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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 Jarls have gathered.” Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone spoke clearly. “We are here! Right now! Let there be a Moot. Let us decide the next King of Skyrim!” Cups and hands slapped the table in agreement, as Korir and Skald seemed eager. Sidgeir had starry eyes, probably imagining himself with the seat. Laila of Riften and Igmund of Morthal both seemed to get lost in thought, torn over something. “Let it here be said now, that my line shall not be nominated.” The oldest person at the table spoke. Her wrinkles spoke of time and age. “Morthal is no seat of a kingdom. As the most senior, I shall judicate this meeting.”
“What about the summ-” Elayne started saying, as Arngeir held her by the arm.
“This is for the best, Ysmir. If they resolve their struggles, they will be better for it.”
“You were all at the last Moot! I stand before you unsullied and unburnt.” Ulfrik spoke. None of his side wished to speak before he did. “Though I admit my dynastic potential lies with my extended family rather than myself, I am the only one with the military power to unite us all. Our worship of Talos is threatened. Our very way of life is threatened. I will never give up on the belief in a Nordic Aedra. I ask and beg for your support in this, as we are beset by enemies at all sides.” Ulfrik made his point, speaking clearly.
“I am Elisef of Solitude. I do not submit myself to be Queen of Skyrim.” Tulius sighed in the deepest of annoyance, as the Jarls on the Imperial side of the table growled threats and banged palms on the table in anger. “I have no children, and I have not yet fully mourned my husband! Especially when his murderer remains unharmed. I cannot in good conscience take the throne when I lack the most basic education on Jarldom. It would simply make Skyrim a weakened puppet for the entirety of my rule. I may one day marry again, and raise children. But I don’t know if I will. Torygg was just so much of my life. Letting him go? I don’t know how to under these circumstances. I cannot do that to Skyrim. Its people don’t deserve that.”
Ulfrik didn’t appear happy to see that, either. Elayne thought he might like having a rival. “The only other major hold that supports the Empire in Skyrim is I.” Igmund of Markarth stood up. Eola and Gwynabyth were frowning, not at all happy with this turn of events. “But I cannot stand any of you. I am the last of my line, thanks to your dawdling so long ago. I would be an empty shell of a King, as much as it pains me to admit. I can’t do it either. The only one of us with children on the Imperial side is the crone. We are empty houses here, and mine will default to the strongest claimant Markarth has to offer upon my death. I, Igmund of Markarth, nominate the only one I could to be High King of Skyrim. Baalgruf, get out of your chair.” Igmund had been Jarl for more than two decades, and had been raised to be one. He knew politics.
“What are you doing?!” Sidgeir complained.
“What you with your sheep head should be realizing, boy!” Igmund roared back into his face. “We as a faction nominate Jarl Baalgruf as the next High King of Skyrim. He’s got two bastards and a pack of children besides. The line won’t end with him like it may if it is decided to be Elisef or myself.” Baalgruf had not stood up, fuming and radiating anger. “Get up, damn you!”
“I resolved long ago to remain neutral! And you ever wish to drag me and my people into this!” Baalgruf slammed his hands into the table. “Now you want to make me King?!”
“You’re the only choice here besides Laila! And her boys are sod for brains idiots!”
“I still have sons, Jarl Igmund.” The Jarl of Riften pointed out. “But I know that Riften is no seat of a monarch. I believe Skyrim has been wronged. We are denied the last son of Atmora as a hero and as a god worthy of worship. It gave me chills just to come into this room, and even now my hair stands upon end from the understanding that he may have sat in this seat. Talos was here. In this very room. At this very table. I refuse to believe a piece of paper can invalidate a god. But neither will I stand in the way of someone better suited. Skyrim needs a king who is a warrior. Not a lawkeeper like myself.”
Ulfrik nodded in thanks to Laila, the other two Jarls on his side not at all interested in becoming part of the discussion. “So. Every moot must have two choices for kingship, Baalgruf.”
“I am well aware!” The Jarl of Whiterun yelled, finally standing up from his seat. “Sod you all. To the blackest pits of Oblivion with your words!” He reached over his back, and drew some kind of axe. “I am Baalgruf the Younger, and I despise all of you equally for forcing me to do this.” He held the axe aloft, as many of the Jarls seemed to recognize it. It looked very ancient, and ornamental. “I submit my name to this moot for the kingship of Skyrim. Damn you all.”
“Why are you holding Wuuthrad?!” Ulfrik asked in awe.
