By the time Marcus arrived at the Crystal Dungeon, the Imperial Guard was already inmidst of mobilisation and the prison itself largely understaffed.
Breaking one guards neck and smashing to other's heads against the wall, he hid the three corpses in empty prison cells, stored two sets of armor in the armory and carried the third to Norman Northborn' cell.
Keys in hand, Marcus found the misserable husk of a man cowering in one corner of the prison cell wearing thick chains.
Having noticed Marcus arrival, the King in the North asked. "Have you come to spit in my face and call me a traitor, too?"
"Nothing of that sort Northern King..." Replied Marcus, as he removed his helmet and asked. "... I am here to give you a choice!"
"What choice do I have? Confess to being a traitor for my daughter's sake and be executed or be marked a traitor and be executed?" Asked the former Imperial Adviser and King.
-Shit, I forgot about his daughter's.- Cursed Marcus himself but stated nother the less. "Neither. As you know I married Princess Cyrilla Eastborn a few hours ago..."
"Eastborn?! Don't make me laugh Sir Strong. That girl is neither Eastborn nore Princess! Mm..." Interrupted Normsn him with a sarcastic chuckle at the end.
"Be as it may, my bride and me are leaving the capital and I wanted to ask you if you want to join us..." Stated Marcus quite formal, before he added the price. "... For your ancestral sacted-silver greatsword that is..."
With the light of hope in his eyes, Norman Northborn asked hopeful. "What about my daughter's?"
"If you can get both of them by time me and my wife leave the capital I can guarantee their and your safety until Windhelm." Replied Marcus putting his lesson from King Westborn to the test.
"Yes, right you were named Lord of Windhelm by Randall a week ago, I think..." Commented Norman in deep contemplation, voicing out his thoughts out loud. "... I guess I could get Frost and Annabel but Sarah should still be with the Crown Prince."
"Emperor..." Chimed Marcus in before urging the man to make a choice. "... So, what do you say?"
"People will call me 'Mad' but I think I trust you more than Consort Westborn and her devil spawn..." Replied Norman before cursed himself. "... God, what an idiot I have been to have my daughter betrothed to that imperial bastard!"
"So you agree to give me Frost in exchange for freedom and escort till Windhelm for yourself and your daughter/s?" Asked Marcus, happy to finally get a decent sword and see his plans more or less come to fruition.
Standing up, his chains rattling on the floor, the King in the North held out his right hand. "I think we have an agreement."
"Then we have a deal." Replied Markus and they shok hands, before he unclaimed the man an handed him the armor of one of the dead Imperal Guards.
Meanwhile back at Westhall, Cyrilla had finally found the time to put two and two together and instantly started to curse her husband like any good wife would, only in her case she does it the same day she had married the blody bastard.
"... That is this dammed brick brain thinking?" She eventually conceded after more than two hours of cursing as the curse words she knew had been all used up.
"Everything okay, my Lady?" Eventually aske Maddie the only hand maiden that still remained in her service even after her demotion from Princess to Lady and marriage.
Finding solace in her maiden's kind demeanor, Cyrilla asked. "Why are men so stupid?"
"A question for the ages, my Lady..." Replied Maddie with a gentle smile. "... But I am guessing you are asking about one man in particular and not men in general."
"You're right..." Stated Cyrilla contemplating her next words carefully. "... Why do you think would anybody want to free the a traitor from captivity?"
"That depends on the person and the traitor." Calmly replied Maddie with the demeanor of an elder sister. That's when the two hear unfamiliar voices from the entrance.
"Are you sure we can trust the 'Butcher'?" Aske a young girlish voice before they heared a deep male one reply. "I know it doesn't appear smart to hide at Westhall with Consort Westborn on the hunt for Northborns."
By now, Cyrilla knew who the two people were talking and as she descended the stairs from the second floor, she saw a little girl around ten in beggar clothes and an old man possibly her Grandfather's age in Imperial Guard armor.
"You have our hospitality, King Northborn, Lady Annabelle, I assume?!" Cyrilla wording her sentence less like a question and more like a statement.
Removing his helmet, King Northborn replied. "Correct, Lady Strong. Had I known how smart you were, I would have had my oldest son married to you when you were still a Princess instead of marrying my oldest daughter to your oldest brother."
"I could have told you that then we first met at Winterhold, but would you have listened to a little princess?" Asked Cyrilla while she attached her soft furred winter collar to her white riding shirt. Sucessful in her endeavor, she nodded before she asked curious. "... So, I assume we're taking you to with us to Windhelm. Tell me, what does my husband get for risking his life and marriage?"
"He gets this..." Replied Norman Northborn with an embarrassed smile on his face, as he retrieved the covered greatsword from his back before he eventually revealed the sword hilt. "... My ancestral sacred-silver greatsword named Frost."
"Oh, wow... My grandfather always wanted one of these for house Westborn but nobody would sell one..." Stated Cyrilla hatters of factly already proud of her husband, her earlier frustration forgotten.