The Wolf Queen Awakens

by ms_katonic

Summary:

Dragons may signify the world's end but as far as Elisif's concerned, her world ended well before that when Ulfric Stormcloak murdered her husband. So it is that no one's more surprised than her when a dragon attack on Solitude reveals that there's more to the High Queen in waiting than anyone suspected.

Notes:

So anyway I wrote another fic. It's been in the works for months, but now N&J is done, the time's right to out myself as the author of this one. It's from a SKM prompt, and it's Yet Another NPC Dragonborn fic. Elisif this time, because several anons on the meme squealed over the idea. And as I love Elisif to bits, she's getting her own fic. So here it is.

Chapter 1

“It's dead then?”

Falk Firebeard, Steward of Solitude, was addressing the hapless guard bringing news of the latest dragon attack on the city. It was the third this week, and even with Castle Dour's soldiers in the city, they were suffering. Elisif didn't even want to think about how the rest of Skyrim was doing. Badly, she suspected. A whole month since the Helgen attack, and the dragons were everywhere, it seemed. The attacks had started in the east, but since then, they'd spread. Nords were tough, Nords were brave, Nords were fighters. But what could even Nords do against foes that seemed to rise again days after they died?

Elisif didn't know, but she hated feeling so helpless. She was supposed to be queen in waiting, she was meant to be a Jarl! And yet her guards were barely holding it together, the Legion was stretched because of the war and Tullius kept brushing off her concerns. Elisif had a definite feeling she was being given the run-around, but she didn't know how to confront Tullius directly. Wasn't there anything she could do? There had to be something.

“Where's the body?” Elisif asked, interrupting the conversation, and that was another thing, the surprised and slightly annoyed look on Falk's face whenever she ventured an opinion. He was her steward, he was meant to answer to her! And yet somehow she always ended up giving in to him because he was older and experienced and had served as steward to both Torygg and his father.

“Out in the market, my Jarl,” said Falk, gritting his teeth a little. “For now, anyway.”

“I want to see it,” said Elisif, feeling a little reckless, more so than usual. Ever since the dragons had come back, she'd felt restless. Penned in. Feeling like she was meant to be doing something, she didn't know what. And the dreams, always the dreams, dreams of flying, soaring through the air with the whole of Skyrim below her. She liked those dreams.

She was less keen on the dreams of blood and death and fire and screaming, especially the ones where she was not an innocent bystander on the ground, but descending from the sky causing it.

“My Jarl,” Falk began, “you don't need to see the body for yourself, they all look much the same.”

“I agree,” Sybille put in, “I've already thoroughly examined the body of two previous kills, you're not going to notice anything I missed.”

Elisif could really slap her court mage sometimes.

“I. Want. To. See it,” Elisif snapped, her voice coming out in a ferocious low growl that surprised even her. Falk flinched back, Sybille looked a little nervous, and even Erikur had reacted. Good. She'd have to raise her voice more often if that was the result. “In fact, I'm going to see it. I am Jarl and I can go where I like in my own city.”

Without waiting for an answer, she got up and strode off, making for the door.

“Oh for Divines' sake,” she heard Falk cry before snapping at Bolgeir to get after her. Elisif allowed herself a small smile. She'd won this victory at least. Falk might be used to getting his own way, but he couldn't actually override her.

She made her way out of the palace, down the Avenue and past the Hall of the Dead, before passing under the bridge and into the market place. The dead dragon was lying up ahead, taking up virtually all the space. They were a lot bigger close up. Elisif had seen them from her window in the Blue Palace, but they'd moved too fast for her to get a good look at. She wasn't sure now that was such a bad thing. Even dead it looked frightening, with its tough scales and teeth the size of her arm and wickedly sharp claws and spines. There was quite a crowd standing around it, guards, citizens, soldiers, children. The muted chatter fell quiet as they all saw their Jarl approach.

“It's dead then,” Elisif said to Captain Aldis, who was standing over it, wiping his forehead from exhaustion.

“Quite dead, ma'am,” said Aldis wearily. “Up until it comes back to life in the night.”

“Aldis,” Elisif snapped. “I said not to say that around citizens.”

“Not talking about a thing doesn't make it not true, my Jarl,” said Aldis, but he did drop the subject. Elisif knew it wouldn't solve anything, but it was important to at least sound like they knew what they were doing. Maybe dismembering the body would help, although how any weapon, even ebony, was meant to hack a dragon to bits, Elisif had no idea. Then it happened. The dragon started to smoke, burning from within, scales and flesh crackling as the body fell apart in fire.

“What's happening,” Elisif gasped. “What's it doing?”

“I – I don't know, I've never seen one do this before,” said Aldis, confused. “Everyone get back! Don't touch it!”

Elisif found herself hauled back as Bolgeir had finally caught up and pushed between her and the dragon, keeping her from the fire. He couldn't keep her from what happened next though. White light boiled up from the dragon's corpse, spiralling up into a vortex, the wind rushing around, whipping up Elisif's hair, but she couldn't take her eyes off it. She barely heard the screaming as townsfolk ran for cover, and then the light grew brighter, filling her entire field of vision and Elisif closed her eyes, feeling light and heat envelop her. Roaring, shrieking like an outraged dragon, and then something very like a dragon's jaws rose up inside her mind, snapping shut on what had just sunk into her brain.

A memory trickled through Elisif's mind, a memory of happier days with Torygg, of picnicking out by Kilkreath and the old Nord memorial stone there. Torygg hadn't even seemed to notice anything odd about it, just a curved wall carved in the old tongue that no one could read these days, but she'd heard it singing to her, a strange chanting that had drawn her in and she could hear it again now, same chanting, and she remembered the glowing word on the wall, written in another language but she could read it, she knew what it meant and the word was Su. Air. She'd not known what to make of it at the time, but the chanting had subsided and she'd let her laughing husband pull her back to his arms and put it out of her mind. Now she couldn't forget it, and she felt the new power from the dragon pulsing through her and then into the word, if that made any sense but nothing about this did. The word had come alive in her head, and she knew instinctively that if she shouted it with weapons in her hands... she'd be unstoppable.

She opened her eyes and saw everyone staring at her, literally every single person there, from Captain Aldis to that Argonian to the innkeeper's son to a small group of children. Bolgeir was staring at her, amazed, and then she felt Falk's hand on her shoulder.

“Elisif, what happened, are you all right?”

“It's Jarl Elisif to you!” she snapped, immediately regretting it as she saw the hurt on his face, quickly covered up by his usual professional mask.

“Oh gods, I'm sorry, I...” She looked around at the entire city looking at her as if she'd grown an extra head.

“I need to go,” Elisif whispered, and then she was running, fleeing for the Blue Palace and home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif sprinted up the steps, darting past servants and guards and ignoring Erikur calling to her if she'd sorted out that dragon. She'd sort him out if he didn't shut up, shouting Su and carving him into – oh gods. She ran into her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She didn't know what had happened, but she was scared and terrified and there was this new power in her now, this thing that wouldn't go away and really really wanted to fight, fight them all until they were all on their knees, all calling her Lady Queen and... oh gods, what was wrong with her??

She reached into a cupboard and grabbed a goblet and a bottle of Colovian brandy swiped from Elenwen's last party. Her hand shook as she poured herself a measure... and another... and then she gave up on the glass and just swigged a mouthful straight from the bottle. The taste burned her throat, but she didn't care. She collapsed on the bed, vaguely aware of Falk hammering on the door and shouting her name.

“Elisif! Elisif! Open the door!”

Elisif ignored him. The brandy was making her feel reckless, a warm shield that normally made her feel at ease with the world, but now made her feel just that bit more predatory. This was her palace, her strunmah (what in Oblivion was a strunmah??), the red joor could wait until she was ready (joor??).

“Leave me alone!” she snapped.

“Not until we've talked!” Falk shouted. “Elisif, what happened? What did that dragon do to you?”

Better ask what I did to that dragon, and that was another thing she resented, the implication that it was always other people doing things to her, not her doing things to other people.

“Nothing!” Elisif cried. “It didn't do anything, it was dead. I don't know what happened!”

“Elisif,” Falk called from behind the door, sounding worried. “My Jarl, people are talking. They're saying you took its soul, that you're...”

“DOVAHKIIN!!!!!” The room shook as the great Shout rolled across the sky, causing the room to shake and Elisif to sober up very very quickly. What in the name of Kyne... was that the Greybeards?!

“Falk,” Elisif called, feeling her heart start to pound. “Falk, I'm not... I'm not Dragonborn. Am I?”

Silence. Not a sound, and that was worse than if he'd said yes, because it meant yes, didn't it? She'd taken that damn dragon's soul.

“Oh gods,” Elisif whispered, and she finally lost all semblance of control. Rolling over, she began to cry. Falk clearly took that as an invitation to come in, because he was opening the door, closing it behind him and then sitting on the bed next to her, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. Elisif didn't even care any more. She just turned over and rested her head in his lap, like she used to do with her father as a girl. Falk stroked her hair, saying nothing.

“I can't be Dragonborn, Falk, I just can't,” she whispered, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “I'm not a mighty warrior or anything, I'm just a foolish young girl who doesn't know what she's doing half the time.”

“No, you're a very brave young woman who's come through a lot and is stronger than she knows, than any of us knew,” said Falk gently. “It's all right, Elisif, no one's going to ask you to fight a dragon on your own. But you just stopped one coming back. That's special. That just saved your city.”

Third dragon attack that week – but not the third dragon and Elisif knew it. Well, it wouldn't be coming back. Others might though, especially if they knew the Dragonborn was here, and thanks to the Greybeards, everyone now knew there was a Dragonborn.

“I'm going to have to go to High Hrothgar, aren't I?” Elisif whispered. “What do you think they want?”

“I don't know, but don't be afraid,” Falk said, squeezing her shoulder. “I think they just want to meet you, make sure you're not going to use your powers for ill. And then I think they're going to train you in how to Shout.”

How to Shout. She'd seen Shouting before, when Ulfric had come and challenged Torygg and... He'd Shouted then, misused everything the Greybeards had taught him, and then the sword had come plunging down on her helpless husband as Falk and Bolgeir had held her back while she'd screamed. Ulfric had stood back, looking satisfied after butchering a man less than half his age, and he'd glanced at her, shrugged and just said that the price for freedom was a high one. A high one! He'd not been the one paying it. She'd lunged at him, but not been able to break free and a good thing too or she'd have been joining Torygg in Sovngarde. She almost wished she had.

Shouting. The power of the Thu'um. It was said to take years to learn even a single word of it. Years, and yet she'd learnt a word off a wall ages ago and just unlocked it in seconds today without even knowing she was doing it. In five minutes she'd learnt a third of what Ulfric knew, and he'd been at High Hrothgar for years.

“I could learn to Shout,” she said, the fear subsiding. “Like... like Ulfric.”

“Hopefully not like him!” Falk said firmly. “But yes, that's the general idea. You take the souls of dead dragons and use them to Shout with.”

Like Ulfric. No, better than Ulfric. Elisif knew then what she had to do.

Falk was still talking, staring off into space.

“Don't worry, Elisif, we can take care of the dragon-killing for you,” he was saying. “I'll talk to General Tullius, get him to spare the men to go dragon-hunting. They can kill the beasts then you can walk in and take the souls.”

“No.” Elisif sat up, not even sure where this determination was coming from, but if she didn't stand up for herself over this, she'd be a slave for life, she just knew it.

“What do you mean, no? You can't possibly mean to start fighting dragons by yourself!”

“I mean to do exactly that!” Elisif snapped. “No dragon relies on others to kill her foes for her!”

“Elisif, you're not a -” Falk began, now completely confused, but the look on Elisif's face stopped him.

“I'm going to need my armour, the good set,” said Elisif, mentally cataloguing the contents of her armoury. “And that ebony war axe with the fire enchantment on it. Get me a sword too, ebony or glass if possible. Suppose I should take a bow and arrows too – decent set of those please, and a big batch of low-end arrows – I never was any good at archery, I imagine I'll miss a lot. Also some healing and stamina potions and some fire resistance potions, and I want five hundred septims from the treasury. And another five hundred set by in case that runs out. And some food as well. And tell Sybille I want to see her before I go.”

“Go?” said Falk, looking a bit frantic. “Go where? High Hrothgar?”

“Initially, yes, but after that, who knows?” said Elisif, shrugging. “Depends what the Greybeards tell me.”

“You – you're not coming back?” Falk breathed, going pale. “But Elisif, Solitude needs you!”

“Skyrim needs me!” Elisif sighed. “There's dragons attacking everywhere and it seems I'm the only one that can stop them. You don't need me here, Falk, you can keep this city going quite well without me for a bit.”

“Elisif, you can't just go travelling off round Skyrim!” Falk protested. “It's dangerous! Quite apart from the dragons, we're at war! If the Stormcloaks got their hands on you...!”

Elisif's eyes narrowed as she contemplated the thought of laying eyes on Ulfric again.

“If Ulfric finds me, he will find he has taken on more than he bargained for,” she said, amazed at just how calmly she was considering the possibility of smashing Ulfric's skull open with an axe. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a country to save... and a husband to avenge.”

Chapter 2

Summary:

Elisif sets off for High Hrothgar, leaving her true identity and the responsibilities of Jarldom behind her. The responsibilities of Dragonborn don't rest any easier though, so it's a good thing she finds some allies...

Notes:

YAY, people are reading! I'm so pleased. Here is the next chapter - a bit longer, this one. Elisif's not a brilliant fighter on her own, so I felt it a good idea to get her some help.

In the end, things had gone fairly smoothly – everyone was agreed she had to follow the Greybeards' call. So off to High Hrothgar it was. She'd kitted herself out with a full set of finely crafted scaled armour – not terribly substantial, but she could barely move in steel plate. It would do. She'd also got potions, an axe and sword, Elven bow, a few glass arrows and lots of steel ones, some food for the road, and a full coin purse. She'd also talked Sybille into teaching her some basic spells – nothing fancy, just healing, the three basic Destruction spells, how to cast mage armour, how to conjure a familiar, and spells for clairvoyance and candlelight. She'd never be a wizard but it wouldn't hurt to know a few spells.

About the only stumbling block had been her insisting on going alone. Falk had put his foot down and insisted she take guards, she'd shouted back that the whole point of this was to get to know her country and discover what she could really do, and she wasn't depriving Solitude of its protectors. Falk had asked what about her protection and Elisif had just shrugged.

“I'm Dragonborn. I don't need it like you do.”

“At least take Bolgeir,” Falk sighed.

“And won't you need a guard?” Elisif had asked.

In the end, they'd compromised. Which meant Elisif set out on her journey accompanied by a troop of Haafingar guards escorting her as far as Dragon Bridge, and then the rest of the way by one of the housecarls in training, Jordis the Sword Maiden. Falk had seen her off at Solitude gates, giving her a hug and telling her to take care, and she'd hugged him back and told him to look after her city. Then she'd left, feeling a lump in her throat as she'd walked away. Dragon Bridge had arrived all too soon, and she'd stared at the bridge, knowing once she crossed it that would be it. She'd have left Haafingar and she wouldn't be Jarl any more, just one warrior and a not terribly experienced one at that.

Elisif took a deep breath, whispered a prayer to Mara, and started walking.

Once over, it was amazing how the fear just seemed to slide from her, like a weight had just lifted from her shoulders. Elisif walked on and kept walking, and then started running, running and squealing like a little girl until she got tired and had to stop. She was free! She could do whatever she wanted! Go wherever she wanted! She didn't have to worry about being Jarl or Queen or about Ulfric or the war or anything. She was just Elisif, on her own, ready to start exploring.

Well. Not quite on her own.

“My Jarl!” Jordis gasped, running after Elisif in her steel armour, slowed down a little but Jordis' stamina far outstripped Elisif's. “Wait for me!”

“Sorry,” Elisif said, waiting for Jordis to catch up. “I got... carried away.”

To her surprise, Jordis actually giggled, and Elisif realised that for all the woman's strength and prowess, she was no older than Elisif herself, not by much anyway.

“Oh that's all right, Jarl,” Jordis laughed. “It's exciting, isn't it? I've never been up to High Hrothgar before. I wonder what it's like?”

“Cold, I imagine,” said Elisif, looking towards the Throat of the World, its peak just visible in the distance. “Listen, Jordis, now we're away from Solitude, you need to stop calling me your Jarl. I don't want people knowing who I am. It'd get the wrong kind of attention.”

“Of course, my Ja- sorry,” said Jordis sheepishly. “Er. What do I call you then? I don't think I can call you Elisif.”

No, and the name wasn't common enough that people wouldn't automatically associate it with the High Queen to be, especially a young High Queen who was Dragonborn apparently. Wouldn't take long for a rumour like that to spread.

“Don't call me anything,” Elisif said, racking her brains for a suitable alias. “Or just call me ma'am. Just not anything likely to give me away. The whole point of travelling quietly is so no one knows it's me. They'll treat me differently if they know, and how can I ever learn to be a good queen if I don't know what Skyrim's like for people who aren't Jarls?”

“Dangerous,” said Jordis quietly, hand resting on her sword hilt. “But I'll protect you with my life, my Jarl.”