“It has been the dream of my father’s fathers to restore this weapon to its true potential. With the help of the Dragonborn, the last piece returned to the Companions. In this hour of need, the axe of Ysgramor has been reforged. Kodlak Whitemane has asked that I carry it, in honor of the agreement between Jorvasskr and Whiterun. I do not wish kingship. It is barely enough that I keep my hold from being beset by enemies, but this is another thing entirely! Did you wish to mock me, Ulfrik? We fought as brothers in our youth! And this is the fate that awaits me? To submit my name for the very kingship you killed Torygg over? Will you come into Whiterun and slay me as well, and become a Kingslayer twice?! All of this has happened before, and I voted for the man that you slew.” Baalgruf’s gaze was hard. “Give me a reason not to refuse! Give me proof you won’t simply kill me for taking it from you!”
The table turned its attention back to the man who killed the last King of Skyrim. Ulfrik said nothing, perhaps knowing it would be suspect. It was Idgrod of Morthal that finally spoke to break the silence. “We are thawing the hoarfrost on the ceiling with our anger. Perhaps we should take a break before anything further is decided.”
The summit was on pause, apparently. Elayne had to move Serana out of the room, as well as Elenwen. She asked the elf the burning question in her mind as she heard the arguments continue amongst the prickly Nords. “Did you castrate Ulfrik Stormcloak?” She hissed. “Why is that not shouted from the rooftops by your people?”
“Because it doesn’t help. Being known for that doesn’t make people fear you. It just makes people pity the victim. It is far more effective to let it be a secret shame they hide, forever marked because of your actions and forever dwelling upon that one single moment.”
“Was your support of his movement an apology for that?”
“Gods, no.” Elenwen laughed. “That was politics. The fact that Ulfrik admitted it took away my leverage over him, so it weakens my position. I’ll just find something else to play with when all of this is said and done.”
“At least you aren’t afraid to speak your mind.”
“I’m around more than a few Nords. I find that subtlety is completely ignored by their mentality. At least with a Breton I can find some intelligent conversation.”
“Elenwen, can you stay with Serana for a bit? I think I want to talk to some of the guests without your signature charm.”
“Normally I don’t listen to slaves. But I have a self-interest in not being stabbed. I’ll wedge the door shut at least.” The Altmer showed her arrogance and unapologetically took Serana’s leash. Thankfully the vampire was quick on the uptake, mewling slightly at being jerked back to the cold bedroom.
That left Elayne alone to address a packed to the gills High Hrothgar. Oddly, there were people waiting to speak to her. Savos Aren in particular was standing close, the Dunmer looking eager. “Archmage Aren!” She spoke up. “I didn’t expect you to come!”
The Dunmer chuckled, in a good mood. “We found the body of Ancano and I animated it to see what I could find. Necromancy may be distasteful, but even I will not deny its use. We saw what he tried to do to you.” Savos seemed apologetic. “Mirabelle felt horrible at how we treated you.”
“But what about the Clanfear?”
“Old news, I am afraid.” Savos said with good humor. “Brelyna Maryon managed to turn Tollfdir into a horse for three days. The clanfear have been forgotten in the wake of watching Tollfdir attempt to open doors as a horse. Mirabelle couldn’t figure out how to dispel it, and Arniel suggested a dwemer ruin might hold the key to fixing it.” He openly laughed. “We wanted to extend our apologies at our treatment of you. When you called the summit, we finally knew where to find you. I wanted to say that I was deeply impressed by your work. Your research into these vampires is something that I would have considered beyond the work of an apprentice. I came expecting to find something less. The College of Winterhold will stand with you whenever this battle commences. We aren’t soldiers, though. We shall do our best to provide spells to those in need and leave the battlemage work to the Imperial Legion. We will fight to preserve our home, too.”
“Thank you, Archmage.” She bowed. “I’m sorry it’s been hard to reach me.”
“Well, you are a slave to Skyrim’s needs.” His words struck something in her heart that stung. Slave. That word again! “When all of this is over, come back to the college any time. We can forgo the expected treatment of a slave so you can learn a few more spells.” Captured Dreams was seriously damaging her world. People were treating her as a hero, sure! But they also thought she wanted to be treated like she didn’t have as many rights. It was a paradox she didn’t quite understand yet.
After Savos came Sidgeir, who simply wanted to be on the ‘best’ side. Which turned out to be the side that gave him the best view down her dress. She was rid of him only long enough to get stuck into a conversation between Isran, Carcette and Elisef detailing how to discover vampires amongst the populace. That was interesting but the detail of it all made her bored. Politely, she made her way between arguing Jarls, bored housecarls, and not a single Greybeard to be found. Elayne went outside, into their courtyard.
The monks were out in the blistering cold, sipping from steaming cups of tea and sitting on the stairs to the highest part of the mountain. They were unused to hearing yelling or screaming matches between anyone, lest they literally kill that person. The poor introverted monks seemed to be hiding in the blizzard rather than face their guests. Arngeir especially looked like he was strained. “Ysmir.” He said tiredly. “We apologize, but we are in no condition to provide you anything you are accustomed to.” Arngeir’s eyes went low, to where her skirts were flapping in the wind. “We also request that you remove yourself and your companions from High Hrothgar as soon as your summit is complete. We are all concerned by the actions you have displayed. It does not reflect the way of the voice!”
