Chapter Text
The air was thick with drizzle – that hazy, gray mist that Skyrim was prone to. Audric tended his fire, kept it alive in spite of the rain. He could hardly enjoy it, however, as huddling for warmth was futile and he had only a few measly potatoes in the way of food. With some perseverance, he could probably have reached Ivarstead by a little after midnight, but the weather and the road had beaten most of the perseverance out of him. Instead, he settled for a nook in the mountains and prayed he wouldn’t waken waterlogged – that was, if he slept at all.
The wind howled through the crags, shrill and unforgiving. His time in Skyrim hadn’t hardened his bones against the cold, so he shivered, falling not so much into sleep as into despondency. He tossed and turned on the lumpy ground, half-dreaming in fits and starts of a warm hearth and spiced mead, of a bed and someone to share it with.
He did not wait for dawn to break before packing up and moving on.
The rain persisted, following him into the foothills, a dark cloud chasing after him. Thunder rumbled from above outstretched fingers of birch trees and Audric cursed his dumb luck. The sky began to clear just as the little hamlet came into view. Typical.
Though it would bore him half to death, if ever he were forced to stay, Audric loved the villages that dotted the province. Ivarstead in particular was a frequent haunt of his, given the company he often kept. And sure enough, Lynly was there to serve him a hot meal and a few sweet words when he arrived, soaked, inside the Vilemyr.
“Well hello stranger,” she smiled, “long time, no see.”
Frowning, he scoffed, “Oh, it’s only been – what – a few days? A week, at the most.”
“Try almost a month,” she admonished, hand firmly on her hip.
“No.” He apologized then; Audric had a horrible knack for losing track of time. He often got swept up in the places he visited and the people he met there. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”
“I’m certain you will.” With a wink, she left to tend to the other patrons. As delightful as a roll with Lynly always was, he wasn’t sure he was up to it after his trek. He hoped she would give him a day or two to recover before demanding her recompense.
Ten hours of good, hard sleep in a soft bed under a roof saw Audric feeling infinitely more himself. Sleepily, he wandered out into the hall, barefoot. The day was late and dusk filtered in through the high windows, gentle and pale. Sitting at the bar, he cracked his back and plied Wilhelm for news. Of course, there was almost never any big news to report, only small scraps of gossip or the local tragedies and victories alike – all small, all trivial. And that was precisely why Audric liked to ask. Since that fateful day at the chopping block, his life had been inundated with big news: harsh realities and victories so bittersweet, they doubled back into tragedies. He liked small news. It settled his stomach.
Over a steaming bowl of tomato soup, he was handed a wedding invitation. “Oh, that was sweet of Fastred. I love weddings.”
Wilhelm nearly choked. “That’s...weddings don’t seem the type of ceremony that suit you,” he tried politely. “In fact, ceremony in general doesn’t really suit you, my friend.”
Audric chuckled, patiently stirring his soup, waiting for it to cool some. “Perhaps not, but I like a good party, as long as I’m only a guest.”
“Never the guest of honor, then, eh?” The innkeeper teased, though his hopeful glances in the direction of his barmaid made Audric nervous.
“No, not really, not in my line of work.” The little bud of guilt that had blossomed in his stomach now unfurled in full bloom; so often had his line of work led him back here, pinching idle coin purses off of unattended tables, lifting valuables from unsecured chests. He tried not to think about it, and purchased another bottle of mead, though he hadn’t even finished his first.
“Just as well; an adventurer like you doesn’t get home very often, I suppose. Oh, and you have yet another piece of mail.”
This did come as a shock. Fastred’s invitation was one thing, given that she was in the area. But the idea that someone was leaving mail for Audric in Ivarstead was alarming on several counts, none the least of which was that it meant he was obviously spending too much time here. The parchment was thin and cheap, the message written in charcoal, but the penmanship could only be described as exquisite.
Audric Bellamy,
I will keep this letter short. I am a man in grave need of your services, however I request that we meet in private. As I am in no position to entertain, I must humbly ask that you meet me in Kynesgrove, preferably at your earliest convenience. Please send word to the Braidwood Inn a day in advance; address your reply simply to ‘Cub.’ They will know to whom it must be delivered. I would appreciate your prompt and discreet cooperation.
Sincerely,
A Hopeful, Interested Party
“Awfully vague, that,” Audric observed, turning the letter over. For one thing, which of his services did this ‘hopeful, interested party’ desire? He was a versatile man, and could perform any number of tasks, menial or otherwise. He drew the line at assassination, but even that rule was subject to exemption, on rare occasions. But really, the thing that bothered him was the careful, expressive script; the articulate, elegant way in which this man strung his words together.
Well-educated, and well-spoken, if not entirely diplomatic.
A day went by. And then another. And when Audric misplaced a belonging, only to realize he had put it away, that startled him into movement. He packed and bid Lynly and Wilhelm goodbye. He would have liked to have visited Klimmek, but given the circumstances, he wasn’t sure that was a good idea, just yet.
