As planned, we started our march to Windhelm. The troops had done an amazing job preparing, packing up the tents and supplies, and ensuring that the fort had been emptied before we set out.
I rode at the front of our company, alongside my husband, Ulfric, and Marina. Behind us were the next line of commanders, like Ralof and Aquitor Velvan, and behind them were the rest of the soldiers. We knew it was a risk, traveling with such a large group, but with the sun dipping towards the horizon, we were able to move a little more freely than if we had tried to march in the morning.
The icy winds knifed straight through my armor, and I hunkered down lower into my saddle. My cloak did nothing to protect me from the cold, even though it was made of thick wolf's skin. As a girl, I had become used to this weather, but it had been years since I had lived in a cold region of Skyrim. My tolerance for the frigid weather had lessened over the years, despite my living in Eastmarch for the first half of my life.
For most of the march, we had been quiet. The men behind us had exchanged words, laughed at jokes, and discussed their plans for when we reached Windhelm, but the leaders, myself included, had not said so much as a sentence to each other. The only words I had said to Ulfric were recommendations to slow down and give them footmen a break, or something else along those lines. I was still angry at what he had said to Vilkas, about how he had patronized him. As far as I could tell, Ulfric was still angry at me, but for what, I could not say. He could not be angry at me for taking my husband's side over his. That would be illogical.
Then again, Ulfric did not always think logically.
In the distance, the massive braziers burning in Windhelm flickered on the horizon. With the remaining sunlight, I could just make out the outline of the city's walls. We were so close, and with every one of Keskivö's hoofbeats, I found my heart beating just a little harder.
Vilkas guided his horse to trot closer to mine, then gave me a look. In the evening light, his eyes shimmered with an almost unnatural glow. "It'll be all right, Ylva."
I smiled at him. "How could you tell I was nervous?"
"My dear, we've been married long enough for me to know when something's bothering you." He reached across the gap between our horses and took my hand in his. "I know you too well, Ylva."
"Yes, you do."
When we were within sight of the stables, the guards outside the city came forward with their swords drawn. They wore heavy Imperial armor, designed to keep them safe from the cold. "Ho, there!" called one. "What is all this?"
"Stand down, soldier," said Marina. She dismounted her horse first, and the rest of us followed her lead. "That's an order."
"Legate Brunelli!" The guards sheathed their swords and saluted her. "What's all this?"
"Never mind that. We are here on official business. Emperor's orders. Let us pass."
The two men surveyed every one of us standing at the front of the group. They took an especially long look at me. Then, they glanced at Ulfric, and their gazes turned uneasy. Their hands reached for their swords again, a nervous glint in their dark eyes.
Marina cleared her throat. "Was I unclear? Move!"
The two, scared to disobey, scurried aside and let us pass.
We tied our horses to the posts outside the stables, where I handed the stablehands a large purse of money to take care of them. Everyone we met stared at us, too shocked to speak. Perhaps they could not believe that the great fugitive Ulfric Stormcloak was knocking on Windhelm's front door, and he was accompanied by the leader of Skyrim's Imperial forces.
In all honesty, I could not blame them. If I were not standing right next to Ulfric, I would not believe it, either.
We marched across the bridge, the footsteps of the troops behind us heavy and loud. The guards on the bridge moved out of our way when they saw us coming, needing no prompting from Marina. All she had to do was raise a hand when we reached the massive front gates, and the men standing there opened them without question.
Windhelm was always bustling, regardless of the time of day. It was no surprise to me that the Stone Quarter was filled with men and women alike making their way to the inn for a drink. Dunmer moved between the crowds of Nords, as if trying to slip by unnoticed. A few children raced through the streets, even, their parents nowhere to be seen. All that activity stopped, though, when we came parading through. People carrying loads of firewood or other goods dropped them. Eyes grew wide, jaws dropped, and one poor woman nearly fainted.
