Chapter Two everyone! Don't you just love me?
Hope you enjoy this chapter! This is Book Four of my series! Full Moon, Walk in the Shadows, and Sovngarde Beckons are the prequels in that order.
Please remember to Fave/Follow/Review!
Musical Inspiration for this chapter: Riot and I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace
(9 Sun's Dawn, 4E 205)
"Rise and shine, Windblade!" shouted a Thalmor soldier as he threw a bucketful of freezing water through the bars.
Thorolf barely reacted, his body only tensing from the cold that enveloped him. After being their prisoner for twenty-seven years, there was little the Thalmor could do to get a rise out of him anymore. Having a bucket of ice-cold water thrown on him bothered him as much a burr snagged on his clothing. Raising his hand to his face, he pushed away some damp strands of his dark-gray hair from his face and turned to look up at the male Altmer leering at him.
"That was your bath for the week," the soldier sneered. "Feel clean enough or would you like another bucket?"
Thorolf didn't answer, choosing to ignore the elf and look down at his own feet. The soldier clearly didn't like being ignored because a moment later another bucket of water was thrown on him. But still Thorolf did nothing. He just sat there, now dripping wet and freezing, but calm and collected.
"Luthon, leave Windblade alone!" shouted a female soldier further down the cell block.
"He's so boring," Luthon complained. "He doesn't react to anything we do to him."
"He's been imprisoned for nearly thirty years. He probably broke a long time ago."
Or so you think, Thorolf thought to himself.
Nearly every Thalmor Thorolf ever encountered in his imprisonment thought he was broken, but the truth was he wasn't. They had tortured him for years, desperately trying to get him to reveal any useful information-location of living Blades members and bases, if the Blades were planning to retaliate against them, where his wife and child were. But not once in twenty-seven years had Thorolf talked. He had endured every type of physical and emotional pain all for the sake of protecting the ones he cared about, until they had finally given up and decided to leave him to rot in a cell.
"Why bother keeping him this long, then?" Luthon asked. "If they don't need him anymore, why not just kill him?"
Thorolf had wondered that very same thing many times throughout the years and had only just recently discovered the answer. The Thalmor could still make use of him, possibly as a hostage or political bargaining chip. If what he'd heard the guards whispering about the other day was true, then Thorolf and any other Blades member alive was extremely valuable right now. The dragons had returned.
I wonder if Esbern is alive, he thought to himself. He'd probably go up to everyone who ever doubted him and say, "I told you so!"
Thorolf would probably be one of the first people Esbern said that to. Years ago, when he had first listened to the mans raving about how one day the dragons would return to Tamriel, he had thought him insane and idiotic. He would make fun of poor Esbern with the other Blades in the dining hall and laugh at imitations they would all do of the doomsayer. It was only when Freyja had stepped in and slapped him across the face that he had stopped disrespecting the older man.
Freyja . . .
He missed her every single day that went by. Being apart from his beloved wife so many years had been one of the hardest parts of being imprisoned. Ever since they were children, Freyja had always been there, like an annoying little shadow. All he had ever wanted back then was for her to leave him alone. Ironic that the one thing he wanted more than anything right now was to have her back. But being apart from her wasn't nearly as hard as not even knowing what had become of her.
She had been the one constant thing in many of his torture sessions. Elenwen and other Thalmor who had been assigned to extract information from him had often brought her up to try and break him. First they had threatened him, saying if he didn't give them any useful information they would kill Freyja. He didn't talk. Then they had demanded to know where Freyja was, making Thorolf realize that his family had managed to evade the Thalmor forces and hide once again. He wasn't going to risk their safety, so once again he didn't talk. They had even tried to tempt him, saying that if he surrendered the location of surviving Blades, they'd let him go and allow him to live peacefully with his family.
They had been desperate by that point, and I still didn't talk, he thought proudly.
But then came the cruelest form of torture they had ever inflicted upon him. They had stopped talking. For years he had grown accustomed to his interrogators using his wife as a bargaining chip, or demanding to know her location–it's how he knew she was still alive and safe. But when they stopped torturing him and no longer spoke of Freyja, it nearly drove Thorolf insane. He had no way of knowing how she was, whether she was alive or dead, or whether their son Einarr was alive or dead.