Wolfgar spoke, his tongue speaking the draconic language as a gust across the mountaintop. “Will weakens when words kill hope.” Or in common tongue, as she could understand; The poor monks were disturbed by it all. All four were hiding away from their own home. Or perhaps it was all the short skirts and skin on display. She shivered. Even with her ring, this place was too frigid to only be wearing a few pieces of expensive silks. Wolfgar spoke something else, but Elayne was distracted by a different gust of wind to make it out.
Arngeir thankfully translated. “We had hoped that by inviting the Jarls it would assist you. We are feeling torn on that decision. Though perhaps this will be a turning point, it feels against the Way of the Voice to condone violence through its sacred use. Long have we meditated upon this, and it concerns us deeply how worldy you seem to have become in only a few short weeks.”
“I know my clothes are a bit impractical.” She started to say, but was cut off by his hand motion.
“You found and wore the collar of Talos. Something we did not expect. We are not sure how to treat you as a slave first and peer second.” Even the Greybeards were affected by the changes! “Tell us the right of it, this instant. Are you our peer or a slave first?”
The four men were staring at her. Expectantly. They wanted an answer and they wanted it badly. If she said peer, they would probably want her to remove the collar, but without Talos himself, she couldn’t do it! There was no way she could remove this collar and prove she was their peer! “I wish to remain your peer.” Elayne stated clearly. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“Then we must return the collar of Talos to its rightful place. Remove it from your neck, and return it to its resting place at Sancre Tor.” Arngeir demanded.
“Right now?” She quivered.
“Remove the collar, Ysmir!” Arngeir demanded.
“I can’t, not yet!” She explained. “I need the blood of Tiber Septim to open this. I haven’t found any yet!”
Arngeir’s face softened at that. “Then the services of High Hrothgar can do little to help you remove it. Though until you do, we shall see you as these other Nords do. A slave in the service of Skyrim. Please keep that in mind once the summit is over.”
Captured Dreams was ruining all of her professional relationships! She could cry just to think about how many months she had spent with these monks, learning their ways. Now they were just looking at her as though she was less than before. Just getting all of this thalmor gear off would take a tremendous amount of effort, and now she didn’t even have a house to store her monetary gains in. The only place that would allow her to stay was perhaps Radiant Raiment. The only place she wasn’t considered a slave. “Thank you, Arngeir.” She offered, shivering in the wind. Snow was starting to dampen parts of her dress, and she had to go back inside to avoid being completely frozen.
This was no way to live. She couldn’t live like this, her life reduced to little more than a piece of property. Shutting the heavy door behind her, she nearly ran into the back of Eola and Gwynabyth. “Oh! Sorry!”
“Elayne!” Gwynabyth gave her a chilly hug, the Bretons shivering in the building. “This place is so cold! You really spent months here?”
“It wasn’t so bad.” She lied. “You’re just up here during the coldest months of the year.”
“It looks like the Nords are about to make peace. Somehow.” Gwynabyth muttered. “Seeing Igmund’s face makes me remember my sons.”
“The feeling seemed mutual.”
“Of course it did! We had them killed when we could get away with it. His bloodline tried to end us. Though many blame Ulfrik more than Igmund. Igmund was off in Solitude begging for help while Stormcloak and his ruffians besieged Markarth.”
“Nice summit.” Eola added privately. “When do we factor in?”
“When someone needs an army that can deal with daedra and undead, of course. No one better at a war of attrition in Skyrim.”
“But would the Forsworn fight as one? We’ve got so many tribes that don’t like one another.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Gwynabyth smiled conspiratorially. “Every hagraven from Raven Rock to Dragonstar is coming to our own meeting. I heard that someone invited the Glenmoril to come, and they’re some of the most hated hagravens in existence. We are gathering our forces at Karthspire. Though you better have this battle soon. I don’t want to think about mother running into the orphan rock coven. Gods, I think they even managed to convince Moira and her sister Anise to come.”
“You’re making the aedric and daedric worshippers fight together. I can’t think of anything more heroic.” Eola mocked.
“Except perhaps finding a good Forsworn man to settle down with?”
Gwynabyth colored at that. “The gods obviously didn’t like my advice and you went to Falkreath anyways and started this whole mess. I just thought you looked unhappy and needed something more in your life.”
“I think I got that, thank you! Your continued prayers need not be sent!” Elayne waved her hands. “I have quite enough on my plate.”
