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Skyrim: Plaything	By : GE_The_Beast Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 21445 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story is made for fun, profit and entertainment. In no way do I own anything discussed. I do not own Skyrim or The Elder Scrolls fandom in any way, nor do I intend any profit from this story.

Chapter List
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The Stormcloaks at the base of the Throat of the World were actually prepared for someone to ascend. They were waiting for Ulfrik and his second in command to get here, at which point the men would climb. It took some convincing to let her and Elenwen use the same route. Actually it took a lot of convincing and some Thalmor gold. Getting Serana up the mountain? By the time they reached High Hrothgar all three women were exhausted, bruised, and frozen. Her ring was barely keeping her skin from freezing, and she caught Elenwen casting spells to keep herself from freezing. Serana had even shivered, but that may have been the snowball Elaye tossed into her cleavage for fun.
Arngeir was the first one to greet the shivering trio. “Ysmir. Welcome home.” He said proudly. The Greybeards liked to call her that. “You and your companions may use the Talos wing. We haven’t had this many visitors in centuries, though we will hold to the levels of hospitality we Nords are known for.” He sounded cheerful. “The sons of Jorrvaskr have brought much food, mead and firewood for us to use. Yours will be the only bedroom that we single off.” He coughed, as if speaking was entirely draining for him. “Kyne’s whisperers tell me that others are ascending the mountain. But you have arrived first.”
The other Graybeards seemed to be giving Serana looks. Before Elayne had arrived, they hadn’t seen any women for decades. And now she had brought Serana who was just wearing a leotard. The old men seemed to just stare, ignoring the elf completely. Elenwen took it in stride, holding Arngeir’s attention. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
“We so rarely have guests, I find it pleasurable.” Arngeir admitted.
“You aren’t distracted like the others.” Elayne pointed out discretely.
“I had a lover a very long time ago, Ysmir.” The man admitted. Living on this mountain had made his skin like leather and his hands tough. “They became a Jarl instead of a Greybeard.”
“You are the lover Ulfrik used to blather about?” Elenwen chuckled. “Oh, that is a surprise. I think the thought of you kept him going. Now that I’ve met you, I can see why. Good host? Strong shoulders? Everything a Nord should want.”
Arngeir was blushing. Elenwen made him blush! “You were Ulfrik’s lover?”
“We ascended this summit together!” Arngeir stated, glancing at the floor. “I must go and melt some water. Yes, the water needs melting.” He stammered, retreating from the conversation and scattering the other Greybeards to other duties.
“Ulfrik is attracted to men?”
“And women.” Elenwen added. “But I think he simply likes power. I offered to sleep with him to make his time in prison less painful. He seemed open to it.” Elenwen said offhandedly, shivering. “Where can we warm up?”
“Wait, did you sleep with him, too?”
Elenwen just had a secret smile, as Elayne led her to the wing where she had a room. After spending weeks studying here, it had been packed in all of the nooks and crannies with books and scrolls. A scroll of fireball had been left out next to a bottle of alto wine, to her chagrin. But the room was frigid, just like everything else in this place. There was a fire lit, but it was one log, and it barely did anything. Serana simpered along behind them, her legs exhausted. As soon as she saw a chair she sank into it, sighing in relief. “Of course I didn’t.” Elenwen said smoothly. “This place is rather compact.”
“This is Tiber Septim’s bedroom.” Elayne smirked. “I’m the first to use it in ages. Which means it’s always cold. It’s on the opposite side of the building from the hearth the Graybeards use.” If that information bothered Elenwen, she didn’t show it.
“It reminds me of one of the Psijic Outposts they abandoned back in Valenwood.” Elenwen said, casting a large spell that filled the room with heat. “It feels like the kind of place you could stand to spend a month just reading books.”
“That sounds like an interesting place. I thought they were all gone.”