Elisif thought of Jordis lying dead because of her and shivered. Not if she could help it. No one was dying because of her. She was here to help save Skyrim, not get people killed. Hand on her own weapons, she led on.

~~~~~~~~~

The journey wasn't too challenging at first. A few beasts, and although Elisif reacted to the first wolf pack by shrieking and dropping her sword while Jordis dealt with them, she did better with the second, and when they ran into bandits at Robber's Gorge, actually wounded one before sprinting away in terror.

“That does it, I am getting Falk to send soldiers down here!” Elisif seethed once away from the place.

“You can't,” said Jordis, still cleaning the blood off her own sword. “You're not in Haafingar, that's part of Hjaalmarch. Jarl Idgrod would complain.”

“Idgrod's not got the troops, I have,” said Elisif stubbornly, although she was only dimly aware of how many guards she had at her personal disposal as opposed to Legionnaires and Penitus Oculatus. It bothered her a little that she didn't know – she was Jarl, she should know this, right?

“Yes, my Jarl,” said Jordis simply, knowing when not to argue. Elisif just sighed and walked on. Why couldn't it be as easy as just sending some soldiers in? She was Jarl and Dragonborn and soon to be queen, she must be able to do something about a few ill-disciplined bandits. And yet damned if she could think of anything.

They kept on, stopping for lunch in Rorikstead, where a little girl called Sissel stopped by and told Elisif all about a dream she'd had about a friendly old dragon on top of a mountain. Elisif listened and gasped in all the right places and gave the girl a septim. Sissel had gasped and hidden it, thanking her in a soft whisper and running away. Elisif had felt her heart break watching the girl run off. She loved children, desperately wanted some of her own... but Torygg was dead and she couldn't face taking another man into her bed, she just couldn't. It hadn't even been five months.

All the same... babies. Maybe one day. Maybe she could keep it together just long enough to get it over with and get pregnant. Perhaps.

Aside from a few wolves, the journey passed uneventfully, and Whiterun loomed up ahead. Elisif debated calling in at Dragonsreach and asking Balgruuf for a room, before remembering she was meant to be all self-sufficient and experiencing Skyrim like an ordinary citizen. So the inn it was then. Elisif was just about ready for a meal and some mead.

Right up until she got to the city outskirts and saw the dragon attacking, swooping low over the outer farms, burning roofs and crop fields, and while Elisif was no farmer, she knew enough to know that was someone's livelihood and home, and potentially a good chunk of the city's food supply, going up in smoke.

“Oh no you don't!” Elisif hissed, reaching for her bow. Finally, something helpful she could do.

Unfortunately, shooting a dragon in flight was tough even for a master at archery and Elisif wasn't even close to being that. Fortunately, Jordis was up to the job and it seemed Elisif wasn't the only one fighting. There were Whiterun guards present, and four other warriors, a woman with red hair and rather revealing armour who was managing to hit the dragon almost every time, two men in odd armour with wolf heads on it, who were certainly brothers if not twins, and a young woman about Elisif's age who seemed to be an Imperial. All were taking shots at the dragon, a few arrows even hitting it, and finally it was injured enough to land... right next to Elisif.

For a brief moment everything seemed to go still around her as she stared into the beast's eyes, its teeth right there and capable of tearing her apart and oh gods, it was alive and huge and could breathe fire and...

“SU!” she Shouted, grabbing her weapons and flinging herself into battle. She wasn't the most skilled warrior out there, but she'd had lessons, she wasn't a complete novice and it was amazing how training just kicked in as she darted away from the thing's mouth, ebony axe and glass sword carving into the beast's skin with frightening speed. Glorious, it was glorious, fighting and slashing and stabbing and she should have done this years ago! And then the beast's head swung round and fire spewed from its mouth.

“My Jarl!” Jordis knocked her to the ground, covering her as the flames roared over them both. Elisif shrank back from the heat, seeing one of the twins, the shorter of the two, leaping over her, greatsword in hand, swinging it into the dragon as he screamed that he'd rip its heart out. Meanwhile, the young Imperial was there, pulling Jordis to her feet and then Elisif while the wolf brothers distracted the thing.

“Are you alright?” the woman asked. Elisif nodded, heart pounding.

“I never fought one before!” she whispered. Jordis had already grabbed her sword and rushed back into the fray.

“Well, you were doing really well!” the Imperial laughed, lifting her own sword. “Come on, let's give the others a hand before it takes off again. FOR JORRVASKR!”

Jorrvaskr? Well, that explained a lot. Elisif had certainly heard of the Companions, but never been inside their hall. Maybe she'd have to visit. Assuming the dragon didn't kill her first.

She start attacking again, at the back this time, not as fast as she'd been with the Thu'um powering her strikes, but fast enough. The dragon's blood spurted as she hit it, and Elisif grimaced but didn't stop because if she did, it might turn round and breathe fire and she hated fire, feared it more than anything, feared it more than a dragon's claws and teeth.

Wolf twin number one shoved a greatsword through the roof of its mouth while twin number two managed to shove his blade into the beast's shoulder and it finally died. Elisif stepped back, feeling her knees going weak as she lowered her weapons, then sank to the ground before she fainted entirely. She'd killed a dragon. Helped kill a dragon. Got in a few hits and not died, which was something, right?

“Is she alright?” That was the redhead archer.

“I think so.” The Imperial. “That armour looks brand new, I don't think she's terribly experienced.”

“Good armour though.” Wolf twin one, the bigger one. “Weapons not bad either. Think she smithed them herself?”

“Hardly,” wolf twin two sneered, lip curling. “Look at her, she's some noble-born brat who's barely swung a sword before in her life. Papa's money probably paid for all that.”

Just because it was true didn't mean it didn't hurt. Elisif winced, slowly getting up so she could at least face the man on his level.

“Vilkas!” the Imperial cried. “Leave her alone, she was good at it! You should have seen her when it first landed, she didn't bat an eyelid, she just tore into it!”

“Instinct,” said Elisif, brushing herself down and doing her best to sound composed. Remember, you are a Jarl and they're... bigger and stronger and better with weapons, but you're still their queen and don't you forget it!

“Well, you've got good instincts,” said the young Imperial, impressed. “My name's Ria, what's yours?”

Elisif opened her mouth to reply then realised she'd not thought of an alias yet. Fortunately, Jordis saved her the trouble as she raced over to her, horrified.

“My Ja-” she began, until Elisif swatted her on the side.

“Maia?” Ria asked, smiling. “That's a pretty name! It suits you.”

Elisif promptly forgave her housecarl everything, turning her brightest smile on Ria.

“That's right! I'm Maia. I grew up in Wayrest, but came to live in Solitude a few years ago. Now I'm exploring the rest of Skyrim. Getting to know the old country, you know?”

It wasn't even a lie. Might as well keep her story as close to the truth as possible, right?

“You've not picked the best time to do that,” the redhaired Nord remarked. “First the war, now the dragons – wait, I've never seen one do that before.”

Too late, Elisif remembered she was Dragonborn now. The dragon crackled and burned beside her and the soul boiled up around her, blinding her and filling her eyes and ears until she knew nothing else, and then snap. The jaws in her head swallowed it whole, taking its power and tucking it away, waiting for her to find another of those Word Walls.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, wincing as four Companions stared at her in disbelief.

“What was that?” wolf twin one asked, blinking. “It's like you just sucked the life out of it.”

“Sucked the soul out of it,” the woman said, staring right at her as if she knew exactly what Elisif was.

“You're Dragonborn,” Vilkas breathed, and finally he actually looked impressed.

“Dragonborn?” Ria asked, confused. “What's a Dragonborn?”

“A mortal with a dragon's blood,” Vilkas explained, eyes never leaving Elisif. “Capable of killing a dragon for good.”

“That one's certainly not going to be getting up and flying again any time soon,” said the redhead, going over the dragon's corpse and retrieving various arrows, all the loose dragon bones and scales and a decent amount of coin, which she presented Elisif with.

“There you go, Maia. We're already being paid by the Jarl to deal with any visiting dragons. Only fair you have something for your trouble.”

“Thank you,” said Elisif softly. “I didn't get your name.”

“Aela,” the woman said, appraising Elisif and seeming to approve of what she saw. “Aela the Huntress. These are my Shield-Brothers Farkas and Vilkas, and this is Ria, our newest recruit. We're Companions of Jorrvaskr. If you wanted to come with us, you'd be welcome at our hall tonight.”

Elisif stared, then turned to Jordis to see if she'd heard that right.

“Are you inviting me to become a Companion?” she whispered. Vilkas actually laughed at that.

“Not my decision,” said Aela, swatting Vilkas. “Kodlak, our Harbinger, decides who gets to join. But you can certainly stay as our guest. Not often we get a Dragonborn staying with us.”

It certainly beat staying at the inn.

“All right then, lead the way!” Elisif laughed, beckoning to Jordis to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif looked about her as she entered the hall. Mostly wood, easy prey to a dragon's fire, but homely for all that. There were a few others hanging around, one Nord swigging from a tankard, eyes crossing as he tried to focus in her direction, a dark Elf reading quietly in the corner, a Nord woman who just sneered at her and walked off, and at the table, two older men in the same armour the twins wore, seeming to be having some sort of discussion.

“My mind is made up, Skjor,” the bearded one said, determined.

“You can't be serious, Kodlak,” Skjor cried. “Why would you want to give it up?”

“There is more to life than the chase,” said Kodlak, not wavering an inch, and Elisif realised this must be the famous Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions.

“Nothing worth living for,” said Skjor stubbornly, but he backed off when he saw the others walk in. Both Skjor and Kodlak looked at her and Jordis and looked curious.

“A stranger comes,” said Kodlak, surprised. “Aela, who is this?”

“A guest,” said Aela. “For tonight. That's all right, isn't it, Harbinger?”

“She's got a good story,” Farkas added, grinning. Elisif wasn't sure what to make of either wolf twin yet, but Farkas seemed friendly – friendlier than his brother at any rate.

“Kodlak, she's Dragonborn!” Ria cried, and that had the entire room going quiet.

“Dragonborn?” Skjor asked, looking at Elisif with renewed interest. “Are you sure?”

“Damn sure, Skjor, she took a dragon's soul right in front of us,” said Vilkas, taking a seat and indicating for Elisif to do likewise. Elisif sat down next to Kodlak, Skjor making way for her and Jordis standing at her shoulder, ready if anything did happen.

“Dragonborn,” Kodlak murmured, watching her keenly. “A rare gift indeed. But while the gods wouldn't choose unwisely, it is a man or woman's heart that is the measure of them, not whatever gifts they have.” He was staring right into Elisif's eyes and Elisif shivered a little under that gaze. It was as if he could see right into her soul.

“I just want to do right by Skyrim, sir,” said Elisif nervously.

“Quite so,” said Kodlak, seeming to approve. “But how do you decide what the right thing by Skyrim is?”

A question with an infinite number of answers and no real right one, but Elisif would have to say something, wouldn't she?

“No one can please everyone, sir,” said Elisif. “But I don't think the war and the dragons are really helping anyone, so I'd quite like those to stop.”

To her surprise, Kodlak actually laughed at that. “A worthy aim indeed! Would that all Nords were so conscientious. Yes, you'll do. Wanting to help but not wanting to force your own ideas on others either, yes, you've got a good heart, lass. You can join.”

Join. As in... “You're inviting me to join the Companions?” Elisif gasped. Kodlak nodded.

“Yes. I think the Dragonborn could bring us a great deal of honour, and you look like you could use the help. Even with your friend here at your side.” He indicated Jordis, who'd drawn closer to Elisif as they'd talked.

“Oh, this is Jordis,” said Elisif, realising she'd have to tell Kodlak something about herself. She didn't want to give her true identity away but she felt guilty about lying too. Still, she had very little choice. “She's my bodyguard. I'm Maia. From High Rock originally, but I've lived the last few years in Solitude.”

“Maia of Solitude,” said Kodlak thoughtfully, and if he suspected that wasn't her real name, he didn't say anything. “Well, Maia of Solitude, you can consider yourself welcome in Jorrvaskr.”

“Better test her sword-arm before you promise her that, Harbinger,” Vilkas put in. “She's a noble-born brat who probably never swung a blade before today.”

“She went up against a dragon and survived,” Aela pointed out. “She's got skills.”

“Believe it when I see it,” Skjor muttered, looking rather sceptical, and Elisif felt the rage building again, the desire to rip, tear, fight this arrogant joor and make him submit to her, acknowledge the power of her Thu'um, and sweet Kynareth where was this coming from? Elisif shrank back, suddenly afraid. What in the world was happening to her?

“All right then,” said Kodlak, getting to his feet. “Let's go to the training yard and see what Maia here's capable of. Maia, you'll be going head to head with Skjor – no, nothing dangerous, just a little sparring match.”

Elisif really wasn't sure about this – Skjor must be in his fifties at least and looked every inch the battle-hardened warrior. But there was little to be done. All the Companions seemed to think this was a fine idea and were all filing out after Kodlak.

“I'm really not sure about this!” Elisif whispered to Jordis. Her housecarl just patted her shoulder.

“It'll be fine, Maia,” she said, adopting the alias with barely a qualm. “He's not a dragon and you're not trying to kill him. He's not trying to kill you either. Just show him what you can do.”

Mara help her. She wasn't sure what she was more afraid of – Skjor harming her... or her harming Skjor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now don't worry about hurting me,” Skjor said, shield in place and sword held ready. “I can take whatever you can throw at me, whelp. Just come at me and give it your best shot.”

Elisif didn't feel at all comfortable doing this but raised her sword anyway, tentatively swinging it at him. Skjor blocked it easily.

“Try again,” he laughed, and Elisif gritted her teeth, going in for another strike, harder this time.

“Too soft!” Skjor barked. “I could have killed you three times while you were flitting about doing that! Again!”

Elisif went for another blow, and another, all easily parried, Skjor looking exasperated, and she could tell Vilkas was smirking, she just knew it, and Kodlak must be so disappointed. She was hopeless, she really was. And yet fighting that dragon, she'd been fine, losing herself to the moment and just striking at it, the Thu'um powering her blows as she danced alongside it.

She'd always liked dancing. Maybe...

Taking a deep breath, she began to dance, treating the whole thing like a strange dance where you moved to avoid your partner's touches but tried to touch them. To her surprise, it seemed to work, as Skjor seemed to hesitate, not sure what she was doing. She could feel a dragon growling inside, the Thu'um ready to strike again, and without fully realising it, she heard herself cry “SU!”

Everything sped up as Elisif lost herself to the moment, striking and slashing, mostly hitting Skjor's shield but he was staggering back, barely holding her off.

“Maia!” she heard Jordis cry. “Maia!”

Elisif stopped, sword inches from Skjor's chin.

“Oh,” she whispered. “I didn't... oh.”

Skjor slowly lowered his weapons, looking up at her with new-found respect.

“I take it back. You're a true fighter. Glad to have you with us.”

“I – really?” Next thing Elisif knew, Jordis was hugging her, squeezing her half to death.

“That was awesome! You were so good, Maia, you really were! You could have had him!”

“That's lovely,” Elisif whispered faintly, really needing a sit down and some mead right now. The dragon had shut up, but for how long?

Kodlak was there, looking impressed if a little worried.

“Well done, lass, well done indeed. Was that the Thu'um you were using there?”

Elisif nodded, no idea how to respond to that.

“Power indeed. The legends clearly don't lie. It's not the whole story though, is it?” Kodlak asked. “You were fighting like a novice, then you suddenly seemed to get some technique from somewhere, and then you Shouted and became unstoppable. You have power, but you've also got a few skills of your own.”

“I had lessons,” Elisif whispered.

“They clearly took,” said Kodlak, squeezing her shoulder proudly. “I think you're going to make a fine warrior. Just... don't rely too heavily on your dragon powers. Hone your skills, not just your Voice. There's a danger with the Thu'um that those who use it can get carried away, think they're better than other humans, above other humans, like the dragons themselves.”

“Like Ulfric,” said Ria softly.

“I am nothing like Ulfric,” said Elisif, feeling the rage flare up again at the mere thought.

“No, no,” Kodlak reassured her. “I'm sure you're very different to him. But dragon blood is not to be taken lightly. Just remember you're still human.”

Still human, well of course she was, she was just Elisif at the end of the day, a young girl who'd visited Solitude, gone to a party, met the High King's son, fallen in love and somehow ended up as Jarl. She liked to think she hadn't changed much.

“Harbinger!” the Dunmer Elisif had seen earlier called. “Er... we've got a visitor.”

“Another one? Who is it?” Kodlak asked, frowning.

“Er... it's Jarl Balgruuf, Harbinger,” the elf said nervously.

Elisif froze, panicking. The one person she'd not wanted to run into, the one person who would recognise her, and he was here at Jorrvaskr, and she couldn't even run because that would be suspicious, that would make it look like she had something to hide. Which she did, but it wasn't like she was a fugitive or anything. She slipped into a chair, poured some mead and hunched her shoulders – with her scaled helmet on and her head down, he might not notice her, might not think she was anything other than just another Companion.

That hope was very quickly dashed.

“Jarl Balgruuf!” Kodlak said, going to meet the Jarl as he came round the corner. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Kodlak, old friend,” Balgruuf said, hint of a smile in his voice as the two men embraced. “It's good to see you. My guards told me you have a guest. That you had a little help dealing with the dragon just now. Tell me, is it true the Dragonborn's here?”

All eyes turned to Elisif, who hunched down even further.

“Aye, she's here,” said Kodlak softly. “My Jarl, can I ask what you want from her? I hope you don't want to use her in some political machination. She's not a pawn to be used in the war effort.”

Too late for that, Elisif thought bitterly. She was aware of Balgruuf walking over to her, Irileth and a couple of guards standing not far behind him. Damn it all, she'd left Solitude to get away from politics! Was her new-found freedom over already?

“No, no,” she heard Balgruuf say. “I just wanted to talk with her alone for a few minutes. What did you say she was calling herself?”

“Maia,” Kodlak replied. “Maia of Solitude.”

“Maia,” Balgruuf repeated. “Well then, Maia.” He'd taken the seat opposite the table from her and glanced at everyone else. “May I have some privacy?”

Kodlak hesitated then nodded, motioning for everyone to leave, while Irileth and the guards retreated out of earshot. Jordis lingered at Elisif's side.

“Maia, I'm not leaving you,” she began, but Elisif shook her head.

“Jordis, wait inside. I'm sure the Jarl won't be long.”

“If you're sure -” Jordis said, glaring at Balgruuf.

“Jordis. Go.” Jordis paused then nodded, taking her leave. Finally, Elisif looked up to meet Balgruuf's eyes. He was watching her, not looking remotely surprised, in fact if anything he looked sympathetic.

“So. You found me then.”

“I wasn't actually looking until I heard a Dragonborn who happened to be a young Nord woman turned up,” said Balgruuf gently. “Falk's letter arrived this morning with the news – he knew you'd come through here and wanted to make sure you had no trouble. Elisif... is it true?”

No sense denying it and why else would she have left Solitude with just one housecarl at her back?

“Yes. I'm Dragonborn. I'm on my way to High Hrothgar. I was going to stay at the inn, but the Companions found me first. They don't know who I really am. I'd like it to stay that way.”

“Understandable,” said Balgruuf, nodding. “For your own safety, it's best to keep a low profile. It's just... Dragonborn? You? Not that I don't believe you, it's just... you never were a warrior, Elisif. Are you sure you're going to be all right?”

No, I'm terrified, I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm really really scared, and the scariest thing of all of it is me.

“I need to do this, Balgruuf,” said Elisif softly. “Skyrim needs me, the dragons are attacking everywhere, and no one can kill them but me. So yes I have to go to High Hrothgar, and yes I have to get out there and learn to fight, and the Companions are going to teach me.”

“I know,” said Balgruuf, and although he looked sad, he also looked rather proud of her. “I just worry about you, that's all. You're a young woman who never asked for any of this.”

“No,” said Elisif. “But I'm a Nord, and true Nords never back down, right? If I die... at least I'll go to Sovngarde and see Torygg again.”

Balgruuf reached over and clasped her hand. “This may sound a little callous, but for all our sakes, I hope you don't die. It would be a very sad loss, both personally and politically.”

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered. Out of all the other Jarls, Balgruuf had always been her favourite. Igmund was arrogant, Siddgeir obnoxious, Laila a little patronising, Idgrod verging on crazy, Korir bitter, Skald set in his ways and blind to his failings, and as for Ulfric... best not to think too long about him. But Balgruuf had always been genuinely kind to her, like a favourite uncle. She considered him a dear friend, even if he hadn't fully committed to her in the war yet. She had a feeling he would in the end though.

“Don't mention it,” said Balgruuf gruffly. “And if there's anything I can do in the mean time, let me know. You're welcome at Dragonsreach any time, you know that.”

She knew, and it was good to hear, but she couldn't rely on her social status alone. She thanked him anyway and gave him a hug as he got up to leave.

“You take care,” said Balgruuf. “Don't get yourself killed.”

“You too,” Elisif whispered. Balgruuf nodded.

“Now, where's that Harbinger of yours? I've got a job for him, and you should come as well. You may find it of interest.”

Notes:

And there we are, a source of assistance without Elisif having to do the entire Companions questline. I always had a feeling she and Kodlak would get on.

Chapter 3

Summary:

Elisif gets her first real taste of adventure as Dragonborn, although all the death is going to take some getting used to. However, word of her true identity is spreading and the Draugr may prove to be the least of her worries.

Kodlak looked up from his seat at the small table outside his quarters as Balgruuf approached, Dunmer housecarl and guards behind him, and Maia walking alongside him, looking a little nervous... but not as nervous as you might expect a young woman faced with the Jarl himself to be. Almost as if she knew him somehow. Jordis was alongside her, impassive, and that was something else, the woman having a highly trained bodyguard. Maia of Solitude, Dragonborn, and Vilkas' suspicions she came from a wealthy family and sheltered background were probably spot on. Kodlak began to regret not following politics a little more closely, or perhaps he might be able to guess her family. Was her father the steward? One of the Thanes? Someone in the East Empire Company? Was she one of Elisif's relations? Who knew? But there was some mystery to Maia and while Kodlak had no doubt her heart was true, she was hiding something.

“Jarl Balgruuf,” Kodlak greeted his guest, standing up and offering him a chair. Balgruuf accepted and indicated for Maia to join them. She took the third chair, waiting expectantly. Once again, Kodlak had to wonder why the Jarl wanted to speak to the new Dragonborn – well, he could think of many reasons why, none of them exactly honourable, but that was politics for you. Maia didn't seem that bothered though, in fact she seemed quite cheerful compared to when the Jarl had first walked in. Whatever conversation had transpired, the outcome was something she could live with.

“So, assuming you're not here just to interrogate my Companions, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Kodlak asked. Balgruuf actually laughed at that.

“Hardly an interrogation, Kodlak. You can't blame me for being curious about the Dovahkiin. I just wanted to make sure she was all right and settling in and to make sure she knew I'd assist her if she needed it.”

For a price, perhaps. But Kodlak wasn't so mean-spirited as to say that to his Jarl's face, privileges of age and Harbingership notwithstanding. Besides, Maia actually seemed to be smiling, so presumably he'd at least come across as genuine. Definitely a mystery here, and they definitely knew each other, no doubt in Kodlak's mind now.

“I'm sure she'll call on you if she needs anything, but I assure you we Companions look after our own,” said Kodlak, feeling a little protective of his newest recruit. “Now, was there anything else?”

“Yes, actually,” said Balgruuf. “I wasn't going to come in person, but we do have a job that's ideally suited to one of you. We've been looking to recruit someone since the dragons came back, but no one was really willing to do it. However, I know you don't shirk from a job because it's unpleasant or dangerous.”

“As long as it's honourable,” Kodlak replied, curiosity piqued. “Since the dragons came back – is this to do with dragons then?”

Balgruuf nodded, and Maia perked up immediately. Why did Kodlak have a feeling she was about to volunteer for it?

“What is it?” he asked.

“My court mage is looking into why the dragons have come back,” Balgruuf replied. “He's not got terribly far, but a contact of his seems to think a nearby ruin might have something that could help. Apparently the ruin called Bleak Falls Barrow may contain something called the Dragonstone which may contain information crucial to his research and we need -”

“I'll go!” Maia cried. “I mean, it sounds really important and could be useful and -!”

“Maia,” Kodlak sighed. Oh good, she'd volunteered, no doubt exactly as Balgruuf had intended. This was why he hated politics and disliked most politicians as a rule. Most of the time, it didn't apply to Balgruuf, but sometimes, Kodlak could apply it even then. “Maia, just because you're Dragonborn doesn't mean you have to...”

“I want to,” said Maia stubbornly. “It sounds important and if it helps stop the dragons then it's my duty to help.”

“E- you know, when I said you'd find it interesting, I didn't mean you should volunteer!” Balgruuf snapped at her. To her credit, Maia held her ground, staring him down with not a flicker of fear. Very interesting, very interesting indeed. Not many Nords weren't at least a little intimidated by someone with a Jarl's rank.

“Tough, I'm going!” Maia snapped. “You do not get to give me orders, Balgruuf! Not even here!” Before Kodlak could fully process that she'd addressed the Jarl of Whiterun of all people by his first name, no title and essentially pulled rank on him in some way, she'd turned hopeful eyes on him. “Kodlak, you don't mind, do you? I mean, Jordis and I can go, can't we?”

Now this was just bizarre. Someone who could tell a Jarl off but wanted his approval? All the same, it seemed her heart was set on going.

“I would never stop a true-hearted Companion from taking on something honourable that they truly wished to do,” Kodlak assured her, feeling rather pleased as her face lit up.

“Yes! Thank you! You won't regret it!” Maia cried. She turned round to the map of Skyrim on Kodlak's desk. “So where is this place then?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif was regretting coming down here. She'd been regretting coming down here ever since running into those bandits, but she'd been able to fight them, and that had been a shock, staring down at the bloodied corpses of what had been living human beings until she'd turned up, and the worst part was she didn't even feel that guilty, she felt pleased. Pleased her Thu'um had been stronger.

They didn't even have the Thu'um! But Jordis had patted her on the shoulder and congratulated her and told her not to worry about it, they were just bandits.

Just bandits. But even bandits had mothers and fathers out there to worry about them, and who'd mourn the loss. These would never even get a decent burial. She'd dragged the bodies into the tower and said a quiet prayer to the Eight for them. High Rock raised and born after the war ended, she'd never really known Talos as a god, just an Emperor who'd been worshipped as such, rightly or wrongly. She felt sorry for him, being de-deified like that, but never strongly enough to worship him. Now it appeared she was Dragonborn like him. Made her even less inclined to treat him like a god, but all the same, she could still look up to him a little.

She could wish she had an army like his though. As it was, it was just her and Jordis, although Jordis wasn't exactly a pushover, to put it mildly. They found more bandits at the Barrow itself, all of which proved easy prey, and then had come the Draugr. They'd killed that bandit Arvel – Elisif found it hard to feel too sorry for him, given that he'd reacted to her saving him by running off cackling about treasure – and then they'd turned on her.

Elisif had never encountered undead before, although she'd heard of dustmen and bonewalkers. The reality was worse than the stories, but they proved easy prey in the end, despite the fact that Elisif was screaming her head off throughout. Finally, she and Jordis had made it to a huge cavern, with bats fluttering around and a river running through it... and a Word Wall looming up at the far end.

“This is it,” Elisif whispered. “I can feel it, can't you?”

“Feel what, Maia?” Jordis asked, confused. Elisif paid her no attention, running off to inspect it further. She could feel the air getting heavy, chanting in her ears, power swarming around her as the word FUS glowed out at her, burning into her mind and the dragon soul buried within her unlocking its meaning for her. Force, the power to fling obstacles out of her way. Well, couldn't she use that one.

“Maia?” Jordis was calling, racing up the stairs after her. “Maia, are you – MAIA!”

Elisif turned, dread prickling down the back of her neck. Behind her, the lid of the stone coffin behind her went flying and a Draugr's rattle echoed across the room. It was bigger than the other Draugr, bigger and tougher and was that greatsword enchanted?

“FUS!” she Shouted, sending it staggering back, which was long enough for Jordis to catch up and start fighting it. Then it rallied and the battle was on.

Finally the thing died, life going out of it. Jordis poked it with her sword.

“I think it's dead. Properly dead.” She looked up at Elisif, impressed. “What was that you did? A new Shout?”

Elisif nodded, pointing at the wall. “Yeah, it was on there. You can't see it glowing though, can you.”

Jordis shook her head, awed. “No,” she whispered, gazing at Elisif in rapture. “You're really Dragonborn! With the Thu'um and everything!”

“Yes,” Elisif said, still hardly able to believe it herself. “Looks like it, anyway.” She picked the Draugr's sword up, admiring it. A Frost enchantment – not that powerful, but potentially useful. She could use two-handed weapons if she had to, although she was better with one-handed. A search of the Draugr itself revealed what they'd been looking for – the Dragonstone. It was a solid lump of rock, and it looked like a map of Skyrim with strange star markings on. Odd. Very odd. But if it was what Balgruuf and Farengar wanted... She put the stone in her pack and went in search of the exit. Time to get the golden claw back to its owner and this stone back to Whiterun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you serious?” Kodlak asked, not entirely able to believe what Vilkas was telling him.

“Serious, Harbinger,” Vilkas affirmed. “That's what the gossip is saying – Jarl Elisif of Solitude is Dragonborn and has left Solitude to go and train with the Greybeards at High Hrothgar. She's planning on coming back, but she's left her steward in charge.”

“There's two Dragonborns?” Farkas said, confused. “Has that ever happened before?”

“No, idiot,” Aela sighed. “Maia is Elisif!”

The entire Circle had withdrawn to discuss this new gossip that had come filtering in – Ria had heard it from one of the guards and told Vilkas, who'd brought it straight to Kodlak, who'd called the Circle in immediately.

“Maia's the Jarl of Solitude?” Farkas said, still frowning. “But why's she not brought her guards with her?”

“Possibly something to do with the fact the only route up to High Hrothgar starts in the Rift, which is Stormcloak territory?” Vilkas said pointedly. “And that if the tale she's Dragonborn is spreading, it's not out of the question Ulfric might decide to set a trap for her there. Her best hope is in no one knowing it's her.”

Precisely, which was probably why she was travelling incognito – or trying to. Of course, something like the Jarl of Solitude being Dragonborn tended to get around. Kodlak couldn't believe he'd not worked it out sooner – of course, no one expected a Jarl to end up being Dragonborn. It did however explain everything, from the top-notch yet barely used equipment, to Maia's ability to tell Jarl Balgruuf off and not have to worry about consequences. Who was on first name terms with a Jarl, other than that Jarl's immediate family? Another Jarl, of course. And who could tell a Jarl what to do? The High Queen in waiting. Not that Balgruuf had committed in the war yet, but it was clear his sympathies weren't with Ulfric.

“So what do we do?” Aela asked. “We're not supposed to get involved in politics! You said so yourself when you advised we not take sides. Are we all Imperials now?”

It was true, Kodlak had said that and he stood by it – but when he looked at young Maia, he'd not seen a politician. He'd seen a naïve young girl in way over her head and in trouble and he'd not hesitated to help her. That was still the case.

“Skjor, what do you think? You've been very quiet,” Kodlak said. Skjor was sitting off to the side, head in his hands.

“I just sparred with the High Queen of Skyrim,” said Skjor, sounding a bit faint. Kodlak hoped he wasn't actually going to keel over. That would be embarrassing.

“I'm sure she won't hold it against you,” said Kodlak reassuringly. “From the look of it, being treated like a normal person is exactly what she wants.”

“She's not normal, she's a Dragonborn!” Vilkas pointed out.

“Exactly,” said Kodlak. “Whatever our views on the war, the dragons transcend all that and so does the Dragonborn. That the Dragonborn will cut her own arm off rather than support Ulfric is neither here nor there, or rather, it's nothing to do with us. We will not intervene directly in the war, and if Elisif decides to take to the field against Ulfric herself, we cannot follow her. But we will provide her with weapons training and a place to rest her head in safety, and in her endeavours as Dragonborn, we can and will protect her.”

“Ulfric won't see it that way,” Skjor said, Aela nodding in agreement. “He sees anyone who's not with him as against him. If he were to find out we're harbouring Elisif...”

“Ulfric Stormcloak is, whatever his faults, a true Nord, and he will not move against the Companions of Jorrvaskr if he wants the Nords in his armies to keep supporting him,” said Kodlak firmly.

“No, because up until now, we've stayed out of it,” Aela responded, clearly ill at ease with all this. “Once it becomes known we've got Elisif in our ranks, he'll declare us as having joined the fray after all.”

“Then we do not have Elisif in our ranks,” said Kodlak calmly, amazed at how easily all this politicking was coming to him. “We have among us a young adventurer called Maia and her friend Jordis who are here learning how to fight and make a bit of gold and some stories to tell in the process. And if said adventurer happens to be Dragonborn and requires our assistance in dealing with the dragons, well, we can hardly say no to that, can we? Neither side in the war benefits from the dragons.”

“This sounds awfully dangerous, Harbinger,” said Aela, disapproving. “I hope you know what you're doing.”

Kodlak didn't entirely, no, but on a purely personal level, Elisif had impressed him and he didn't like the idea of the girl being out there on her own with no one at her back. To take part in the legend of the Dragonborn – no true Nord of any honour could say no to that.

If Elisif won her crown, he'd be very happy for her. And if she lost it to Ulfric, she'd need somewhere to go where she'd be protected, safe from political machinations. Kodlak intended for Jorrvaskr to be it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif finally made her way back to Jorrvaskr, exhausted but triumphant. She'd dropped the Dragonstone off at Dragonsreach, accepting a set of Orcish armour for Jordis as a reward, before returning to Jorrvaskr. The place was quiet, and she crept into the sleeping quarters, Jordis behind her, grabbed an empty bed and slept.

She woke to Ria kneeling by the bed, smiling at her.

“Hey, you made it!” Ria whispered. “Welcome back, Maia. Did you find the Dragonstone?”

“Yes, it's with Farengar now,” said Elisif, before remembering she was supposed to have never visited Whiterun before and have no connection with the city or the Jarl's court. “At least, I think that's what his name was. The court wizard. The one with the side-burns.”

“That's him,” said Ria, grinning at Elisif, and Elisif had the strange thought that maybe, just maybe Ria knew more than she let on. Elisif sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“What time is it?” she asked, wincing as aching muscles that had been busy fighting Draugr yesterday protested at having to move.

“About ten o'clock. We let you sleep in because we knew you'd been out all day yesterday, but Kodlak wants to see you,” said Ria, growing sombre. That wasn't good news, it really wasn't.

“Me? Why, does he have work for me?” Elisif asked, hoping she wasn't in trouble already.

“He didn't say,” Ria replied, helping Elisif up, although she wasn't quite meeting Elisif's eyes and Elisif knew she was hiding something. “Just that you should see him before taking on any work or going anywhere.”

Mysterious. Elisif thanked Ria and got dressed, before going to find out what the Harbinger wanted.

He was sitting outside his room, having breakfast and looking thoughtful, if a little pensive. He saw Elisif approach and motioned her to sit down with a smile

“Good morning, lass. Did your trip to Bleak Falls Barrow go well?”

“We found it,” Elisif said, slipping into the chair opposite, feeling her stomach growling at the sight of the toast and honey Kodlak was tucking into. He noticed her staring at the pile and motioned for her to help herself. Elisif did so, unable to stop herself moaning as the sweetness hit her tongue.

“This is so nice,” she gasped. “I need to come here for breakfast more often!”

“You're quite welcome here any time, my dear,” Kodlak said, smiling. “But I think you and I at least should be honest with each other. I know who you are, Elisif.”

Elisif felt her appetite die as she lowered her toast. He knew – how did he know?? She'd been so careful...

“Please don't tell anyone,” she whispered. “Please, you can't tell anyone, it's too dangerous, you can't!”

“I won't,” Kodlak reassured her. “But you are in terrible danger, and there's limits to Jorrvaskr's protection. If Ulfric were to find out you were here...”

“You're asking me to leave,” Elisif said, staring at the table, fighting back tears of frustration. This wasn't even Stormcloak territory!

“No, lass.” Kodlak reached out and took her hand. “We are Companions of Jorrvaskr and we don't back down from doing the right thing just because someone in another city starts rattling his swords. We do not get involved in politics, lass. The war and your business with Ulfric is your own.”

All well and good but Elisif knew Ulfric all too well and he'd show very little mercy if he knew they were harbouring her at Jorrvaskr.

“It'll be your business if he finds out I'm here!” Elisif cried. “Just by knowingly sheltering me, you've taken a side in his eyes.”

“I know,” said Kodlak, staring into her eyes. “But I'm not afraid of Ulfric Stormcloak, and I'm not going to let him stop me from offering aid to a young woman in need. Elisif, I can't help you with the civil war, but the Dragonborn transcends politics. Any help you need with the dragons, just ask and it's yours.”

Elisif squeezed his hand back, not sure what to say. “Thank you,” she gasped. “I – I really appreciate it. I don't know how much time I'll be able to spend here but it's good to have friends.”

“It is. I have a feeling you're going to need them,” said Kodlak, smile fading. “Elisif, word is spreading about you being Dragonborn. They say you absorbed a dragon soul in the middle of Solitude, is that true?”

Elisif winced and nodded. It was going to get out sooner or later, but she'd naively hoped for later.

“Everyone's going to know soon enough, aren't they?” she asked. Kodlak nodded sympathetically.

“I'm afraid so. As it is, people already know you're going to High Hrothgar. It occurred to some of us the only way to that monastery involves heading into Stormcloak territory. If we thought of it, Ulfric will when he hears the news. You need to leave and leave today before he can get troops in place.”

She'd been intending to do that very thing anyway, but the thought of an army of Stormcloaks lying in wait for her was disconcerting to say the least, and not something she'd considered.

“You really think he would?” Elisif whispered, but she didn't need to ask, of course he'd do that very thing. If word had got into Whiterun yesterday, it wouldn't take long to reach Windhelm. Ulfric would need time to get a troop of soldiers into place, a day to send the orders then a day or two for them to assemble? She did not have long.

“Then I need to get going,” said Elisif firmly. “Who else knows here?”

“The Circle, I called them in when the news reached my ears. They understand the situation and won't sell you out, don't worry,” Kodlak assured her. “Also young Ria. Don't know if the others do yet, but it's difficult to keep something like that quiet. Best you go now.”

Elisif nodded, snatching a couple of toast slices and taking her leave. Time to wake Jordis and get ready to leave. She had Greybeards to meet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Maia.” Elisif stopped as Ria called to her from the bed she was sitting on. “You're leaving, aren't you? For High Hrothgar.”

“Keep your voice down!” Elisif hissed. The room was empty apart from a just waking Jordis, but Elisif didn't believe in taking chances.

“What's up?” Jordis asked, rubbing her eyes. “Something wrong?”

“Yes – no. Look, just get up and get dressed,” Elisif sighed. “Word is spreading, you and I need to leave today. We've wasted enough time going after that Dragonstone.”

“Yes, Maia,” said Jordis, immediately alert. “I'll get ready at once.”

Elisif passed her housecarl her armour and weapons and looked away while Jordis got changed. Ria was still there, biting her lip and looking as if she desperately wanted to say something.

“Yes, Ria, what is it?” Elisif asked.

“Can I come?” Ria pleaded. “Please? I mean, you could use all the help you can get and I'd love to go adventuring with the Dragonborn!”

Jordis did look up at that, wary and on guard. “Maia, with all due respect, I don't think taking someone else is a good idea...”

Elisif wasn't entirely sure herself, but Kodlak had said Ria knew who she was, more help was always welcome, and if Ria was in on it, Elisif wanted her where she could see her.

“Fine, you can come, but you need to get ready now, we're not hanging around. Also I don't know what you may have heard, but my name is Maia and that's what you'll be calling me, got it?”

“Yes, Maia,” Ria said, although the look in her eyes told Elisif that Ria knew damn well who she was. At least Ria was Imperial and unlikely to support Ulfric, and more to the point, Kodlak had believed in her sufficiently to let her into the Companions. That meant she was trustworthy, right?