“Speaking of which, no one has even approached us outside of Ulfrik.” Gwynabyth mentioned. “I’m worried there won’t be any kind of agreement for us.”
“Of that I would not be worried about, I would like to say.” A new voice entered the conversation, too close. Elayne twisted, hand instinctively reaching for her knife. Amaund Motierre was standing right next to her. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Your summit has been a lovely opportunity, I must say.” Amaund grasped her hand, giving it a kiss. There was a burst of some kind of magic, but her piercings seemed to absorb the affect. “So long as everyone remains on the side of justice, your intentions will prevail.”
Something seemed ominous about that. It bothered her. He had tried to curse her, if she remembered right. But Meridia had removed it! She should be alright. “What exactly is the plan on that? We won’t take no for an answer, not when we are this close.” Gwynabyth insisted. “The Forsworn cannot be denied something for all of this.”
“Of course not.” Motierre spoke smoothly. “But as we remember from the last time, there are more details to iron out than simply declaring that the kingdom exists. Many dead on both sides need to be tallied, the families and inheriting groups declared. Land cannot be appropriated from nothing, due to how far back the memory of Nords and stones goes. Every single rock in this province has had people fight over it. There are a few methods that we can use to help your people. If we are to carve out a new hold, the only parts that Igmund of Markarth would part with would be the most rugged and worthless pieces of his territory.”
“That’s fine.” Eola grinned, fearless. “We can carve out a lifestyle from the stones and wind. Making a permanent settlement from nothing would simply involve hard work.”
“Quite.” Motierre inferred, glancing between the three women. “We will be discussing that the moment the moot has decided. Let us hope the leader chosen will keep their word.”
“Or what? We go back to war?” Gwynabyth threw back in his face. “I don’t think we have to worry about our end of the bargain.”
Amaund looked closely at Eola and her daedric headpiece. “I have managed to convince the Emperor to agree to concessions from the Empire in regards to our dead soldiers and compensation to their families. Would you be willing to support such?”
“If we actually did the deed, yes.” Gwynabyth said, surprising Elayne. “We believe in blessing families for their children’s sacrifice. But we won’t accept responsibility for every dead soldier in skyrim.”
“Thankfully the Empire keeps excellent written records. This will go a long way in proving your good will towards other holds. Though I have a question in regards to your agreements. As you won’t be a large producer of goods for trade, there exist some mines which have been abandoned for one reason or another. Two large ones in between Falkreath and Markarth, but they have not been actively mined in generations. It would interest the empire to have those mines returned to operational states, as they produced moonstone, iron and orichalcium. Orsinium would appreciate the supply, and it is something that can create value. In the short term, this would stabilize and provide a supply that others would trade for.”
“So long as we get a fair price.”
“Ah yes. That comes to my concern. Because you would be a new hold, we would leverage a heavier tax upon products you need until the cost to the Empire is recouped.”
“Exactly recoup how much?”
“You will be paying the families of dead soldiers directly, but we will be leveraging this tax until the damage to the economy has been recovered. Near twenty years of conflict has disenfranchised individuals. Like the Left Hand mine, for instance. The entire working population were slain.”
“Which time? It is a gold mine. Bandits, Orc raiders, you name it most of them would raid that mine.” Gwynabyth seemed to hold her ground. “If a tax is leveraged upon our products to the excess of the ones placed upon Markarth and Falkreath, then we might feel less than agreeable and return to our old ways.”
Motierre was frowning, as if something was wrong. Or wasn’t going the way he wanted it. “It must appear as though your people are agreeable to the idea of becoming part of the Empire again.”
“Then we will send some of our trained mages to serve in your legions. Use our strengths, not our weaknesses.”
“The Empire needs economic stability and strength more than it needs further blades pointed at our enemies! We aren’t at war with the dominion yet, so our focus has to be on economic growth!”
Elayne gave a nod to everyone in this conversation, giving Eola and Gwynabyth a touch on the shoulder to show that she was leaving. With the place so busy and packed, she found another conversation to be drawn into quite quickly. She passed an excited Isran conversing with General Tulius and Baalgruf about some kind of ranged weapon. She caught the words crossbow, but didn’t really understand that. Her heels carried her to a curious conversation between Jarl Idgrod of Morthal and Jarl Elisef. The pair of women were closest to the hearth, sitting at a table and whispering. “Mind if I join?” She asked them politely.
“Of course! Welcome, young hero.” The old woman grinned, some of her teeth missing. “We were just discussing the evacuation that awaits us.”
“How many people will be evacuating?”
“Winterhold will be a simple evacuation. Dawnstar not so much. All of this snow has them caged in. As well as an iceberg that is still blocking their port. They will face a terrible journey through the passes. Morthal and Dragon Bridge will be easier, if only because we face muddy and frozen roads instead of snowed over passes.” Elisef considered. “Winterhold is furthest from these Volkihar, and have sleds to move over the snow. They won’t need help.”
