I was careless, mother, and I was caught. After finishing my work of sealing a 10 years pact of non-aggression with the Morag Tong (that was the best I could get from those blood-thirsty maniacs), I lingered too long, renewing some old contacts and making provisions for the day of the reckoning. When I tried to get away, using foolishly the same breach I had used to get inside the city, I noticed I was surrounded by a whole company of stormcloacks and I had to surrender. They were not looking for me specifically - they probably thought I was just an imperial spy - so fighting would have been pointless and inadvisable, since I was sure I would be able to escape later. They were careful enough to tie my hands and to put a muzzle over my mouth, but those precautions that would have rendered defenseless a common mage would not work with me anymore. You see, after the Twilight Lady has so kindly messed with my soul, I’ve found out I can summon my spells only with the might of my will now, without the need of gestures or words, and my flames are hotter than ever.
So I escaped after only three days. They put me under interrogation twice and I just faked some cries, pleas for mercy, and a very convincing breakdown. When they relaxed the watch, I used my flames to melt down the handcuffs and I sneaked invisibly trough the sewers to the river. But the time spent in the Windhelm’s dungeon was not wasted - I’ve learned a thing or two about the Enemy, from listening to some careless pieces of conversation by guards, thieves, spies and deserters. And the picture I’ve formed from those broken bits goes more or less like this. The Bear is recruiting heavily among Windhelm’s peasants – some pretty serious people - and not just from the ranks of those pathetic patriots. The number of troops cantoned in the city barracks is almost 20.000, and growing steadily. It’s quite obvious he’s preparing for a decisive battle before the end of fall, since there’s no way he will be able to find provisions for so many troops during winter, especially after having taken most able-bodied peasants from their farms. It’s the nord way, mom, the ambitious fool is ready to bet the future of his people in a single strike, without even a thought about the large pile of resentment and rage his reign has been packing behind Windhelm’s walls. He thinks he has everything under his control and he fancies himself brave and bold, but he’s just reckless. He sees only what he wants to see and he believes his own myths about nord’s prowess and invincibility.
So the months of skirmishes and dead-lock are getting closer to an ending, and I’m guessing if he’s able to gather some 30.000 troops and give them even a mockery of the Legion’s training and discipline, he might as well win this war. General Tullius has his own spies and he certainly knows that either. I’m guessing he must be getting more and more worried as the months go on and he doesn’t have any hope of reinforcements to his two experienced and well trained, but largely outnumbered legions. There’s no way the Empire could spare another legion to Skyrim, at least not without weakening dangerously the east and west borders, and he can find no Jarl, not even among those who oppose Ulfric, who would provide the troops he needs to besiege Windhelm. He’s smart enough to know no amount of experience or training could compensate for a three to one disadvantage, and each day Stormcloack Rebellion grows stronger in numbers and political support.
This is the right time to approach him with a proposition, mother, because you see, I have a plan – I’ve always had a plan! This thing has been growing in my mind since I came to the inevitable conclusion that I could never get close enough to strike my blow, while he is surrounded by his army, unless I could get my own army. But where could a dunmer find an army these days? I certainly can’t gather my own, but I might be able to rent the Imperial Legion if I could pay their price, and I think I’ve maneuvered well enough to be in a position to give them Windhelm and Ulfric’s head. Now there was just that small matter of General Tullius having ordered my execution. You see, trying to cut off someone’s head can be a real drag in a relationship – one side tends to hold on to old grievances, as the other side tries to hold on to his judgement, even when there is no real reason to keep one or the other. Anyway it may be an obstacle hard to overcome, but I’ve learned in my previous dealings with imperial officers they almost always prefer holding on to gold than to grudge, and I have saved a respectable sum of septims, almost enough to bribe the Emperor himself.
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