Elisif hoped so, for everyone's sake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ivarstead had been quiet when Elisif finally got there. There'd been a few beasts on the way but nothing the three of them hadn't been able to handle. Then the welcoming sight of Ivarstead itself up ahead and best of all, no Stormcloaks in sight other than the town's guards, all of whom had just glanced their way and let them pass.

The inn had been cosy enough, although the innkeeper's stories of ghosts haunting the nearby barrow had set them all on edge. Then Ria had whispered that they could go and investigate, and while Jordis had whispered back they were meant to be going up to High Hrothgar before Ulfric got here, Elisif had had to agree with Ria. The poor man's livelihood was at stake! What sort of queen didn't help in this sort of situation? In the end, they'd lost another day while Elisif had ventured in to Shroud Hearth Barrow. Turned out the alleged ghost had been an explorer trying to break into the place, and while Elisif had felt sorry for him, that had not stopped her from defending herself when he'd attacked and then carving him up with that enchanted greatsword from Bleak Falls Barrow.

The gratitude from Wilhelm had been worth it though, and the gift of a dragon claw key to unlock the rest of the barrow and the Word Wall hiding inside had been even more so. Jordis had been mollified by a new sword and shield, and Ria was very proud of the steel plate armour they'd found in there, so her companions at least were happy. Just the monastery now.

And so they made their way up the mountain, dealing with wolves and frostbite spiders, and saying hello to the odd pilgrim and it had all gone well until they'd encountered the troll.

True Nords never back down and nor did Elisif, hacking at the troll with her axe and getting a couple of good blows in before it lashed out and sent her reeling in a spray of blood.

Oh. Oh, this was not good. The claws had mostly gone for her chest and Elisif watched in faint horror as her blood pooled out in front of her. Wincing, she tried to focus, tried to cast that healing spell Sybille had taught her but she was so weak and dizzy and her strength was fading...

Jordis had flung herself screaming into the fight with the troll, finally killing it as she shoved her sword into its chest, while Ria was going through her pack now, grabbing a healing potion and holding it to her throat. Elisif drank, feeling her strength return, and then another potion, and another, until finally she felt better. She risked looking down at herself, sitting in the pink snow, armour hanging off and two parallel scars crossing her chest, just under the collarbone.

“Oh,” Elisif whispered, tracing them with her finger, still tender and sore. Scars. Well, warriors all had a few, right? Wasn't like anyone was ever going to be looking at her naked again in the near future. Not with Torygg gone.

“Maia, are you alright?” Ria asked softly, concerned. Elisif nodded, motionless while Jordis produced some replacement armour straps and fixed her outfit for her.

“I'm fine,” said Elisif, eyes falling on to the dead troll. It was dead, she wasn't. That was the important thing, right?

“You don't look it, are you sure-?” Ria placed a hand on Elisif's shoulder and Elisif lost her temper, shoving Ria away.

“I said I'm fine!” Elisif shouted, and she could have sworn the air shook with the sound of her voice. Ria had backed off, looking seriously worried and a little afraid of her, and Jordis had sat back, one hand instinctively going to her sword hilt. Elisif met her eyes and immediately looked away, guilt filling her. Gods, what was wrong with her, they were just scars, lots of people had them, and Ria was just trying to help! Elisif shivered, staring at her hands, wishing that the voice in her head that kept urging her to rip, tear, kill, destroy would just shut up. Aedra help her, what was she turning into??

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I just... I'm OK, really, I'm just exhausted and scared and... look, can we get moving, I'm freezing out here.”

Ria was watching her carefully, looking wary, but at length she nodded and helped Elisif up. Jordis didn't react at all, her housecarl training kicking in. Elisif had no idea what was actually going on in their heads, but most likely they both thought she was losing it completely. She wasn't entirely certain they were wrong.

Definitely time to talk to the Greybeards. If anyone could help her, they could.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Elisif visits the Greybeards to learn more of her power, but while she fears the dragon within, it's the enemy without she needs to watch out for...

High Hrothgar wasn't much warmer inside than out but at least she was out of the wind. Quiet and dark it was, peaceful after the long trek up the mountain. She'd heard it was far removed from the cares of the world, and it seemed it. Up here, she could almost forget about Torygg and the war and Ulfric. Almost.

“Hello?” she called out. “Anyone here?”

Movement and then four of them emerged, four Nords in furred robes assembling in the hallway, three of them standing quietly in the background while the fourth made his way over.

“So, a Dragonborn comes at this turning of the age.” The Greybeard looked her over and Elisif couldn't tell if he approved or not. “I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Tell me, why have you come here?”

A question with many different answers and it was hard to pick one, but Elisif did her best. “Because I think I'm Dragonborn,” she sighed. “And I need help.” Because I'm scared of the power, scared of myself, scared I'm turning into Ulfric...

Arngeir nodded, actually seeming sympathetic – pleased, at any rate. “Well, that is what we are here to do, guide and guard the Dragonborn on her way. If, that is, you really are Dragonborn. Come, let us taste of your voice. Do not fear harming us, we are all trained to withstand the power of the Thu'um.”

“What... you mean, Shouting?” Elisif asked, exchanging nervous looks with Ria and Jordis. Aedra, no, the Shouts seemed to make it worse somehow. Arngeir nodded, waiting expectantly, as were the other three. All waiting for her to prove she was Dragonborn. All waiting for her to Shout. In order to win the Greybeards' help, she'd have to do the very thing that made her more dragon-like. Not like she had a choice, did she? Steeling herself, she took a deep breath.

“FUS!”

Arngeir staggered back, the Greybeard behind him staggered back, vases and pots went flying and the room seemed to shake. Elisif felt the voice in her head howl in delight, a savage joy that her voice was so strong even the Greybeards had trouble withstanding it. All shall fall before me and I shall be Queen!

Elisif caught her breath as the delight faded. Dear gods, what was she turning into?? She'd never wanted this sort of power before. Now here she was craving it?

“Dragonborn,” said Arngeir, marvelling as he recovered his balance. “It is you. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered. “I'm Dragonborn. Now what?”

Arngeir smiled, reaching out a hand and leading her forward. “Now, Dragonborn, it's time for you to learn.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif wasn't sure how long she'd been at the monastery. Hours? Days? Hard to tell. Her training had gone well, right up until she'd put the new Thu'um they'd taught her together with one of the ones she already knew and realised she was learning the same thing Ulfric had killed her husband with. At that point, she'd broken down in tears and wept that she couldn't do it, she couldn't be Dragonborn, she couldn't turn into a monster, she couldn't. Arngeir had looked a bit confused and asked what was wrong, and she'd ended up confessing everything. That she was the rightful High Queen but only because Ulfric had used the Thu'um to murder her husband, the High King before her. At the mention of Ulfric's name, Arngeir's face had grown grim but he'd nodded in sympathy and led her away to talk in private.

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered, wiping the tears away. “You must think I'm pathetic.”

“Not at all, my dear, you've clearly not had the best time with the Voice,” Arngeir said, his voice soothing. “If your first introduction to it was to see it misused, and against your own husband... no wonder. Here, sit, have some mead, you look like you need it.”

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, tearfully accepting the mead on offer. Not Colovian brandy but it would do.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Arngeir asked. Elisif dried her eyes and pulled herself together. She'd come here hoping they could help after all.

“I keep dreaming about it,” she said quietly. “And when I'm awake, I keep remembering it. Fus Ro Dah, that was it. One Shout and Torygg was down and then Ulfric's sword and he was... he was gone. Not even for any good reason! Just to make a point! To convince people we were the Empire's puppets. And it worked, didn't it? Now half the country thinks Skyrim should be free to worship Talos again, free from the Empire, without the Thalmor interfering. And do you know what, Torygg was one of them! He used to talk to me about it, how he hated having to turn over his own people to the Dominion just because they worshipped Talos. He worshipped Talos too, so had his father, he was furious he couldn't any more because of some treaty he'd not even signed. He looked up to Ulfric, admired him, if Ulfric had come in and given some speech about how his conscience couldn't let him serve someone who blindly followed the Empire and he was going to secede from Skyrim on his own unless Torygg declared Skyrim's independence, Torygg might have gone along with it! He'd certainly have listened. But Ulfric just walked in, challenged him to a duel and... and murdered him. Now I'm expected to learn how to do the same thing? I can't, Arngeir! I can't...”

“No one expects you to use the Thu'um on someone weaker than you so that you can kill them without risk to yourself,” said Arngeir firmly. “Our teachings are very clear on the matter – to use the Voice for any reason other than for the worship of the gods and the contemplation of the sky is a gross misuse of Kynareth's gifts. We did not teach Ulfric so he could go out into the world and use his power for murder and treason. On behalf of all of us, Dragonborn, please accept our humblest apologies. We did not know, had no idea the young boy we trained would turn into a warlord.”

“Did the Thu'um do it to him?” Elisif whispered, trying to imagine Ulfric as a boy and failing. He must have been once, she supposed, but he was such an imposing bear of a man, it was hard to think of him as anything else.

“Who can say,” Arngeir sighed. “I've long wondered. But someone wiser than I told me that power doesn't corrupt, it only brings out what was there already. Give power to someone inclined to evil, they will use it for evil. Give power to the good, they will try and use it for good ends. Give it to the wise, and they won't use it at all unless they have to. We taught it to Ulfric, and he turned out to be someone who thinks that because he believes his cause is just, he can do anything he likes to further it.” Arngeir didn't even bother hiding the bitterness and Elisif felt sorry for him. Someone else who'd been betrayed by Ulfric.

“I don't know if I want to use it at all,” Elisif said softly. “What if I end up like him? I'm already scared of it. I'm just so angry all the time lately. I keep dreaming of dragons, I keep dreaming I am one, and every time someone says something I don't like, or I start fighting...” Elisif put her head in her hands. “I think I'm turning into a monster,” she whispered.

“Dragonborn.” She felt a hand on her arm, and looked up to see Arngeir looking sympathetic. “The dragon blood is a hard burden to bear, I know. Your path is not an easy one, but that you are willing to admit your fear, that you are aware of the possibility for misuse... yes, you are worthy, Dragonborn. You see, we lectured Ulfric on this possibility many times, and he listened and seemed to take it on board... but only later did it become obvious that he never thought the perils of power could ever apply to him. Already you are different. Your path may follow his for a while, but you will not walk it in the same way. I cannot say where you will end up, but I don't think you're going to turn into a monster. You see yourself too clearly for that. You will know if you are approaching the point of no return... and you will know to come to us before that happens, leave the world behind entirely and join us in seclusion and peace.”

Seclusion and peace. It was a lovely thought. But alas it wasn't that easy. She was a Jarl, the rightful High Queen, she had responsibilities, her country needed her! All the same, if a day ever did come when she was more of a danger to Skyrim than anything else could possibly be, when she became a liability as ruler... it was good to know she'd have somewhere to retire to.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, finally feeling a little bit of hope returning. Yes, she'd have to walk in Ulfric's footsteps, learn what he had... but then she would learn more, outstrip him, become a true Master of the Thu'um, and then she would bring him down. To avenge Torygg, yes. But also because Skyrim would be a better place without him. It'd end the war anyway. Elisif didn't know what would happen after that, if she'd even survive. But she'd do her best, and it was like she'd said to Kodlak, the war and dragons weren't helping anyone. She had to stop those at least.

“So, you were going to train me?” she said hopefully. Arngeir nodded, reaching out a hand to her.

“Yes. If you think you can learn?”

“I'll do my best,” Elisif promised. Satisfied with that, Arngeir led her off. Time for her to start learning in earnest.

And so the time passed. Elisif practised Unrelenting Force against a set of figures they conjured for her and did well, much to Arngeir's satisfaction and indeed her own. It was getting easier, slowly, and she was managing to do it without thinking too much about Torygg. Maybe this Shout flung people to the ground like dolls, but unless she Shouted them off a cliff, it was unlikely to kill them on its own. She'd save it for opponents stronger than her, or for wild beasts that didn't know any better, or Draugr. She didn't have a problem with killing Draugr.

Then they'd taught her the first word of Whirlwind Sprint, and that had been fun, sprinting up and down the courtyard with it. Finally, Arngeir and she had talked of many things, the dragon blood and what it meant, the Greybeards and their history, the Way of the Voice and at last a task for her. To go to Ustengrav in Hjaalmarch and retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Imperial territory at least, so no need to worry about Stormcloaks. Just anything else that might be lying in wait.

When it became apparent the Greybeards could tell her no more, not until she found that Horn at any rate, Elisif located Jordis and Ria, both waiting patiently in the Greybeards' living quarters, and took her leave. Time to return to the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trouble started as soon as Elisif got off the mountain. The once placid little town looked more like an army camp, with tents camped around it, and the guard had trebled. Elisif took one look at the banners flying over the biggest tent and her heart sank. Stormcloaks. Ulfric had heard all right and he'd made his move.

“That's bad,” Ria whispered.

“We can do this,” said Jordis, assessing the situation. “Ria and I will just walk past, while you sneak over to the left by that cave. I think you can climb down that way, get out into the wilderness. It's your best chance, Maia.”

“It's not that good, I think there's bears over there!” Elisif hissed back.

“They're not as bad as the Bear over there,” said Ria, reaching for her sword. “Go, sneak off now!”

This seemed extremely unheroic to Elisif, but what choice did she have? Dropping into a sneak pose, she crept off while Jordis and Ria strolled towards the bridge.

Three Stormcloaks emerged from the bushes in front of her, bows drawn, while three more emerged from the river. More had gathered on the bridge, and while Jordis and Ria had weapons drawn, they were outnumbered. Elisif got to her feet, shaking all over but determined not to show her fear.

“What do you want?” she demanded, trying to sound calm. “I am a law-abiding citizen with no bounty in the Rift!”

From behind her, a voice she'd never wanted to hear again.

“Law-abiding and bountyless I can believe, but not citizen. Show your face to me, Elisif. I want to know if the rumours are true. I can't believe you'd be here of all places without the Empire's troops at your back if they weren't.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, fear and rage warring inside her in equal measure, Elisif turned around to where her husband's murderer was approaching, Galmar at his back and a few other guards she didn't recognise.

“Stay away from me,” Elisif hissed, reaching for her axe. “I'm warning you, Ulfric.”

“Brave words,” Ulfric laughed. “You're a true Nord, I can respect that. And Dragonborn, I can respect that too. But you're outnumbered and I refuse to believe the Greybeards made you a master of the Thu'um in the short time you've been up there.” He was striding forward, and the son of a bitch had the nerve to actually smile at her. “Elisif. Why so hostile? I don't mean you harm.”

“You murdered my husband,” Elisif snapped. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“He lost, Elisif,” Ulfric shrugged. “It happens. He died honourably, you should take comfort from that.”

“What would you know of honour, traitor?” Elisif hissed and that did get to him. His smile faded as rage twisted his face.

“And what would you know about power, girl?” he spat. “You, with the power of a dragon? A pathetic, weak Imperial puppet, dancing to the tune of the Legion and having a good time at Elenwen's parties while true Nords suffer for worshipping their own gods? You don't even believe in Talos and yet you were given the Dragonborn gift?”

“Jealous?” Elisif couldn't help but ask, and he was, he clearly was, he was clearly outraged beyond all reason that she'd been given the Dragon blood and not him, which as far as Elisif was concerned was clear proof he was the last person in Skyrim who should be allowed to have it. Ulfric gritted his teeth and he was clearly close to losing his temper.

“Of you? Hardly,” he growled. “But I can see you're not the weakling I thought, if you do have the gift. So I'm offering you this chance. Join me, Elisif. Save your country with me. We can take on the Empire, with the Dragonborn Queen by my side, I can rally our kinsmen and lead us to victory. We can do this, Elisif. I'll take back Solitude for you, you can be High Queen in truth. Just come to Windhelm with me.”

Well wasn't that nice of him. The only problem was, if she was Queen that meant he wouldn't be King. Unless...

“Oh gods,” she whispered, horrified at the mere idea of marrying Ulfric Stormcloak. “No. Absolutely not. Never, Ulfric, never, I am never allying with you!”

“That's a pity,” Ulfric said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I had hoped to take you willingly. You would have had a much easier time of it. Men, take her. Remember, I want her alive!”

Jordis and Ria had their weapons drawn, and Elisif drew both her axes, ready to die rather than be taken prisoner to suffer whatever fate Ulfric had in store for her. Better Sovngarde than a Stormcloak prison cell... or Ulfric Stormcloak's bed and honestly, Elisif would take the prison cell any day given the choice.

It was at that precise moment some dreadful howl echoed over the town and as everyone turned to see what on Nirn that was, two shapes leapt from the undergrowth. Humanoid... but with heads like wolves. Very big wolves. Werewolves.

As one, the Stormcloaks turned, weapons drawn to face this new threat presently tearing into their ranks, and Elisif realised she wasn't going to get another chance. Ulfric was already running towards the wolves, Galmar between him and her, and Elisif wasn't such a fool as to go up against Ulfric. She wasn't strong enough, not yet. But with his men distracted, torn between the werewolves, and Jordis and Ria, there was time for her to get away.

“Jordis, Ria, come on!” Elisif cried, hacking into one Stormcloak with her ebony axe and her glass axe finding another.

Jordis' greatsword took the head off another, but she showed no signs of breaking off the fight.

“Go, my Queen,” Jordis said, not taking her eyes off the foe for a second. “We'll hold them off. Get yourself out of here, it's you they want.”

“But you'll be killed!” Elisif cried. “I can't leave you!”

“Elisif, go!” Ria shouted, bashing a Stormcloak to the ground with her shield. “You're the Dragonborn and true High Queen, you're too important to be captured or killed. For the love of Kynareth, run! We'll see you back at Whiterun.”

Elisif nodded, lump in her throat as she carved her way through one Stormcloak, dodged another and finally Shouted “WULD!” In truth, she had no idea if she'd ever see either again, but she couldn't let them die in vain. Tears in her eyes, she ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, being a Jarl had one advantage in a situation like this. It meant that Elisif knew where the Imperial camps were, and more to the point, that there was one a few miles south of Ivarstead. If she could get there, tell the Legate that Ulfric himself was here, get reinforcements on the way, they might just win this day.

She ran on and sure enough the camp was where the maps had said, she could see campfire smoke – smoke? That much smoke?

She got there to see barricades smashed, tents smouldering, dead horses, dead soldiers – and in the midst of the carnage, five Stormcloaks still there, lying in wait for any stragglers.

Before Elisif could fully process that the camp was no more, they'd seen her.

“Move along kinswoman, this is Stormcloak business,” one snapped. Mutely, Elisif stepped back, having no problem with running, right up until one of them developed a brain.

“Wait a second, she's dressed awful fancy for a mercenary. And she's young, Nord, red hair – that's her! Lady Elisif! Get her.”

Well crap. That was her disguise seen through. Five against one – not brilliant odds, but they probably weren't Ulfric's elite either, not if they'd been left here to guard a destroyed enemy camp.

“FACE YOUR DEATHS WITH SOME HONOUR!” she screamed, and that gave three of them pause, which meant only two with raised blades to deflect. “SU!”

The Thu'um took hold and this was how it had been with Skjor, except far more intense, nothing but them and her and the dance, dodging away from their blades while striking out with hers, and first one fell back bleeding, then the other lay dead and the other three had recovered by this time but it wouldn't help them. Shrieking with the rage she'd been trying to contain all this time, Elisif fell on to them with a demented howl, hacking into human flesh as if it were meat, imagining they were Ulfric, and two died quickly while the third fled in terror. Elisif's Thu'um wore off and she finally sank to her knees, arms bleeding from where she'd taken a few hits. Eyes closed, she drank the last of her healing potions and concentrated on the healing spell Sybille had taught her. It proved to be enough. Elisif got to her feet, still swaying from post-battle exhaustion. Time to get out of here, that fifth Stormcloak would make for the main camp and Ulfric's men would be here soon enough. Turning for the Helgen Pass, Elisif fled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She ran for hours, staying off-road for the most part, right up until she hit the mountains and then she had no choice but to follow it, shivering as the snow started to fall but she didn't stop, couldn't stop, not until she got to Haemar's Shame, and then her legs finally gave way and she collapsed, dragging herself into the cave mouth and sitting down, out of the snow at least.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been there until she heard footsteps approach. Just one person from the sound of it but she was tired and exhausted and still weak from blood loss and she didn't want to fight. She was still trying to make the memory of seeing those dead Stormcloaks at her feet go away.

“Elisif?”

Aela, it was Aela the Huntress, and Elisif had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

“Here!” she cried, and Aela ran over, dropping to sit by her.

“Elisif,” said Aela, her voice gentle, sounding relieved more than anything, and Elisif leaned closer, glad of the comfort. “There you are. I was beginning to think we'd seen the last of you.”

“I killed some people,” Elisif whispered, numb. Aela rubbed her back, faint smile on her face.

“I know, I was following your trail. Were those four dead soldiers at the remains of the Imperial camp your work?”

Elisif nodded, trying to forget the blood and the screams and the way she'd just changed as she'd attacked, driven on by the power of the Thu'um. Aela actually looked impressed.

“You took on all four of them on your own?? Well done, that was good work.”

“One got away,” Elisif whispered and even though he was the enemy, she hoped he'd found safety. Alas, that hope was soon dashed.

“Oh don't worry, he didn't get far,” said Aela dismissively. “He ran into me on the way back to that coward Ulfric. They won't find out where you ran off to.”

Elisif closed her eyes. Nords were brave, Nords were tough, Nords were meant to be warriors but Elisif couldn't for the life of her understand how people could get used to death so easily.

“What are you even doing here?” Elisif whispered. “Did Kodlak send you?”

Aela hesitated and Elisif guessed that was probably a no. “Not exactly. But Ria's the youngest of us, it didn't seem right to let her be the only one at your back, so Skjor and I decided to follow. Lucky we did, for you anyway. I think Ulfric would have captured you if we'd not been there.”

“You were there?” Elisif asked, surprised. She'd not seen them – and then it hit her. Werewolves. “Wait, you're a werewolf?”

Aela cursed under her breath. “Yes,” she admitted. “But you can't tell anyone. No one's meant to know outside the Companions. Skjor is – was – one too.” Aela hung her head at this point, and Elisif's shock on learning she was sitting next to a werewolf took second place to realising someone actually had died because of her.

“Oh! Oh Aela, I'm so sorry. He didn't make it, did he?”

Aela shook her head, face barely visible under her hair as she stared at the ground. “No,” she said at length. “There were too many, and numbers overwhelmed. They would have got me too, but you'd been able to get away, Skjor was gone – no reason for me to stay and keep fighting. So I led a few of them on a wild goose chase, got away and doubled back to try and find you. I had a feeling you'd need help.”

Elisif certainly did, there was no denying that now. Half of Skyrim essentially closed to her – Ulfric's troops would be on the lookout for any young redhaired Nord women on the road now – a Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to find, dragons to stop, a war to win... Elisif had no idea how she was supposed to deal with all this, she really didn't. She didn't even have a housecarl now.

“What about Jordis and Ria?” she whispered. “Did they make it?”

Aela reached out and took her hand. “I'm sorry, Elisif. They killed Jordis. She fought bravely but there were too many of them.”

Elisif could barely speak. Jordis, gone. Only twenty four, young, pretty, her whole life ahead of her and now she was gone, just like that. Elisif had really liked her too.

“And Ria?” she whispered, hoping that wasn't another death at her door. Ria was only twenty.

“She surrendered once she saw Jordis cut down and you gone. I think they took her prisoner. I don't know what they'll do with her.”

Nothing good, Elisif was sure of that. Ulfric's forces weren't friendly to Imperials and Ria would never join them. It was a good thing Ria didn't know much – only that Elisif was Dragonborn... and that the Companions had been helping her, oh gods if Ulfric got that out of her...

“I can't go back to Jorrvaskr,” Elisif realised, horrified. “If Ulfric finds out Ria's one of you and was helping me – I suppose Ria could say she was just hired for the job, or volunteered even after Kodlak told her not to get involved... oh but then he'll think she's an Imperial sympathiser!”

“She is an Imperial sympathiser,” said Aela, faint smile on her lips. “She was horrified when war broke out, nearly ran off to join the Legion. Kodlak talked her out of it. Told us all there'd be precious little honour in this fight and that as there were too many among us on both sides, it was best if none of us went out to fight. I didn't agree but I do respect the old man, so I stayed.”

“Which side would you have joined?” Elisif whispered. She didn't think Aela was a Stormcloak, not now anyway, but best to make sure. Aela actually laughed to herself.

“That was the other problem. I couldn't decide. I don't worship Talos, can't stand the Thalmor, but I don't like Ulfric's methods either. I guess I didn't care about the politics, I just wanted the glory and didn't care who I fought.”

“And now?” Elisif asked. Aela did look up then, smiling gently at her and putting an arm around her.

“Now, little sister, you and I have a score to settle. That bastard's men killed my Shield-Brother. This is personal now. I'll help you any way I can.”

Elisif could have cried, but she didn't think Aela would appreciate that. So instead, she settled for hugging her. To Elisif's surprise, Aela hugged her back, one warrior to another – one Shield-Sister to another. It felt good to have someone at her back, and Aela was a very capable seasoned warrior – and a werewolf. Shor's teeth, a werewolf! She'd not have expected that, but one of those on her side, that she could live with.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. Jordis and Skjor dead, Ria a Stormcloak prisoner – already this had claimed casualties. That Aela still wanted to help her after all this was welcome indeed, and Aela was far less likely to get herself killed.

“Don't thank me, we look after our own,” said Aela. “Come on, let's get back to Jorrvaskr, break the news to Kodlak. Then it's time to plot our next move – do we have a next move? What did the Greybeards tell you?”

“I've got to go to the ruins of Ustengrav in Hjaalmarch. Imperial territory so at least Ulfric can't come in force there. Then I've got to retrieve some ancient artefact from there and bring it back to them.”

“Sounds easy enough,” said Aela, getting up and helping Elisif to her feet. “Come on, let's get going. There's rumours of vampires in this cave, and while I'm not afraid of them, fighting them right now would be inconvenient.”

Elisif wasn't arguing. Glancing nervously at the cave mouth, she hurried after Aela.

Notes:

Ria will be all right, don't worry. I feel so bad about Skjor and Jordis though, but Elisif was having it a little too easy. So now things just got that bit more serious.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Elisif's back behind Imperial lines and safe for now with Aela at her side, but she's still got the guilt and recriminations to deal with, not to mention finding the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Not an easy task, especially not when mysterious strangers start interfering and Elisif's not even sure she can trust her own side...

The two of them kept moving – there was a heartstopping moment when Stormcloak soldiers tried to stop them on the road, and then one of them recognised Aela and believed her when she told them she was just on her way back from a job in the Rift with her little sister Maia, newly recruited into the Companions and having been given the good weapons to make up for a relative lack of experience. Elisif just smiled sweetly and said nothing, and after a bit of banter between Aela and the soldiers, they let them both past. Then came Helgen, or what was left of it – Aela's arrows dealt with a few bandits that tried to attack them while Elisif Shouted a few off the walls with Unrelenting Force and somehow managed not to be sick afterwards. It was frightening just how used to all this death and blood she was getting.

Finally they got to Riverwood and the comfort of the Sleeping Giant Inn. Elisif had never been here before but apparently Aela was something of a regular.

“Don't worry, this place is safe,” Aela reassured her. “I know Delphine, the innkeeper. She's a friend of mine. Used to me pitching up at odd hours in need of somewhere to rest. She's discreet. You can trust her.”

Sure enough, despite the late hour, Delphine, a blonde Breton who might be late forties, early fifties perhaps, didn't bat an eyelid to see the two of them pitch up, Aela requesting beds for the night, food and a certain loss of memory regarding their presence here.

“Ran into trouble, did you?” Delphine asked, producing two bottles of mead for them and pocketing the gold Aela passed her, rather more than was warranted for two beds and some food.

“You might say that,” said Aela grimly. “This is my little sister, Maia. She's decided to follow in my footsteps and join up at Jorrvaskr. We were out hunting in the Rift when we ran into the biggest camp of Stormcloaks I've ever seen.”

Delphine glanced around the empty inn, devoid of anyone other than Orgnar the bartender who was pointedly not looking in their direction. She slid onto the bench opposite them, looking intrigued.

“Stormcloaks giving Companions of Jorrvaskr trouble?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “Now that does surprise me. Aren't you lot meant to be above politics, respected by all Nords?”

“They didn't realise we were Companions,” said Elisif softly. “They thought we were working for the Empire.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” said Delphine, shaking her head sadly, face shadowed in the inn's dim lighting, the central fire burning down to embers. She looked thoughtfully at Maia, seeming curious. “So you're Aela's sister. She never mentioned one before.”

“She's very protective of me,” said Elisif, hoping Delphine would believe that. Something about the innkeeper told Elisif that this woman noticed everything and was a very good judge of people. Not uncommon traits in someone who ran an inn, but there was more to Delphine than met the eye, Elisif could tell. She seemed smart for one. Not to mention agile. She carried a dagger at her side, as did a lot of tradesmen and women, but Elisif had a feeling it wasn't just for show – that Delphine really knew how to use it.

“I don't doubt it,” said Delphine, but she still looked thoughtful. As if she didn't entirely believe her or suspected there was some mystery yet to be solved. “So, Ulfric's making a move, is he? Hope he's not coming up the Helgen Pass, I'd hate to have the war come here. I just got this inn exactly how I want it, I don't need the Stormcloaks thinking we're all Empire-lovers and burning the place down.”

“No, don't worry, he's not invading,” Aela reassured her. “He was lying in wait at High Hrothgar for the Dragonborn. You've heard about the Dragonborn, I take it.”

Again Delphine's eyes flicked to Elisif and now she was sure Delphine suspected something.

“I heard,” Delphine said, her voice neutral. “Can't say I'm surprised. Ulfric's a determined man, he'd do anything to win a Dragonborn to his cause. Of course he'd lie in wait at Ivarstead, it's the first place a new Dragonborn would go. That new Dragonborn will need to take care, I imagine. Especially if the rumours about her being a person of importance are true. I imagine any number of people would want her for their own.”

“I imagine they would,” said Elisif, meeting Delphine's gaze and now she was sure Delphine had guessed who she was. Nothing they could do about it though, and Aela had said she was trustworthy. She could only hope she was right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The return to Jorrvaskr had been as bad as Elisif had expected. Kodlak had been grieved indeed to hear of Skjor's death, as had everyone else, and Vilkas in particular had taken the news of Ria's capture badly.

“You should have given your life to defend her! As she would have given her life for you!” Vilkas snapped, fist hitting the table. Elisif flinched away, feeling tears in her eyes again. Fortunately Kodlak had intervened before things got out of hand.

“Vilkas, that's enough,” Kodlak growled. “I know you cared about Ria, but she knew the risk when she left. At least she lives. I will think about what we can do, in the mean time stop blaming Maia, it's not her fault.”

Vilkas had got up without a word and stalked out of the mead hall, presumably to go butcher some training dummies. Leaving Elisif sitting at the main table, despondently staring into the fire with tears in her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered to no one in particular. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault, lass.” That was Kodlak, taking a seat next to her, patting her shoulder as he did. “I grieve Skjor as do we all, but he died an honourable death.”

“But he shouldn't have had to!” Elisif cried. “He was only there because of me, Jordis was only there because of me, Ulfric was only there because of me! It's all my fault!”

“You did not choose this, lass,” Kodlak said quietly. “This is not a path you would have walked had you had any say, I know. But nevertheless, you cannot turn back now, and it's not a path you can or should walk alone.”

“But it'll get people killed,” Elisif whispered, finally looking up at him. For all Kodlak was an imposing warrior, his eyes held nothing but kindness when they looked at her.

“Aye, that it might. It is a dangerous road you walk. But those who walk it with you know that. Let them choose to risk their lives or not. It's their right as warriors, girl. Let them seek glory in their own way.”

Elisif didn't see anything particularly glorious in any of this, if she was honest, but if it meant Jordis and Skjor were in Sovngarde now – did werewolves go to Sovngarde? She didn't know, but Jordis had died so she could escape, sacrificed herself so she could go on to be Queen and Dragonborn. She owed it to Jordis' memory to at least try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day started off badly when Elisif found out Farkas and Vilkas were coming part of the way. They had some job to do in Eastmarch, apparently. Elisif didn't ask what, and neither twin said. Mercifully, while Vilkas was still cool towards Elisif, he at least didn't seem angry any more. Just grim and determined. It was something at least, and when they got out of Whiterun and were attacked by a dragon, she was glad of the help. When they were attacked by a second dragon, just north of Loreius Farm, she was really glad of the help. Not to mention the sabre cat, the wolves, the ice wraith... About the only bright spot of the entire journey was the odd little man in the jester outfit trying to transport his mother's coffin home, and while Aela and Vilkas both shot wary looks at him and kept their distance, Elisif listened sympathetically and, outraged at the farmer's refusal to help poor, stranded Cicero, went to have a word with him. Five minutes of Elisif telling him off for his inhospitality, with Farkas standing at her shoulder with a glare on his face and his arms folded, and Vantus Loreius was soon fixing the cart for him. Cicero cooed with delight, telling Elisif she was such a kind lady, such a sweet lady to help poor Cicero and his dear mother so and presented her with a large purse of gold.

“But I can't take all this!” Elisif protested. “This must be half your coin purse!”

“Oh, Cicero does not need a lot in the way of coin,” Cicero purred. “Cicero has only himself and Mother to look after, and Mother doesn't need feeding. What with being dead and all.”

Elisif sighed and accepted the gold, splitting it with Farkas who had after all helped with the whole persuasion effort. Cicero cooed after them, babbling that if he ever ran into them again, he would surely remember their kindness. Elisif wished him well, Farkas gave the little man a thumbs up, and then the four of them were moving again.

“You and your damn bleeding heart,” Vilkas growled.

“I had to help him!” Elisif protested. “He'd have been there for hours otherwise!”

“Not you,” Vilkas snapped. “I know you're a sucker for a sob story.” He smacked his brother on the arm. “Why did you have to get involved, eh? Don't you have more sense?”

“He was a man in trouble!” said Farkas, shrugging. “Had to help a fellow out, didn't I?”

“Sucker for a pretty face, is what you are,” Vilkas muttered, and that was a bit odd, Cicero wasn't a girl although he wasn't bad looking, Elisif supposed, if you could ignore the hat and that he was clearly a bit simple-minded.

“Hey, that's not why I helped!” Farkas sighed. “Although he is cute. Don't know if he's into men though, and wasn't about to make moves on him here either.”

Oh, so Farkas liked men as well as, or possibly instead of women. Elisif hadn't realised – he didn't seem the type. Vilkas didn't seem to care, and Aela hadn't batted an eyelid, so Elisif guessed it wasn't a secret among the Companions – just not considered anything worth worrying about.

“He's insane,” Vilkas sighed. “Brother, we have had this conversation before. No lunatics. I don't care how pretty they are.”

Farkas pouted but said nothing more, and the four of them pressed on. Farkas and Vilkas said goodbye at the junction, heading east for Windhelm and Eastmarch, while Aela and Elisif went west. Fort Dunstad was a bit of an obstacle, but survival and a need to press on took precedence over honour and as with Helgen, they skirted round rather than fighting the bandits inhabiting it.

After that, the road was quiet, just the odd frostbite spider or wolf to deal with, and finally the snow plains of the Pale gave way to Hjaalmarch's forests, and Morthal came in sight. A night spent at the inn there, and a few questions to the innkeeper revealed that there were no Stormcloak troops around. Something to be thankful for at least.

So it was that Elisif and Aela found Ustengrav the next morning. The place was quiet. Too quiet. There'd clearly been a battle recently though – the bodies of bandits and necromancers and a couple of Stormcloak scouts were lying around. The Stormcloaks didn't even look like they'd been dead long.

“Do you – do you think they all killed each other?” Elisif asked as Aela stripped the bodies of gold and valuables. Aela shook her head.

“No. None of these bled to death, they all died fairly quickly. Whoever won this fight, they either left – or they're inside.”

Not reassuring. Elisif clutched her axe, hoping that whoever had won, they'd got fed up and gone away.

Alas, she was to be disappointed. Inside were more dead bandits, and some live necromancers with undead thralls, both of whom fell quickly to Aela's bow, and then more necromancers engaged in pitched battle with Draugr.

After those were dealt with came the rest of the ruin. It was strangely quiet – sure there were a few Draugr and skeletons wandering around, but also quite a few dead ones. Almost as if someone had been here before. Had one of the necromancers got ahead of them? Elisif hoped not.

There was loot to be had, and another Word Wall, and then a set of gates that Elisif had to Shout to get past, and then fire traps and spiders and finally a big chamber where dragon statues rose from the water to greet them.

“Impressive,” Aela murmured.

“Creepy,” Elisif whispered back, axes in hand, just waiting for the inevitable Draugr to burst out from somewhere. None did.

At the end of the room was a tomb with a hand on top of it. A hand that looked like it should be holding something... but wasn't.

“Is that it?” Aela asked, frowning. “Where's the Horn?”

“It's not here,” Elisif said, heart racing. “But it must be here, it has to be, gods dammit, Aela, where is my bloody Horn??”

Aela didn't answer. She'd looked up, looked over Elisif's shoulder and was staring angrily at the doorway at the back of the room.

“I believe you're looking for this?”

Slowly, Elisif turned around. She knew that voice. Recognised the High Rock accent, not heard often in Skyrim but Elisif knew a fellow Wayrest native when she heard one.

“What in Oblivion are you doing here?” Elisif snapped, turning around to face the Riverwood innkeeper lounging in the doorway. Delphine just smiled, stepped out of the darkness and pulled her hood back, grinning. She was wearing a set of battered but well-crafted leather armour and an unusual looking curved sword at her waist that Elisif hadn't seen before. She also had the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller in her hand.

“Delphine, you'd better have a very good explanation for this,” said Aela warily. “How did you even know...?”

“How you'd be here?” Delphine asked, looking almost unbearably smug by this point. “I knew the Greybeards would send you here if they thought you were Dragonborn. They're nothing if not predictable.”

Elisif felt her heart sink, fear prickling down her spine. Was she really that obvious?

“How did you know?” she whispered, heartbroken. “How...?”

Delphine actually looked sympathetic as she approached.