“What about Solitude? You have many thousands of people.”
“I am debating ordering the city to defend itself. It will mean that we do not participate in the great battle, but we cannot effect an evacuation while my hold is already overrun. The rivers won’t slow them down, either.” The young woman seemed tired. “We would have been facing these creatures alone, if not for your help. I wanted to thank you, at least for your service. If there is a Solitude to return to, I’ll make certain you have a home there when this is over.”
“Thank you.” Elayne smiled, a real smile.
“It is we who should be thanking you.” Idgrod added. “I have never been to the summit. I can feel a voice upon the wind here. It whispers of something ancient. This mountain has so many secrets, it wants to speak them to those that would hear.” In the distance, there was a rumbling as Jarls started moving back towards the meeting room. “Ah! Ulfrik has finished pissing in a bush. He’s ready to decide the verdict!”
“What?”
“That boy did this during the last moot. We deliberated while he visited a water closet in Solitude. According to Galmar he does his best thinking there.”
“Jarl Idgrod, that isn’t fit for discussion!” Elisef tried to say.
“It’s the truth, young lady! And the truth should always have a place.” The old woman cackled. “Once you bear a child all will make sense.”
“I don’t know if I will.”
“Bah! Without a war you will be expected to marry an important noble from somewhere. Perhaps someone from a neighboring hold. Or maybe Wayrest might interest you. Some very nice men there, I believe our Dragonborn knows a few.”
“It seems so far away.” Elisef wondered aloud, as their heels clicked towards the meeting room. “Everything seems lost right now.”
Idgrod found her seat, this time in the middle of the crowd. Jarls were still ambling in the doorway when she hammered her cane into the table. “Alright you hooligans. Sit back down. The Moot is back in session.” The old woman’s eyes met every other Jarl before landing on Ulfrik. “Well, speak your mind, king slayer. What will you do? What claims will you keep?”
Ulfrik was quiet for an entire minute, eyes closed and seemingly at peace with something. “I nominate Baalgruf of Whiterun as King. I subside and remove my claim to such a throne, so long as no agent of the Dominion be allowed inside of Skyrim’s borders again. Many of our important scions and families are broken by my actions, and our holds are split. But if there are no Thalmor in Skyrim, then Skyrim can worship as it pleases! The White-Gold Concordat will not hold forever. It may not be my lifetime, or that of our children. But Talos will live on in skyrim, and its sons and daughters will keep its oaths. So long as we are united behind our king.”
The complete silence was one of shock. Ulfrik Stormcloak, giving up his claim? “I support the holder of Ysgramor’s axe.” Jarl Korir avoided mentioning Baalgruf by name.
“I support Jarl Baalgruf.” Jarl Dengir of Dawnstar muttered. He wasn’t happy. Elayne swore she could see the man crying. “Skyrim must not be broken.”
Laila Law-Giver was the last Jarl to not speak for Baalgruf. “Who am I to stand against this mighty body of Jarls? Riften needs its sons and daughters home, if we are to harvest enough food for this year. This winter is harsh upon us, and even the fish have gone somewhere to hide from the freeze. The Rift supports Skyrim’s new king.”
Baalgruf was frowning, now the focus of the entire moot. “Damn you all. Damn you all to Oblivion and Sovngard!” He bellowed, his words nearly carrying the force of a shout. “I’ll be the High King of Skyrim. But don’t expect an ounce of decorum more than I give it! I will not be chained to a throne or hunted down and killed by the Thalmor!” His hands tightened on the tabletop. “This belonged to Torygg. My line has been kings before, and we led Skyrim to ruin against Red Mountain! Not since that era have my bloodline been trusted to lead us! It haunts me every day to think that I am the descendant of the king that caused such ruin. Whiterun stands with Skyrim. But damn all of you for placing my cursed bloodline back upon this throne.”
“Does that Daedric Prince still follow your line?” Idgrod asked pointedly.
“They do. We cannot break her hold.”
“Your concern and prowess will make you a better man than Torygg ever could be.” Elisef looked hurt by the old woman’s words, but Torygg was dead. There was no getting around it. “We stand upon the edge of a knife. The World-Eater flies above and the undead rise from below. The draugr are waking from their barrows. You all know it. The ancient sealed ruins are coming alive once again. Lastly, these vampires shall come for us. But they shall come to battle a united Skyrim. Hail! All Hail the High King of Skyrim!”
Jarls and housecarls alike screamed the word Hail at the top of their lungs. Baalgruf’s face was redder and redder as the screaming continued, until he could take it no more. “Stop! Stop, the lot of you!” He waved his arms, and things calmed down. But no one was happy. Not a single Jarl looked pleased at the outcome. “I’ve accepted. Any more unreasonable demands upon me and I’ll throw a fist!”
