Survivor (A Skyrim Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Twenty Seven

A miserable and endless grey cloud suffocated the sky like a thick blanket, yet I had a feeling our company was somehow going to be even more suffocating.

Ulfric, Galmar and I gazed over the battlements from Castle Dour upon the small army that Elsweyr had sent in aid gathering in the courtyard. Although the Khajiit were in a formal line, their stance wasn't as stiff and concrete as most other armies. Many stood a bit too casually, most resting their paws on the hilt of their swords if they had them. The rest looked to be armed with double daggers - not the army I was expecting but it was better than nothing. 

The three of us made our way down and met with the captain, a Khajiit with uncommonly long, drooping whiskers that reached his shoulders, and a rather large part of his left ear missing.

"Good morning," Ulfric greeted graciously. "As its High-King, I welcome you to Skyrim. I trust your journey wasn't too weary."

"If this is what you Nords call a good morning..." The Khajiit looked up at the sky in disgust and shook his head. "Eurgh, I long for the warm sands of home again but we apparently have bigger problems."

Ulfric managed to maintain the expected pleasantries of being High-King, though I could tell that the Khajiit was already getting on his nerves. I'm sure Ulfric's bitterness about the amount of gold he had to pay them didn't help much either. 

"I'm confident that Elsweyr can set an exceptional level of expertise and skill to the cause. Skyrim can only hope this encourages a friendly alliance between us."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," the Khajiit lowly muttered. 

Ulfric stared impassively at the captain before clearing his throat and awkwardly continuing. "So, what are your soldiers' skills?"

The Khajiit turned on his heel and strode confidently in front of his unit. "We are naturally prowlers of the dark, unlike the great beasts you look to be still expecting. But we are quick and agile, and are able to slice man or beast just as well as anyone else."

"Sounds practical enough, they should be suitable. A room has been made for you in the palace and there should be sufficient quarters in Castle Dour for your men-" he hesitated and cleared his throat, "...comrades, Captain...?"

"Do'sakhar. The gesture is appreciated but Do'sakhar shall be staying with his comrades in the tents we set up outside your city. We shall be using the training facilities available until the sun sets, unless these vampires attack in the meantime. Until then, I think we can agree it is best we all stay out of each others way."

Do'sakhar eyed the three of us with a hint of doubt before turning on his heel and sauntered away.

"That went well," I remarked sarcastically.

Ulfric grunted. "Come, I find being out-numbered to these cats at the moment unsettling to say the very least."

The three of us made our way back up to the battlements again to keep an eye out for the arrival of any Orcs or uninvited company. I was growing increasingly aware and anxious of the side-glances the Khajiit soldiers who remained were giving us, the feeling that they weren't entirely confidant in our cause growing with every second.

"Could have thought of a better word than "comrades"," Galmar mumbled as we climbed the stairs, more to himself than anyone.

The High-King stopped in his tracks with an irritated expression and threw his arms in the air exasperatedly. "What else was I meant to say? I could hardly have called them men, simply because they are not men. And saying "cats" to their face, well, I may as well walk into Castle Volkihar with herbs sprinkled over me and jump right onto the cooking-spit."