“Aela's thirty five. You're not more than twenty five if that. Aela's mother died in the Great War, and she left to fight in it when it broke out. She certainly didn't leave a baby behind her. Aela doesn't have a younger sister... but I can think of one young, redhaired Nord who might be travelling High Hrothgar way just lately and who Aela of all people might be willing to lie to protect.” Delphine tilted her head, eyes looking at Elisif in wonder. “The rumours are really true, aren't they? You're Jarl Elisif.”

No sense hiding it now. Elisif looked up, meeting the older woman's gaze.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I'm Jarl Elisif of Solitude. True High Queen of Skyrim... and Dragonborn. I'd know your reason for coming after me. You didn't come all this way for nothing.”

“No, she really didn't,” Aela growled, hand flexing on her dagger hilt. “Who are you, Delphine, really? I knew you had some sort of warrior past, but thought you were just a war veteran who'd retired to run an inn. Now I don't think you're any more an innkeeper than I am!”

“I'm an innkeeper all right, just ask Orgnar,” Delphine laughed. “But I'm not exactly retired – well, not since that dragon flew over Riverwood the day Helgen got hit anyway. I'm part of a group that's been looking for Elisif here – well, someone like her anyway – for a long time.”

Elisif really didn't like the sound of that.

“What sort of group?” she asked, suspicions not allayed in the slightest. “What do you want with me?”

“I want to know if you really are Dragonborn, for a start,” said Delphine. “You'll forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced just yet, even if there's not many other reasons for the Jarl of Solitude of all people to be poking around down here.”

“I took a dragon's soul in the middle of Solitude!” Elisif cried. “I don't think there's a lot of doubt about it by this time! It's not the sort of thing someone could fake!”

“Yes, I know but I can't entirely rule out a Thalmor plot,” said Delphine, sounding quite reasonable for someone Elisif was now convinced was completely insane.

“What have the Thalmor got to do with anything?” Elisif asked, bewildered.

“What aren't they involved in, you mean?” Delphine snorted. “Look, here's the deal. I'm trying to find out why the dragons came back and how to stop them. I don't know who's behind it but my best guess is the Thalmor. I certainly can't rule out them spreading the rumour of a returned Dragonborn to flush me out of hiding.”

“Why would the Thalmor want you?” Elisif asked, narrowing her eyes.

“We're very old enemies,” Delphine replied. “But that's not important. What is important is that you might be Dragonborn.”

“I am Dragonborn!” Elisif snapped, and there it was, the rage coming back as something howled dragon-like within her. How dare they doubt her, how dare they??

“Well then, you won't mind proving it to me, will you?” Delphine said, looking far too cocky for her own good.

“Would Shouting you halfway to Dawnstar prove it?” Elisif growled, taking a step forward, hand to her axe. Delphine did at least back off, hands raised, and Aela placed a hand on Elisif's shoulder.

“Elisif. She's not attacked yet and up until now, I've never had reason to doubt her. At least hear her out.”

While Elisif didn't share Aela's confidence, the other woman did have a point. Elisif let her axe go and folded her arms.

“Start talking then. What do you want from me?” Elisif snapped. Delphine relaxed a little, holding out the Horn to her.

“I'm not your enemy, Elisif. Here, the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, take it. Give it to the Greybeards, let them do what they want. All I ask is that you trust me and come with me.”

“Trust you??” Elisif could barely believe her ears. “I don't even know you! I thought you were just an innkeeper and it turns out you're some sort of fugitive from the law.”

“You weren't even going by your true name when I first met you,” Delphine retorted. “From what I hear, you're over at the Thalmor Embassy every couple of months cosying up to Elenwen. How do I know you're not going to sell me out to them yourself?”

A tempting thought, but Elisif wasn't one to turn someone over to the authorities without at least some proof of actual wrongdoing. Delphine had at least handed the Horn over in the end, and any help trying to stop the dragons was welcome.

“Just tell me what you want,” Elisif sighed. “You said you were trying to stop the dragons and find out where they came from. Did you get anywhere?”

“Not as far as I'd have liked but likely further than anyone else has done,” said Delphine, warming to her subject. “You see, dragons weren't gone somewhere all these years. They were dead, killed off. They're not just coming back, they're coming back to life.”

To life? Dragon necromancy? Who would do that? Who could do that? Elisif recalled what Delphine had said earlier about the Thalmor possibly being involved and while Elisif didn't want to believe it, it would take immense magical ability to bring dragons back from the dead. The ones she'd seen weren't reanimated corpses either, they were fully living creatures. Elisif had no idea where you'd even start with a feat like that, but the Thalmor might. There were powerful wizards on Alinor who might know all sorts of obscure lore – but why here? Why now?

Well, the war might explain that. Hadn't the first attack been at Helgen, right as they were going to execute Ulfric? He'd be dead if not for the dragons. Elisif fought back a wave of revulsion at the memory of her last encounter with the man. Dragons coming back, possible Thalmor involvement due to wanting the war to continue (a bit far-fetched but not impossible), her husband's murderer at large still, her country being ravaged... and her being Dragonborn. She didn't think this was a coincidence.

“Do you know what's causing it?” she asked. Delphine clearly knew something or she wouldn't be here asking for help.

“Not yet. But I think I know how to find out,” Delphine told her, producing something from her pocket, a roll of paper. A map of Skyrim, with several markings all over it, the ones on the right hand side crossed out.

“Dragon burial mounds,” Delphine explained. “From the Dragonstone you found for me – thank you by the way, I was starting to think I'd have to go in there myself. I've been to a few of them, had reports from all the Jarls' stewards on dragon activity. It started in the Rift, it's worst in the east. Someone or something is opening dragon burial mounds and it started in the south east, down near Riften. I've been tracking the mounds that have been opened so far. If the pattern holds, the next one is the one to the west of Dawnstar. It's not more than a few hours from here – if we leave now, we can find out what's going on and maybe even stop it. That's why I came here in person instead of just leaving a note. That and I wasn't sure the Jarl of Solitude wouldn't be here without half the Haafingar Guard and the Legion, with a few Thalmor observers along for the ride. At least with that lot I could see you coming and run. Damned if I'm leaving a note for the Thalmor telling them where I am.”

She really was quite obsessed with the Thalmor. Worrying, if Elisif was honest. The Thalmor weren't popular, no, but they'd always been perfectly respectful to her. Why they'd be interested in a simple innkeeper was beyond Elisif – but by this time, she was also starting to realise Delphine was far more than that. She'd just have to bide her time and wait for Delphine to trust her enough to tell her what this was really about.

Elisif had a feeling she could be waiting a long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snow was coming down as they trekked over the marsh, skirting the Stormcloak camp but also avoiding the Imperial camp Elisif knew was out there, much to her dismay. She could do with a good meal, warm bed and hot fire to sit by rather than be out in this. But Delphine didn't think it was a good idea, so off they went in the other direction as the aurora blazed above them in the night sky.

“Are we there yet?” Elisif whispered, hating to sound like a brat, but she'd never before realised just how big Skyrim was. It always seemed to take hours to get anywhere, especially off-road.

“Nearly,” Delphine called back. “Just a bit further, over this hill and...”

The biggest dragon that any of them had ever seen swooped overhead, black scales gleaming in the moonlight as it blotted out the stars, coming to circle over what proved to be the dragon mound.

“Get down!” Aela cried, ducking behind a rock as she took aim with her bow. Elisif and Delphine joined, Delphine staring at the black dragon in amazement.

“Lorkhan's eyes. Look at it, it's huge!”

“Kriiloknah! Ziil Dovah ulse!”

Elisif recognised the word dovah, but didn't understand any of the rest of it. The black dragon's wings sent cold air whipping through her and she was cold and scared and just wanted this to stop now please. She didn't feel like a mighty Dragonborn right now, she wanted to turn and run for Solitude or that Legion camp nearby and not stop until she was safe.

“You do not even understand our tongue, do you?” the dragon growled, sounding almost like it was laughing. “So arrogant, to claim for yourself the name of Dovah.”

It knew. That damn beast knew she was here, knew what she was and sweet Kynareth she was no match for it at all. She was going to die, right here, right now and about the only consolation was that at least she'd see Torygg again...

“No matter,” the dragon growled. “You will not stop this. You are weak, joor. I will leave you to your fate because you are not worth the bother of killing personally. In the mean time... Slen Tiid Vo!”

The dragon mound exploded, stone flying everywhere as a pillar of dark magic soared into the sky. Elisif looked up from the crouch she'd dropped into as another dragon roared in response, and she froze in horror to see a skeletal dragon emerging from the ruined mound.

“Gods above, it's worse than I thought,” she heard Delphine breathe, and Aela wasn't even wasting time on words. She'd already lifted her bow and fired off an arrow, then another.

“Kriiloknah! Krii daar joorre!” the black dragon snarled and wheeled off. Fire was burning all along the skeletal dragon and Elisif realised in horror that its very flesh was reforming.

“Talos take you!” she heard Delphine shout, firing off a few shots herself and Elisif reached for her bow, heart in her mouth. She'd fought a dragon before and not died. How hard could it be?

Harder than she'd imagined, it turned out. Her arrows went wide, even Aela's weren't sinking in that deep, and then the thing took off, howling its rage out. Elisif shrieked as she dodged a jet of fire. Last time she'd had a housecarl, four Companions and the Whiterun guard. This time it was one Companion, one Breton warrior and her. Just her.

Kriiloknah soared round again, dodging all the arrows sent its way, sending a jet of fire in Delphine's direction, and then it landed, staring straight at her. Elisif stared back, feeling the blood drain from her face, knowing she'd get one shot in maximum before it struck and that this was a terrible idea, she should have stayed in Solitude, taken Falk up on his elite dragon squad idea where others killed them and she just took the soul. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die...

“For the glory of the Empire!” Arrows flew at the dragon and it turned its attention to this new threat. Elisif could have wept to see a whole troop of Legion soldiers rush in from what must be the Pale's Legion camp, firing arrows and surrounding the dragon, trying to get blows in. The dragon was having none of it – it might be bleeding but that didn't stop it picking one man up in its mouth, chewing him up and flinging the corpse away, before turning its fire breath on a small knot of soldiers.

Something in Elisif snapped, some fury at the thing treating innocent human beings like that, innocent human beings who were fighting for her when all was said and done. She reached for her greatsword.

“WULD!” She covered the distance between her and the dragon easily and carved a line deep into its flesh, marvelling at how easily the scales seemed to part for her. I will kill you, dragon, you will hurt no more of my people and if you kill me, so what? I just get to go to Sovngarde and see Torygg again, so you do NOT frighten me! Screaming, she carved into it, not a lot of finesse involved but when you had an enchanted greatsword at your disposal, you didn't really need it. She wasn't really aware of anything else, just blood and noise and the rest of the world fading away and then fire, why was there fire?

Aela had grabbed her shoulders, hauling her back, hauling her away from the thing's burning corpse.

“You did it, you did it, well done, it's dead, you can stop now, you can stop!”

Elisif lowered her weapon, slowly realising it was dead and everyone was staring at her, Aela, Delphine, all those Legionnaires and oh gods, that was Legate Rikke herself at their head, they'd just seen her kill a dragon like it was nothing out of the ordinary, seen her turn into some screaming lunatic before their eyes.

Then the dragon's soul boiled up out of it, sank into her and she felt the draconic part of herself answering, jaws reaching out to swallow it whole.

Elisif slowly looked up to see concern on Aela's face, amazement and pride on Delphine's, and then she saw the Legionnaires. Several had just dropped to their knees in stunned amazement and they all were looking at her like she was some sort of goddess.

“Dragonborn!”

“High Queen!”

“It's true!”

“She took its very soul...”

Slowly, Elisif turned to Rikke, feeling more afraid now than when she'd been facing the dragon. At least the dragon hadn't been treating her like a goddess and its intentions had been perfectly clear. She had no idea what lay behind Rikke's smile.

“Jarl Elisif. There you are, we found you at last. My spies brought word of our camp in the Rift destroyed, Ulfric mobilising troops personally at Ivarstead. I can imagine why. We've been searching all over for you. What are you doing up here?”

“I – just – was looking for something,” said Elisif nervously, not sure what to say. While she'd always liked Rikke, she wasn't entirely sure she trusted her. Rikke was loyal but she wasn't sworn to Elisif, was she? “But I found it, so I'll just be on my way...”

“On your way?” Rikke asked, eyebrow raised. “You're just going to wander Skyrim on your own? I don't think so! I'm not letting our best asset go unprotected like that. Jarl Elisif, since the story started getting around about you being Dragonborn, Legion recruitment's gone through the roof. Undecided Nords, apolitical Nords, Nords who didn't care, some who even were leaning towards Ulfric, they've all heard that you're Dragonborn and they've all come to fight for you, their Dragonborn Queen. Come with me, Elisif. We'll give you guards, take you to visit the camps, rally the troops, get them fired up to kill some Stormcloaks, get a few dragons killed before their eyes. What do you say?”

Absolutely not, was Elisif's reaction. Deep inside, she could feel a dragon's rage building up again, fury at being kept in a gilded cage, a pet to be paraded out when the Empire felt like it, killing dragons who'd likely already been nearly killed anyway. What sort of life was that for a Dovah? No life at all, was what it was. Better dead than chained.

“I am the true High Queen,” Elisif gasped. “I go where I want.” She just had time to take in the stunned look on Rikke's face before sanity and reason kicked in and she realised what she'd just said to the Imperial second-in-command. Without even pausing, she turned and fled across the snow, using Whirlwind Sprint to put it all behind her.

“Legate, should we go after her?” one of the men asked Rikke. She shook her head wearily.

“No, let her go. She's done nothing wrong and you can't force a Nord to accept help she hasn't asked for,” Rikke sighed. “I'll just have the camps on alert in case she passes their way and does need somewhere to stay for a while. It's actually better for morale this way, the troops will take courage from their Dragonborn Queen being out there in the field fighting dragons to keep Skyrim safe. You there!” She pointed at Aela and Delphine. “Are you her friends?”

Both women nodded cautiously. Rikke didn't know the Breton but the Nord looked familiar – one of the Companions, if Rikke remembered correctly. Good, Elisif would have some help at least.

“Then I suggest you get after her. She's headed straight for Stormcloak territory, if they get their hands on her...”

Neither woman needed telling twice. Both Nord and Breton took off after the errant High Queen, leaving Rikke staring at a dead dragon and wondering just what the world was coming to.

Chapter 6

Summary:

Elisif's flight into the wilderness leads to another adventure and a new friend... and once she's back in Solitude, she needs all the friends she can get.

Notes:

A bit of a filler chapter but it does do a lot to set up the next part of the story arc.

Elisif hadn't stopped running, using Whirlwind Sprint and her own stamina before finally she exhausted both and had to stop. And promptly realised she was lost, with no idea where she was or what direction she was heading in. Only that there was no one around and it was dark and late and... Elisif shivered in the cold and decided to press on. As long as she kept moving.

She finally found a road and followed it and before long it led to a town. A fishing village by the sea, with a ruined tower overlooking the place. Dawnstar. She'd just walked right into a Stormcloak town.

Fortunately, it seemed word hadn't got out this far yet, because the guards barely spared her a second glance. Elisif glanced down at once-shiny but now bloodstained and battered armour, realising she now looked nothing like a queen and everything like the mercenary she'd claimed to be at first. Time to be Maia again and hope this worked.

The first inkling she got that something was up was one of the guards warning her about nightmares. The second hint were the terrified miners in the inn pleading with a priest of Mara to help them. Huh. Mara. Once Elisif's favourite of the Eight as she'd prayed for a handsome prince to sweep her off her feet as a girl, and then she'd grown up and it had happened.

Then Ulfric Stormcloak had killed him and while she'd made offerings to the Eight after he died, she wasn't sure she could ever really bring herself to believe in Mara again. So she ordered a drink and some food and listened.

“But it's the same dream every night! How can that be natural?”

“Patience, my daughter. Just have faith in Lady Mara and she will protect you all.”

Faith? Elisif had had faith once, but Torygg was still dead. Where had Lady Mara been then, hmm?

The miners seemed reassured and left, and the priest sat down at the table next to her. Elisif risked a look over at him. Now that the townsfolk had gone, his confidence seemed to have evaporated. In fact, he looked terrified and a little guilty. Elisif felt a little bit sorry for him and began to realise priests were human like anyone else (or mer in this man's case), they just had to sound confident in their gods to reassure everyone else. Just like a Queen or Jarl had to sound like they knew what they were doing too. Well, she could certainly empathise there.

“Excuse me,” she began. “I couldn't help but overhear you talking with those townsfolk. Is everything all right?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He's deceiving you. When the ritual is complete, Erandur will take the Skull for himself and turn on you. Kill him. Kill him and the Skull is yours!”

Elisif silently tightened her grip on her greatsword. Did the Daedra really think she was born yesterday? If Erandur did turn on her, one Shout would stagger him and her greatsword would probably make short work of him, but until he attacked her, she wasn't going to listen to otherworldly voices, thank you very much.

So she watched and waited, and Mara's power turned the Skull of Corruption into ash. Erandur lowered his hands and Elisif finally sheathed her blade. That had been an adventure and a half, and without Erandur's magic backing her up, she was sure she'd not have made it. As it was, it had been close on a number of occasions, and then there had been that terrifying Dreamstride. On the other hand, she now had a big collection of unusual alchemy ingredients to play with.

“Is that it?” she asked. “It's all over?”

Erandur nodded, but he didn't look happy considering they'd just saved Dawnstar.

“Yes, Maia my friend, it's done. Dawnstar will be safe now.”

“You don't look pleased. Are you all right?” Elisif asked, concerned. Erandur smiled sadly, glancing at Theren and Vorek's bodies.

“In time, I will be. For now, it's enough to know I did Lady Mara's will. Listen, I...” He looked a bit hesitant, and Elisif wondered what was up. There wasn't anything more he could want from her, was there?

“I was going to spend the rest of my days here, in prayer and meditation to Lady Mara,” Erandur said. “I still need to stay here and do the rites for Veren and Thorek and the others. But after that... I believe I would like to offer my services to you. If you ever decide you need me, I'll be here.”

“What, really?” Elisif whispered. “You'd leave all this behind and just travel Skyrim with me? You don't know the first thing about me!” You don't even know my real name!

“Maybe not, but I know you're a woman of character and integrity who's willing to risk her own life to help other people,” said Erandur knowingly. “That's worth something in my book.”

“I don't think I believe in Mara any more,” Elisif confessed, feeling it was probably best to air that right now. Erandur just smiled sympathetically.

“I know it can be hard to remember her teachings when love's left your life and doesn't look like it's coming back. But have faith. Mara won't have forgotten you and she can bring love when you least expect it. Right now, you're embodying her lessons anyway, so don't think I'm going to bother you with lectures. You didn't try to kill me for having made mistakes in my youth, I'm not going to hold it against you if you need to consider your spiritual path.”

Elisif had a lot more things to consider first over whether she still believed in the Aedra or not, but all the same, it was nice to know he wasn't judging her.

“Thank you,” she told him, finally feeling something close to cheerful. “I feel I should warn you my life isn't a safe one. People have already died because of me.”

“People suffered because of me too,” said Erandur, voice low. “You volunteered to do this with me knowing it was dangerous, I'll happily go with you in the same knowledge.”

Good to know. Elisif just had one last question.

“You're, er, not a Stormcloak, are you? I mean, I don't think so, what with you being Dunmer and all, but I have to ask...”

Erandur did grin at that. “Maia, as a priest of Mara, I am above politics. I bring Mara's aid to whoever needs it, regardless of their political affiliations. I'm guessing you're on the Empire's side in the war.”

“You could say that, yes,” said Elisif, wondering if and when to tell him her real identity. Not yet, she decided. Not that she didn't trust him, but at least if he got captured too he couldn't tell Ulfric who she was if he didn't know.

“Well, that's your decision and I will respect that,” said Erandur calmly. “Given how the Dunmer in Ulfric's city are treated, I can't say I'm even unhappy about it, but Stormcloaks are people too.”

“I know,” said Elisif, not needing to be reminded of that. Not just people, but her people, even if they did want Ulfric rather than her. Still, Rikke had said some Nords who'd previously been inclined to Ulfric had changed sides on hearing she was Dragonborn. Maybe she'd convince more of them yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She opened the door and stepped out of Nightcaller Temple to broad daylight. By the Eight, had she really been up all night? Elisif stifled a yawn. She was so tired. Back to Dawnstar, be sure to stay out of the Jarl's way, find the inn and then bed. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

“There you are. We've been looking all over the Pale for you.”

Aela. And behind her, Delphine. Elisif felt her heart sink. She'd actually enjoyed being on her own. It was something of a rarity. Queens didn't often get much privacy. Dragonborn Queens even less, she was beginning to discover.

“Well, you found me,” Elisif sighed. “Here I am. What do you want? More to the point, Delphine, who are you? What do you want? I killed that dragon, took its soul, said no to Rikke when she tried to recruit me to the war effort. What more do you need?”

Delphine had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “I admit, you convinced me,” she said with a smile. “Not just Dragonborn, you're more than the Imperial puppet I thought you were too. All right, I'm sure this isn't a Thalmor plot. So, you wanted to know who I am. Well, I'm one of the last of the Blades. Maybe even the last.”

The Blades... the old bodyguards of the Septims themselves? Surely not.

“But weren't they disbanded years ago?” she gasped. Delphine nodded, smile fading.

“Yes. We've not been Imperial bodyguards since the Oblivion Crisis, but we've been out there, watching out for another Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do.”

“Oh,” Elisif whispered, trying to think of a coherent response and failing. The Blades were actually protectors of Dragonborns. Well, that made sense of a lot of things. Why they were Talos-worshippers and had protected his bloodline. Why they'd disbanded after the war, been disbanded rather. Elisif had never really thought about it before. “No wonder the Thalmor hate you.”

“They do,” Delphine confirmed. “And it's quite mutual. But they haven't found me yet. Which is good because now the dragons have come back, we're needed. You're needed, Dragonborn.”

“To kill them,” Elisif whispered. Delphine nodded.

“Just so.”

This was too much to take in. The Blades still existed – well, one of them anyway. And they were sworn to guard Dragonborns. Her own little troop of bodyguards – sort of. If she could find a secure base for them all and a few recruits – after all, they were technically a banned organisation.

“So what now?” Elisif asked. “What do you know about the dragons coming back?”

“Nothing,” Delphine admitted. “I was just as surprised as you to find that black dragon here. I honestly thought it'd be the Thalmor. Dragons raising dragons... it's bad.”

“Beyond bad,” said Aela softly. “No wonder they keep coming back after we kill them. Anyone other than a Dragonborn kills them, that black dragon or another with similar powers can just raise them from the dead.”

“I know, which is why we need to find out how to stop them,” said Delphine, racking her brains. “I still think our best lead is the Thalmor. They have the best information-gathering network in Tamriel, they must know something. We'll need to infiltrate their Embassy.”

“What??” Elisif cried. “Hold on a second! That's suicide! We'll be killed! And if I'm implicated, it's more than just my life on the line. They'll think it's an act of war!”

“I hope you're not expecting me to do it either,” said Aela, arms folded. “I'm not exactly high society material, they'll know I don't belong there.”

“I know,” said Delphine, gritting her teeth, not looking pleased but not seeing many options. “Let me think about this. Elisif. You're on the guest list for those parties Elenwen throws on a regular basis, right?”

“Yes, but – oh no,” Elisif protested. “Oh no, I am not going to one and infiltrating the Embassy that way, no way!”

“No, no,” Delphine reassured her. “You'll be there all right, as yourself, but you won't have to do anything terribly dangerous or illegal. You'll just be there to cause a distraction while someone else does the sneaking around.”

“And who's that going to be? You?” Elisif asked. Delphine seemed to find that hilarious.

“No, that would be worse than you doing it. I'd attract the wrong kind of attention. No, you leave that to me. I have an old contact who can probably find me someone. You just get that Horn back to the Greybeards then get yourself back to Solitude. Have a break from dragonslaying, just be a Jarl for a bit. Then go to that Thalmor party and be prepared to cause a distraction for whoever I'm able to get. Don't know who that'll be exactly, but anyone who comes up to you and mentions the 30th of Frostfall, that's your guy. Or girl.”

“30th of Frostfall, right,” Elisif repeated to herself. “All right. I'll let you organise it all. Just know that I can't be implicated in this in any way. A distraction, fine. But other than that, your agent is on their own.”

Delphine nodded, understanding. “Don't worry, I know the score,” Delphine promised. “Your reputation shall remain above reproach. I'll see you again after all this goes down with whatever I learned. Aela, make sure she gets home all right, hmm?”

With that, Delphine was gone, sprinting south, presumably headed for Riverwood to plot out her next move. Elisif sidled up to Aela, finally free to discuss Delphine rather more frankly.

“Aela,” Elisif began. “What did we just sign up to?”

“We?” Aela queried as they made for Dawnstar. “You're going to be taking this one on, not me. After I've got you to High Hrothgar and back, and packed you off to Solitude, I'm going back to Whiterun for a bit. I need to make sure Kodlak's managing – with the twins away and Skjor gone, I can't leave Jorrvaskr for long.”

Understandable, although Elisif had to wonder just how long this mysterious job of theirs in Eastmarch was going on for. She'd miss Aela though. She'd miss the whole travelling experience. Going back to Solitude and waiting for something to happen felt an awful lot like prison bars descending around her again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bored. Bored. Bored. Three days back in Solitude and already Elisif was ready to stab her eyes out for something to do. There'd been the settling in, a long hot bath, decent meal, an excellent night's sleep in her own bed – then back to Jarling. Or at least, trying to. That was if Falk would let her actually make a decision ever.

After getting her cleaned and mended armour and her sharpened weapons back off Beirand (and heading down there in person had been a battle in itself), she'd taken to wearing her armour while presiding at court, circlet on her head and ebony war axe at her waist. Much to Falk's displeasure.

“My Jarl, is it strictly necessary to wear that in your courtroom? No one's going to assassinate you here.”

“Torygg thought the same and look at him,” Elisif snapped, hoping that would shut him up. Not this time, it appeared.

“Ulfric isn't coming here to challenge you, Jarl,” said Falk gently, as if he was talking to a frightened child, and Elisif felt that dragon rage building up again, the urge to send a Shout his way and teach him the error of his ways. “There's no need to be afraid.”

“I'm not afraid!” Elisif shouted. “Ulfric's the one who should be afraid!”

She could swear Falk actually flinched away, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Erikur smirking and whispering something to that Altmer bodyguard of his, Melaran. She took a deep breath to calm down and reminded herself she was not actually allowed to kill her thanes or her steward without good cause and evidence of serious wrongdoing. More was the pity.

“Of course he should be,” Falk said, regaining his composure. “I'm sure General Tullius will bring him to justice soon.”

Elisif gritted her teeth. One of these days, she'd do something so impressive, so spectacularly heroic they would all have to finally respect her. I killed dragons! I've survived three dangerous Nord ruins full of Draugr! I took on a temple full of Orc warriors and Daedra-worshippers! I'm quite capable of dealing with Ulfric one on one! Well. Maybe not quite yet. But she knew all of that Shout now, Unrelenting Force. Did Ulfric actually know any others? She had no idea, but he probably didn't know many. She might already be better than him at the Thu'um. And no one here seemed to care.

“Who approaches the true High Queen?” Elisif sat up as her housecarl interrupted a petitioner. Elisif recognised him as Varnius of Dragon Bridge, just a simple farmer but for him to come here, it must be important.

“Let him come,” Elisif called, glad of the distraction. “I'll hear him. Varnius Junius, isn't it? How is Dragon Bridge?”

“The town – the town is well, my Jarl,” Varnius began, wringing his hands. “But – but there's a cave nearby, Wolfskull Cave.”

Elisif had heard of it. It was said to have been used by Potema the Wolf Queen herself for her necromantic rituals. Ever since there'd been rumours it was haunted, but nothing had ever been found there. Probably this was nothing terribly serious... but the poor man looked terrified.

“What about the cave?” Elisif asked. “Have beasts or bandits taken residence?”

“I don't know, my Jarl,” Varnius cried. “I've not been inside to find out. But there's lights at night and strange noises. My Jarl, I think there are unnatural magics at work!”

Dark magic. Less than ten miles from Solitude. Elisif didn't like the sound of this, not at all. Something about this whole situation was off.

“Don't worry, Varnius,” she reassured him. “I'll arrange for troops to head out there immediately and scour the cave. Haafingar's people will always be safe under my rule.”

Of course, her court couldn't let that one go for a second.

“Eminence, my scrying has suggested nothing in the area,” Sybille interrupted. “This is likely just pure superstition.”

“Perhaps a more tempered approach might be called for?” Falk added, and Elisif would be tempering him in a minute if he didn't shut up. The poor man was terrified! Whether it was nerves from coming to see the Jarl herself, or terror of what was in that cave, Elisif wasn't sure, but for one to outweigh the other... no, this needed seeing to.

“Falk, tell Captain Aldis to assign more men to Dragon Bridge,” said Elisif, considering her options. Not many with the war on – the Haafingar Guard was stretched as it was.

“And – and the cave, my lady?” Varnius asked, staring up at her, beseeching her for help. Help that might never come if her steward had his way.

“I will send someone to take care of the cave as well, you can rest easy, Varnius,” Falk was saying, and Elisif finally decided she'd had enough.

“I'll go,” said Elisif, getting to her feet. “If there's a threat to my people in my own Hold, I should investigate, surely?”

“Jarl, you cannot be serious!” Falk cried. Oh good, the inevitable protests. Did Balgruuf and Igmund have these problems? She was willing to bet Ulfric never did.

“I'm perfectly serious!” she snapped. She turned back to Varnius, really rather liking the awe that had filled his eyes. “Don't worry, Varnius, I'll deal with it. I promise you I won't let whatever's in there harm my people.”

“Thank you, Jarl,” Varnius whispered, bowing as he backed away. “You're – you're too kind, my lady.” Nerves getting the better of him, he turned and ran. Well that had gone well. Just Falk to deal with now.

“Elisif. This has gone far enough. Ever since you got back from High Hrothgar, you've been...”

“Been what, Falk?” Elisif snapped, turning to face him full on. “Unruly? Defiant? Acting like a spoilt child? Go on, say it, I know it's what you're thinking!”

“Angry,” said Falk quietly. “And gods know you've got every right to be, you're grieving after all. I just think you're letting the whole Dragonborn thing go to your head, that's all. You need to calm down, think these things over...”

“I don't need to -!” Elisif stopped, reining in her temper before she gave him even more arrows to shoot with. “Look, it needs dealing with, we can't spare the guards, I've dealt with dangerous Nord ruins and wild animals before, so I'll go. It's fine, Falk, you can stop worrying.”

“When have you been down dangerous Nord ruins?” Erikur called over to her, laughter in his voice. “You've been stuck up in a monastery all this time!”

Elisif fingered her axe, once again reminding herself that mere rudeness was not deserving of an axe in the skull. Unfortunately.

“I have been down three Nord barrows, killed two dragons and a frost troll, four Stormcloak soldiers on my own, and survived an entire temple full of Daedra-worshippers!” Elisif growled, taking savage delight from Falk's little cry of horror. “I think I can cope with one cave!”

“Elisif, don't you think you're overreacting just a little?” Sybille purred. Oh good, now the court mage was getting in on the act. “There's almost certainly nothing there but a few wild animals.”

“Then I'm sure I'm more than up to the job,” said Elisif, getting really quite tired of this.

“But what if there is something there?” Falk cried. “You could be killed!”

“If it's really dangerous, it's my duty to investigate, isn't it?” said Elisif, feeling her anger abate as she saw the genuine fear in his eyes. “Don't worry, I'll be careful.”

“Take someone with you at least,” Falk urged. “For back-up. And if there is something worse than bears or bandits in there, come back and get help. Please.”

“Well, I never said I was going in alone, did I?” said Elisif, finally smiling a little. “Falk, get me a quill and paper. I've got a letter to write.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erandur stared at the courier who'd knocked on the door of Nightcaller Temple, holding a sealed envelope and a large bag of gold. Two hundred septims? For him?

“Are you sure you've got the right person, young man?”

“Older Dunmer priest, living alone in the Tower of the Dawn above Dawnstar,” the courier replied. “Going by the name of Erandur. That's you, isn't it?”

“Yes, that's me, but how...” No one outside Dawnstar even knows I'm here. No one but Maia...

“Lady called Maia said to give you this letter and the gold. Seemed very keen it get to you right away. Looks like that's it, got to go!” The courier ran off down the hill, leaving Erandur with the gold and Maia's letter. Well. This was unexpected. Time to see what the girl wanted.

“Dear Erandur,

Sorry to trouble you, but something has come up here in Haafingar Hold, and the Jarl is very keen to have it dealt with. I've taken on the job, but I'm going to need your help.

I've sent some gold to cover your travel expenses, I hope it's enough. Get the boat to Solitude as soon as you can and make yourself known to Rorlund at the Temple of Divines. Then wait there and I'll find you. Take a room in the Winking Skeever if you need somewhere to stay before you find me, but I do have a house you can sleep in after that.

I can't tell you any more, it's dangerous to write too much down, but I will tell you everything once you get to Solitude.

I hope to see you soon,

Your friend,
Maia”

Well now. This was something to think about. Two hundred septims, of course it was enough, more than enough, he could make this last a whole fortnight even with the boat fare to Solitude deducted. Erandur's suspicions about Maia were confirmed, probably noble-born and with no real idea of how much things actually cost so she'd erred on the side of caution. Certainly owning a house in Solitude of all places cost a serious amount of coin. Why the woman was taking on mercenary jobs was beyond him, but she wouldn't have asked for his help if she'd not needed it.

It only took a few minutes to pack his things, and then he was running down the mountainside, heading for the ferry to Solitude.

Notes:

I have had to amend Diplomatic Immunity a little - obviously Elisif is known to the Thalmor, which is going to make it difficult for her to do the infiltrating. So I have reworked it a little. I think you will like the result. :)

Chapter 7

Summary:

Haafingar has a necromancer problem, and its Jarl has had enough. However, Elisif may find that finally flexing her muscles may bring both benefits and a downside...

Erandur knelt before Mara's shrine in the Temple of Divines, hoping he passed for an ordinary worshipper. He'd spoken briefly to Rorlund who'd looked a bit confused at the name Maia before seeming to realise who he was talking about and reassuring him he'd go get her, and to make himself comfortable in the Temple in the mean time.

So here he was, praying quietly to Mara and hoping she'd come soon.

Footsteps on the Temple floor and then a cloaked figure kneeling beside him, the hood falling back to reveal red hair and a golden circlet.

“Hello!” Maia gasped, sounding a little out of breath but definitely pleased to see him. She'd had her armour repaired and cleaned up, but otherwise looked much as she'd done when he last saw her. “You made it! How was the journey?”

“A little rough but no bother,” Erandur replied, getting to his feet with a smile. “Maia, my friend, it's good to see you.” He held out his arms for a hug, which she gladly returned, happy smile on her face... and it was then that he noticed the steel plated Nord behind her, glaring at him and reaching for his sword.

“Maia, look out -,” he began and Maia turned around. To his surprise, she actually glared at the big Nord, tapping her feet.

“Bolgeir!” she snapped. “He is a friend, and a sworn priest of Mara! Stand down immediately!”

Bolgeir let his sword go and stood back, folding his arms but still glaring at Erandur, who was now a little puzzled. Clearly a bodyguard of some sort, so why call on him? Had to be something requiring a priest's assistance, but this city had the Temple itself and a Hall of the Dead. Why him in particular?

“Is he a friend of yours, Maia?” Erandur asked, wondering just what her situation was in this city. Rich, clearly, but he also had the sense she wasn't in charge of her own destiny. Was her father someone powerful, a controlling man who loved his daughter but also didn't like her risking herself? Maybe this was why she'd taken up mercenary work, to get some freedom.

“Bodyguard,” said Maia tersely. “Gods know why I need one in my own city with guards on every corner, but apparently it's dangerous for me to step outside alone. But there I go, talking about my problems. How are you, Erandur?”

“Very well, thank you,” Erandur replied, fairly bursting with questions by this point. “So, you needed my help.”

“Not here,” said Maia, lowering her voice as she glanced at the other visitors. “Come on, come with me. We need to talk.”

Erandur followed her out, that bodyguard of hers falling into step a few paces behind, not taking his eyes off Erandur. Something was very wrong here, in fact the entire city seemed on edge. Could be the war. Could be the trauma of having its High King murdered. Maybe even dragons. But Maia seemed like a different person here. Angrier and yet more vulnerable, if that made any sense. Back in Dawnstar, he'd worried for her physical safety but she'd seemed calm, even cheerful, most of the time. Even when he'd confessed about Vaermina and his history with the cult, she'd been angry briefly, even a little disappointed... but she'd sighed, forgiven him and told him as long as he wasn't still in league with Vaermina, it was fine. Everyone had their secrets after all. Something in the way she'd said it had made him wonder what her own might be... but he'd not felt confident enough to ask. Now he had a feeling they might be to do with this city.

She was heading towards the Blue Palace and what was clearly the upmarket end of town. Solitude's manor houses towered on either side and Erandur wondered which was hers. She finally halted just before the Palace itself.

“Erandur, I – I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you,” she said, blushing furiously and not meeting his eyes. Secrets. He knew it. Well, she'd not turned him away after hearing his, and he doubted hers were worse.

“I see. What do you need to tell me, Maia? I hope you've not turned to worship of the Daedra,” he said, mock disapproval masking the curiosity. Her blush deepened and her shoulders hunched in guilt, and Erandur immediately wished he'd not teased her.

“Maia? What is it?”

“My name's not Maia!” she cried, finally looking at him with tears in her eyes. “It's Elisif!”

Elisif, Elisif, he knew that name. That was that poor girl whose husband Ulfric had killed, the one the Empire wanted to make High Queen. Elisif... who'd obviously live in Solitude, when she wasn't wandering Skyrim under a false name anyway.

“Sweet Lady Mara,” he whispered. “You're Jarl Elisif.”

Elisif nodded tearfully, wiping at her eyes. “I'm so sorry, Erandur. I didn't mean to lie to you but I can't use my real name in Stormcloak territory, Ulfric already tried to take me prisoner once!”

Well, no wonder she had trouble shaking that housecarl. The city must be terrified of losing its queen after what happened to the last ruler. The poor girl. The poor, poor girl.

“Elisif,” said Erandur, testing the name out and finding it came easily to him. It did suit her. “I won't say I'm not surprised, because I never thought the Jarl of Solitude would be hiding out in Dawnstar pretending to be a common mercenary. But I'm not angry. I understand why you might not tell everyone you meet when you're not in Solitude.”

Elisif smiled through her tears, looking quite pathetically grateful and not at all like a Jarl if he was honest. He had to wonder how old she was exactly. Quite young in human terms, he imagined.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Come on, come inside. Let's get you comfortable and then we can talk, is that all right?”

Definitely nothing like any of the Jarls he'd met. Erandur thought that was probably a good thing but all the same, he was starting to feel rather concerned for her. Back in Dawnstar she'd seemed a little inexperienced, but brave for all that. Here she was meant to be in charge but seemed like a frightened child. No wonder she'd needed his help. Erandur resolved to do all he could to make sure she didn't go the same way Torygg did.