“Obviously why the Thalmor would keep patrolling their old haunts. Just in case they came back.” Elenwen shivered, still warming with her spell. “If others are ascending the summit, I am going to get some rest. This spell is going to fade in a few minutes.” The Altmer shut the door. “Would you be a proper slave and protect me from the elements?” She reached up, flicking the clasp to her Thalmor robes. Underneath it was her pale skin, marred by a few scars. As well as perhaps lingerie as expensive as her own. Elayne barely considered it. She was cold, Elenwen was cold. Her dress hit the ground, and the Altmer and Breton cuddled for warmth under the old furs of the bed. All under Serana’s watchful gaze, until the three of them got some rest. Elenwen was anything but handsy. She was only after warmth.
When they were better rested, voices could be heard in the nearby chambers. Not quite yelling, but angry murmurs nonetheless. Elayne took her time getting ready, brushing her hair and trying to look less like a well traveled whore and more like a well dressed lady. Her hair was teased into a thick bun, with a braid wrapped around its base to give it volume. She had enough hair left that she left two long bunches in front, framing her dragon priest mask.
“Perhaps you should show everyone your face for this meeting.” Elenwen stated. “It would inspire trust.” Elayne carefully removed her mask, finally letting Elenwen and Serana see her face. Serana seemed surprised, but Elenwen was frowning. “Perhaps, you should indeed keep the mask on.” The altmer said politely.
“Yeah. Serana, I’ll be introducing you when the summit starts. You can use the bed for a while. I’ll come and get you when it is time.” Elayne said, shutting the door, which had no lock.
“You trust her to stay?” Elenwen scoffed, taking out a small iron dagger and wedging the door shut.
“I do.” Elayne stated. “Well, I have people at the bottom of the mountain and the only other way off is through the back ways. Down to Orphan Rock, or through the Stormcloak’s camp. Hagravens are at Orphan Rock, Stormcloaks at their camp, and the Companions are at Ivarstead.”
“Are you ready to address them?” Elenwen asked. “You don’t even have a speech written or notes.”
“It’s all in my head.” Elayne tapped the side of her headband, the moonstone unyielding. “And of course I sent letters to Arngeir.”
The Altmer seemed to be offended over the idea of not being prepared in writing. She probably would have just wanted to learn what Elayne was planning. Heels clicking, both women entered the large audience chamber where Tiber Septim planned his invasion into Cyrodil. It was mostly full. There were Jarls from every province here, with even Sidgeir and Laila Law-Giver sitting at the table. The pile of housecarls were sitting on all available chairs in the exterior hall, but Elayne hadn’t invited the Jarls. Someone had done so without telling her.
In the back of the room she could see a pair in Vigilant Robes speaking with Savos Aren of the Mage’s College. Ulfrik Stormcloak was sitting amongst his Jarls, talking to Baalgruf and Kodlak of the Companions. While the topic seemed light, it was clear that these men and women were on edge.
“What is she doing here?” Ulfrik yelled with vitriol. He had just seen Elenwen.
Before Elayne could speak, Elisef yelled over any kind of response. “Is she a vampire like all the rest?”
“Vampire?” The other Jarls started speaking up. “The Thalmor?” Igmund of Markarth was looking especially concerned.
“Kaan! Dren! Ov!” Arngeir bellowed, his Shout sending an echo throughout the ruin. He wasn’t aiming at the summit chamber, but the entire chamber was rattled. “We Nords are a tough people, created in Atmora under the guiding hand of Kynareth. Calm yourselves, and let Ysmir speak!”
Elayne stepped forwards. “Elenwen has asked for my protection, as it was my letter inviting the Thalmor to this summit that revealed how many within her ranks had already fallen victim to Harkon’s power. She escaped, and turned to me for help and protection. She isn’t a vampire, and is perhaps one of the only Thalmor in Skyrim who have not fallen. She is at this summit as a witness, and will not say anything or be part of any negotiation unless invited.”
