Dragon's Conquest

Passage Dawning

Ulfric first caught a glimpse of the walls of Windhelm a few hours later, and even a quick glance send a cold heat of shame through his body. He forced himself to stare at the city, just barely visible over the low peaks of the mountains. He knew that passing the city was the quickest route to Riften, and the route would likely be crawling with Imperial soldiers, and his own citizens.

The Dragonborn suddenly made a right turn just as the White River Bridge came into view. He could see the bright red of imperial tents and banners dotting the bridge, dusted gently with snow. The road to Whiterun and Ivarstead, he recalled. The Dragonborn halfheartedly explained her detour as something about the conditions of the road through the hotmarshes. Ulfric knew that it was to avoid the Imperial army.

The sun had begun to disappear behind Shearpoint when the Dragonborn pulled out a map and a leather bound and strapped book. "Mixwater Mill is up ahead; we'll stop there for the night." She flipped through the book, briefly scanning each page until she found what she was looking for. "Owner is...Gilfre. I killed a bear that managed to get in her worker's house."

Ulfric frowned. Mixwater Mill was once the largest mill in Eastmarch, until their shipments had nearly stopped months ago. It was a devastating blow to the regions' economy; Mixwater Mill sent lumber and firewood across Eastmarch in addition to both Dawnstar and Winterhold. Anga's Mill wasn't able to keep up with the demand; arrows had been in remarkably short supply, and report had come in that soldiers were blunting their battleaxes by cutting their own firewood. A bear attack would certainly explain the sudden drop in production.

Sounds of the saw reached Ulfric before the mill could be seen, even though the shadows were lengthening and the sky was a deep evening purple above them. The red of imperial tents caught his eye before anything else, contrasting against the dark pine wood and white snow around them. The Dragonborn cursed under her breath.

"Don't do anything rash," she warned. "This camp is new. I wouldn't've planned to rest here if I'd known about it." The Dragonborn tried recall the post-war maps that she had been to distracted to intensely study in Winterhold. Small mills and mines were often ignored directly after sieges in the area in favor of more fortifiable settlements. It was a basic Imperial tactic; it was easier to control a majority of citizens with a camp in a populated area than with resources on the edge of civilization.

Tullius must have his reasons, she thought. Mines and mills generally weren't sites of camps or any permanent presence unless there was a high potential for turmoil in the region. Nariilu didn't know of any potential in the area; the small mill was the only settlement around for a few hours' march. Likely, the soldiers were like them: just stopping for a night before moving on.

"I'll stay out of sight in your wardrobe, don't worry," Ulfric mocked.

~~~

Gilfre had never considered herself to be testy, but that was before all this civil war nonsense. The past year had been one disaster after another, starting with her workers leaving not even a week after the request for more lumber had come in to support the Stormcloaks in addition to the usual increase in demand due to the cold winter months. At least that war was over now, if the Imperials' word was worth their salt.