The road to Whiterun was quiet.

Dag drew the reins of his horse up, urging it forward. There was no wind. No sound other than the clopping of his mount's hooves. Ivarstead had just slipped beyond the horizon, and the sounds of home had sucked away, as if an invisible barrier had appeared between them. It might as well have; he knew there was no going back now.

The sun was dying, off to his left, but it was dying gloriously; blood-red streaks of fire touched the clouds, coating the western horizon with a saturnine glow. To his right, the sky was already gloomy, and it was spreading fast. He lit his lantern and rubbed his hands together. It promised to be a cold night; a thin film of mist was settling now, hovering above the road and weaving between the trees, and promising to get only thicker as the night drew on. Dag looked behind him, where the dull glow of Ivarstead held out against the evening even though the town was no longer visible. What he wouldn't give to sit by the fire, roast up some fish and onions, warm his belly with mead and put his feet up by the hearth in the tavern.

No, he willed himself, turning to face west again. He wouldn't let himself be drawn in; he had a mission. A letter to deliver.

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, Lord of Whiterun,

The Imperials gain more ground every day. You know the time draws near that you must choose a side. I know you harbour little love for me, so understand that I would not write you unless the situation was truly dire. I implore you, read this letter with an unbiased eye, with thoughts to the future of our great northern home and our courageous people, and set aside your hatred of me, and forget the ills I have performed in life, for Talos knows (I know you still hold Talos true in your heart) that I regret the things I have done. My reputation is sullied, even amongst our own people, but understand that I had no choice but to act in the way I have. The future of mankind, our freedom from Elven tyranny, depends on Skyrim's independence. I love the ideals of the Empire as much as you do, brother, believe me, but the giant has lost its way in recent years. Ever since the Concordat, when Alinor bound its wrists in shackles. There is no doubt about it, and I hope you see it this way too: the Empire has become a tool of the Elves. The Emperor, gods rest him, was a fawning fool, who stooped and bowed at their every whim. By the Nine, nothing speaks of how far lost the Empire is to us than the banning of the worship of Talos, the hero who stood for mannish independence in the face of oppression, whose figure has always been the guiding light of the Children of Atmora on this continent. But I digress from the main point at hand.

We all know how great a statesman General Tullius is, and how legitimate the rule of Jarl Elisif seems – none, I suppose, know this more than you, who has openly spoke out in favour of her rule, to the detriment of my own. But I beg you look deeper than that, to the fundamentals of this catastrophe, whose roots lie in the very beginnings of the history of Tamriel, and carry on up to the events of the Great War just a few years ago. The matter I am referring to of course is the assertion of Elven rule over all the other races of our continent. They already hold considerable sway over the Empire; their agents are appearing in Skyrim in more numbers every day. With the assassination of the Emperor looming over our heads, how long before the Imperial Council (which I have reason to believe has been infiltrated by Thalmor double-agents and sympathisers) takes a stand and declares the king of Alinor to be the successor to the Ruby Throne?

You may wonder how I could possibly believe Skyrim alone could stand a chance against the rest of Tamriel united. But the matter goes much deeper than that. Since I have arranged for this letter to be delivered in-person to you, I will go into my plan in more detail here, as I know this letter could not possibly fall into the wrong hands.

The Redguards are already independent of the Empire, as are the Argonians. The Argonians, after their years of slavery to elves and suzerainty to the Empire, are now fiercely opposed to both parties, but might be inclined to open negotiations with another nation freshly broken from the shackles of the state. Our mutual history of antagonism towards the Dark Elves also gives us a point on which we both agree, and will forge stronger relations between us. As for Hammerfell; the Redguards, though they have never been our natural allies, are angry at the Empire for their perceived betrayal in the signing of the Concordat. If we were to declare independence, the Redguards would see the similarity in our plights, I'm sure. As for High Rock; the Bretons have always been a strong and proud people, but even their Dukes and Kings could see the futility in sticking by Cyrodiil against the forces of both Hammerfell and Skyrim. Though it's true that the Bretons have Elven blood, and have always maintained cordial relations with the provinces down south, they could be persuaded to come to their senses, by words or by sword. Besides, I'm sure some of the more hot-blooded and ambitious nobility of the province would seize on an opportunity to make High Rock a great, independent power again, especially with the support of Nordic soldiers. To quote a popular Breton proverb: 'Find a new hill, become a king.' We will find support for our cause among the people of the north-west, one way or another.

Which leaves Cyrodiil alone. While the Imperials are more our brothers than any other race in Tamriel, they seem to have lost their way in recent times. I'm afraid that Cyrodiil may well be lost to us. While the bureaucrats in the White-Gold Tower will doubtless see the powers of the north converging into some kind of alliance, they will not forget who won the Great War, and the loss of their Empire may force them into a state of panic. They will side with the Elves, either for protection or revenge, but many of the people of the Imperial Province will sympathise with our cause. If we welcome these refugees into our lands, we will be much stronger for it, to our enemy's detriment. And don't forget: we have The Blades now, that ancient symbol of royal hegemony, and Skyrim was the birthplace of the Empire. Many nationalists in Cyrodiil may begin to see us as the true descendants of the original Empire, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. There is a lot of risk involved, a lot of death, a lot of maybes, and a lot of doubt. Even more than I have seen already since the beginning of my rule, and this may persuade you to Tullius's cause. But let me stress: it's either this or the slow, inevitable death of the Cyrodiilic Empire. We have no choice; I hope you see it this way, too, because I do, and I will fight to the death for the success of this cause. You are the first step in a long, winding plot, but one that will, in time, lead to a rebirth of the nation which we love so dearly, but is currently rotting from the inside. You may see me as an activist, a terrorist, and a savage, and it would break my heart if you did, old friend. But this rot must be carved out before the Empire can grow strong again and, no matter how deep the dagger must plunge, I am willing to be the one gripping its hilt, if you will follow me. We are so close now; the hardest part is behind us. If we can only win this civil war, which does not look likely unless we have Whiterun's support, these dreams, which seem fanciful now, may become a reality. Think on these words and hold the love of our people in your heart, and come to the right decision.

Here's to a bright Fifth Era,

Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm, High King of Skyrim