Missing from the summit were some obvious members. Tullius wasn’t here. Amaund Motierre wasn’t here, and the Emperor had also not come. Not that she expected him to. “That elf is a treacherous snake. I won’t be comfortable speaking of matters of state when a Thalmor is present.” Ulfrik responded. He probably didn’t want her here because the Thalmor were supplying his war effort. Elayne couldn’t have that. It was part of her plan.
“She will be part of the summit, as her intelligence reports are now in the hands of Harkon. Detailed reports on every single Jarl, housecarl, steward and guard captain. Enough for these vampires to infiltrate your holds and do serious damage. She will be here as an expert for what we can expect the Volkihar Vampires to know or act upon.”
That led to some serious grumbling amongst the Jarls. “I will admit, information on an enemy of Skyrim will be useful.” Stormcloak spoke up, calming his faction of Jarls.
Elayne didn’t want to offend any of the men and women in this room by inferring that she didn’t want them here. “I do not remember calling for a Moot.” Elayne tried to joke. “But almost all of the parties are here.”
“The last party is ascending the mountain still, Ysmir.” Arngeir spoke. “I must warn you, Nords of Skyrim. This place is sacred. Kyne herself touched this mountain and blessed it. The Snow Tower was seized by the Atmorans from the Snow elves anciently. When we did so, Kyne marked us and we stopped calling ourselves Atmorans. We became Nords. The other races recognize Kynareth as their divine. They see her peaceful ways as inspiration to plant and respect nature. We Nords know differently. Kyne is how we refer to the Sky Goddess. Nature was not kind. A war was fought against the Dragons in the early eras, and we considered their anger to be a force of nature. There is some speculation that Alduin is the child of Akatosh and Kyne.” Arngeir cleared his throat, as if unused to having an audience. The man probably hadn’t seen so many people in decades. “Kyne taught us of war. When the dragons fell, and the holds became what they are through blood, voices and stone. The ancient term taught to us by Kyne for war is ‘Season Unending’. We in this room represent aspects of Kyne far more than the Kynareth we pretend to venerate.”
Nords were raised to honor the Greybeards. These monks were as close to the Aedra as many of these Nords could contemplate, far more than the priests at the shrines and temples throughout the province. All nine of the Jarls went quiet, the only sound being Savos’ quill as he took note of the words being said. Keeper Carcette looked unhappy, as this probably went against what she was used to in regards to the Divines. Arngeir took a moment to make eye contact with each and every Jarl. “This summit is dedicated to Kyne’s peace. Not the peace of a treaty or piece of paper, but the peace that all Nords celebrate. The freedom to live as we have, and to act as we will. We are the most stubborn race in Tamriel. Expecting us to stop fighting is to see our young men go off seeking adventure and war in far away lands. Skyrim will bleed Nord blood, as it always has. Asking you to stop fighting is a fruitless endeavor. This summit is to call to arms all Nords that do not wish this world to end. For we fight Alduin once again. Our ancestors fought during the dragon wars against him, and could not stop him then. The world-eater comes, and we have a Dragonborn to fight them. It is for this reason I asked all nine hold’s Jarls here. We all shall fight together or we shall all die by the hand of the son of Akatosh. Listen, I beg of you all. Listen to Ysmir. Listen to the one named Dragonborn. For the last time we named a Dragonborn, they rose and became a God. Do not make the mistake of the Akavir remnants and ignore the clear signs of fate.” With that cryptic warning, Arngeir stepped back, letting the attention of Skyrim fall upon Elayne.
“Not all of the invited parties have come,” Elayne started saying, but was surprised when the doors allowed in four more individuals. Eola was in front, followed by Gwynabeth. Both were wearing the clothing of Breton nobility, shivering in the cold and slightly covered in snow. “Ah!” Behind them, seemingly having walked right with them were an unlikely pair. General Tulius entered, followed by Titus Mede. Both men were wearing officer’s armor, and the entire room stood at the sight. Siddgeir looked like he had died and gone to heaven. Igmund of Markarth looked ready to kill Eola. He knew immediately who she was, Elayne just knew. “Welcome, representatives of the Empire and the Reachfolk.”