Different scenarios played in his head for months on end. Freyja and Einarr had gotten caught by the Thalmor and were imprisoned just like him, forced to go through painful torture every minute of every day. The Thalmor found them and just killed them on sight, a quick death. That was the kindest scenario he could come up with. The cruelest one that played in his mind was that Freyja had moved on with her life. She would have fallen in love with another man, despite the fact that he, her husband, was still very much alive. Einarr would have forgotten him and would have seen this new man as his father. He would have just become a distant memory and a faded face in their minds.
Just thinking of his family brought a pang to his heart. Thorolf wanted nothing more than to know what had become of Freyja and Einarr. It had been three months since Elenwen had him brought back to Skyrim from Alinor, and he hadn't spoken to her since the day he was brought in. But he had seen her. Every two weeks she would come to this Thalmor prison and walk by his cell, pausing briefly to stare at him with that cruel smile on her lips before continuing on her way to the cell at the end of the hall. He knew that whoever was in that cell was extremely important, because Elenwen never wasted her time torturing simple foot soldiers. The cell was also more secure than the one Thorolf or the other prisoners were stuck in. Instead of bars, it was a strong wooden door with a smaller door near the base that was only large enough to shove food and drink through, and it was reinforced with two door bars and several locks.
Elenwen must really want to make sure they never get out, Thorolf thought, getting to his feet and leaning against the bars so he could look at the reinforced cell.
No one knew who it was that was in there, and the Thalmor soldiers weren't allowed to carry the keys to the cell. Elenwen carried them herself at all times, even though she only spent at most four days out of the month in the prison. She went to the cell every single time she visited, and he would hear the sounds of her torturing the person for hours. The Thalmor bitch would have soldiers bringing her all types of devices to use on the prisoner: whips, knives, hot brands. The only thing Thorolf knew about the prisoner was that they worshiped Talos, since the first time they were tortured, the familiar sight of a Talos brand came past his cell.
He had been branded almost immediately after his capture. Thorolf still remembered the day, and it made him sick every single time. They had him hanging off a beam from his wrists, his feet hovering just inches off the floor. Elenwen had come into his cell with a few soldiers and allowed them to beat him for several agonizing minutes until his whole body had been radiating with pain. Then she held up the brand to her palm, heating it up with a Flame spell until the iron burned white. The feeling of the hot iron connecting with the skin of his back had been seared into his mind, and even today he could still feel the agonizing burn.
Suddenly the door to the torture chamber opened and another Thalmor stepped into the cell block. "Luthon, Nidhes, new prisoner coming in! I'll need some help getting him into the cell."
"Good, maybe this one will be more entertaining than Windblade here," Luthon chuckled as he headed over to the soldier to help.
Thorolf glared at Luthon as he walked away and met the gaze of the Nord woman across the way. She had talked to him on the few occasions where the guards had been out of earshot and they could speak freely. Her name was Assa, a soldier for the Stormcloaks from Windhelm who had gotten captured in an ambush in The Rift about two weeks prior. She looked to be in her early thirties, with pale blonde hair and gray eyes. He could tell she was a pretty thing, despite the mottled bruises on her face, and would be a tough opponent in a fight, judging from fit but still feminine build. She was a joy to talk to whenever they got a chance. She told him about her daughter back in Windhelm and would tear up on occasion, praying to Talos that she got the chance to see her again.
"Poor sod," Thorolf sighed.
Assa frowned. "I wonder if it's someone I know."
Luthon and the other soldier came in, pushing forward a tall Nord man. He was powerfully built and looked to be in his mid-thirties, despite the head full of light-gray hair and matching beard. He looked furious about being in shackles and growled every time one of the soldiers touched him. They placed him in the cell beside Assa's and locked him in before walking off.
"We'll deal with you after we've had something to eat, Gray-Mane," Luthon taunted the new prisoner. "Maybe we'll bring you back of crust of bread."
"You can take that bread and shove it straight up your arse, you Thalmor piece of shit!" Gray-Mane barked aggressively.
Luthon merely laughed and started walking away. "He's going to be fun to torture. Nidhes, are you coming?"
The female soldier at the end of the hall by the secured cell nodded and followed her companions out, glaring at each prisoner as she went. Once they were gone, a universal sigh of relief rose from each prisoner.
"I thought they'd never leave," complained an Argonian named Sinks-in-Dark-Waters.
"Is there any way out of here?" the new prisoner asked.
"Let me put it to you in simple terms," Thorolf rasped. "I've been a prisoner to the Thalmor for twenty-seven years. I've tried to escape before and have never been successful."
