wonders if Sanguine is messing with these people, making them hornier. He thinks that if she is, it's nothing more thorough than just literally making them hornier; more overt forms of mind control still don't seem like her style.

He wonders if he's projecting too much into this "style" of hers. Or maybe it's just some mysterious intuition, maybe he does count as being a cultist. He doesn't know. He hopes not. If nothing else, it doesn't seem like people are reacting like this is a normal, everyday occurrence. That first guard had wanted to stop him, too. It's probably fine.

Once people get over their surprise they mostly resume their drinks and conversations. Arthor is still talking to Onmund, having managed to recover enough of his self-possession to do so more quickly than everyone else in the room, but he's still jerking off, mostly watching Ruby and Elda but occasionally stealing glances at Onmund. Some others have decided that, what the hell, they'll pleasure themselves, too—though none of them are as bold as Ruby and Elda or even as Arthor and Onmund—while others have decided that this is a bit too much for them and they will go back to their houses or their rooms, whichever one they're going to.

Okay this guy definitely likes cock, too. Onmund leans forward and says, in a lower voice, "I don't mind if you watch. You can turn your back to everyone else if you don't want them to see."

The near-whisper sends a jolt up Arthor's spine that almost makes him come right then and there. He gives Onmund a sort of panicked look, but clearly Onmund meant it, and, hell, he does want to look. He discreetly arranges himself so that someone would need to be looking directly at his eyes to notice and he does, in fact, watch.

"...man, you're really big," he says, also in a low voice.

"I've been told. It's a good conversation starter."

"Uh huh. Cocky much?"

"Blame that guy," he says, nodding in Ruby's direction. "He's a bad influence."

"So it's not all mages?"

"Well, all mages are—fine with this. Being cocky and teasing handsome bards is definitely a new development for me, though."

He swallows dryly.

"I won't tell anyone if you won't."

That startles a laugh out of him. "I'm usually the one doing the seducing, you know."

"And I bet it's usually women."

"...well. Yes."

"Mmhm. So maybe I'll get to widen your horizons later tonight."

"Maybe you will."

Holy shit that was smooth. Ruby really is rubbing off on him.

Elda comes before Ruby does, and her moan is loud enough that even muffled everyone can hear it. Then she slumps bonelessly onto him and the bar, panting and sweating.

Ruby... will wait for her to say anything. Just in case she wants a round two. He slows down, though, and doesn't let himself come.

It takes her a little bit, but she is still pretty horny, and when she looks at him again she considers her options and pushes him away.

...okay?

Then she turns around to face the bar, lifts her skirt up again and leans forward to show herself off to Ruby, and says to the guard: "Sorry about that, sweetheart. What can I get you?"

Her breasts are still hanging out of her dress.

Ohhhh alright. That's hot. He positions himself to enter her again, and wraps his arms around her to play with her nipples some more.

"...the usual, Elda."

So she reaches under the bar for another flagon—it takes some work to do that from her position, but she manages—and fills it to the brim with spiced mead from the second barrel to her left.

"Thanks. Uh, who's your... friend..."

"I'm Ruby, ma'am," he says, still pumping into Elda. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The... no I can't say the pleasure is all mine, can I," she says, looking pointedly at Elda's body. "You're... okay with it?" she asks Elda.

Ruby pinches one of her nipples, hard.

"Oh, yes," she squeaks. "He's good."

"Yeah, I can see that." She licks her lips and decides to down her whole flagon all at once.

Elda fills it back up without needing to be asked.

"You know, it's one thing to have Arthor do this with his conquest of the day in a corner, but this is..."

"Oh, shut it, R—oh—Rina," she says without heat. "I've always—"

Ruby accidentally pulls all the way out of her and then goes back all the way in all at once.

"— ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," and she has to lean forward and rest her weight on her elbows. She swallows dryly then looks back up at the guard and says, "I've always wanted to do this. It's been a, oh, a fantasy."

Now Rina is flushed, too, and she will claim forever that it was the alcohol and nothing else. She looks over her shoulder at the other guard—whose gaze seems transfixed on a blank spot on the wall behind Ruby, a single vein in his neck pulsing with tension—then back at Elda. "I'm... happy for you?"

"And anyone who calls me easy will find that I won't be filling their cups for the foreseeable future."

"I would not dream of it." If she were easy Arthor would've gotten with her, and he's been trying for years.