The road was unbroken, mostly. He ran into a pack of wolves, but those proved little challenge, and he left with a few filled soul gems to show for his trouble. He dithered, stooping to pick flowers and steal an egg from some unfortunate ground bird. It wasn’t long before a signpost rose out of the horizon, though, and Audric had a choice to make. Right, or straight ahead. He wasn’t ready to make it.
A fox chased his heels, friendly; birds crowed in the trees, unseen specters of daytime. The sun beat down on his skin and he scolded himself for not bringing a hood; he hoped his hair would keep his neck from burning. When the day reached its peak, he sat down to some cheese and bread he’d pilfered from the inn. Hanging his legs over the edge of a high ridge, he tried to enjoy his meal, take in the scenery. The plains of Eastmarch lay before him, boiling and bubbling, steam rising from the earth in fine clouds. There was no dragon circling about, and Audric sort of missed the sound of air surrendering beneath wings; he wondered if it was against some ancient draconic protocol to take up residence in another’s lair.
A gaggle of Imperial soldiers made their way past, one miserable prisoner in tow. The men were obnoxious, inflated with their own sense of victorious self-importance, and it rubbed Audric the wrong way. He couldn’t afford to set the prisoner loose, but he waited for an opening, which did not take long at all. Feigning a spill, he stumbled into the man, brushing past him and whispered “Talos guide you,” and left him a small lump of coin in a pocket. The man’s eyes were startled and watery as Audric drew away, pardoning himself to the rear guard for his clumsiness.
He was not a religious man, and Talos certainly wasn’t his god, but comfort was few and far between for the losing side. At least this way, should the man find escape, he might have food to eat and a place to stay. And if he didn’t, well, hopefully the gold wouldn’t end up lining some Imperial coffer.
Audric had never chosen a side, officially. He detested the Empire for succumbing to terms that were plainly designed to keep it on a short leash, squabbling with itself, and he had no fondness for the Dominion. On the other hand, he’d met a number of Stormcloaks and supporters whose unrepentant bigotry left his stomach churning, and his temper hot. He claimed very little ancestral pride, deeming such sentiment irrational, but speaking with a decent number of Nords, he had to grudgingly admit he felt a renewed, somewhat horrifying sense of blood-pride. A natural reflex to discrimination, he tried to console himself.
When again, he was faced with a fork in the road, he stopped and worried. The letter had asked that he send a reply a day in advance. He could go home and sleep in his own bed and eat his own food. Iona was probably starting to fret. But that old friend, curiosity, was nagging at him, tugging him away down the road into the pit of the valley, past the herds of mammoths and through the steamy fog and up, around the corner...
He slept in his own bed about as much as he slept in rented ones, he rationalized, and continued north, into the evening.
The night was clear, the air crisp; the smell of impending snowfall was on the wind. Audric grumbled under his breath as he opened the door to the inn. That there existed a place where the cold persisted even into the height of summer seemed a kind of blasphemy to him – one of Skyrim’s many curses besides the dragons.
There was refuge inside, however, as always. The fire crackled jovially and the incessant babble wasn’t so bad, either. The savory scent of a pheasant roast wafted overhead and his mouth watered a little. Taking a seat at the bar, he tucked into some warm food and contemplated his next move. He had come unannounced, and only now that he’d arrived was he realizing the problems this presented him with. He ate and drank and turned a few different solutions over in his head.
His prospective client had referred to himself as Cub – a pseudonym, presumably. Well, he decided, usually the best way to get what you want is to ask.
“Excuse me,” he waved the innkeeper over, “I’m looking for a man who calls himself ‘Cub.’ Is he renting here, by chance?”
The woman’s face flashed in horror for a split second before she forced a warm smile. “Ah yes, let me see if he’s up to company.” Before he could inform her that they were supposed to meet, she took off into one of the rooms – without even knocking! – as if fire trailed her heels. When she returned, she looked tense.
Audric’s intuition was screaming at him to leave, but he dismissed it as paranoia.
“He’ll see you. Come along.”
“He won’t come have a drink at the bar?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Audric couldn’t help but notice her eyes, darting frantically to a corner where some Imperial officers were having a good, hearty laugh over their tankards.
He followed her into the room, and was surprised to find it dark, empty. He was even more surprised upon being knocked to the ground, the ominous click of a lock registering in his ears amongst the sound of scuffling and rattling. Not for the first time, his wrists were in irons and he was being hauled up onto his feet in a hard grip.
“This is him,” the innkeeper whispered, hysterical, “the man who is looking for the Jarl!”
“Wait just a minute –!”
Two burly men in Stormcloak colors towered over him. “I don’t know how you got word of his location, but you’ll meet him alright. And he’s going to decide just what to do with you.”
“Probably Shout him to bits; put him in the ground.”
"He can't Shout here, you idiot, the whole place would come down around us!”
The men dragged him towards a tall wardrobe, and for a moment, Audric was terrified that they were going to stuff him in it and just wait for him to suffocate, but the back of it slid to one side, revealing a steep, concealed stairwell. They proceeded to march him down the steps, into the dim light below.
The room was spacious, bathed in lantern light. Audric could see his breath.
“And what do we have here?” asked a terribly familiar voice. He’d only heard it a handful of times, but it would be impossible to forget.
“This is the scout, my Jarl,” said one of the guards, shoving him forward as if for inspection.