"Luthon called you Gray-Mane," Assa commented. "Any chance you're related to Eorland Gray-Mane?"
"Aye, he's my father," he replied. "My name is Thorald."
"How did you end up here?"
"Damned Battle-Borns, they convinced the Thalmor that my family had ties to the Stormcloaks and aided them in my capture."
"Do you think anyone will come looking for you?"
Thorald sighed and leaned heavily against the bars. "I'm not sure. My brother will suspect something happened and my mother won't be convinced I'm dead unless she sees my body herself. So . . . I'm not sure. Maybe help will come. My family might ask the Harbinger of the Companions to investigate my disappearance–they're close friends, but he's been in mourning since his sister died."
"Aye, I heard about that," Assa suddenly gasped. "She died in a fire. Jarl Ulfric was devastated to hear the news."
"The whole meadery went up in flames. Her body was burned past the point of recognition. I attended the funeral with my father. Her husband didn't bother to show up, and I've never seen Einarr look so grief-stricken."
Thorolf looked at Thorald in shock. "What was his name?"
The younger Nord arched a brow at him. "Einarr. Why do you ask?"
Thorolf was probably clutching at straws, Einarr was a common name after all, but he had to ask. "How old is this Einarr?"
"Thirty-five, I think."
"Do you know his birthday?"
Thorald nodded, a frown on his face. "Aye, and nearly everyone in Skyrim probably knows it too, since that's the day his sister died. Thirtieth of Frostfall."
Thorolf covered his mouth with his hand and struggled to keep his shaking legs steady. The relief he felt at that moment . . . he could cry. He knew that this Einarr was his son. That's when he processed the other thing Thorald and Assa were speaking of. Einarr's sister had died. Had Freyja moved on and had a child with another man? Or was the woman who had died his daughter? He was almost afraid to ask, but he needed to. Unfortunately, he was interrupted by the mystery prisoner banging angrily on her cell door.
"What in Oblivion?" Thorald muttered, staring at the cell through the bars.
"Ignore it," Sinks-in-Dark-Waters advised him. "They do that every time the guards leave."
"Who's in there?"
"We don't know and the guards aren't allowed to talk about it," Assa answered him. "The only one allowed inside the cell is Elenwen, and she'll stay in there for hours torturing the poor soul."
The prisoner slammed against the door again and Thorolf sighed. They were only injuring themselves. There was no way they were getting out.
"Enough!" Thorolf commanded. "You're only using up what little strength you have. I've seen how much you're given to eat. You're better off saving your energy to withstand Elenwen's torture when she comes around."
As usual, there was no reply. Not only was the prisoner a mystery, they were also silent.
"Doesn't he or she ever speak?" Thorald asked curiously.
"That person arrived maybe a day after me," Thorolf explained. "That was three months ago. Haven't heard a peep come from that cell, even when Elenwen is torturing them. Doesn't even scream."
Thorald frowned and turned to the cell again. "Can you hear us? Hit the door once for aye, twice for nay."
"We've tried that before," Assa said. "They never rep-"
There was a single knock.
Everyone in the cell block was silent from shock.
"Why does that person only reply to you?" Sinks-in-Dark-Waters demanded.
"I don't know," Thorald shrugged.
"Maybe they know you," Assa suggested. "Ask them."
"Do I know you?"
One knock. Yes.
"Have we ever spoken?"
One knock again. Yes.
"It's be nice to know if they were a man or woman," Thorolf put in gruffly.
Thorald nodded. "Are you a man?"
Two knocks. No. So their mystery prisoner at least had a gender now.
"Can you figure out who she is?" Assa asked.
"Aye, cause I haven't met a woman before," Thorald replied sarcastically. "How in Oblivion am I supposed to know who she is?"
Suddenly the torture room door opened and they all fell silent. Thorolf looked over and saw Elenwen stepping into the cell block, a seedy looking Imperial behind her.
"I need security!" the Imperial told Elenwen, his voice panicked. "I have someone hunting me down!"
"I owe you nothing, Maccius," Elenwen replied in her irritating high-born accent.
"I did what you asked of me damn it! I deserve some compensation!"
"I let you walk away with your life. That was your compensation for your services. You should be thankful I gave you that much, with how badly you messed up the simple task."
"And I apologized for that!"
"Whatever happens to you from this point on is none of my concern. If you're that concerned for your life, hire a mercenary to guard you. Now leave; I need to see to my prisoners."