There weren’t enough chairs, but Siddgeir nearly leapt from his to allow the Emperor to sit. Jarl Korir of Winterhold stood up, politely offering Eola a seat at the table. The two weakest holds in Skyrim stood up to allow the newcomers seats. The symbology was clear, as Eola now sat clearly on the same side of the table as Stormcloak. Whispers and glares were exchanged all around. But when Titus Mede sat, not saying a word the attention of the table returned to her. “My name is Elayne of Wayrest. Ysmir. The Dragonborn. I have called this summit to call for Skyrim to recognize its true threat. Alduin. He attacked us at Helgen, and burned the entire city to ashes under the watchful eyes of many of those here. Emissary Elenwen, Jarl Ulfrik, General Tulius and myself were there. We all saw the town burn. That was one dragon. One dragon with the power to resurrect and bring back any dragon you kill. His skin is blessed by Akatosh, immune to all weapons that could not harm the Aedra. Armies, spells and prayers mean nothing in his wake. The world cannot fight him, but prophecy states that I can kill him.”
Elayne brought out journals, three hefty ones. Each was a copy of all of the information that she had, filtered to not talk about the other world. She pushed each towards different parts of the table. Ulfrik grabbed his, the Jarls and Eola leaning in to read. The Emperor politely let Elisef be the one to hold the book, her Jarls leaning in with interest. The third journal was taken by Jarl Baalgruf, with Savos Aren looking over his shoulder and Keeper Carcette on the other. “Alduin couldn’t be killed during the Dragon Wars probably because of his immunity to normal weapons. Kind of like a ghost or some daedra.”
“You have gathered Daedric Artifacts to harm him?” Elisef whispered, surprised.
“A few.” She didn’t want to say which. “Though I haven’t found any Aedric artifacts to help me yet, I have been looking. Unfortunately, as the son of Akatosh I only know how to pierce his skin. Actually killing an Aedra would be something that no one knows how to do. But there is an Elder Scroll that has that information. How to kill the World Eater.”
“Are you certain you have the right scroll? If not, I can scour the white-gold tower for you.” Titus Mede spoke, his voice carrying a serious tone.
“I am certain of it. This is the elder scroll that holds the key. I was bringing it home to Whiterun for safekeeping when my housecarl was taken by Volkihar vampires. The Elder Scroll fell into the hands of Harkon. Harkon Volkihar is an ancient vampire. From what I know, he encountered a prophecy back in the First Era. It’s something about the Tyranny of the sun. This prophecy seems to be about the sun no longer being a threat to vampires. But the contents of that prophecy are scattered across three Elder Scrolls.”
From her back, she grabbed the obvious five foot long golden scroll. “This is the very last one he needs to stop the sun from harming vampires. With the contents of this scroll we can only assume that vampires across Tamriel would no longer be harmed by the light of Magnus in our sky. The Volkihar are well regarded as a far more ancient group of vampires than others. They can transform into an almost-daedric creature, and are strong. They control ice magic, and have Ayleid weather control magic in their fortress. Potema tried to invade them with an army, and failed. I don’t think anyone else has bothered trying.”
“Not that the history books would say, no. But we call it the sea of ghosts for a reason.” Jarl Korir muttered. “Many a good man has lost his life in the ice.”
“And woman.” Elisef postured, folding her arms. “Solitude has lost far more than Winterhold has to this menace.”
“Winterhold has lost more as a hold than Solitude has ever stood to lose!” Korir stood tall. He had given his seat up to Eola, after all. “We are a shell of what we used to be. Do not be so prideful to forget the past.”
Elisef seemed angry, to be challenged at all. “Say that to my husband.” She said coldly.
“I think I made my point perfectly clear.” Ulfrik said, meeting Elisef’s glare over the table.
There was grumbling on both sides as Korir even looked like he wanted to punch Ulfrik in the face. Elisef looked like a teakettle about to scream, and the Emperor remained stoic and silent. He seemed calm in the face of all of this.