As we made our way through the crowds, whispers of my name, Ulfric's, and Marina's surrounded us. Vilkas took my hand in his as we pushed past the masses, interlacing my fingers with his. He knew how much I hated being the center of attention, and how I hated being viewed as some sort of goddess incarnate. His touch reminded me that he was with me, and he was not going to let me ride this out alone.
I was so thankful for him.
Mounting the steps leading to the Palace of the Kings, most the soldiers stayed behind, while a dozen or so joined Marina, Ulfric, Vilkas, and myself as we continued forward. My heart thumped in time with the steady pounding of marching footsteps. My palms became slick with sweat, and my breaths came in shallower gasps. Vilkas gripped my hand tighter.
Before us, the doors to the Palace swung open on well-oiled hinges. Ulfric came first, Vilkas and I only two steps behind him. Our cloaks billowed as we came inside. I set my jaw, curls bouncing in time with my gait. It was time.
Upon the throne sat Brunwulf Free-Winter. His steward stood next to him, as did two Imperial soldiers. He wore a crown upon his head, and he lounged in the throne as though he had done so his whole life. On his face was not an expression of fear, but an expression of boredom. It was as though he knew we were coming, or had expected it.
"Your short reign is at an end, Brunwulf!" said Ulfric, his deep voice echoing in the long, stone hall. "That throne belongs to me!"
Brunwulf stood from his seat. "It doesn't belong to you, Ulfric. Not anymore."
I let go of Vilkas's hand and moved to stand in front of Ulfric. "Please, Brunwulf, step down. This doesn't have to end in bloodshed."
"How can I let a man like... him," He pointed at Ulfric, tone laced with venom, "sit on this throne? He has ripped Skyrim apart with his aspirations. And now he has you following blindly in his schemes!"
"This isn't his scheme; it's mine. I'm here to take back our land and drive the Thalmor out for good."
Stepping down from his throne, Brunwulf approached me. He drew his sword of his belt, pointing the tip at me as he came closer. "If this is truly your cause, then it is you I must duel."
"No!" said Vilkas behind me. I whipped my head around to see both Ralof and Benor holding him back. He fought against them, desperation on his face. "Ylva, you can't accept!"
"Nord custom dictates she cannot back down now." Brunwulf began pacing, his sword's tip dragging the ground. It made a horrible rasping sound against the stone floor. "What will it be, Sky-Shatterer?"
I swallowed, licking my dry lips. The hand around my sword hilt tightened. "You don't have to act brave, Brunwulf. We don't want trouble."
"It's much too late for that, I'm afraid. Draw your blade, or I will be forced to kill you."
"You would kill a mother of two small children?! You cowardly bastard!"
Brunwulf gave Vilkas a patronizing look. "Are you going to let your... husband do all your talking, Sky-Shatterer? Or have you lost your Voice?"
That did it. I could not have anyone talk to Vilkas that way. I wouldn't allow it. Ulfric could not say these things, and I sure as Oblivion was not going to let a man like Brunwulf Free-Winter get away with saying these things, either. I whipped my sword from its sheath and pointed the tip at Brunwulf. "Leave Vilkas out of this. You want a duel?" I set my feet. "You've got one."
It had been so long since I had been involved in a true duel. Training at Jorrvaskr hardly counted, since we were not fighting to the death. Battles were different, too. My focus had to be on ten assailants at once in a battle. In a duel, there was only two people fighting, usually not exhausted from previous fighting. I knew this would be difficult.
We paced around the throne room, circling like two wolves getting ready to strike. I held my sword up, in a defensive position, while Brunwulf kept his towards the floor. The tip still scraped against the stone, filling the room with its nasty squeal.
"What do you hope to gain, hmm?" asked my opponent. "What will winning Windhelm do for your fight?"
I kept my lips pressed tightly together. He would not bait me into talking.
"Just like a woman to keep her mouth shut when a man is talking to her. The gift of the Dragonborn was wasted on you."
If he was expecting me to react to his goading, he would be sorely disappointed. I stayed on the defensive, waiting for him to slip up.