A soldier appeared and started to yank the Imperial named Maccius away. Once out of sight, Elenwen stepped into the cell block and slowly made her way down, smiling cruelly at each prisoner she passed. When she came to Thorolf's cell, she paused and looked at him. Normally, Thorolf glared at the woman, but today he smirked at her, something that set her off edge and arch a delicate brow.
"You seemed pleased with yourself today, Thorolf," she murmured. "May I ask why?"
Thorolf was debating on whether or not to answer her. Part of him wanted to rub it in her face that he now knew one vital piece of information she had been purposely withholding from him, but that would be too easy. He wanted her to be driven mad, to get angry, and the best way to do that was to leave her wondering.
"That's for me to know and you to find out, Elenwen," he replied smugly.
Elenwen's cruel and confident facade faltered for a brief second and she glanced over her shoulder at Thorald Gray-Mane, who had let out a snort of amusement from the smug look on Thorolf's face.
"Now, now, Thorolf, do I need to cut into you to get you to talk?" she asked, her voice taking on a sickeningly sweet tone.
"You can kill me for all I care," he chuckled. "I could die happy knowing what I know now."
"As if he would talk to some Thalmor bitch," Thorald Gray-Mane added.
Elenwen stiffened a bit and turned to the torture room. "Angon. Could you please give Thorald Gray-Mane the standard welcome to my prison?"
The Thalmor interrogator appeared at the doorway with his assistant, the torturer, by his side. "Of course, Lady Elenwen."
Both Altmer walked over to Thorald's cell and began to handle him roughly, punching him and yanking on his shackles as they moved him toward the torture room, Thorald struggling and fighting back the entire way.
"Make sure you break him," Elenwen added. "Physically and spiritually."
They disappeared into the adjoining room, and Thorolf glared daggers at the woman in front of him.
"I require some help moving a prisoner as well," Elenwen called out, staring into Thorolf's brown eyes as she said it.
Two soldiers came to Elenwen's side, and for a moment, Thorolf thought she would tell them to take him to the torture room, but she surprised him when she handed them a certain set of keys and pointed to the secured cell. Both soldiers froze for a moment, looking at Elenwen with apprehension in their eyes before nodding and walking over to the cell. Thorolf didn't take his eyes off the bitch in front of him, and she didn't look away, either. The cell door down the hall opened and he could hear the sounds of the soldiers struggling with the prisoner, as well as the sounds of muffled screams.
"Take her to the torture room," Elenwen commanded.
The prisoner grunted in pain, and the sound of a punch echoed through the cell block. Then came the sound of a body and chains being dragged along the cold floor. Elenwen smiled cruelly at Thorolf one last time before she looked away and stared at the prisoner. Thorolf allowed himself to look away at that moment, seeing the mysterious prisoner come into view and seeing her for the first time. His whole body tensed and he looked back at Elenwen, seeing the shadows of pure evil in her golden eyes.
Vilkas sat at the corner table of the Silver-Blood Inn, drinking from his third tankard of mead. He knew he should have stopped after the first and been done with it, but Markarth held too many memories for him that he couldn't get out of his head. This was the city where he did his first job with Lassarina and managed to spend a pleasant evening with her before they had to flee from her adoptive father and brother. She had been terrified that the man had wanted revenge for her accidentally murdering his eldest son during a rape attempt, and she had been right. They had been followed and Vilkas had fought the hired muscle off, turning into a werewolf to do it quickly, while Lassarina had run to safety; but he hadn't realized that her adoptive father had gone after her.
He had heard her scream before he reached her and found Lassarina with a dagger buried in her gut and her adoptive father's hands around the handle. Vilkas saw red at that moment and ripped the Imperial man apart before going to the woman he loved and realizing she would bleed out if he didn't do what was necessary. To save her life, he had given her the beast blood and their bond formed that night. Despite her being in a relationship with Farkas at the time, the bond had helped her realize she had romantic feelings for Vilkas, and they had come together a few weeks later.
It had been after they had cured the senior Kodlak of the beast blood. Lassarina and Farkas had ended their relationship, Vilkas had drunk a bit too much, as did she, they snuck out through the Underforge and ran across the plains of Whiterun in their werewolf forms for the first and last time. When they had returned to the Underforge near dawn, they had been lying on the ground, recovering from the pain of reverting back to human form, and Vilkas had made the first move, making love to her right then and there. He was sure that was the night they had conceived their first child.