“Then let me be the first to complain. Best for me to get punched by the king first.” Igmund spoke up. “I heard rumor that the Forsworn were going to steal some of my land and make a new hold.”
Angry grumbling echoed through the room. But it was Emperor Titus Mede that spoke first. “An agreement has been offered. These Forsworn will inhabit the high mountain valleys and the remains of Hroldan, creating a new city and locale in between Falkreath and Markarth.” Elayne felt some kind of pull, like her magic was being affected by something. But it passed after a moment, and she made eye contact with a very confused Amaund Motierre. His curse! This was the moment he planned on using it! And he failed.
Her attention turned back to Igmund and Baalgruf. “You would go behind the king’s back and sell our rightful land?”
“I’ve only been king two minutes! Don’t drag me into something decades old!” He was not used to the new title, by far.
“You represent Skyrim now, act like it!” The squabbling was starting to rise.
It was Eola that broke the argument. “We didn’t like the deal. No one should have their ancestral lands taken. Nobody! We have our grudges but that makes us as good or bad as any other group in Skyrim!” She folded her arms. “We appreciate your offer, Emperor Titus, but the Forsworn have a new agreement. One that satisfies everyone.”
“What kind of agreement could satisfy your greedy hands?” Igmund growled.
“Simple.” Eola smiled, walking around the table and standing next to Siddgeir. “I offered my hand to Siddgeir of Falkreath.”
“I said yes, of course.” The vapid Jarl replied. An amulet of Mara was around his neck at all times, after all. The man was a fop, but everyone knew he was after power.
The other eight Jarls started screaming. Igmund was actually frothing at the mouth. Elayne couldn’t tell what anyone was saying, and she just gave a short shout. It eclipsed the shouting men and women, as the table in front of everyone was coated in frost. “Let Baalgruf speak!” She implored.
Igmund was muttering racial epithets worse than any Dunmer she had ever heard, so mad he couldn’t see straight. Baalgruf was slightly less incensed. “Why in the name of Talos would you accept a Daedric worshipping wife, Siddgeir!”
“Because she is a Princess. Once we prove her father is gone, Falkreath becomes a petty kingdom once again. You all may remain Jarls, but I shall rise and equal the power of the counts of Colovia!” Siddgeir stood, raising his hands. “And Falkreath has what the Forsworn need, without giving up space for my people!”
“What would that be?” Baalgruf said coldly.
“Helgen is burned. More than half of my hold is dead,” Siddgeir slammed his hands onto the table. “I have a shell of my former power and empty buildings aplenty. I will take in these Forsworn, restore the peace to my hold, and give them the city they need! None of you have a city to provide them, or a way to insure their survival. But if I marry the line of Caddach, my hold gains its claims on Markarth as well! Not this day, but some day we may expand and become a major hold once more!” Siddgeir seemed to be proud of all of this. “And I don’t care what she worships so long as our bedchamber is kept warm.”
At their core, Nords could be as petty and greedy as anyone else. Siddgeir was doing what any minor hold dreamed of. “You would marry the daughter of Madanach?” Ulfrik asked, disturbed.
“Petty Kingdoms can’t always choose their people.” Siddgeir said with pride. “I will not be forgotten or passed over again. Falkreath will become a greater power within a generation!”
Igmund looked at Baalgruf. “Are you seeing this? Are you daft? He’s going to marry a daedric worshipper!”
“I am no different.” Baalgruf murmured, echoing around the table.
“What?!”
“I’ve been too afraid to marry my woman.” Baalgruf growled. “Too afraid of what you all think! I will not be upstaged by Siddgeir of all people! If that milksop can find happiness, then so can I!”
“You’re going to marry Irileth?” Elayne asked softly.
“And it won’t be Heimskr doing it!” Baalgruf confirmed.
The Jarls seemed to look at Baalgruf with their own degree of skepticism. One in particular remained quiet. Reserved. Ulfrik was in his seat, glaring at Siddgeir and fuming. “And what of Talos, then? Heimskr is a priest of his.”
“I haven’t forgotten Talos. Torygg worshipped him, and more than once slipped off to pay respects to his family’s personal shrine in Whiterun hold. But I made a promise that I would let her aunt Aranea wed us. I have been married under Talos’ blessing once before. This time, I’ll allow her to have her special day. I don’t expect any children to threaten the line of succession. I have five already, and any more would simply be a blessing.” Baalgruf said, tensions calming as the table had something else to gaggle about. “I have questions for the battle to come. The first being how will you convince this Harkon to come to battle? How can you defeat him?”