Elayne stamped her heel, speaking above the others. “If you don’t want to end up on your ass again you’ll quell your tongue, Jarl Ulfrik!” She spoke over the din. In the corner of the room, Galmar Stone-fist bit his own hand not to laugh at the memory of Ulfrik getting thrown by her shout in his own throne room. The focus of the room shifted back to her, but this demonstrated how easily this could turn into a disagreement.
“Of course, Lady Dragonborn.” Ulfrik calmed down. “My hold and kinfolk would like to publicly give our thanks for your labors in protecting Skyrim from the dragons. You fight alone what many men fight together, and bleed in our name.”
Jarl Korir, Laila and Baalgruf were the first to echo this thanks, with all but Igmund of Markarth sharing the same. “I have nothing to say to you.” The prickly Nord stated. “Your mother is the cousin of Madanach, who rebelled against my father.”
Eola finally spoke up. “By marriage. And you’ve got the wrong generation.”
“Who are you, then?” Igmund demanded. “You who stand with Gwynabyth Traitor-Kin.”
That wasn’t a kind epithet. “I seem to remember all three of my son’s heads on your pikes, Jarl Igmund.” Gwynabyth spoke up, her voice like ice. “I come here in the spirit of peace. Or have you not noticed that the Reach folk have not attacked any of your patrols in weeks?”
Igmund looked ready to continue arguing. “Stop!” Elayne said. “This is not a summit to bring up old grudges and fight! If you want to do that, wait until the world-eater is dead so that the rest of these fine Jarls may enjoy the same privilege!”
Idgrod Ravencrone cackled loudest in response to that. “You seem so quiet, Titus.” The oldest woman at the table spoke. “Why so still?”
The Emperor smiled softly. “I was invited to this summit to assist in stopping the end of this world. I see no reason to interrupt the good woman who has lost friends, home and family for a cause that she never wanted. Before my troops nearly killed her at Helgen, in my name;” He pointed out clearly to the table that it would have been him responsible for such. “She was a simple alchemist. From all that my spies have learned, she traveled between Solitude and Falkreath, sticking to the roads and trading for alchemical ingredients. But never did she sell the potions that would have been made from them. She did not kill, or cause harm to this province. If it had not been for the aggressive actions of my men, we might not have a hero to make such a summit. I was completely surprised by this, just as all of you were. Only when I came for a wedding was I fully informed as to its nature. I must affirm that at this table, I shall take full responsibility for the attempt upon your life, Elayne of Wayrest.” The Emperor spoke calmly, with a certainty that seemed to bring some calm to the table. “The Empire will be at your disposal for fighting the World-Eater. As well as this vampire menace.”
“Thane Elayne.” Jarl Baalgruf spoke up. “I will be doing all I can to help you rebuild Breezehome. We are still digging through the rubble, but thankfully no one was home when it was set ablaze.”
“It’s alright.” Elayne said softly. “So long as no one died it is just wood and stone. We can build something new in its place. People are the heritage of Skyrim, as the bards say.” She smoothed her dress, gems pressing against the fabric for a moment. “This is the first time since Tiber Septim was alive that the Greybeards have called together the nine holds of Skyrim. Even then, they did not listen, and it took the battle of Sance Tor to convince the nordic armies to recognize him.” She took a deep breath. “I am not Tiber Septim, a general with dozens of victories and years of experience. I am Elayne. I can fight a dragon pretty well, but if I run into a Dwarven Sphere I have to be careful. The gods didn’t make me some kind of godling.”
“But you are asking us to stop fighting a war over Tiber Septim!” Ulfrik finally got his point out. “You cannot fight the world-eater without all of the gods behind you!”
“The closest people to the gods have already spoken, Ulfrik.” Idgrod Ravencrone spoke up. “They called for her immediately. Sit down and stop yer yapping when the gods have already made their opinion quite clear.”