Eyes lit with amusement, Ulfric Stormcloak looked as if he were trying to bite back a grin. “This is no scout, Imperial or otherwise, I assure you.” Addressing Audric specifically, he added, “I told you to send advanced notice.”
“It was a last-minute decision to even show up,” he countered. His wrists were beginning to ache. “Had I known this was your convention for receiving company, I’d have thought better of it.”
Waving off Audric’s snide comments, he had the guards release him and instructed them to return to their posts. The men seemed reluctant to leave their beloved leader alone with a strange man in what constituted a basement larder, but loyal to a fault, they followed orders.
Audric stood, massaging his wrists and complaining about the cold. “So,” he began, “why all the mystery?”
“I couldn’t write you in earnest,” Ulfric pointed out as though it were obvious. “What if the courier were intercepted?”
Audric raised an eyebrow. “I don’t imagine you’d trust that note with a mere courier. A guard in disguise, perhaps.”
“True, but there are all sorts of eyes that might have seen it who shouldn’t.”
Oddly, Audric felt compelled to defend Wilhelm from the hypothetical slander of being a snoop. “Regardless, I’m here. Now, what do you want?” If he was snappish, he hardly thought he was out of turn.
“As stated, I am requesting your services, Dragonborn.”
Audric groaned. “No.”
“You haven’t even heard my proposal –”
“As if I don’t already have more on my plate than I can handle. Besides, the war is over.”
“With no help from you, I’d note,” he observed, resentfully.
“It was never my war. I’m not of Skyrim and I’d much rather see the Dominion turned on its head than this dwindling excuse of an Empire.” His voice was rising, and he knew he had to try and reign himself in, lest this meeting of minds devolve into a meeting of Thu’um. “Listen, I’m about as thrilled as you are about the whole situation, but did you really expect me to get behind your cause?”
“Why not?” Ulfric asked, as if it were some question of philosophy and not phylogeny.
“I think you know why not.”
“I could excuse your blood, if your heart were in the right place.”
Speaking of Audric’s blood, it was starting to boil. “That you honestly believe there is nothing wrong with that sentence is exactly why I couldn’t. I’m not Mer,” he snarled. “Moreover, I’d need more hands than I’ve been given to count how many elves I’ve encountered who, if not for your arrant disregard for them as a whole, would have gladly taken up arms for your cause.” After a moment of irritable silence, he accused, “You took up arms against the wrong faction.”
“Do not” Ulfric growled, “pretend to possess either the wisdom or the experience to pass judgment on my decisions as a leader.”
“I wasn’t,” he scoffed. “I was passing judgment on your decisions as a man.” Ulfric got to his feet, hand going to the hilt of his sword, but Audric was faster. “Wait. Before you decide to engage me out of spite, let’s review.” His casual tone gave Ulfric pause. “You incapacitated Torygg with a Shout before running him through with your sword, correct?”
“Make your point, quickly.”
Looking into steely eyes, Audric chose his words carefully. “I won’t need the sword.”
Somewhat startled, reminded of whom he stood before, Ulfric sat back down.
“The time for great war has passed, if ever such a time existed. You and I both know the Empire is little more than a crippled bird, eating from Thalmor hands.”
“You do have a way with words,” Ulfric complemented. “You’d have made quite the politician.”
Audric shrugged. “I don’t have the stomach for it. At any rate, if you’re open to discussion, my services might be of some use to you, yet.”
“And by ‘discussion,’ you mean ‘negotiation.’”
“It’s all the same to me.”
Ulfric had him fetch some food and drink from upstairs while he thought it over. Audric took his sweet time and ordered the cheapest available dish. The innkeeper shot him sour, suspicious glances the entire time. While he waited, he wondered what he was still doing here. Procrastinating was as likely an answer as any; he couldn’t say he was chomping at the bit to get into the Embassy, and this entire business of dragons was nothing but an ulcer, as far as he was concerned. He had entered Skyrim with every intention pointed toward Riften, before being promptly redirected.
When he returned with the meal, Ulfric bade him to sit, and so together they ate. The silence wasn’t entirely comfortable, though it was preferable to the raised tempers of before.
“You’ve awfully nice table manners, for a thief,” Ulfric offered, and it took Audric a moment to realize he was being funny.
“And you have awfully nice table manners for a king,” he returned, smiling sweetly. “So I suppose that if you went to the trouble of trying to recruit me, the deposed life isn’t treating you very well. Do tell how you managed to escape the axe a second time.”
“It’s a good tale, though hardly polite dinner conversation.”
“There’s more appeal in impolite conversation, personally.” He relished the small choking noise that escaped over the lip of Ulfric’s tankard. Catching the discomfort on his face, though, he amended, “Another time, perhaps.”
When there was nothing left but crumbs and the last drops had been drained from their mugs, it was time to face the facts. Here were two men, both headstrong and fiercely loyal to their respective codes of honor – as disparate from one another as could be – and each was caught in the snare of the other.
“I believe,” said Ulfric slowly, “you’ve plied me with mead to leave me vulnerable to your negotiations.”
“Drat,” Audric grinned, “you’ve caught me.”