A couple of minutes afterwards, Onmund gets up from where he is, wishes Arthor a good night, and climbs upstairs to one the rooms.

And Arthor starts playing a new song.

Ruby barely notices, though, because he's really close to coming right now. "I'm about to come," he whispers to Elda—

(Rina looks up at him when he does that and their eyes meet and she squirms in her seat and drinks more mead.)

"—should I pull out?"

"If you'll pay the apothecary, don't."

He will, in fact, pay the apothecary.

He comes.

Followed by Elda, a few seconds after, and without his shoulder to muffle her cry her moan echoes and it is a testament to Arthor's—something—that he doesn't stop playing his song even after that happens.

(The first guard comes, too, hands-free, completely accidentally. He's never come hands-free before. Holy shit.)

Ruby pulls out and considers using magic to clean the both of them up but then remembers that she's a Nord and would probably not appreciate it.

...

......he doesn't actually know what one does in that case, though.

"How are you feeling?" he asks Elda, instead.

She takes a few seconds to recover the ability fo speak but when she turns around she says, "Well and thoroughly fucked. You done for the night?"

He looks away and laugh-coughs into his elbow. "You want to go again? I'm going to need a bit."

"...no, I think I'm good."

"Then so am I. ...may I kiss you?"

"...why?"

"Because you're beautiful and I want to. You can say no."

"...no, I think."

"Then do you want any help with the cleanup, here?"

What a strange, strange man. "If you're offering." But first she's gonna work her boobs back into her dress, which takes some doing.

Ruby offers to give her money for the apothecary but she tells him in no uncertain terms that she is not a whore and he is not paying her for anything related to any of this. Instead what he will do is go to the apothecary himself on the morrow and bring her the morning draught, or else, which, fair enough, honestly.

If there is a spell over this inn that allowed all of that to happen it doesn't break immediately. After a while some people did decide to be more adventurous in what they're doing, and there are two couples in a corner making out, one moving suspiciously like they're trying for a somewhat less conspicuous encore of what Ruby and Elda just did, but no one has a sudden realisation that nothing that just happened made sense. Guard #1 excused himself once it was clear that Ruby was not going to do anything more to Elda, but Rina is still there at the bar.

Alright, Ruby's happy that no one's been mind-controlled into being okay with this, then. Watching that other couple fuck in the corner is almost enough to get him going again, but just almost, and after spending a little bit longer chatting to Elda and Rina he excuses himself and goes back upstairs.

(At some point it seems that the bard also retired for the night.)

(And Onmund is not, in fact, in their room.)

No, Ruby did not expect him to be. Not tonight, anyway.

He does sneak into their room a couple of hours later, though, trying to be careful and quiet as he takes the spot next to him in bed.

"W'lcome b'k," he mumbles without opening his eyes.

"...sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

zzzzzz

...heavy sleeper, isn't he. Onmund grins to himself, kisses the top of Ruby's head, and goes to sleep, too.

Erandur wakes before either of the other two, having gone to sleep much earlier, and goes to explore the city for a bit, talk to its people.

And once all three are awake and back at the inn they can share their tales with each other, starting with Ruby, though Erandur was there for most of it.

Onmund's conversation with the bard confirmed much of what they suspect, that Windhelm seems to in general be extremely racist against anyone who's not a human, and even non-Nord humans get looked at askance.

"He said that all of the Dunmer in the city are forced to live in the Gray Quarter, which is a specific district, but khajiit and argonians aren't even allowed to live in the citty proper."

"That accords with what I've found. Being a priest of Mara does not help matters, much, and I could not get very far with the locals, myself. I believe we should visit this Gray Quarter to learn more, but before that, it seems that Ulfric Stormcloak is to give a speech at high noon in front of the Palace of Kings. We might wish to see what he has to say."

"Let's go to the apothecary, first, I owe Elda a morning draught."

Onmund looks away and covers his smile with a hand. "There's one problem I'll never need to worry about."

"Yes, well, I regret nothing. Do you?"

"I don't, but we will see whether Arthor does."

"The poor man, will he even be able to walk?"

"Oh, he took me, not the other way around."

"Then I guess if he has any regrets they'll only be the philosophical kind. Which is a shame, the other kind is a lot more fun."

"We'll stay here a few days, who knows what'll happen."

"It really is such a shame that we're in public, because that made me really want to kiss you."

"You'll deal."