~~~~~~~~~

She'd taken him inside, introduced him to her steward, Falk Firebeard, as a travelling priest of Mara, good friend and spiritual advisor of hers, who was staying as her guest for a few days. Falk had looked him over, a little disbelieving, but Erandur hadn't got where he was by not being able to read people.

“Lady Elisif needed someone to talk to about her relationship with Lady Mara after losing her husband. I'm helping her reconcile her feelings with Lady Mara's Divine Benevolence,” Erandur explained, folding his hands and bowing, hoping he looked appropriately pious. It worked. Falk's suspicions immediately eased.

“Of course, I imagine she probably does,” said Falk gently. “She's been so unhappy since Torygg died, someone with no other responsibilities but to listen to her might be just what she needs right now. Come with me, sir, I'll find you a bedroom. Do you need anything? A bath? Change of clothes? Food?”

All of the above had been more than welcome, although Elisif had told Falk to send him to her quarters for dinner, they'd eat there. And so here they both were, Erandur seated across a small table from Elisif as the servants poured their wine and left them to it, tucking into a gorgeous meal of roast pheasant. Far nicer than he deserved, but it would be rude to decline.

“So,” he began. “Now that we're alone, do you mind telling me what's going on? How'd a Jarl end up in Dawnstar?”

“This is a very long story,” Elisif sighed. “And it's a little unbelievable.”

“Try me,” Erandur said, leaning forward with a smile. People often said that about their problems, little realising that when you heard enough stories from people, it was amazing how the same themes kept cropping up time and again.

“All right,” said Elisif, leaning closer. “It all started with the dragons...”

Erandur listened, and while the story wasn't what he'd expected, not at all, it finally made sense of Maia the mercenary, with the top-notch gear, somewhat naïve fighting style and that odd ability to cast spells with her voice. Maia who was scared to death but wanted to do the right thing anyway, stronger and braver than she ever gave herself credit for. Maia who was Elisif, future Queen of Skyrim... and Dragonborn apparently. Able to kill dragons permanently and take their power.

“And now everyone seems to want a piece of me,” Elisif sighed. “Ulfric wanted me to join his cause – as if I ever would after what he did to Torygg! Rikke says half of Skyrim is suddenly joining the Legion, convinced I'm the gods' Chosen One. Falk seems to think I'm some fragile doll to be protected from the entire world while at the same time thinking I'm incapable of wielding any kind of power or making a decision. Everyone wants to control me and no one takes me seriously! Or even really sees me as a person at all. Every time I try to make a decision or give any sort of order, someone overrules me. I'm really quite sick of it, Erandur.”

“That does sound like a very hard place to be in,” said Erandur, feeling sorry for her. Truly, it was a lot for a young woman who'd never even asked for any of it.

“It is,” said Elisif softly. “But I'm Dragonborn and I'm going to be Queen and my people need me, so I'm not going to let them tell me what to do any more. If I have to prove it to them, I will. Only... I may have bitten off a little more than I can chew. Which is why I need your help.”

Erandur reached for his wine glass, having a feeling he was going to need it. “Yes, you mentioned some job the Jarl particularly wanted sorting out. What happened?”

So Elisif told him about how one of her people had reported disturbances at a certain cave once used by Potema the Wolf Queen. Now that was ominous. Very ominous.

“You know that certain rituals leave imprints on a place,” Erandur said, voice grave. “If that place was really used by Potema, chances are it still carries power, that's if there wasn't power there in the first place. Your man Varnius is right to be concerned.”

To his surprise, Elisif looked delighted.

“That's what I said!” she cried. “But Falk didn't think it was worth sending troops to deal with. So I said I'd go. Of course, he didn't like that either.” She actually grinned at that. Erandur felt a brief burst of sympathy for Falk... but only a brief one. Elisif was probably in the right over this one after all.

“And you want me to come with you,” Erandur guessed.

“Yes!” Elisif gasped, probably relieved she'd not had to actually ask outright. “I mean, if you want to. I mean, if there really are necromancers down there, you'll know how to deal with them, right?”

“I'll do my best,” Erandur promised. He'd seen his fair share of dark arts, it was true. Practised his fair share too. He'd been trying to do penance for it ever since. Helping Jarl Elisif wipe it out in her own Hold? Of course he'd help.

~~~~~~~~~~

The skeletons guarding the entrance were the first clue. Then the Draugr wandering around. Then the necromancers sitting around a fire, and then several more and some Draugr arrived. Elisif was just thankful she'd found the ledge above the cavern and could snipe some of them from there first before joining the melee. As it was, she had to sit down afterwards while Erandur healed her wounds.

“Do you want to go back?” Erandur asked quietly. “That was a hard fight. There's likely to be more too.”

“Yes, which is why I'm not stopping,” said Elisif grimly, flexing her arms, testing her strength against Erandur's healing job. “I don't know what they're doing down here, but it can't be anything good. We need to press on while we still have the element of surprise – they'll soon know their friends are dead.” She still wasn't used to the idea of killing people or being around dead bodies, but it was starting to bother her less. Especially necromancers. They made her skin crawl. Re-animating the dead, harvesting their souls – it was monstrous, absolutely unnatural. Elisif didn't object to collecting animal souls, they wouldn't have much of an afterlife anyway. But humans? Sentient beings? Absolutely not. There weren't many people Elisif could honestly say deserved to die but necromancers were probably among them.

They pressed on until they found the pit. It looked just about safe to jump down, and there were more lights and noises coming from it.

“This is it,” Elisif whispered. “No going back. You ready?”

Erandur was. They jumped.