“He’s a vampire ancient. He can be killed. Just like any other soul in Mundus.” Keeper Carcette spoke up from the back wall. “But he will not be easy to put down. Thankfully the Dragonborn has secured the artifact that would be most dangerous in his hands. For she has taken the mace of his lord. If he were armed with a direct connection to Molag Bal such as that, he could open a doorway directly into Coldharbour.”
“The Sacrifice of Martin Septim at the end of the Oblivion Crisis should prevent that!” TItus Mede challenged.
“Oblivion cannot simply be cast away, even to someone so pious.” Carcette explained carefully. “Long ago, this land and many others fought against something called the Planemeld. There are still places where the line between this realm and the other is blurred. One of them is at the western side of Fort Amol, in your own lands.”
“That fort is infested with daedra worshipping mages.” Ulfrik reminded. “So long as they leave me alone, I will have no quarrel. The remains of the Oblivion gates were dragged into the sea and drowned. My grandfather made sure to do that.”
“So the beast can be killed.” Baalgruf interrupted. “We just need to make the man come to the field.”
“We need to parade around his daughter. Where the bards can sing the praises of the fact I captured her, and am holding her in Whiterun. It will take some time for all of the armies to arrive, for all sides. But we need to make it clear we aren’t giving her up without a fight.”
“The Imperial Legion will be in lesser numbers. We will have to draw our forces from Falkreath and Morthal, and begin assembling catapults to use against the enemy. Though we don’t have a lot of shovels and picks between those groups, we should be able to dig some defenses.”
Ulfrik shared a look with Galmar. “You can use the catapults I’ve got near Whiterun already.”
“You were prepared to besiege my city?!”
“You could not remain neutral forever! By spring I planned on forcing your hand.” Ulfrik said. “If we are all friends, I will provide all of the siegeworks I assembled already. There are three fully assembled in Graywinter Watch cave. Along with enough supplies to build palisades and earthworks.”
“Are you just going to give up everything, now?” Jarl Dengir growled. “Where is your pride, Stormcloak?”
“Where is your common sense, Dengir!” Ulfrik challenged. “I will not fight Baalgruf. Not if he keeps his word and allows us to worship Talos. My word and oath would only last until I died. His word and oath will carry through all of his generations! Have some sense. I will be marching my troops into Whiterun, but only with your guards escorting us.” The man looked back at Baalgruf. “I want to make it clear to them that we are with you, and not that we are conquering territory.”
“I know some farmers that will appreciate that.” Baalgruf sighed. “That’s the Legion and Stormcloaks. What about the other holds of Skyrim?” All but Falkreath declared the intent to send troops. Falkreath apparently had no men to spare. “And what of you?” Baalgruf looked at Eola. “What can we expect from the Forsworn?”
“One thousand men and women, with war staves and perhaps fifteen hagravens. We’ve gathered from Dragonstar to Bruma, and even from Solstheim.” Igmund of Markarth looked pale.
“You’ve had this strong of a force all these years?” He said, aghast.
“That’s just the group willing to fight.” Eola said carefully. “There are perhaps as many again or more that cannot stomach fighting with Ulfrik Stormcloak and Igmund of Markarth. They will avoid conflict and stay with the infirm and very young. Our northern camps may yet be attacked depending upon the size of this vampiric army. Does anyone know how large it might be?”
“The Thalmor ships have been coming and going with rapidity. They come back heavy-laden.” Tulius spoke up. “My scouts can report only that there are large numbers of undead steadily moving south, close to Hag’s End Mountain. Haafingar is going to be overrun before we can get back to the hold. The Legion will not have a full thousand men to fight at Whiterun.”
“But we will be fighting thousands more.” Keeper Carcette mentioned. “We will need an advantage. The dead can fight when the living might not continue fighting.”
“She’s right. We need something more for this.” Baalgruf said. “None of us are comfortable fighting together. Or trusting any other at our flanks. But our people are in all parts of each others forces. Even Igmund can say that.”
“I refuse to recognize the Forsworn in any kind of way that implies my acceptance of their actions.”
“Do you want this world to end?” Ulfrik bellowed.
“If these folk are treated with more respect than their Jarl? Perhaps I might.”
“Are you mad?”
“I could demand the same question! My father was beheaded by her family, my sons killed! My wife was poisoned, my mother strangled! Mad I may be, but we call these people the mad folk of the Reach! What kind of trust do we dare put in the hands of the same kind of people that started the Oblivion Crisis?!”
“Says the one who lets a piece of paper determine which gods they can worship.” Gwynabyth responded flatly.
Igmund stood up, leaving. “I’ll come to support Baalgruf. The rest of you I’ll spit upon your grave and pray I never see you again. Hail to the High King of Skyrim.” The Nord shoulder checked his way past a housecarl, his grumblings and anger echoing through the hall as the first person to leave the summit did so.