Eventually, he did. When he moved to raise his sword, he dropped his shoulder, indicating he was about to strike. I was ready when he did. Our swords clashed together with a ring of steel. I set my feet as he pushed against me. I gritted my teeth and held my ground. I had to get out of the lock, and I had to do it fast.
I rolled under our blades, jumping up in time to meet another strike. I parried his attack and returned with a jab towards his leg. My blade glanced off his greave, my momentum carrying me too far forward. I started to fall towards the floor, but I caught myself before I totally lost my footing. Brunwulf took a chance and rammed his knee right into my nose. Bones crunched and blood spilled. I reeled back, blinded but not deterred.
Blood dripped from my now-broken nose into my mouth, coating my tongue in its metallic taste. I spat some out of my mouth as Brunwulf and I went back to pacing. I blinked the tears out of my eyes and ignored the pain. I had to stay focused.
We rushed one another and locked blades again. This time, I thrusted my blade upwards, severing our lock, and kicked him in the stomach. He fell to the floor, and I stood over him. "Give up?" I asked, spitting out more blood.
He grunted, swung his leg, and swept my feet out from under me. I crashed to the floor, head colliding with the cold stone. I cried out but scrambled to get away from my opponent. I had to get to my feet.
As I found my shaky footing, I realized that I only had moments to react before Brunwulf was upon me. I was exhausted from the recent battles; he was rested. I was hungry, but he was not. He had every advantage, and if I did not do something soon, I would lose more than just the duel.
Gods forgive me for what I am about to do.
I set my feet, drew in a breath, and released the most powerful "FUS!" I ever had. Brunwulf was sent flying through the air, sword clattering to the ground as he lost his grip on the hilt. He flopped around like a rag doll before crumpling to the floor some twenty feet away, still but groaning. I mentally sighed in relief; for a moment, I feared I had killed him.
In the quiet that followed, everyone in the throne room stayed rooted in their places. No one rushed to Brunwulf's aid. No one dared move. It was as though we could not believe what had just happened. I could hardly believe it. It had happened so fast.
The still was broken by Vilkas rushing towards me, having broken free of Ralof and Benor's grasp. He took me into his arms, kissed my face, and whispered "You're all right," over and over. I dropped my sword and hugged him back, thankful to be alive.
Then, an almost-animalistic roar rent the silence as Brunwulf struggled to his feet. "Coward!" he screamed, staggering towards me. His head was bloodied and his eyes were blazing with hate. "You coward! Why didn't you kill me?!"
I pulled away from Vilkas. "Over the past fifteen years, I have spilled enough blood to paint this city red." As I said this, Vilkas tightened his hold on me. "You need not die tonight, Brunwulf."
Ulfric approached, picking up Brunwulf's sword. He looped it into his belt before turning towards its owner. "The Dragonborn has spared your life. You should be grateful." Then, he glanced over his shoulder, towards Marina and her soldiers. "What should we do with him?"
"Lock him in the brig for now." She snapped her fingers, and two of her men stepped forward to arrest Brunwulf.
He fought against the guards, snapping and spitting as they dragged him away. "You're all cowards! All of you! Even you, Dragonborn!" He continued to scream, and only when he was taken to the Blood Works did his cries finally silence.
Still holding me, Vilkas rested his head against mine, hand stroking up and down my back. I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his chest. I could barely make out his erratic heartbeat through his armor. After some time, it began to calm down, and I calmed down with it.
As we continued to hold each other, Ulfric came to us and clapped me on the shoulder. "Well done, Ylva," he said. "Best get that nose fixed. Don't want it to heal like that."
"That bad, huh?" I joked as Vilkas loosened his hold on me. "Know any good healers?"
"The priest and priestess of Talos. They're always willing to help the wounded, even if it's something as simple as a broken nose. Hopefully they weren't arrested in the siege."
"We'll find someone," said Vilkas. "In the meantime, I think there's a party to prepare."
Ulfric chuckled. "You're right, there is. I'll have all available men start bringing up the supplies. Tonight, we celebrate! The liberation of Skyrim has begun!"