~~~~~~~~~~

At the bottom of the pit was a tunnel, leading to a cave, containing more ruins, the remains of a fort and yet more necromancers and their Draugr. Right up on top of the tower, glowing purple light and chanting indicated a ritual was afoot.

“I knew it,” Elisif whispered. “Look at this! What do you think they're doing?”

Erandur placed a finger to his lips and motioned for her to listen.

“Wolf Queen! Hear our call and awaken! We summon Potema!” the ritual leader called out, voice ringing around the cave.

“We summon Potema!” the chanting acolytes echoed. Elisif only just stopped herself crying out.

“This is worse than I ever imagined,” Erandur murmured, horrified, and Elisif guessed he'd heard of Potema too – well, who hadn't? She was one of the most evil necromancers of all time, and powerful too. And these idiots were trying to summon her from the dead?

“Should we go back, get help?” Elisif whispered, remembering her promise to Falk to come and get reinforcements if there was something worse than bandits there. Well, this was definitely worse.

“I don't think we can,” Erandur murmured. “It'd take hours to climb out of that pit. And the ritual's already under way. We don't have time to go back. We need to deal with this or Potema will be coming back to life.”

When he put it like that...

“Well, she's not having her throne back,” Elisif snapped. “I'll fight her for it first. There's only room for one Queen of Solitude in Skyrim and it's not her!”

“Well said,” said Erandur, readying his mace. “Let's go bring Mara's light to some necromancer filth, shall we?”

Elisif wasn't entirely sure Mara's teachings were meant to encompass quite as much bludgeoning as Erandur seemed to enjoy, but all the same, help was much appreciated.

“Let's,” she whispered, unshouldering her greatsword and preparing to charge. This Queen of Solitude had a pretender to put down.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn't take long for someone to realise they were there, and soon all the Draugr were on alert, along with the more junior mages accompanying them. Erandur's magic arced through the air while Elisif gritted her teeth and dodged the magic coming back at her, Shouting her opponents down and finishing them before they could fight back. Not honourable, no, but Arngeir's words never left her – using the Thu'um against a weaker opponent to save your own skin was bad but evening the odds against a stronger one was fine. And she had to live, she had to, Skyrim needed her to fight dragons and she was damned if she was going to die before she'd had a chance at Ulfric. So the Draugr died and the necromancers died, even if some of the necromancers did look awfully young.

Elisif rounded the final leg of the spiral staircase leading up to the ritual itself. The ritual leader ignored her, still focusing on the strange orb that seemed to be the focus of the ritual, but she clearly knew Elisif was there because she wasted no time ordering her two companions, a man and a woman, after her. All three Nords, and that was a true disappointment, didn't her fellow Nords have more sense? Apparently not.

“FUS RO DAH!” The Shout caught one of them, sending her flying, and Elisif felt her heart contract in guilt as she caught the horrified look on the mage's face as the Thu'um carried her over the parapet to her doom. The male mage hesitated, flinging up a ward while he tried to work out what to do with someone who could apparently still use magic even with both hands clutching a greatsword, and Elisif took advantage by darting forward and cleaving him almost in two. Erandur had by this time caught up and finished the man off with a fireball then turned lightning on the lead mage. She had to know the game was up by this time, but she only sped up her chanting, Nordic stubbornness keeping her going. She did spare one hand to cast frost magic at Elisif though. Elisif staggered but her own momentum kept her going and a stroke from her sword sent the mage reeling. One fireball from Erandur and she was dead – but the altar was still glowing, that orb still suspended in midair.

“What's it doing?” Elisif cried. The mages were dead, that should have stopped it, right?”

“They're using a Daedric artefact to power it,” Erandur replied grimly, coming to take the place of the dead leader. “Its power is considerable but fortunately it's also being misused. I imagine the Daedra it belongs to will be quite happy to assist in switching it off.” So saying he raised his hands and began a strange invocation in a language Elisif had never heard before, although it sounded frightening. It seemed to work though as the light began to dim, the glow faded and the magic making Elisif's hair stand on end and her head hurt died away. Suddenly there was a silent explosion of white light, and then everything was quiet. No magic. No light. No strange noises. Nothing. The orb, now a simple metallic irregular round shape, crashed on to the altar and bounced down the stairs.

Erandur swore in a most unpriestly manner and made to go after it, but Elisif was faster.

“Don't worry, Erandur, I'll get it!” she called, running down the stairs and spying it at rest on the landing. Good, it hadn't gone far. Best not to leave a powerful Daedric artefact lying around for anyone to find and misuse. Elisif reached and picked it up. Got it!

“A new hand touches my beacon,” a woman's voice, cool and commanding, reverberated in Elisif's mind.

“Oh gods,” Elisif whispered. She definitely should have let Erandur get this after all...

“Listen, mortal! Hear me and obey. A foul darkness has seeped into my temple. A darkness that you will destroy.”

“I'll do what now?” Elisif whispered, horrified. She was being given orders by a Daedra now? This was bad. This was very bad indeed.

“Take my beacon to my Temple at Mount Kilkreath and restore it unto me. Then you and I have work to do.”

Kilkreath? Well, that wasn't far away, on the way back to Solitude in fact. She supposed she could drop it off.

“Elisif? Elisif!” Erandur had followed her down and stopped, seeing the Beacon in her hands. “Sweet Azura's mercy, you touched it, didn't you?”

“Is that bad?” Elisif whispered, seeing the answer in his eyes. He nodded slowly.

“It just gave the goddess Meridia a direct portal into your mind,” Erandur said, concerned. “Er. Did she... say anything to you?”

“She wants me to take this back to her temple at Kilkreath,” said Elisif, staring at the orb. It was pretty, reflecting white shards of light in all directions. Shame she couldn't keep it – but Meridia was not a deity to displease. “She says someone or something has profaned it.”

“More necromancers most likely,” said Erandur, hefting his mace, looking rather pleased at the prospect. “Don't worry, Elisif. There's worse Daedra than Meridia out there. She's one of the benevolent ones – mostly. Let's get this beacon back to her temple, shall we? I think there's a drawbridge at the top of this tower that leads out.”

Elisif put the beacon into her pack and followed Erandur out. This whole thing was worrying her, and not just the Daedra in her head. How many necromancers did Haafingar have living here anyway?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Captain Aldis!”

Aldis looked up, feeling both surprise and a hint of dread. Of all the people he'd expected to see or hear from today, Jarl Elisif in person wasn't one of them. Hadn't she just gone on some trip inspecting her Hold without even a housecarl for company? Mainly because the last housecarl that had gone out travelling with her had been killed by Stormcloaks, and Elisif had been dead set on no one else dying because of her ever again. Apparently she might have changed her mind.

“Jarl, this is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“I need men,” Elisif said without any preamble. “Any you can spare. We've got a problem.”

Well yes, Skyrim had problems all over, but he couldn't just send men out after the Jarl without a bit of planning, not to mention the General's likely reaction.

“Jarl, we're very stretched thin because of the war, especially after you asked me to send extra men to Dragon Bridge...”

“Well call them back,” Elisif snapped. “I sorted out the problem at Wolfskull Cave, we don't need them guarding the town any more. We've got another problem. There's a necromancer at Kilkreath Ruins, desecrating the bodies of Skyrim's war dead and harvesting their souls to build an army. I'm going in there and I'm going to stop him, but I need soldiers, captain! So I need every true-hearted soldier in the Haafingar Guard who's capable of wielding a blade and...”

The soldiers who'd been practising out in the yard had all put down their weapons, turning to listen to their Jarl who everybody now knew was Dragonborn, and they'd all gone pale at the idea of Nord war dead being cheated of Sovngarde by some necromancer.

“We're with you, Jarl!” one cried.

“Ready when you are, Dragonborn!” shouted another.

“We'll teach him to mess with Nords!” called a third. By this time, an entire group had gathered, all waving their swords in the air and shouting approval of this plan, and Aldis realised that if he didn't take charge of this situation, they'd all be following Elisif out of Solitude wherever she led them.

Of course, Aldis was also a true Nord himself and the idea of some necromancer right here in Haafingar keeping his people from Sovngarde... no. So seeing as the Jarl herself was giving the orders...

“All right soldiers, gather your weapons,” Aldis roared. “We move in fifteen, go!”

Elisif watched them all mustering with commendable efficiency, turning to Erandur in amazement.

“They did it!” she whispered. “You were right! They're doing what I tell them, look!”

“See?” said Erandur, patting her shoulder and grinning. “It's all in the voice, Elisif. You just have to stay firm and sound like you know what you're talking about. And honestly, you've probably seen more necromancers than they have by this point.”

This was true, and Elisif still shuddered to think of what she'd seen going on in Wolfskull Cave and Vaermina's Temple. No more of this. She wasn't exactly a Meridia worshipper per se... but dealing with people who interfered with the natural order of life and death and stopped Nords who'd fought hard going to Sovngarde? That she was quite happy to do.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What in the name of the Eight were you thinking?” Tullius shouted across the Blue Palace's throne room. Two days since she'd got back from Kilkreath telling stories of necromancers and corpse desecration and commandeering a squad of troops to investigate, and the Legion were still clearing up the mess. There must have been about fifty bodies in there from both sides, all so badly mangled that it was likely they'd never be identified, and Styrr was still busy reconsecrating them and giving them an honourable burial in the Hall of the Dead. There was already talk of a memorial being erected at Kilkreath itself to those butchered by Malkoran. It was all very public-spirited, but Tullius was about ready to wring Elisif's neck.

“General, he was harvesting souls and desecrating bodies, he had a whole troop of corrupted shades at his command!” Elisif protested from her throne. “I can hardly let that go unchecked, not in my own Hold!”

A valid point, it had to be said, and the necromancer activity had turned out to be quite genuine in the end, but nevertheless there was a point to be made here. Especially since Tullius had started getting reports of wilder tales of the gods sweeping Elisif up into the heavens afterwards and anointing her with a Divine mission to sweep out corruption and gifting her with a golden sword of fire to do it with. Said sword was at Elisif's side right now, actually glowing, and the young Jarl looked apologetic but not actually remorseful.

“Yes, yes, Elisif, I agree you need to maintain order in your Hold, I accept that,” Tullius sighed. “And yes, in this case, I agree you needed troops to help you, this Malkoran sounded like a dangerous man. But Lady Elisif, you can't just start commandeering troops when you feel like it. There's forms to complete, a process to follow...”

“And in the mean time, my people die?” Elisif snapped. “Look General, I'm very sorry for the short notice, but I needed those troops and...”

“They're Legion soldiers!” Tullius snapped back. “You are not part of the Legion!”

“No, I'm the bloody Jarl!” Elisif shouted, getting up. “And I'm going to be High Queen and you'd do well to remember that, General!”

“When Ulfric and his rebellion have been put down, yes!” Tullius hit back. “Not before! And whose troops are you relying on to do that for you, Elisif? Are you capable of raising your own army to fight Ulfric?”

Elisif said nothing, glaring at him, mouth set in a thin line as she folded her arms. When she finally did speak, her voice was cold and authoritative in a way he really wasn't used to hearing from her.

“The way I hear it, General, ever since I found out I was Dragonborn, half your army is composed of recruits who joined because they're ready to give their lives for a Dragonborn Queen who's clearly been picked by the gods themselves in their eyes. Maybe the Legion swears its loyalty to the Emperor, but there's an awful lot of Nords in that Legion who'd follow me to Oblivion and back. Don't you ever forget that, General.”

How could he? These days it seemed every other recruit was a wide-eyed Nord there to avenge the true High Queen, the Chosen of Akatosh. On the one hand, the extra recruits were good to have, as was the public relations victory – winning the hearts and minds of Skyrim's people would be key to this war and having their High Queen turn out to be this Dragonborn was proving useful. On the other hand, ever since she'd got back from her trip to these Greybeards she'd been... different. Less biddable. Unpredictable. Out of control. Liable to upset all Tullius' carefully laid plans. This could have the potential to make life very very difficult for them all.

“No, Elisif, I quite understand, many Nords want you as Queen, and I do appreciate that, I really do,” Tullius sighed. “But if Ulfric had attacked and half our troops had been off with you down some cave or other, the city could have been in trouble, couldn't it?”

Elisif did look away then, conceding that point at least. “Yes, General,” she sighed. “I suppose you're right.”

“Good,” said Tullius, not entirely convinced there weren't going to be any other incidents but he supposed this was the best he was going to get. “Don't get me wrong, Jarl, I absolutely agree that you need to keep order in your Hold, and I don't even think what you did was so wrong in itself. Only we have a war to fight and I need those soldiers. So next time you need to go on some crusade, you talk to me first and I'll see what we've got available. Is that agreeable to you, Jarl Elisif?”

“Yes, General,” Elisif said softly, lowering her eyes. Tullius nodded, deciding this conversation was finished and took his leave.

Elisif watched him go, calm enough on the outside, but inside she was seething. Stupid little man with his petty little problems... she was a damn Dragonborn! She could take Ulfric, she was sure of it, one strike with Dawnbreaker and a swipe with her axe and the entire war would be over. Of course, that would first mean getting into Windhelm and past all his soldiers, and then there'd be the little matter of getting out alive afterwards. She wouldn't be able to manage that without an army behind her and who else's did she have? Just the Legion.

Of course, if she did kill Ulfric and then get killed by his men in revenge, at least she'd get to go to Sovngarde and be with Torygg again. That wouldn't be a bad thing either, in fact there was a part of her hoping it could be so.

But not just yet. For now her people needed her. More to the point, she'd had a letter from the Thalmor Embassy, an invitation to Elenwen's next party. Elisif steeled herself for it. This party was not going to be an easy one.

Notes:

A short one, but it does set up future events, plus it also gets her Dawnbreaker. Every self-respecting Dragonborn needs a Dawnbreaker. :)

Next chapter is Diplomatic Immunity, and I think you will enjoy it greatly.

Chapter 8

Summary:

Thanks to Elisif already being known to the Thalmor, Delphine's had to hit up Skyrim's underworld for assistance. But while she gets what she came for, the price may be more than she's prepared to pay and not just in coin either. Meanwhile, Elisif's attending her first party since Torygg died and she's not coping well...

Notes:

DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY! I hope you like this one, I had a lot of fun with it, I've been itching to post it for ages. We've got thieves, Thalmor, shenanigans, ironic turns of events and then something unexpected to round off with. Enjoy!

Riften. City of sin. Well. Not so much that, nothing so interesting. City of crime then. City of various monetary acts of wrongdoing, with that same down to earth grubby charm it had always had. A city that was welcoming to all as all it cared about was your coin. Technically Stormcloak and that at least meant no Thalmor. But in reality, it belonged to the Black-Briars and Thieves Guild and always had done, and that was precisely why Delphine was here.

“Make love like a sabre cat! Grow back that missing limb! Learn a new language in seconds, all thanks to my genuine Falmer blood elixir!”

And there he was. Her old friend Brynjolf at his market stall, selling his usual wares. A few passers-by stopped to have a look, but most of Riften's citizens knew Brynjolf all too well.

She stopped by the stall, glancing up at him from under her hood.

“Hello there lass, can I interest you in my genuine Falmer blood elixir? Only twenty septims-” He stopped, seeing first the hood of a fellow Guildmate, then under the hood, someone he'd likely not thought he'd see again.

Delphine wasn't proud of her Thieves Guild years. But she'd been on the run after the war, was running out of hiding places and in desperation had ended up hiding out in Riften's Ratway, paying the Guild to bring her food. Most had just brought the food, taken the coin and gone on their merry way without asking questions. Not so Brynjolf. He'd brought the food, taken the coin and started chatting. First asking questions but when she'd shut the door and ignored him, he'd stopped expecting an answer and started monologuing. Despite trying to block him out, he had a way of making the mundane sound interesting – and he'd been a useful source of information. One day he'd mentioned something about Thalmor agents in town and she'd opened the door to ask more without even thinking. He'd just stopped and grinned, knowing he had her and then proceeded to start asking a price.

The sexual favours he'd initially suggested had been met with a right hook to the jaw. He'd taken the hint and the following day, he'd revised his price. Not coin, no, but her joining the Guild, helping them out. So after a bit of thought, she'd said yes and there had followed six, nearly seven years of thieving all over Skyrim, her espionage skills being put to a use her trainers had never anticipated. During that time, she and Brynjolf had become friends, partners in crime – until she'd been spotted by a Thalmor agent while on a job, killed to protect her identity and been forced to leave the Guild. She'd taken in more than enough coin to buy the Sleeping Giant by that point though, and retiring to Riverwood had proved to be a good option. Ten years she'd been there now and the Thalmor hadn't found her yet. Talos willing, they never would.

“Bryn,” Delphine said, smiling. “How've you been?”

Brynjolf stared at her, not able to believe his eyes. “Del? Is that you? Now you're a sight for sore eyes, lass. You haven't changed a bit.”

“Nor have you if you think I'll fall for your usual flattery,” Delphine remarked, but part of her was pleased by the genuine pleasure in his eyes on seeing her. Not often she got that reaction. “It's good to see you, Bryn.”

“And you,” Brynjolf replied, actually grinning. “So what brings you to Riften? Business? Pleasure? Something else? Something I could help with perhaps?” His eyes lingered on her a little longer than they should and Delphine could only sigh wearily. While Brynjolf could hardly be said to be pining for her and certainly hadn't been saving himself for her or anyone else, he'd never made any secret of the fact he found her attractive either. It was a little unsettling if Delphine was honest, but Brynjolf had never pushed the matter and for that at least she was relieved.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Delphine said, hoping he actually could because if the Guild couldn't help, she was frankly stuffed. “I'm planning a job – a big one. A dangerous one, with a lot riding on it, and I'm going to need an extra pair of hands. I need a Guild thief, Bryn, a good one. Can you help?”

“Not here,” said Brynjolf softly, lowering his voice. “Meet me tonight in the Flagon, yeah?”

Which was exactly the response she'd been hoping for. Handing twenty septims over for a bottle of spurious elixir so their conversation at least looked a little bit legitimate, Delphine slipped away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, and Delphine was feeling a little nervous as she walked back into the Flagon. She didn't recognise the doorman, who glanced at her armour and waved her on through with just a warning to cause no trouble. She vaguely recognised the blonde Imperial woman as someone who'd only just joined the Guild when she left – Vex, was it? But Vekel, Tonilia, Delvin – they were older but they all knew her.

“Delphine love, about time you showed up again,” Delvin laughed as he got up to greet her with the typical Breton cheek-kiss. “Welcome back, this place has been going downhill ever since you left.”

“Delvin,” Delphine laughed. “Good to see you, how've you been?”

All the better for seeing her, apparently – Vekel had mead sent over and Tonilia joined them and it became apparent the Guild was not doing well. It had been in gentle decline when she'd been part of it – another reason to get out while she had her coin still – but it seemed things had only got worse. Not a brilliant sign, if she was honest.

Then Brynjolf walked in, dressed in the same black Guild armour Delvin and Vex had and that was something, to find out Brynjolf was the second in command these days.

“You're going up in the world, Bryn,” she laughed. Brynjolf just grimaced.

“Aye, I just wish the same could be said about the Guild. But never mind that, lass. You said you had a job for me.” He led her over to a quiet table in the corner and the rest of the Guild had the presence of mind to leave them to it.

“So what is it?” he asked quietly. “Shill job, heist job, numbers job, good old-fashioned burglary, what?”

“A difficult one, is what it is,” Delphine sighed. “This place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. I mean, I've worked out a way to get someone into the place, got a distraction all lined up, but I need someone to actually get in there and get out with what I need.”

“And what do you need, Delphine?” Brynjolf asked, so far not fazed. “As long as we're not robbing anyone the Guild works with, I'm all ears.”

“You may change your mind when I tell you,” Delphine told him. “Let's just say it's not their valuables I'm after – your man or woman can keep anything not nailed down as far as I'm concerned. What I'm after is their information, their secret files.”

Brynjolf just grinned. “Lass, information is the most valuable thing of all in this business. So we break into this place, raid their office, take their top secret documents and get out without being fingered. Sounds easy enough. Who's the mark?”

And this was the bit Delphine had been dreading.

“The Thalmor Embassy,” Delphine admitted. Brynjolf stared at her, open-mouthed, then the colour returned to his cheeks as he swept out of his chair.

“No,” he snapped. “Are you actually fucking insane? Break into that place? You'll get us all killed!”

“Bryn, wait!” Delphine cried, grabbing his arm, hoping he'd sit down and shut up before the rest of the Guild all got in on the act. Dirge was already glaring at her and both Tonilia and Delvin were looking their way too.

“Look, I got this all planned out,” Delphine whispered, gently nudging him back into the chair. Anyone else, that would never have worked, but Brynjolf did at least sit down again, although he still looked wary. “I've got a man on the inside and a distraction good to go. I've got all the arrangements in place. I just need someone to do the job.”

“What in Shor's name do you need top secret Thalmor files for anyway?” Brynjolf murmured. “Listen Delphine, if they've taken someone you care about, don't bother. Whoever it is is dead, or will be soon. Mourn 'em, move on.”

If only it were that easy.

“That's not why I'm doing this,” Delphine whispered. “It's information on the dragons we need.”

“Dragons??” Brynjolf scratched his head, thoroughly confused by this point... and then Delphine could see the pieces clicking together.

“Would this job have anything to do with a certain notable personage who may or may not apparently be Dragonborn, by any chance?”

Damn him. Brynjolf always had been too smart for his own good.

“That's none of your concern,” Delphine snapped. “Just... look, all you need to know is that I'm offering good money for this information and have a job all good to go. I need someone charming and persuasive but not too memorable, who can attend a party at the Embassy and when the distraction goes down, slip off, raid the Ambassador's offices and get out. I can get them a legitimate invitation, I can get them an outfit, I can get their gear smuggled in. I just need a name off you, Brynjolf.”

Brynjolf didn't say anything, clearly thinking it over. “I imagine there'll be a serious amount of coin involved here, lass.”

“Two thousand,” said Delphine, an absurdly low figure for the risk involved and Brynjolf knew it too.

“Ten,” he said firmly. Delphine shook her head, going over her own finances. Healthy, but ten thousand was almost her entire life savings.

“Five,” she offered. Brynjolf smiled faintly.

“Seven,” was the response. Delphine threw up her hands.

“Do you think I'm made of money?” she sighed, frustrated. “Six and that's my final offer.”

“Six thousand septims it is,” Brynjolf said, smirking as he offered his hand. Delphine took it, feeling her shoulders sag as the relief hit her. He'd agreed. Of course he had, he was a risk-taker by nature and profession, he'd not be able to resist this.

“Six thousand and whatever you can steal inside,” Delphine promised. “I just want the files. I don't even care if you have to kill people on this one, once your thief's away from the party, they can kill anyone who gets in their way.”

Brynjolf nodded, but his eyes gave nothing away. “So you want someone who can schmooze with the best of them but not stand out too much, someone who can move quietly but who's prepared to kill if they have to and who's willing to risk their life in the Thalmor Embassy for you.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Delphine admitted. “I know it might take you a few days to find someone but...”

“No need,” Brynjolf said calmly, refilling her mead tankard. “I've got a name for you.”

“What, already?” Well, Brynjolf knew his Guild, she supposed. “Who is it?”

“Brynjolf,” he said, grin flickering on his lips as he glanced up, clearly amused by the shock on her face. “What, you think I'm risking anyone else's neck on this? No fear, lass. I'm taking this one.”

“You... what?” Delphine whispered, hardly able to breathe... and yet at the same time, she found herself perversely pleased by the idea of working with Brynjolf again. That and the fewer people in on it, the better. “You'll really do it?”

“I really will,” Brynjolf promised, leaning forward and squeezing her hand. “Now, why don't you fill me in on the details and then we can get on with the important task of catching up and bitching about Mercer, hmm?”

Delphine had to smile at that. He still remembered one of their favourite pastimes. Truth be told, she had missed this. Being with the Guild had felt almost like having her Blades brothers and sisters back – at least until she'd had to run again. She'd missed them all, Brynjolf in particular, but she couldn't have stayed. Not with the risk of someone realising who she was and calling the Thalmor in. So she'd left them all behind and gone to ground. Now here she was again, learning how to work with other people once more. It was going to take some getting used to – but Brynjolf's smile had a way of reassuring her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif fingered her wine glass nervously, forcing a smile as Erikur told some seriously unfunny joke at someone else's expense. Gods, but she wasn't keen on these affairs at the best of times, but they'd got worse since Torygg died. At least with him she'd had someone to hold her hand, and more importantly, someone to talk to on the carriage home about how terrible it had been and laugh together about the other guests. Then he'd died and parties had been the last thing on her mind. Now here she was at her first one since he'd died and she could feel it, all the pitying looks, everyone secretly watching her, talking about her – widowed, you know, Ulfric killed her husband, such a tragedy, so young – and that was bad enough. Then there were the other comments – going to be High Queen, not if Ulfric gets his way, would that be so bad? Slip of a girl doesn't look up to it – and those really did get to her, not least because they might be right. Mostly though they just made her want to kill things and breathe fire – dragons could breathe fire, could she? She certainly wouldn't say no. Only it did sound dangerous...

But she didn't know how and that meant she was stuck here, pretending to be interested and pretending to be having a good time. Honestly, Idgrod was about the only person here who was actually remotely genuine, and she was half-crazy at best. But Elisif would take sincere but strange over insincere and untrustworthy any day.

Movement and then Elenwen was at her shoulder.

“Good evening, Jarl Elisif. Having a good time?”

Elisif nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd not even heard the Thalmor Ambassador approaching. She sipped her wine and tried not to think about the fact that someone would be breaking in to her Embassy tonight.

“Oh yes, Ambassador, very much so!” Elisif said brightly. “You always throw such good parties.”

“I'm glad you enjoy them,” Elenwen said, that odd little smirk of hers in place. “It's always a pleasure to see you here, Jarl. I wasn't sure I'd see you tonight though – you've not been in Solitude much lately, have you? I heard you were off visiting these... Greybeards. Something about dragons?”

Elenwen clearly knew about the entire Dragonborn situation and had probably heard every single story going. It was probably just a matter of sifting truth from fantasy. Once, Elisif might have confided in her, but something about the woman was setting her hackles on edge, her inner dragon starting to growl. Certainly given associates of Elisif's were going to be raiding the Embassy tonight, it was probably best to give Elenwen as little to work with as possible.

“There've been an awful lot of very unlikely stories springing up, Ambassador,” said Elisif demurely. “Most of them are quite exaggerated.”

“But are they untrue?” Elenwen asked, affecting a casual air but Elisif was not fooled. The Thalmor Ambassador was interested, very interested indeed and her intentions were hardly benevolent.

“Madam Ambassador, the dragons are a menace to the whole of Skyrim regardless of politics and as the rightful High Queen, I see it as my solemn duty to do whatever I can to help deal with the problem,” Elisif replied, wishing Elenwen would go away. Honestly, Delphine's agent was supposed to be here, making contact, and they'd hardly do that with the Ambassador right here, would they?

“Of course, madam Jarl, of course,” Elenwen said soothingly. “I quite understand the concern, but to go yourself - I find it surprising, that's all. Is there no one you could have sent in your stead if it was just dragon lore you were after?”