The apothecary's store is called The White Phial, apparently named after a legendary magic artefact that is said to be made of the magically infused snow that first fell in Skyrim and which can replenish whatever fluid is placed inside of it. The owner has an obsession with it and talked their ear off about it but did eventually sell them a morning draught.

And after delivering it to Elda they go to the plaza in front of the Palace of Kings where a small crowd is forming to hear the jarl's proclamation.

Ulfric Stormcloak is a Nord's Nord: tall, blond, bearded, built like a bear, with the kind of airs of someone who knows they're above everyone else due to their power and combat prowess. When he walks out of the Palace towards the plaza he takes long, confident strides, head held high, looking like the guards that are accompanying him are for show more than anything, because he would almost certainly be able to deal with whatever threats this city might throw at him.

"Citizens of Skyrim!" he booms, voice clear and sonorous. "Fellow Nords! The times are dire. I have slain the false king that sat on his throne in Solitude, and Skyrim's would-be puppetmasters emerged from his corpse like maggots. The Empire is weak, and cannot protect you; their agreement with the elves is a stain on the soul of our realm, a farcical 'truce' that is used to kill us and smother us. A quarter of a century ago, I came back to my home only to find that the Great War never ended, and that now my enemies wear faces that were once familiar, working for the Dominion in deed if not in word. And now, the dragons have returned, and once again the Empire turns a deaf ear to the plight of the citizens they vowed to protect.

"But Skyrim is stronger than that. The Nords are stronger than that. We are stronger than that! I will fight for you. I will fight for all of you, for all of Skyrim, until we are once again united and no longer being drained dry by nobles in faraway lands who know nothing of our people, who care nothing for our lives. I will fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying in foreign soil, and for their wives and children whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I will fight for those of us who have returned, who only longed for peace, for home, and yet found home to have been usurped by vipers. I fight for our right to worship the true Nord god, Talos who was Tiber Septim! I fight so that all the fighting we've already done has not been for nothing. It will not be for nothing. I fight... because I must.

"We all must. It is no longer time for indecision. Those who do not fight with us fight against us; those who will not join us will stand in our way. Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun believes himself clever, courting the Empire and the people of Skyrim at the same time. Join him, if you, too, can't stand for your brothers, your family, all that have been held under the false king and the false emperor's thumbs. But if you are a true son of Skyrim, then join our fight! Let us put an end to tyranny, bring glory to our ancestors, and show the world once more who we are!"

He stands there in silence while people cheer and clap for a little bit, but then he turns back around and goes back to the Palace.

Hmm, but not everyone around clapped and cheered, right?

Indeed. A few people barely reacted at all, including some guards that look like they've heard it before.

He walks over to one of those guards, then. "Did anything happen recently, for him to be giving that speech now?" It can't be the first time Ulfric has talked about the dragons in public, otherwise Ruby thinks it would've received more than a passing mention.

"...you're an outsider?" the guard asks rather than responding, not bothering to hide his distaste for—something, maybe the fact that Ruby is a mage or not a Nord or something.

"I am. My party and I just arrived here yesterday."

"He's been doing that every other day since he got back from Helgen. Trying to rally people to the cause."

"...so the speech isn't new? Is there even anyone left in this city who hasn't heard it?"

"'S a waste of time, if you ask me. It's like he said, everyone's decided already and anyone who says they didn't is lying."

That was... not, actually, what Ulfric said. Ruby nods in agreement anyway.

"You're from Winterhold?"

"Yeah."

"And have you decided? Winterhold is on our side."

"I have."

"Good," he says fervently. "...we're going to need wizards," he adds, looking like the admission is giving him a stomachache. "At least a few. The Empire has them, so does the Dominion, we need to match them."

"I agree, but I've heard that Skyrim's warriors are worth ten mages apiece."

"Right you are! Those imperial scum won't know what hit them."

Ruby smiles, feeling a bit queasy inside.

"Say, how would one get an audience with the jarl?"

"...an audience? Reckon you can't, if he didn't summon you."

"Even if I have something urgent that requires his personal attention?"

"Like what?"

"It's confidential."

"...well I s'pose maybe you can tell Galmar Stone-Fist and he'll bring it up with the jarl if he thinks it's important enough."

"Excellent. And how do I speak to him?"

"You talk to Jorleif?" he replies after a second, tentatively. "He's the steward." And because he has pattern recognition: "You can ask a guard at the Palace gates for an audience."

"Thank you, sir, that's very useful. For Skyrim."

"For Skyrim!"