Everyone gave the older woman a wider berth. “I have help. I have begged the gods, I have entertained a daedric prince for the power I need to save us. What I need now is your combined power to stop a creature that is older than Reman Cyrodil. Harkon Volkihar is the father of his bloodline of vampires, and I have something that will drag him from his castle to the battlefield. I have the elder scroll he needs, but that just means assassins and vampires after me. What I actually have that will drag Harkon from his island is something important to him beyond the scroll.” Elayne held up her hands. “One moment.”
It was a few steps out of the door to reach the small bedroom. Serana was in the room, reading a book that she had set open on the bed. She was using the stiletto tip of her heels to turn the pages of A Children’s Annuad. Her cleavage was glistening, and her orange eyes were following the words of the book. Elayne grabbed the leash, and pulled Serana to her feet. The vampire followed, frowning. She could hear from here, everything they were talking about. Serana knew what was next. She went bitterly, heels clicking as she balanced in the ebony and dragonbone.
Elayne tried not to blush as she presented Serana. Perhaps she should have found her a cloak or something. Not that she owned a very good one herself. “This is the reason why my summit will succeed.” She said, grabbing hold of what remained of her dignity and confidence. “I want all of you to meet the only child of Harkon Volkihar. Her name is Serana.”
The entire table was quiet. Even Titus Mede was staring at her with something resembling respect. Serana was doing her level best not to drool, as her orange eyes leveled their hate towards the table. “You captured a Vampire?” Keeper Carcette asked, incredulous. “What is that contraption?”
“This is something that an ancient Dragonborn invented to contain a creature that is far more powerful than the average mortal.” She lied smoothly. “It is made from Dragonbone, as well as ebony. I used it to capture her. But Harkon has only one child, and the only reason he has left his island since the First Era is to search Tamriel for her.”
“Hah!” Ulfrik yelled. “Ahah! You’ve got him by the balls!”
“Kidnapping children to force a battle is something a Dunmer would do, not a Nord.” Laila Law-Giver murmured.
“But she is a Breton!” Igmund roared. “This is the exact kind of thing they would do when backed into a corner!”
“Bringing your conflict into this is not a wise decision.” Elisef pointed out over Igmund. Not that he cared to listen to her.
“Solitude has already been partially invaded.” Tulius stated. “Our troops were out of position and we are facing crippling losses. The road into High Rock has been blocked. Sea trade leaving the province is likely next. The only thing keeping enough food on the tables of skyrim now is Bruma.”
“Markarth lies directly on the road to Dragonstar and Elinhir! Supplies can still get through!” Igmund countered. “And Riften is still strong!”
“Riften’s fields had a poor winter last.” Laila Law-Giver responded. “We have been importing from the Dunmer to feed our people. With the dragon threat, many farmsteads remain unworked, as the laborers are too afraid to work.”
“Whiterun can afford to keep some of the holds alive.” Baalgruf stated without fear. “Our fields are strong and our people have been kept from the worst of the fighting. Having the Dragonborn in our hold has prevented much of the same.”
Without a king, the petty rivalries of Skyrim seemed to have real penalties. Even Ulfrik was looking around with concern. “My Jarls are facing a food shortage.” He admitted. Ulfrik? Admitting a mistake? “I know yours face the same now. The road to Bruma must remain open. If the vampires have already made landfall, we can only expect foul necromancy.”
“Lady Dragonborn.” Savos Aren spoke up for the first time since the meeting started. It surprised the only-too-happy to speak Jarls. “What do you mean in regards to the Ayleid magic in their fortress?”
“I acquired information from reliable sources. The Volkihar have magical devices from the Ayleids of Cyrodil, but designed to create weather patterns. I assume that the moment they know we have Serana, he will use it and send a blizzard down upon the entirety of Skyrim. He will come in force. The ghosts of those who have been drowned in the sea of ghosts, draugr, skeletons, vampiric thralls, and then the daedra will come.”
“Daedra?” Keeper Carcette perked up. “Which breeds?”