“They were very specific in their summons,” Elisif said, deciding not to mention the exact nature of said summons. “It's hard to explain to a non-Nord, but if the Greybeards want to see you, you have to go. It's considered very bad form to refuse. No Nord is going to think I'm fit to rule if I'm seen to be disregarding the Greybeards.”

Not entirely true, there were at least two Nords in this very room who wouldn't have cared in the slightest, but Elisif also knew Erikur and Maven would jump on the political capital from a refusal on her part anyway.

“Quite,” Elenwen said, moving on to other topics, for which Elisif was grateful. The Altmer nodded in Maven's direction, to where Maven was having a rather hushed conversation with a new arrival, a red-haired Nord that Elisif hadn't seen before. For some reason, Maven seemed rather angry with him.

“Do you know that man, by any chance? He's on the guest list but I'm afraid he's a mystery to me,” Elenwen said calmly. “He says he's from High Rock – I know you grew up there, I was wondering if you'd met him. He says his name's Ragnar.”

As in the song perhaps? Thanks to that tune, the name Ragnar had been out of favour for years, especially for a red-haired family, but the Thalmor wouldn't know that. Elisif began to wonder if that was Delphine's man.

“I don't think so,” Elisif said cautiously. “But we didn't move in terribly exalted circles in Wayrest, so we could easily have never been introduced. That's if he's from there – if he's from anywhere else, we'd never have known him.”

“Indeed. A pity,” Elenwen sighed. “I was hoping someone might know him. Thus far he's a mystery. I'm not even sure how he got on the list, but I imagine he's a man of influence somewhere. I'll see if Idgrod knows him. Thank you for your time, Jarl Elisif. Please, have a good evening.” Elenwen moved on and Elisif breathed a sigh of relief. Ragnar, although she was sure that wasn't his real name, had left Maven by this point, and was soon making his way over to her, drink in hand.

“Now this is a sight to lift the heart, a young woman here with no father or husband to scare men off,” he said, grinning roguishly at her. “I don't believe we've been introduced, lass. I'm Ragnar, a jewel merchant from Daggerfall, here in Skyrim on business with the East Empire Company. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?”

Elisif was fairly certain he'd never done a day's work for the East Empire Company in his life, although had she checked their records, she'd actually have found his name among them, courtesy of the Thieves Guild's contacts there.

“Elisif, Jarl of Solitude,” she said tersely. “And for your information, I'm a widow. My husband only died five months ago, I'm still in mourning. So no, I am not in need of male company, not now or in the foreseeable future.”

“Now that is a shame,” Ragnar replied, and there was actually genuine sympathy there to Elisif's surprise. “Well, not to worry, my intentions are entirely honourable. Should you change your mind and want someone to provide some entirely above-board company of an evening, or even buy some fine pieces of jewellery, you just come find me. I'm staying at the Winking Skeever until my ship leaves on the 30th of Frostfall.”

A flicker of his eyelids as he said the date, and Elisif knew that was him, must be, it was Delphine's man, needing her to create a distraction so he could get away from the party.

“Well, I will think about it,” said Elisif, relenting slightly. “But only to possibly order some new jewellery, nothing else so don't get any ideas. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to mingle with the other guests and you're distracting me.” She emphasised the word distracting slightly, and a slight nod from him told her he'd understood.

“Not a problem, my lady,” he said, bowing. “Far be it for me to distract you.” He withdrew and Elisif cast her eyes about, mind racing as to how to cause the scene that would get everyone's eyes on her for the time 'Ragnar' needed to get out of here. Over in the corner, she saw the perfect opportunity. Drink in hand, she idly wandered over to where that nice Redguard merchant was sitting.

Razelan glanced up, raising an eyebrow on seeing the Jarl herself approaching.

“I'm very sorry,” Elisif whispered guiltily. “Please forgive me. It's in a good cause?” Before Razelan could ask what it was about, Elisif had turned her back, eyes scanning the room, Razelan sitting right behind her. She noticed Ragnar striking up a conversation with one of the Thalmor, took a deep breath, counted to quietly to five and then shrieked as loudly as she could manage. Everyone's head turned as one to see why Jarl Elisif was screaming and Elisif wasted no time in spinning around and slapping Razelan as hard as she could.

“You disgusting man!” she cried, trying to sound as furious and offended as possible. “How dare you! I am a Jarl of Skyrim AND a grieving widow, my husband hasn't even been dead six months, what is wrong with you??”

Guards approaching, Elenwen approaching, the entire room silent and Elisif didn't know if Ragnar was making the most of this or not but she couldn't afford to look. She just kept staring at the hapless Razelan who was rubbing his cheek, shocked.

“Lady, I don't know what I did to upset you, but...” Razelan began, but Elisif breathed deeply, reminding herself: grieving widow, just been non-consensually groped, angry, tearful, upset, don't feel sorry for him, DON'T feel sorry for him...

“DON'T TOUCH ME!” Elisif yelled, feeling actual tears in her eyes. “Don't even look at me, stay away from me, stay AWAY!” She put her hands over her eyes, unable to face looking at poor Razelan as someone put an arm around her and led her away.

“There, there, Elisif,” and that was Elenwen of all people. “Don't worry, I'll make sure this gets dealt with. Razelan! I distinctly recall from the last party you attended telling you that if you managed to cause a scene again, you'd be out, and here you are assaulting the High Queen of Skyrim? Shame on you, Razelan, shame on you.”

“But I didn't-!” Razelan protested, and then his eyes hardened as they fell on Elisif. “You know what, I don't even care. So throw me out. Not like I'm missing anything here.”

“Oh,” Elisif whispered, guilt stabbing at her. “Ambassador, please don't be too hard on him, I'm sure he'd just had a bit to drink and didn't mean anything by it...”

Elenwen didn't answer, just glaring at Razelan.

“Guards, show Razelan to his carriage and make sure he leaves immediately,” Elenwen said sternly. The Thalmor guards were quick to oblige, ushering Razelan out the door with commendable speed. Elisif looked away, tears in her eyes for real at this point. She was just lucky Razelan was too high-profile to arrest. She made a mental note to ask Falk to ensure he was given special treatment at their end in whatever business dealings he was doing.

“Ambassador, you don't have to do that, I was probably standing too close to him in the first place,” Elisif began, but Elenwen stopped her, actually looking kind and sympathetic, genuinely this time.

“Elisif,” said Elenwen gently. “It was not your fault. You have done nothing wrong, and if he can't keep his hands to himself, that is his fault and not yours. You shouldn't blame yourself.”

Elisif nodded tearfully, because if she started arguing the point she'd end up crying on the Thalmor Ambassador's shoulder and that was just embarrassing.

“Now are you all right?” Elenwen asked gently. Elisif looked away then shook her head. She had to get out of here, not least because when Elenwen found out her Embassy's security had been compromised, Elisif wanted to be far away from here.

“I think - I think I need to go home,” Elisif whispered. “I'm sorry, Ambassador, I didn't mean to ruin your party, I'm so sorry...”

“Oh hush child, you didn't ruin it, that oaf Razelan did. Again,” Elenwen sighed. She motioned to her guards and within seconds one was bringing Elisif's fur cape and wrapping it round her shoulders and the other was motioning for her to follow them.

“Now you go home, have a bath and a nice early night,” Elenwen said, sounding oddly matronly considering Elisif knew for a fact Elenwen had never either married or had children. “You'll feel so much better in the morning.”

Elisif nodded and let herself be bundled out of the door to her carriage. She'd feel no such thing, in fact she wouldn't feel comfortable or safe until she heard news of how the break-in had gone and if she'd be even remotely linked to any of it. And as for humiliating poor Razelan like that... she wasn't sure she'd ever feel all right about that at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Half past nine by the time she got back to the Blue Palace. Falk had been up still, surprised to see her back so early and a little worried.

“Is everything all right, my Jarl?” He took a closer look and saw she'd been crying. “Elisif? Are you... were you crying?” In a few moments he was there, arms round her, rubbing her back, decidedly unstewardly conduct but welcome for all that.

“No!” Elisif wept. “No, I'm not all right, I was lonely and scared and I missed Torygg and...” She closed her eyes, bawling her eyes out on Falk's shoulder. For a few minutes neither moved, him just holding her and her sobbing on his shoulder, feeling worse for having Falk there comforting her because she didn't deserve it, she definitely didn't, she was the worst person in the world, first for getting an innocent man in trouble and now for manipulating another man into comforting her over it when he didn't even know what he was comforting her over.

“You know, I'm sure Elenwen would understand if you skipped the next one due to still not feeling up to socialising,” Falk began and Elisif just nodded.

“I might do that,” Elisif whispered. Not because she wasn't ready, but because she wasn't sure she could face Elenwen again after how sympathetic she'd been, and Elisif definitely couldn't face Razelan for a long while. “Falk, I – I think I might go to bed if it's all the same to you.”

“Of course, Jarl,” said Falk gently. “Do you need me to send anything up for you? Food? Drink?”

“No I don't think so,” Elisif whispered. “I just – just need to be alone. Thank you, Falk.”

Falk let her go as she headed back to her bedroom. Privacy, a good cry, a good night's sleep in her own bed, that was what she needed.

She went inside, closed the doors behind her, took a deep breath and leaned her head against the wood. Tonight had been horrible, but at least Delphine's insane burglary plan had worked. She likely wouldn't know the result for a few days, maybe not even a few weeks. Delphine had said to sit tight in Solitude for a few weeks until they could get hold of her. It would look suspicious otherwise. And Delphine was right, absolutely right but it still looked likely to be a nervewracking time.

Elisif stepped away for the door, heading for the bed. All the lights were out, which was odd now Elisif thought about it, but maybe the maids just hadn't expected her back early. Never mind. Just meant a chance to practice her magic. Elisif cast Candlelight, smiling as the light flared into view. She glanced at her reflection in her mirror as she did so. It probably saved her life.

She looked into the mirror and saw herself in her party gear, light hovering at her shoulder... and reflecting it back in the mirror were two eyes in the gloom beyond. Elisif screamed and darted out of the way just in time to avoid the knife thrust intended to kill her, throwing her fur cape at the intruder as she dodged.

The black and red leather-clad Argonian swore as he threw the fur to the floor, pulling his dagger clear and moving in for another strike. Unfortunately for him, Elisif wasn't the helpless little girl of a few weeks previously. Elisif was Dragonborn now, she'd seen combat, fought for her life for real, and these days when she saw reptilian features, she saw dragon and reacted accordingly.

“FUS RO DAH!” she Shouted at him, sending the Argonian flying. Dawnbreaker was gleaming away on its weapon plaque above her bed and Elisif grabbed it, casting the one mage armour spell she knew and moving in for the kill. The Argonian barely had the chance to move before Dawnbreaker stabbed down and skewered him. Then the doors burst open and Falk was there with Bolgeir and half a dozen guards at his back.

“Elisif!” he gasped, seeing the dead man on the floor in a pool of blood, and Elisif standing there with a sword in her hands looking like she was about to faint.

“Falk,” Elisif whispered, feeling like she was going to be sick any second now – her room, oh gods, her own bedroom and someone had tried to – tried to... She sank on to the bed before she actually did collapse.

“Elisif,” and Falk was there, sitting next to her, arms around her while Bolgeir started going over the rest of the room to make sure no one else was hiding anywhere, and the guards picked the body up and carried it away. “My gods, Elisif, what happened, are you all right?”

Elisif shook her head, shaking all over. Someone tried to kill me. They tried to kill me in my own palace!

“I was going to go to bed, but it was dark,” she whispered. “The lamps were out, so I cast a magelight, and then I saw him in the mirror and he went for me with a sword and... and I Shouted and grabbed Dawnbreaker and killed him...”

“We heard the Shout and came running,” Falk said grimly. “Gods, Elisif, if he'd killed you...”

Elisif didn't reply. She couldn't say anything, she was too choked to speak. An assassin, here, in Solitude. Dressed in red and black. She knew which group of assassins were said to wear that.

Dark Brotherhood. Someone took out a contract with the Dark Brotherhood. Oh gods. Everyone knew of the Dark Brotherhood, the feared guild of assassins who struck without warning and always killed the target eventually. Who never gave up, who could always find you, who didn't stop until you were dead. And now someone was paying them to kill her. She didn't know who, had no idea. Someone with money, that was for sure. Someone who might profit from it. Quite possibly someone in her own court, in fact the more she thought about it, the more she thought it had to be someone in Solitude. She'd come back from High Hrothgar different, Falk had said. Different? Not afraid any more, was how she'd come back. Less willing to be bossed around, told what to do, treated like a child. Could be someone thought this new Elisif was a liability. An inconvenience. An obstacle. Especially since the whole Meridia situation when she'd been swept into the sky in front of Captain Aldis and half the guard, deposited back outside and had to explain the situation away quickly. She'd just said it was a sign the gods were pleased with her and they'd given her the sword to help wipe out all Skyrim's foes and make Skyrim a freer, happier, better place. They'd all responded with cheers and the story had started going around that she'd been given a divine mission to heal Skyrim and purge it of corruption. She'd not minded that at all at the time... only it was beginning to occur to her not all the corruption was on Ulfric's side.

“Falk,” she whispered. “Falk, when Bolgeir's finished checking the room, could I have a bit of time alone in here? I – I need to think, need to gather my wits. Suppose I need to get my things together too, I can hardly sleep in here now.”

“We'll move you to the guest room once we've secured it,” Falk reassured her. “And in the morning we'll have a full inquiry, I promise you.”

Elisif nodded, smiling weakly as Bolgeir announced the room clear and everyone else filed out. Her smile faded as soon as the door closed, and she immediately grabbed her armour off the mannequin, swiftly getting changed. Next her weapons, then her pack of potions, coin purse, never mind food, she'd eaten at the Embassy and she could buy food anywhere. She scribbled a note to Falk, telling him she was sorry but she didn't know who to trust and needed to be somewhere safe for a bit. She truly was sorry to do this to him, the poor man would likely be worried, but for all she knew he was in on it. At least she'd sent Erandur home prior to the party, so he'd be safe, but on the other hand, she could have used the company. Never mind. It wasn't like she didn't have friends elsewhere. Delphine would likely not be pleased at her fleeing the city in terror, but it wasn't like she had much choice.

Prising the window open, Elisif climbed into the window frame, sitting awkwardly in it with her legs over the side.

“FEIM!” she cried, turning ethereal and then she was falling to the courtyard, gasping as she landed but unharmed. Guards were turning to look, drawing weapons and that was no good at all, probably they were just doing their job but what if some of them were Brotherhood agents? It was a risk she couldn't afford to take. Fortunately she had an invisibility potion on her. Knocking it back, she faded from view and fled into the night, racing for the side gate to the docks. Time to get out of Solitude before this city claimed her life as well as Torygg's.

Notes:

And there's a bit of a cliffhanger, hmm? I needed a reason for Elisif to leave Solitude and then I remembered the Dark Brotherhood assassins that attack you on the road after Dragon Rising and thought 'bingo!'

Poor Razelan, I do feel very sorry for him, but he'll be all right. Especially after he hears about the break-in and realises it was part of a set-up, at which point he's too impressed to hold it against Elisif for long.

Chapter 9

Summary:

Elisif flees to the safety of Jorrvaskr, only to find Balgruuf's been busy and the city's not the haven she imagined. Meanwhile the Thalmor Embassy job went off without a hitch, but it occurs to Delphine just a little too late that the Thalmor have files on more than just dragons...

Notes:

In which there is a little snogging (not involving Elisif), but not much else. Also the nice thing about not being bound by game mechanics is that you can change the order if you like. So I've done just that.

It was the early hours of the morning, but Delphine hadn't gone to bed. She'd only just got back from seeing Brynjolf off at the Solitude stables. A risk, going there in person, but she'd had little choice. So she'd handed him his party outfit, looked the other way as he got changed and told herself seeing Brynjolf all suited and booted and grinning at her and asking “well lass, will I do?” had definitely not had any sort of effect on her, nor was she worried about him. She just wanted this job to go well, and for her old friend Brynjolf to not get hurt, that was all.

A knock on her bedroom door and that could only be Orgnar. No one else would dare disturb her, other than Brynjolf, but she had a feeling he'd never have knocked.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Orgnar,” Orgnar called back. “Delphine, you've got a visitor. Some Nord called Brynjolf.”

Delphine practically leapt off the bed, wrenching the door open, barely nodding at Orgnar, who returned to the bar, hiding a knowing grin as Delphine just about stopped herself hugging Brynjolf.

“Well, you made it out alive at least,” Delphine said, hiding her relief at seeing him. He shot her a smile back but it wasn't his usual cheery grin. He'd found something all right but it wasn't good news.

“I did, just about,” Brynjolf said, glancing about the deserted inn. “Listen, is there somewhere we can talk...?”

Delphine let him into her room, closing the door before running to her wardrobe and unsealing the entrance to her secret room. Brynjolf followed her down, looking amazed at the supplies she'd stockpiled.

“You've got all this down here, lass? Colour me impressed, you've got a proper little headquarters!”

“It serves a purpose,” was all Delphine felt like saying in answer to that. “But never mind that, what have you got for me? If it's coin you want first, I've got your money in that chest over there along with the stuff you left with me.”

Brynjolf checked the chest and cleared its contents out, nodding in approval at the gold before reaching into his pocket for the Thalmor files he'd found.

“Well, I found their dragon files – turns out they don't know any more than we do.”

“They don't?” Delphine took the paper marked Dragon Investigation: Status and cursed at the lack of information. “Well that's not good. But they mentioned a lead, a prisoner. Did you get the chance to talk to them?”

“Yeah, turned out to be one of our guildmates, young Etienne. I wondered where he'd got to. Found the lad shackled up in one of the cells, don't think he's ever been so pleased to see me. He's safe and sound, on his way back to Riften now, and I managed to slit the throat of the worthless scum who informed on him while I was there.” Brynjolf looked rather pleased with himself at that.

“What did you find out?” Delphine asked, curious. Why would the Thalmor want to interrogate one of the Guild? They surely weren't likely to be worshipping Talos in the Ratway.

“Well, there were a couple of other files too,” said Brynjolf, throwing one onto the table. “One on Ulfric Stormcloak – seems he was a Thalmor asset at one point. I imagine that would fetch a pretty penny or two – you know, Delphine, it's a good thing I'm a man of honour. A lesser thief would already be blackmailing Ulfric or negotiating a price with Tullius for that. Or negotiating a price with you, for that matter.”

“Yes, and a lesser thief would be getting themselves killed over it,” said Delphine, folding her arms. “It's not new information to me, Brynjolf. And it's not as valuable as you think – Ulfric would just paint it as another example of Elven lies, the Stormcloaks would believe him and we'd get nowhere. And if Tullius made it public, then that would cause an incident with the Thalmor and possibly another war if they thought the Empire were behind the break-in. But thank you, we might need it yet. Anything else?”

Brynjolf left the Ulfric dossier on the table, reaching for the next one, smile fading.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Yeah there was. This one gave me quite the shock.” He dropped another file on the table next to her, turned so she could read the title. The file in question was her own. Without even thinking, she made a grab for it, but Brynjolf was too quick and had it out of reach before she could get it.

“Not so fast, lass,” Brynjolf said grimly and Delphine looked up at him, heart sinking as she saw the look on his face. She had no idea what he was thinking, none at all. He knew, he knew her secret and it was like looking at a stranger.

“Brynjolf,” she whispered. “Bryn, give me the file. Give it to me and forget you ever saw it, it's safest for all of us that way...”

“No,” Brynjolf growled, grabbing her wrist and for the first time Delphine began to actually be afraid of him. “Lass, is it true? You're the last of the Blades? Is that why you were hiding out in the Guild all that time?”

Delphine nodded, seeing no sense in denying it. “Bryn,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “Bryn, let me go. Leave the file and get out of here, or I'll...” She'd drawn her dagger with her free hand, prepared to use it if she had to. Brynjolf's eyes flicked to it and he didn't look scared... just disappointed.

“Is that what it's come to, lass?” he said bitterly. “You'd stab even me to keep it secret?”

“I've killed before to stay safe,” she warned him, hoping he'd take the hint.

“I don't doubt it,” he replied. For a brief moment, neither moved, just watching the other to see who'd blink first. It was Brynjolf who finally spoke.

“Well. Seems we've got a few options here, haven't we lass. I could leave the file with you, bid you goodnight and take my leave, at which point I'm fairly sure you'll pack everything you own and flee into the night, never to be seen again.”

“I'm all right with that option,” Delphine whispered. Brynjolf just laughed.

“Or I could turn you in to the Thalmor and see if they're at all grateful for the gift.”

“You wouldn't,” Delphine breathed and Brynjolf did smile at that.

“No, I wouldn't, not after seeing those dungeons of theirs. Which brings me to option three...”

“What was wrong with option one?” Delphine snapped. “Look, I can pay you extra if that's what this is about...”

“It's not about the gold!” Brynjolf snapped, letting her go and shoving her away. “Ten damn years since you left the Guild, and no sign of you anywhere, nothing! Just me, wondering where you'd gone, what happened, if you were even alive still. Then you walk back in as if nothing happened and have me rob the Thalmor bloody Embassy of all places, and now I find out you're a Blade and you expect me to just leave it at that? Del, why did you never... I thought we were friends?”

“We were!” Delphine cried, infuriated. Stupid, stubborn... Brynjolf never changed, always there, always getting under her skin, always tempting her to let her guard down, throw caution to the wind, and now he was here berating her for not letting him in any further? She'd taken a risk letting him get as far as he had. “Look, you've seen what happens to Thalmor prisoners! Can you blame me for not saying anything? It could have got us both killed! It still could! Bryn, I mean it, walk away. Go back to Riften, forget this ever happened, let me go to ground again. It's better for both of us that way.”

“It isn't better!” Brynjolf snapped, advancing. “Because if I do that, I know you'll vanish off the face of Nirn and I'll never see you again!”

And that was most likely true and she'd miss him horribly, she knew. But it was the only scenario that didn't risk both their lives.

“Better that than the Thalmor getting you too,” she whispered. Brynjolf shook his head, actually smiling.

“I'm not afraid of the Thalmor, lass. They won't learn a thing off me. Let 'em kill me. I might even get to Sovngarde.”

“Since when have you believed in Sovngarde?” Delphine said, now feeling utterly confused. Brynjolf was definitely not the true Nord type by any stretch of the imagination.

“I don't,” said Brynjolf, still advancing, and Delphine found herself backed into the wall, dagger still clutched in her hand as Brynjolf leaned over her, palms against the wall.

“I could stab you quite easily from here,” Delphine said softly, willing him to take the hint and leave. “One slice of my dagger – the paving slabs lift up easily enough, I could hide a body in here. No one but Orgnar saw you come here, and Orgnar's not saying anything. I mean it, Bryn. Leave it. Go. Get out of here.”

“You're not going to stab me,” Brynjolf said calmly, barely sparing that dagger a second glance. “You'd have done it by now if you were. You're like me, Delphine. You'll do what you have to, but you're not a murderer. You've got a code. You're not going to stab me.”

Damn him for being right. And damn her for still having principles.

“What do you want?” she whispered, lowering her eyes in defeat. Fingers caressed her cheek and she could feel the warmth of his breath as he leaned in.

“What I've always wanted,” he breathed, leaning closer and then he was kissing her. Delphine couldn't breathe, couldn't even react, her dagger sliding from her hand as his cupped her face. It had been so long, so long since anyone had last touched her, so long since she'd been kissed. So long alone. And it had to be said, Brynjolf wasn't bad looking. But Delphine wasn't some lovesick young girl either and she was in full possession of a functioning brain. She reached up and put her hands to Brynjolf's shoulders, pushing him away. Brynjolf let out a soft moan as his lips left hers, his hands reaching out to take hers, rubbing her fingers as he smiled sadly at her.

“Bryn,” she whispered. “Bryn, I'm not sleeping with you to buy your silence.”

“That wasn't what I was suggesting,” said Brynjolf gently. “Listen, lass, if the answer's no, tell me and I'll do what you want and leave. But if you're at all interested... wherever you're going, whatever you're planning, take me with you. You might need me, and I don't like the idea of letting you go off on your own to do dangerous things involving dragons.”

“I'm quite capable of looking after myself, Brynjolf,” Delphine sighed. “I don't need a bodyguard.”

“What about someone to watch your back,” said Brynjolf. “All the best heists go better when you've got an accomplice. Listen lass, the sex is optional, the sex is always optional. But I'd like to help. In any way I can. If you don't want me as a lover, at least let me come along for the ride. I just can't bear the thought of us going our separate ways and never seeing each other again. I missed you, lass.”

“I missed you too,” said Delphine softly, mentally cursing herself for being soft on him, for not telling him to leave before he brought the Thalmor down on her... but part of her didn't want him to go. It had been nice, being kissed, being held, and now he'd done it, actually made a move instead of just hinting and flirting... Delphine kept imagining what else might happen between them. Which was distracting, insane, a great way to get them both killed... but she was getting older, tired, lonely, fed up of the Thalmor taking everything. Maybe. Just maybe.

“All right,” she sighed. “You can help. But I'm not having sex with you. It's a distraction I can't afford.”

Brynjolf rolled his eyes but nodded, still that smirk on his face. Delphine decided a change of subject was called for.

“So, you said your man Etienne had some information. Why were the Thalmor after him?”

Brynjolf reached into his pocket for the final file, handing it over along with Delphine's own.

“Seems they were after another one of your former colleagues, a man called Esbern. He's hiding out in the Ratway, just like you were, in face we even gave him your old room. He's paying a pretty penny for no one to know he's there, but I don't think he'll mind you turning up.”

Delphine grabbed the file, scanning the contents. Esbern... dragonlore expert... ex-Blade... former strategist and historian... it was him. Her old friend and mentor. Still alive after all these years.

“Esbern's alive?” she gasped, putting her hand to her mouth, and if Delphine of the Blades still remembered how to cry, she might have shed a few tears.

“Yeah,” said Brynjolf, grinning at her, “and if you'd said something before, I could have reunited you months ago.”

Apart from the fact she'd not needed Brynjolf for anything back then, but it didn't matter. Esbern was still alive. Brynjolf knew how to find him. The Thalmor thought he was someone of interest, which meant they had no time to lose.

“I have to find him,” Delphine breathed. “You'll come with me, right?”

“Of course I will,” Brynjolf said, holding out a hand to her. “Let's go find your man.”

Taking his hand, pausing only to secure the Thalmor files before they left, Delphine followed him out into the night. She had an old friend to find before the Thalmor did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif spurred her horse on as she galloped across the tundra for Whiterun. She'd fled the city, stopping only to grab her personal mare from the stables and ridden off into the night, not stopping until she'd left Haafingar. There'd been a rest stop at Rorikstead, where she'd seen to her horse before sleeping at the inn for a few hours. Now she was on the road again, terrified but still surviving.

She didn't know what exactly she was going to do, but she knew who her allies were. She knew Kodlak would help, that Aela was a match for any Brotherhood assassin. Even so, she knew she wouldn't be able to stay at Jorrvaskr forever. If she stayed in one place too long, the Brotherhood would find her eventually. No, she'd need help from someone who knew all about being hunted, all about being on the run. Which meant, much as she hated to admit it, she needed Delphine. Damn it. She really didn't want to be beholden to the former Blade, but thanks to the Brotherhood and whatever coward had hired them in the first place, she had no choice.

So it was she rode on under the noonday sun, not nearly rested enough, Whiterun looming in the distance. There soon, she told herself. Not much further now. Strange though, there was something odd in the distance. Not a dragon, no – but the horizon beyond Whiterun looked... dusty. A storm brewing? No, no, it all seemed a bit nearer the ground for that. She looked a bit closer, seeing not just dust but reflections off something. Something... metallic. One big thing or lots of small things? Lots of things. Heading for Whiterun from the east.