We made Kodlak that night, he thought, losing himself to the memory of the first time he had lain with her. But losing our son can't compare to the pain of losing her.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Vilkas chugged down the rest of his mead and slammed the tankard down on the table, coughing madly when a bit slithered down his windpipe unintentionally.
"Easy there," Daine said as she patted his back. "Maybe you shouldn't chug down your mead like that."
Vilkas shrugged the Imperial woman's hand away and hunched over the table, calming down from his coughing fit and staring into his now-empty tankard. "I'm fine."
Daine tucked a strand of her honey-blonde hair behind an ear and rolled her amber eyes. "Yes, I'm sure you are. Because three meads in less than an hour is a clear sign that you're fine."
"Are you going to nag at me now?"
"Nag at you? Please, I'm not your mother or your wi–er, caretaker."
Vilkas tensed at her near-slip and contemplated another mead.
"Look, Vilkas, normally I wouldn't give a shit how much you drink. If it was me, I'd more than likely be two meads ahead of you. But we need to keep focused in case he shows up."
"We've been staying here for almost a week now and have been sitting at this table every single night. We've been at this a month and have no results. You told me we'd find him, Daine."
"And we will; you just have to be patient. Mallus is paranoid and jumpy, so he never stays in one place for too long."
"What makes you thinks he'd even come here? Markarth is still being held by the Stormcloaks too. If he did leave Lassarina to die, the last place Mallus would come to is Stormcloak territory."
Daine didn't reply. Instead she had her gaze fixed firmly to the inn's entrance. Vilkas turned to look at what had her so fixated and his eyes widened when he recognized him. The man he had been hunting for the past month, Mallus Maccius, had just walked in.
"Ye of such little faith," Daine chided him gently.
Vilkas growled and stood, only to be yanked back down into his chair by Daine.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going to kill the bastard," he told her.
"In the middle of this inn? Not to mention he probably knows your face." She tugged on the hood of his cloak so it shadowed his face. "There, keep that on. I'll go to Mallus and see if I can get him out of here so we can take him somewhere a little more private."
"Doesn't he know your face too?"
Daine nodded. "Yes, he does, but he also knows that I work closely with Maven Black-Briar. I'll just lie and make him think she sent me to help him out."
"Will he believe you?"
"I'd like to think he will. When you kill people for a living, you learn to be a good liar and very convincing."
Without another word, Daine got up and walked over to where Mallus was sitting at the bar. The man was clearly surprised to see the Dark Brotherhood assassin, but he visibly relaxed when she whispered something in his ear. For about ten minutes, Vilkas watched them talk to one another, at one point arguing, but finally Mallus nodded to something Daine said and headed toward the inn doors. The blonde assassin followed him and paused at the door to look at Vilkas, jerking her head slightly. That was his cue to follow, so he waited thirty seconds before getting up and following them out of the inn.
Outside, Vilkas stayed a fair distance away from them as he trailed them. Daine and Mallus were just passing an abandoned house when she covered his mouth with her hand and shoved him against the wall beside the door. The Imperial man struggled to get away from her, but Vilkas closed the distance quickly and replaced her in restraining Mallus so she could pick the lock. Once the door was open, Vilkas shoved Mallus inside and the man fell to the floor.
"I knew this had to be a trap!" Mallus shouted, rising to his feet and glaring at Daine. "Maven refused to help me when I first came to her. Cold-hearted bitch never changes her mind! Did she send you to finish me off? Or did the others send you?"
Daine drew her daggers out of their sheathes and advanced on Mallus. "No one sent me, I came voluntarily."
"I think I'll be the one asking the questions, Mallus. Actually, my friend here will. See, he's extremely angry with you."
Mallus turned to Vilkas. "And who the fuck is this?"
Vilkas realized that he still had his hood on and quickly took it off, glaring at Mallus with hate-filled eyes.
The Imperial recognized him at once and panicked. "Shit, please, don't kill me!"
"Did my wife ask the same of you when you left her to die inside your meadery?" Vilkas asked, his voice quiet but icy.
"I didn't kill your wife! It was an accident!"
"So the meadery just happened to catch fire at the exact time Lassarina was going over to deal with you for stealing from Maven?"
"That's right! It was all just a terrible–"
Vilkas cut him off by grabbing him by the throat and throwing him against the wall. "Don't you dare fucking stand there and lie to me!" he snarled as Mallus crumpled to the floor.