“Xyvkin and Dremora. Daedroth, Spider Daedra, Clanfear and Twilights are often part of what they can summon.” Elayne responded, glancing at her notes of the servant races of Molag Bal. “I believe that Harkon Volkihar will be drawing out pieces of Coldharbour itself to take back his daughter.”
“Can you explain that in layman’s terms?” Baalgruf asked politely.
“All of the horrors of Oblivion are going to fall upon us.” Carcette explained to the Jarls. “Molag Bal is perhaps one of the darkest horrors we of Stendarr must face, perhaps only slightly more feared to face than Mephala. But it means that Skyrim will be facing our own ancestors unjustly left to die and unburied. As well as our own dominated kinsfolk, followed by nightmarish horrors from the plane of Oblivion. I can only assume that is when the actual vampires will come?”
“Then Nordic Steel will meet them!” Kodlak said clearly. “The Companions will fight this battle.”
“As we have the hostage,” Tulius pointed out. “Where do you believe we have the best chance of fighting such a vast force?”
“I would not presume to know such things.” She freely admitted. “But the Volkihar are dangerous around bodies of water. They can move through ice like it doesn’t exist. Drag you under. So we need to pick a battlefield they can’t do that to us.”
“It can’t be Solitude.” Tulius noted. “It’s too exposed. Morthal is a marshland, and Markarth is too mountainous. We can’t deploy large numbers of troops in the passes.”
“The less said about Falkreath the better.” Sidgeir added. “None of the forts are garrisoned and my walls are at best a decoration for them. Helgen was the only part of my hold with any kind of defenses. Some of the stones there have melted. Or so my steward has told me.”
“Winterhold and Dawnstar will need to be evacuated.” Ulfrik nodded with Korir and Jarl Skald of Dawnstar. “They cannot stand. Windhelm would be an excellent defensive position. Riften, I fear would be a liability with its lake.” Laila seemed to appreciate that much, at least.
“What about Whiterun?” Elisef asked the obvious question. “We can evacuate some of our people there.”
“Again, Baalgruf chooses not to bleed for Skyrim.” Ulfrik brought up.
“You know my feelings, Ulfrik.” Baalgruf didn’t rise to it. “Whiterun would volunteer as the site of a battle. We have few lakes and large open plains to fight upon. But inviting so many of skyrim would only give cause to private grudges the moment the smoke of battle is upon us. I cannot in fair mindedness allow you and Tulius to be within a mile of each other under the guise of peace. Not unless you would swear to give up your claims upon Skyrim’s throne.”
Ulfrik bared his teeth. “I am the true High King! All of Skyrim knows it!”
“Then prove it.” Titus Mede spoke up. “Show us your dynasty that would carry your name into the ages. Where are your children, Ulfrik Stormcloak. What kind of future would Skyrim have if your line took the throne? Or would we be sent into yet more war the moment you passed away? Even as we celebrated your passing and drank at your burial, this would all repeat once more.”
“You know why I cannot.” Ulfrik stated. “They would be killed the moment I declared their heritage.”
No one laughed at that reality. Not when the Dark Brotherhood were real. “Do you even have a child, that knows you as a father? Or would you simply declare Aretino as your child?”
“You dare.” Ulfrik started speaking up. “You dare sully my name with claims of an Imperial Child?!”
“The Thalmor are cruel, aren’t they.” Titus Mede countered. “I know why you have no children, Ulfrik Stormcloak. The elves took your ability to reproduce when they found out who you were. Much like what happened to my nobility captured by their agents, I assume you too have been castrated.”
Ulfrik looked bitter, instead of angry. There was quiet for a very long moment, before the man spoke. “You have the right of it.”
“Then your claim is empty.” Elisef whispered, almost surprising herself with the noise.
“I have fought and bled and sacrificed for this land more than any other Jarl here! I deserve the seat of the King!” There was something here that felt charged. Like Elayne had caused something. She stared towards Titus Mede, who was looking at Ulfrik’s confident gaze over the assembled group. For a moment, she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, almost a predatory smile.
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Skyrim: Plaything