"Find out anything useful?"

"That was a recruitment pitch, Ulfric's been trying to get more people to join since Helgen. He's either very idealistic or desperate."

"Very cynical."

"The guard suggested we try to get an audience through the steward, but after that speech I think we might have more success if you lead that."

"Me? Because I'm a Nord? I'm a mage."

"Cover up, you don't need to look like a mage and if they don't ask you won't need to lie."

"That's..."

"Deceitful? Dishonourable?"

"Yeah."

"Then be a Nord mage. I still think that'd go over better than a Nede mage."

"We don't actually know that you're Nedic."

"My point stands."

Sigh. "Fair enough. Now?"

"Yeah, except." He looks at Erandur. "My friend, I would ask that you go to the Gray Quarter and find out what you can from the Dunmer. They're more likely to listen to you without us, and conversely Ulfric is most likely to listen to us if we don't have an elf with us."

"You need not justify yourself, I saw as much as you did. I will do what I can."

"Thank you." To Onmund: "And now we can go, yeah."

The steward is a relatively unassuming man, for a Nord. When he speaks, he does so at a measured tone and pace, almost businesslike, and definitely nowhere near as loud as his jarl. And most interestingly, he does not seem to show them any visible disdain. "Afternoon, citizens. You requested an audience?"

"We did. We wished to speak with jarl Ulfric Stormcloak."

"He is a very busy man, and his time is valuable. What do you want to discuss?"

Onmund glances at Ruby then says, "We want to discuss a partnership between Whiterun and Windhelm."

"...are you couriers from Balgruuf? Has he decided to join us?"

"—no, not about that. It's about the Valtheim Towers."

"That's the... fort, right? At the border? What of it?"

Ahh he is not assertive enough to navigate this conversation.

What would Ruby say.

"The fort was abandoned and taken over by bandits who have been preying on merchants and the smallfolk. Now if you're not willing to pay five hundred septim for passage—"

"I'm sorry, did you say five hundred septim?"

"Yeah."

"I... see. Go on."

"If you're not willing to or can't pay that much to cross then you have to either go west through the Pale or south through the mountains..." Ruby would say something pointed here. "...using the road that passes through Helgen." Where the dragon attacked, left unsaid.

"And what's wrong with going through the Pale?"

...great question! What is wrong with that?

"The roads are much more badly maintained," Ruby puts in to rescue him, "and although there isn't a single chokepoint like the Towers the road is still peppered with bandit camps."

Huh. That makes sense, actually.

"And actually the very fact that there isn't such a chokepoint is a problem because it makes the roads that much harder to police. There aren't any forts, abandoned or otherwise, until Whitewatch Tower which is at the border between the Pale and Whiterun Hold, and the constant snow and bad terrain make it easy for bandits to hit and run and avoid capture. The whole reason for the Valtheim Towers is to keep that road safe so that travel and trade can continue unimpeded between the two holds, and that can't happen anymore."

"And you want Ulfric to send men to retake the Towers? I'm afraid he—"

"We've already taken it," Onmund interrupts, surprising Jorleif and himself. "We just need men to defend it. And it's a very defensible position, a dozen men should be enough," as that was how many were there, "so if Windhelm and Whiterun send half a dozen each..."

"I see. That does seem like something I should bring up with the jarl."

"That is all we can ask for."

No it's fucking not.

He asked Onmund to take point so he will have to deal with it.

Yeah yeah yeah.

Jorleif... is not unaware that there was a moment of nonverbal communication here between the two of them but since it seems like they're not after anything else he asks them to wait where they are and excuses himself to go speak with the jarl.

He returns shortly after, though, looking forlorn. "The jarl will not be able to give you the men you need."

Onmund and Ruby look at each other then back at Jorleif. "Why not?"

"We cannot spare any men; we are short-staffed as-is. The war with the Empire is consuming all of our resources."

"So are the bandits! Ulfric says that he's fighting for the smallfolk? It's not just the Empire and the Dominion sucking the country dry and killing our people! These forts all over everywhere lie abandoned because of Ulfric's war, and now bandits and necromancers and vampires and who knows what else are using this moment of Skyrim's weakness to prey on Skyrim's people, and Ulfric is doing jack shit about it! And so is the Empire! It's really easy to say that Skyrim needs independence and whatever the hells else but what's important is the people and the people care about safety and health and prosperity and whether it's the Empire or the Dominion or the bandits they're not gonna care when they're dead."