"I'd start talking, Maccius," Daine advised. "I've been giving Vilkas tips on how to torture information out of people."
Mallus sat up and stared up at Vilkas with tears forming in his eyes. "I didn't want any of that to happen."
"Then why did you allow it?" Vilkas roared. "Why did you start the fire? Why did you leave her to die?"
He advanced on the terrified Imperial and knelt in front of him, grabbing him by the collar and punching his jaw. "Answer me!"
"I didn't have any choice!" Mallus sobbed. "It was either me or her!"
"You're garbage! You trapped Lassarina in there! You let her burn to death! You robbed my children of their mother!" Vilkas punched again. "Do you have any idea what it's like to look at your children and have to tell them that they'll never see their mother again?"
"Sorry isn't going to bring my wife back to life!"
Blood flowed from Mallus's now broken nose and tears streaked his face. "I didn't have a choice. It was either me or her . . ."
Vilkas released his collar and grabbed the man by the throat once more. "She was never going to kill you, you fucking idiot! She was just going to get Maven's money and leave! You killed my wife over a bag of septims!"
Vilkas's hands were tightening around his neck and Mallus struggled weakly to get free. "Please, don't kill me! You don't understand! They didn't give me any choice!"
Daine stood behind him and glared down at Mallus. "They didn't give you a choice? Who are they?"
"They ordered me to do it," Mallus told them, his voice strangled. "They said if I didn't, they would kill me."
"Who are they?" Vilkas asked, tightening his hands even more.
"T-the, gah! The Th-thalmor!"
Vilkas's whole body went stiff and all he saw was red. The room was suddenly void of all sound except for the drowning roar in his head. He forgot how to breathe. His mind couldn't process this new information. The Thalmor? The Thalmor were the ones who ordered Lassarina's death?
"Vilkas!" Daine screamed in his ear.
Vilkas's vision cleared and he stared blankly at Daine. "What?"
"Vilkas, you killed him!"
He turned to look at Mallus and saw the light had left the Imperial man's eyes. His hands were still clenched tightly around his neck, and Vilkas realized that he had crushed his windpipe, killing him almost instantly. He released him and Mallus fell to the ground.
"Damn it, Vilkas, we could have gotten more information out of him!" Daine shouted. "Now we'll never know why the Thalmor ordered this!"
"It doesn't make sense," Vilkas murmured, his voice monotone and his eyes void of any emotion. "The Thalmor wanted Lassarina alive."
"Well, I guess they changed their minds. And because of you, we'll never know why! Honestly, Lassarina always boasted about how smart you were in her letters, but you're actually a bigger idiot than our dearly departed friend here."
Vilkas looked at Mallus. "Aye . . . he's dead. He did leave her for dead. I was right."
"Yes, you were. How do you feel now that you killed Lassarina's murderer?"
Vilkas stared at Mallus for several moments, trying to process everything he was feeling at that moment. His realization just made him angry.
"I don't feel any differently," he growled. "I'm still in pain, not having her here. I'm also angry because the pain is still there. I thought that killing Mallus would make it go away."
Daine sighed and knelt beside him. "Yeah, I figured it wouldn't."
"If you knew that killing him wouldn't change anything, why didn't you try and talk me out of it?"
"Because it wouldn't have changed your mind. And I wanted him dead too. Lassarina was my friend, and this bastard deserved it for leaving her to die." She rose to her feet and patted his shoulder. "Come on, big guy. Time for you to go home to your kids. They probably miss their papa. I know I miss Tannis."
Vilkas rose from the ground. "What about Mallus?"
Daine scoffed. "Leave him to rot. The house is abandoned anyway. I'm sure the guards will come around once people start to notice the smell."
He nodded numbly and left the house with her. Mallus was dead, but he now felt lost. Killing him was what had been driving him forward ,and now that he didn't have that, he didn't know what to do. He supposed he could return to Whiterun and raise Faolan and Lyanna all alone, without Lassarina, but the very idea just brought on more heartache. She should be there to watch the twins grow up. Mallus and the Thalmor prevented that from ever happening.
That's when he thought of something else he could do, feeling his body fueled by rage from thinking of the Thalmor.
Ulfric needs to know, he thought silently to himself. It's past time that the Thalmor were ejected from Skyrim.
Alright, so opinions people? Who do you all think the mystery prisoner is?
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, please Fave/Follow/Review! Getting your reviews always makes me smile!