“Well played, Lady Dragonborn.” TItus Mede spoke up. “The Nords once again are united. The Thalmor are weakened and my Empire fights the right enemies, and not our good people.” He made eye contact with everyone in the room. “So long as all men and women of Skyrim support this battle, I will forgive all insult and injury to The Empire and its people. I never had any intention of controlling Skyrim, where the Empire was born. It is humbling to be in this chamber. To think that in ages past this is where it began. My dynasty has none of the glory and aedric connection of those past. So I must honor and glorify that which I can. As the sitting Emperor, I say Hail and well met, High King of Skyrim. May your days be long and the mead be plenty.”
A round of fists slamming the table echoed this sentiment. “You would have controlled Elisef as though she were your puppet.” Baalgruf replied. “Do not think I will be so easily cowed.”
“I will not deny such. But I did not plan for you to become king, either. That I lay at the feet of your peers. My only wish is to see this Rebellion come to an end. We have a real enemy, and they revel and mock us even as we fight each other.” Titus’ voice was clear and to the point. “The elves will come back. Hammerfell is likely to stand alone against them, and I have no doubt that your sons and daughters will feel strongly to participate. There is a season of war, and a season of peace that follows. What I can see as Emperor is that we are in that moment, where you take a deep breath before the plunge. Everyone knows it is coming. But you keep watching it happen. Jarl Ulfrik Stormcloak, this all began with the killing of your rightful king, Torygg. The only justice that the Empire has sought during this conflict is for such a killing.”
“I stand by what I did. I wished to secede from your empire.” he stated, standing proudly. “Part of me still feels betrayed by what you did.”
“I was content to allow Skyrim to worship Talos.” Titus Mede countered. “Then you made a loud complaint. You have the distinct ability to make someone uncomfortable, Jarl Ulfrik. I pray to your version of Talos that you imagine how that could be used. As you slew your king under Nordic Law, it is to that law that I will hold your punishment.”
Baalgruf opened his eyes wide. “You expect me to choose? Right here? In this room?” He looked disgusted. “This is not a room to talk of such things!”
“I would rather be judged in the sight of Talos than in the sight of unworthy man. Speak your judgement, High King! Speak your judgement, and once Alduin has fallen I will abide by it.”
“We all respect you, Ulfrik. Some think you mad, but I know better. I know you better. I know that you have honor, and it is connected so deeply to your faith that you cannot deny anything that goes against such.” Baalgruf spoke carefully, eyes searching the table as he sought for his own answer. “I have a punishment that fits your crime, if you are willing to bear it.”
“I can bear any words you may speak.”
“Once the world-eater is dead, you will face exile, Jarl Ulfrik. You may never return to the land that bore you. You shall keep your life, and be buried in honor with your forefathers. But your life will be defined by your exile from this point forward.” Baalgruf was looking at Ulfrik, eyes wet. “I never wanted to see you fall. We all agreed with you at that moot! You spoke strongly, but you had no wife and no children! If we had only known, perhaps it would have ended differently. I have no wish to kill such a man of honor and dignity. Especially because that honor is so tied to Talos.” Jarl Baalgruf wiped his face. “That is what the High King demands as punishment.” His voice shook. “Will you abide by it?”
Ulfrik heaved his own deep breath. “Aye.” He whispered. “I shall accept my exile peacefully. When the World-Eater lies dead.”
Titus Mede clapped softly. “The hand of a merciful king bears the harshest burden.” He quoted from somewhere. “We stand united, Lady Dragonborn. Skyrim stands with you. Scour the kingdom for every bard. Word must spread, and this battle must be called. Now, I saw that there was a surviving Thalmor with you earlier. Perhaps, Lady Dragonborn, she may be of assistance to our needs.”
Elayne felt more than saw the collective anger. Elenwen wasn’t going to get off this mountain alive without her help. And she had promised to keep her alive. “I shall see to it, and I thank all of you for your agreement. We will save the world, though there is much to do before then. Let me fetch Elenwen.” Just saying her name seemed to make the collected Nords growl.
Elayne stepped into the small bedchamber of Tiber Septim. Instead of finding Serana and Elenwen there, she only found her bag, and an empty room. Upon the bed was Captured Dreams, with one of its pages ripped out. “Oh that bitch.” She whispered. “She took Serana!”
Elenwen was in the other world, and she had Serana. How long had they been talking while she was gone! How far away was she now?! Eola heard her calls of anger, and was the first to the door. “Damn her.” The Breton whispered. “You’re going after her, aren’t you.”
“I have to.” Elayne whispered. “Elenwen doesn’t know how to get back into this world.”
“I’ll cover for you.” Eola promised. “See you at Whiterun, then?”
Elayne nodded. “Thank you, Eola.”
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Skyrim: Plaything