Elisif could only think of one thing that might be kicking up that much dust that she could see it from here and have lots of shiny metallic surfaces. Heart in her mouth, she spurred her horse on faster. Ulfric Stormcloak was marching on Whiterun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She left her horse at the stables, throwing the reins to a surprised stable-hand before sprinting for the city gates. The guards recognised Maia the Dragonborn mercenary and if a few of the brighter ones guessed she wasn't really called Maia, they kept it to themselves. Regardless, they let her in and nodded respectfully as she ran for Dragonsreach.

“Balgruuf!” she cried, having been pointed to the war room at the back of the palace. “Balgruuf, you have to get ready, Ulfric's...”

“Going to attack, I know,” Balgruuf said calmly. He wasn't the only one – aside from Proventus and Irileth, there were Legionnaires everywhere, in fact now Elisif stopped to look, there were troops waiting around and couriers carrying orders. And standing around the strategy table, eyes on a plan of Whiterun and its surroundings, was Legate Rikke. Elisif stopped short, not sure whether to approach further or flee now while she still could. Unfortunately for her, Rikke had heard her voice and looked up... and smiled.

“Jarl Elisif. Good to see you, I was worried you'd vanished for good. Glad to see you're in one piece although I'd not expected you here. Is something wrong in Solitude – actually, never mind, we all have bigger problems right now. Elisif, I can't decide if this is good timing on your part or terrible timing, but the Stormcloaks are going to be here within hours. Whiterun's going to be a city under siege.”

“I know, I saw the army from a distance, I came to tell the Jarl...” Elisif's voice trailed off as she realised that not only had Balgruuf known, he'd probably even expected it, and Rikke's presence could only mean... “Balgruuf, what have you done??”

“Taken a side,” said Balgruuf, straightening up and starting to smile. “Come now, Elisif, don't look so shocked. True Nords don't stand idle when their home's threatened, and with half the city's youngsters flocking to the Empire's banner, all claiming they need to avenge Ulfric's slight to their beautiful Dragonborn Queen, I decided I needed to take a stand. So I've invited Legate Rikke and her Legion friends to help defend the city.”

“After provoking Ulfric in the first place by sending him your axe,” Rikke said tersely. “Honestly, Balgruuf, you could have consulted me first.”

Elisif bit her lip, feeling tears in her eyes. Sending another warrior your axe – having it sent peacefully instead of burying it in their chest was a sign you wanted to negotiate. If the recipient kept it, it meant peace and a chance to discuss matters like civilised folk when its owner came to collect it, and once the negotiations had taken place, it would be ritually handed back with avowals of peaceful intent. But the other side of that message also meant the sender wanted an answer – the recipient had to answer in one way or another. It was a challenge as much as an invitation to speak. Sending the axe back without there having been avowals of peace or a discussion – that meant there would be none. That the axe was being returned because its owner would need it in the forthcoming fight. And Balgruuf had sent the challenge because of her.

“Balgruuf, you stupid, stupid man,” Elisif whispered, blinking back the tears. “You've risked your entire city on this.”

“Aye,” said Balgruuf gruffly. “But we always knew it would come to this. Ulfric knew and I knew I'd never take his side. I just didn't want the war to come here either. But we're Nords, Elisif. When war is inevitable, we don't run just because it's dangerous. We'll win today or die, but at least we'll die with honour.”

“You're not going to die!” was all Elisif could say before her self-control snapped and she ran up and hugged him. Balgruuf looked a bit awkward over having a pretty twenty-three year old flinging herself at him but he coped and hugged her back after a minute, before letting her go.

“I don't intend to lose either,” said Balgruuf, returning his attention to the map of the city defences. “Now, you were saying, Legate? And bear in mind we just had the Dragonborn join us. Be foolish not to have her involved in some way, seeing as she's here.”

What??? Elisif hadn't signed up for... well, for any of this if she was honest. But joining a full-on battle?!

“Oh gods,” she gasped. “You mean... fighting?”

Elisif wasn't sure whether to be insulted or relieved that Rikke's first reaction was to stifle a laugh.

“No, no, well, hopefully not anyway. But I'll be giving a rallying speech to the troops before battle, it would help to have you there.”

Elisif relaxed a little. Public speaking was something she found nervewracking, but it was better than actually being on the frontlines. And speaking of doing the actual fighting...

“What about the Companions, are they helping?” she asked. Balgruuf and Rikke both went quiet, exchanging nervous looks. It was Balgruuf who finally answered.

“The Companions are above politics, Elisif,” he said gently. “Kodlak has requested all his people stay out of the war, and that includes this battle. I'm sorry Elisif, but we can expect no help from Jorrvaskr. They are not aiding the Stormcloaks either, we should be thankful for that.”

Thankful? But this was Whiterun, their own city, their home! “How can they just sit back and let Ulfric attack?” Elisif whispered. “How is that honourable?”

Neither Balgruuf nor Rikke answered and Elisif's heart sank as she realised that perhaps Jorrvaskr was staying out of it because most of Jorrvaskr agreed with Ulfric.

“I have to speak to Kodlak,” she gasped, running for the stairs. Balgruuf watched her go, shaking his head.

“It's a hopeless task,” he sighed. “I must have had this argument with Kodlak every week since war broke out. He's insistent that the war will bring honour to no one and that his people are staying out of it. I spoke to him only this morning, he's still not changing his mind. Seems to think this is my fault somehow.”

Rikke was still looking at the stairway Elisif had fled down, pondering.

“Don't count them out just yet,” she said thoughtfully. “Our young Dragonborn might just be able to talk him round.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jorrvaskr was quiet when Elisif ran in. No sign of the twins, but Athis was there, trying a few moves with a sword. Njada was on the other side of Jorrvaskr, shining up a shield and pointedly ignoring the Dunmer. Torvar was drinking quietly in the middle, glancing uncomfortably between them. Elisif had already seen Vignar and Brill leaving, heading for the Grey-Mane house with Eorlund, presumably to all wait out the battle there together. Stormcloaks the lot of them, and the sad thing was, Elisif might once have gone along with the cause herself – if Ulfric hadn't killed her Torygg.

She shoved away the thought of Torygg lying dead on the floor in a pool of his own blood and went in search of Kodlak. He had to be here somewhere.

She found Aela downstairs, pacing along the central corridor, a seething bundle of nervous energy.

“Aela,” Elisif gasped. “Aela, the Stormcloaks, they're...”

“Going to attack, I know,” said Aela grimly. “Whole city knows it, everyone's either taking shelter in their homes or getting ready to join the defence, and what are the best warriors in Skyrim doing? Nothing!” Aela kicked fiercely at a nearby tankard, sending it flying into the wall and bouncing off. Elisif flinched back, never having been at ease with people being angry around her. Aela saw it and sighed, relenting a little.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap, it's just very frustrating,” Aela sighed. “Stormcloak sons of bitches right on our doorstep and here we are confined to Jorrvaskr. We should be out there, Elisif! Taking the fight to them! Sons of Skyrim? If my son murdered a lawful ruler, I'd be disowning him on the spot!”

Elisif closed her eyes, remembering Torygg lying on the floor in a pool of blood, going cold as she held him, eyes that had once gazed lovingly at her empty and unmoving forever.

“I know,” Elisif whispered, feeling tears prickling at her eyes. Silence, and then Aela had an arm round her, holding her and looking a little regretful.

“Of course you do, sister,” Aela said quietly. “I guess that's why you're here.”

“I wanted to talk to Kodlak,” Elisif whispered. “Talk him out of it. But if you've tried and Balgruuf tried...”

“You haven't yet.” Aela patted Elisif on the shoulder, suddenly looking a bit more optimistic. “Come on, he's down the end here. Maybe you'll succeed where the rest of us failed.”

Kodlak was sitting outside his room, a simple meal of bread, cheese and mead in front of him, but he'd barely touched it from the look of it. Like everyone in Jorrvaskr, he was clearly brooding. He looked up as they approached, not looking surprised to see Elisif there.

“I thought you might be here, lass,” he said, sounding surprisingly calm considering there was an invading army on the way.

“I'm not meant to be,” Elisif admitted. “But I had to leave Solitude in a hurry and came here... and now I find out Ulfric's on his way? Or his army anyway.”

“I know,” said Kodlak, still not looking at her. “So, Elisif, what can I do for you? Did Balgruuf send you? I already told him we don't get involved in politics.”

“This isn't about politics!” Elisif cried, willing him to listen, to understand. Maybe Jorrvaskr was a little depleted but even so, Aela alone was a tough proposition for anyone. “Kodlak, the Stormcloaks are coming here! Today! They'll be here by tonight and we'll be under siege!”

“Yes, and the Jarl's guards are ready,” said Kodlak. “In fact, some would say the Jarl's particular methods of declaring his allegiances brought this on us all the sooner.”

“You don't know Ulfric if you don't think this wouldn't have happened eventually,” Elisif said grimly. “Balgruuf was never going to side with him.”

“I know,” Kodlak sighed. “I respect him for taking a stand, and it's his right to bring the Legion here, but I'm not getting involved. He's not using Jorrvaskr to bolster his cause.”

Elisif felt her heart sink as she realised she'd been right. Jorrvaskr had more than its fair share of Stormcloak sympathisers and she had a horrible feeling Kodlak was one.

“You support Ulfric,” she whispered. Kodlak did look up at that, bristling.

“I did not say that!” he snapped. “Lass, he's a deeply flawed man and I don't think he'd make a good king – you can't take power by murdering the previous incumbent, such is not our way. But I'm no longer sure the Empire has Skyrim's best interests at heart either.”

Nor was Elisif if she was entirely honest, but she was also smart enough to know Skyrim and the Empire needed each other, now more than ever. And right here, right now in Whiterun, the city needed the Legion at its back or it would fall.

“This isn't about the Empire, Kodlak,” Elisif said softly. “It's not about Talos or who should be king or anything like that. It's about protecting your city. When they lay siege to this place, if they get past the defences, this entire city will be in danger. All the innocent civilians who don't care about the war or politics, you think that will matter if the Stormcloaks get inside? You know what Ulfric's like, anyone who isn't for him is against him. His troops could put half this city to the sword. Anyone who was an outspoken Imperial supporter, anyone who isn't a Nord, anyone who just got in the way. Kodlak, please. You don't have to join my side, you don't have to declare me the rightful High Queen. Just help protect Whiterun. Please.”

Kodlak was staring at her, surprised. Then he got to his feet, beckoning for her to follow.

“You might just be the first person to ask me for help in this on behalf of the people of Whiterun instead of in the Empire's name or in order to stop Ulfric,” said Kodlak, looking at her in approval. “And you're certainly the first to say please. Come on. I need to address the others.”

Torvar, Athis and Njada were still upstairs, Athis and Njada pointedly ignoring each other still. Elisif stayed close to Aela, both watching as Kodlak strode to the centre of the room, drawing everyone's attention without even trying.

“Brothers, sisters,” Kodlak said, surveying what remained of the Companions, troubled look in his eyes. “As you no doubt are aware, the war's finally come here. Ulfric Stormcloak's on his way and he'll be laying siege to this city within hours.”

Silence. No one with ears could fail to have heard about it, and if Elisif listened closely, she could hear it in the distance now, the throbbing thud of hoofbeats.

“As you know, I have said on many occasions that when Nord fights Nord like this, no one wins and no one emerges with any honour,” Kodlak continued. “I still stand by that. No one wins in this war, and I will not have Shield-Brothers and Sisters joining opposite sides and meeting on the battlefield.” He paused and then spoke again. “However.”

Elisif held her breath. Had he changed his mind?

“However what?” Athis asked warily. All three were looking curious and next to Elisif, Aela seemed hopeful – almost gleeful.

“The war's coming here, and should Whiterun's walls fall, I don't think Ulfric's troops will care who they kill,” said Kodlak softly. “We fight so that others do not have to, that is our watchword. We risk our lives to protect the innocent, and I will not have it said that when war came to Whiterun, Jorrvaskr stood idle and that the Companions hid away. So while I still say you should not join up with either side... if your honour demands that you go join the defence of this city then go with my blessing. I will not stop you.”

Athis had sat bolt upright, grin spreading across his face.

“Let me get my good armour,” he laughed, before rushing off to get his things. Torvar had also sat up, blinking blearily at Kodlak.

“So what, we can join the war now?” he asked, confused.

“Not exactly,” said Kodlak, smiling a little. “But the war's come to us. For this battle only, if you want to go and help the Whiterun guards, I won't stop you.”

“Well all right then!” Torvar laughed. “Hey Athis, wait for me!” He ran off after Athis to track down all his gear. Meanwhile Njada had got to her feet, face like thunder.

“What, so we can join the Legion for a bit if honour demands it, but not Ulfric's side? What of my honour, Kodlak??”

“Njada,” Kodlak sighed. “This isn't about politics, it's about protecting our city. You don't have to go.”

“Oh, I know what it's about all right,” Njada snapped bitterly. She glared at Elisif, not even bothering to hide her disdain. “She has you wrapped around her little finger, Harbinger.” Getting up, she stormed off to the courtyard, no doubt to carve up some helpless training dummies.

Kodlak sighed, shrugged his shoulders and turned back to Elisif, looking resigned.

“It's the best I can offer, lass,” he said apologetically. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, it's more than I ever hoped for,” Elisif gasped, not sure what to say. The Companions were going to help! It wasn't even the extra sword-arms – three warriors wouldn't turn the tide of battle alone. But the effect it would have on those who fought alongside them, of Ysgramor's heirs joining the fight... It would help. It might just be the thing to give them the edge. “I just hope it hasn't caused trouble for you.” She'd not forget Njada's angry face in a hurry. Kodlak just sighed, his heart heavy.

“From the day word came in of the High King's death and I had to break up a particularly violent fist-fight involving her, Athis and Ria, I knew it would come to this,” Kodlak sighed. “She lost her parents in the Great War and was raised by a Talos-worshipping aunt and uncle who were later taken prisoner by the Thalmor. She's hated the Empire for letting it happen ever since. Frankly, I'm surprised she never ran off to join Ulfric weeks or months before, but she had sufficient respect for me to stay quiet and stay here.”

“Not any more,” said Elisif softly. She'd seen the hatred in Njada's eyes and it had chilled her. There could be trouble ahead and she was no longer sure Jorrvaskr was the safe place it had once been. But there was little she could do about it now.

“You leave Njada to me, lass,” said Kodlak gently. “You have bigger problems to worry about, such as the battle to come. You should get back to Dragonsreach, tell them Jorrvaskr will answer. But you also be sure to tell Balgruuf I'm not doing it for him either. I'm doing this for the innocent townsfolk of Whiterun.”

“I know. I'll tell him. Thank you,” Elisif whispered. She stopped to give Kodlak a hug then left the hall, arranging to meet with Aela up at Dragonsreach once she was ready. They had a battle to prepare for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Stormcloaks had arrived in the late afternoon and the city had locked its gates, terrified residents from the outlying farms fleeing inside the gates or off to Rorikstead and Riverwood. The bombardment had started not long after, catapults lobbing fire into the city all night. Hardly anyone had slept, residents fleeing their homes to take refuge in Dragonsreach or alternately joining the volunteer fire-fighting crews that had formed.

Morning came and Elisif could weep to see the smoking city. The walls were standing – just. But the sentries had sent word of troops massing outside.

“Ulfric's not got the men or the supplies for a drawn-out siege,” Rikke said as she led Elisif out to the front gate for a pre-battle speech. “Winter's fast approaching, he won't be able to live off the land for long. It's difficult to get supplies out here too – the roads between here and Eastmarch aren't good. He'll be relying on taking the city quickly. So we're going to make sure that doesn't happen. Also we have a few reinforcements on the way. If we can hold out until they get here, we can win this. But we need to hold. We need to keep people's morale up. That's where you come in.”

“I hope you're not expecting miracles,” Elisif sighed. “I'm just me. I'm not a mighty warrior like Ulfric is.”

“You can Shout,” said Rikke, sounding far more confident than she had any right to.

“I know precisely four, only one of which might be any possible use to you in this conflict!” Elisif protested. “I can't call an army of dragons out of the sky to deal with the Stormcloaks!”

“I don't expect you to,” Rikke replied. “With any luck, we won't need it.”

The combined Legion and city guard force was amassing outside the gates, manning the outer walls and barricades. The Stormcloaks hadn't attacked yet, but it was clear they were gathering.

“All right, soldiers!” Rikke shouted, parading in front of her troops like the seasoned commander she was. “This is it! This is an important day for the Empire and for the Legion. And for all of Skyrim. This is the day we send a message to Ulfric Stormcloak and the rebel Jarls who support him. But make no mistake. What we do here today, we do for Skyrim and her people. By cutting out the disease of this rebellion, we will make this country whole again! We will heal our divided land and reunite our people under the true High Queen, Elisif Dragonborn!”

Massed cheering and it was all Elisif could do to force a smile and wave back to the gathered soldiers. Then Rikke was nudging her in the side.

“Say something,” she murmured. Say something? Elisif truly had no idea what to say, she wasn't a gifted speech-giver or anything. Then her eyes fell on a red-haired figure elbowing her way to the front, and a Dunmer and Nord behind her. The Companions, coming to support her. Elisif took one look at Aela and felt her nerves easing. She wasn't without friends here. She'd talked Kodlak into sending help, and it was then that Elisif knew what to say.

“Thank you, Legate,” she began, feeling a little nervous but doing it anyway. “We're here today to help reunite and heal Skyrim, yes, and to avenge my husband too. We're going to teach Ulfric that you don't get to be High King just by murdering your predecessor!”

That got a roar of approval and Elisif couldn't help but smile at that. Ulfric was a man you either loved or hated, and there weren't many Ulfric lovers in this crowd.

“But it's not just about the war,” she continued. “It's not just for the Empire! It's not just about bringing peace and healing our country, or about revenge. Here, now, on this day, it's about the city of Whiterun, a city full of innocent men, women and children, many of whom don't care about the war or the politics or who's in charge of Skyrim. It's about keeping that city, all those people, safe from Ulfric's forces. It's about stopping the Stormcloaks from getting in and killing them all, because they won't care who backs the Empire and who doesn't! Ulfric says that anyone who's not for him is against him, which means once his troops get inside, it'll be a bloodbath! That's why we're doing this today, that's why we're fighting. We're fighting so the innocent people of Whiterun can get on with their lives in peace! We're fighting so that others don't have to! We're doing this to defend ourselves and our city and we are going to win this day! Because that lot are fighting to further Ulfric's ambitions while we're fighting to bring the war he started to an end! That is why we are here and that is why we will fight to keep this city safe or die trying! When this day is done, we will have victory or we will be with our ancestors in Sovngarde, nothing else! Because we are true Nords and we will NEVER back down!”

The roar that greeted this could have shaken the very heavens and Elisif blinked, suddenly coming back to herself as she realised everyone was cheering and Rikke was patting her on the back.

“Well done!” Rikke laughed. “See, that was exactly what I was after! You're a natural.”

“Oh. Oh, that's... good?” Elisif said faintly. Truth be told, she wasn't sure where all that had come from. But it had felt right to say it, and she'd felt the dragon within howling approval all the way. Looking at the troops below, it seemed to have done its job. Time now to retreat to Dragonsreach and wait.

“Legate!” one of the look-outs called. “They're coming!”

“Barricades! Now!” Rikke shouted, running towards the gates as everyone made for their own positions. Heart in her mouth, Elisif ran to the top of the outer gate to get a better look, feeling her blood go cold as Stormcloaks poured up the road towards the city, all screaming for blood.

She should be terrified – she was terrified. But her words of earlier hadn't left her. There was a city full of innocents at her back, and she would protect them or die trying. And if she died, Sovngarde awaited and she'd have Torygg back.

The dragon within definitely seemed to approve of that. Elisif took a deep breath as the Stormcloak horde drew nearer. They would not take this strunmah.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The Thu'um lashed out, sending the first wave of soldiers reeling, and the Legion troops howled in awe, pressing home the sudden advantage with a volley of arrows, and a few brave souls racing out to get some easy kills in. Visions of Torygg flashed in her mind again and Elisif staggered back, feeling nauseous. May the gods forgive her for what she did this day. She wasn't sure she'd ever forgive herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Screaming, blood, the clashing of swords and the smell of smoke. Elisif must have spent more time dodging and running rather than fighting, but she wasn't going to flee. They'd got past the barricades, even got the drawbridge down, if she hammered on the gate to be let in now, they'd surely follow. She wasn't going to be the one responsible for letting the Stormcloaks in to Whiterun, she just wasn't.

And so she dodged and weaved and Shouted and even got a few blows in herself when some of them got close. Not that they did. Elisif was staying close to Legate Rikke and that nice young Captain Hadvar, and the Companions never seemed to be far away either. Aela's arrows zinged through the air to take down enemies from afar while Athis and Torvar were carving into the oncoming soldiers. Really, Elisif had hardly had to do much herself. This was probably for the best.

And so the battle wore on, the sun moving across the sky, and Elisif's strength was fading, her stamina potions used up, her arms feeling like they were on fire.

“Come on,” she heard Aela whisper. “Courage, sister, we can do this.”

No she couldn't, she really couldn't, she just wanted to sleep, run away, hide. But the Stormcloaks were still coming, and then she looked up to see one of the generals leaping off the wall.

“There she is!” the bear-skin clad warrior cried, greatsword raised. “The pretender queen herself! Surrender now and Ulfric will be merciful.”

Merciful?? Ulfric would never show her mercy. She'd got too renowned in her own right for that. At best, he'd make her consort so at least he could share the glory. At worst... he'd see his rival killed.

“Never!” she cried, raising Dawnbreaker and her ebony war axe with the last of her strength. “You want this city, you come through me!”

Brave words indeed, her inner dragon roared in approval – but it was only an inner dragon and she didn't actually have wings or claws or anything. The Stormcloak general just growled and ran straight for her. Elisif gave a little scream and swung Dawnbreaker.

It didn't connect properly but Torvar's blade did, the big Nord springing from out of nowhere and his greatsword neatly upending the Stormcloak. Before he could get up, Athis was there, shoving his sword into the man's back, finishing him off.

“Thank you,” Elisif gasped, about ready to collapse.

“No problem,” Athis said, wiping his brow. “You just concentrate on not dying, we'll take care of the rest.” Together, both men turned and ran back into the battle, but there didn't seem to be as much going on. The death of the general seemed to have broken Stormcloak morale and there was a warhorn sounding in the distance. Legionnaires and guards were all running to the outer gates and there weren't any living Stormcloaks around.

“What's going on?” Elisif whispered, looking around. Not far away, Aela was lowering her bow, face aglow.

“That's a retreat call,” she laughed. “They're retreating. We won, Elisif, we won!”

“We – we did?” Elisif gasped. She scrambled up to the top of the walls, looking out on the Stormcloak camp, watching the few remaining Stormcloaks grabbing their things and fleeing, a few braver ones fighting a desperate rearguard action as the Whiterun defenders tore into the place.

“We did it,” Elisif whispered. “We won! Aela, we won!” She cried out that last and Aela laughed as she took Elisif in her arms, swinging her round and then hugging her tight.

“We won, little sister,” Aela murmured, ruffling Elisif's hair and leading her away to a quiet corner where she could sit down and start healing a few wounds she'd picked up. Elisif surveyed all the bodies lying around, brave men and women from both sides who would never fight again. Hard to feel too jubilant in the face of such death, and Whiterun still had smoke pouring from it. It would take a long time to rebuild. But Ulfric had tried and Ulfric had failed, and Elisif had survived. For now, it was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the destruction and the dead to bury, Whiterun still had time to celebrate. Jarl Balgruuf gave a speech to the assembled troops and citizens, including three Companions with their arms draped around each other who'd already got started on the mead.

Elisif was up alongside him, smiling faintly and hoping the feeling of nausea would go away soon and that she wouldn't actually collapse in front of everyone. She let Balgruuf do the talking – she'd already given a speech beforehand after all.

“For the Empire!” she cried as he finished, the gathered audience taking up the refrain and cheering. Finally they were done. Elisif staggered down from the walls, Balgruuf not far behind her, looking delighted.

“We did it!” he laughed, patting her on the back. “We sent them packing, eh Elisif?”

“We?” Elisif queried, sure she'd have nightmares about this for weeks. “You were in your palace! I was out there fighting!”

Balgruuf's face darkened at that. “Yes. Yes you were. Damn it, Elisif, what were you thinking? You were supposed to just give a rallying speech to the troops and get back inside! You were never supposed to be in danger! I'd even organised an escape route out of Whiterun with Kodlak for you in case the city fell!”

“Well, the Stormcloaks attacked before I could get inside!” Elisif snapped. “What was I supposed to do, Balgruuf, run away? Some Nord queen I'd be if a battle started and I ran off to let others die for me!”

“You're not a warrior, Elisif!” Balgruuf cried, and that rankled. Dawnbreaker was glowing at her side, memories of all the people she'd fought, dragons she'd killed, Draugr laid to rest, necromancers put down, all passing before her eyes, and she realised that an awful lot of people had died at her hands just lately. Not a warrior??

“I am a Dragonborn, Balgruuf!” Elisif growled, glaring at him. “These past few weeks, I've been killing people left, right and centre! Maybe I'm not a seasoned veteran, but I'm not unblooded any more either!”

Balgruuf was staring at her, and Elisif realised she'd raised her voice sufficiently that so were a number of other people. Balgruuf shook himself down and recollected himself.

“No, no, you're not, my apologies. You're right, it's not my place to tell you how to lead. All the same... I worry. You know, if you die, there's no one else to be queen, you know. You don't have any heirs.”

No, she didn't and Balgruuf couldn't even begin to know how much that in particular gnawed at her heart. Not because of her duty to Skyrim... but because of a private grief that lay at Ulfric's door as much as the more public one that had started the war. Because of the longed-for baby that she'd miscarried in the days after Torygg died. No one had known, she'd only told Torygg the morning he'd died. He'd been ecstatic, actually cried as he'd held her and kissed her. They'd decided to wait to make the announcement, perhaps see a priest and make sure she really was pregnant first, but Elisif was sure she had been. Then Ulfric had come and... well, she wasn't pregnant any more. She'd been so happy and by the time night had fallen she'd lost everything she cared about.

“We are not having this conversation,” she gasped, tears in her eyes as she walked away. Balgruuf cursed quietly before hurrying after her.

“Elisif, wait, I'm sorry!” Balgruuf gasped. “I didn't mean... I didn't mean to remind you of Torygg!”

“Too late,” Elisif whispered, feeling tears rolling down her face, memories of strong arms round her, kisses in the sunshine, holding hands while he held court, taking tours of Solitude and meeting the people of Haafingar, being told how lovely they looked together and that they'd be sure to have some beautiful children. All gone, all torn apart in a day of blood.

Mara, but she needed to be alone before she burst into tears. Fortunately Irileth was there hauling Balgruuf back and then Aela, thank the gods, Aela was there, taking her in her arms and holding her, letting Elisif cry on her shoulder, rubbing her back and leading her away.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“No problem, little sister,” came the reply. “Come on, let's get you back to Jorrvaskr. Kodlak will be relieved you're not dead.”

Some part of Elisif was sad she wasn't. Some part of her would have welcomed Sovngarde. But it wasn't to be, not yet. Still, Ulfric wasn't dead yet. She'd stay alive long enough to see Torygg avenged. But after that... well, let Ulfric's guards take her after that. She'd meet death with open arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Torvar and Athis were still out in Whiterun celebrating and Njada was nowhere to be seen when they got back to Jorrvaskr. The Grey-Manes were clearly all still back at their house, which just left Tilma and Kodlak in the main room.

Tilma patted Elisif's hand when she saw her, smiled gently and settled her at the table next to Kodlak and poured her a mead, before leaving to get a bed put together for her. Elisif nodded gratefully, sipping her mead and wishing all of it would just go away, the blood, the death, the memories, everything.

“Well, looks like you made it, lass,” said Kodlak, patting her on the shoulder. “What of Torvar and Athis, are they...?”

“Still alive, Harbinger,” said Aela, sitting on Elisif's other side. “Out there helping to celebrate, I doubt we'll see either until morning. But it's done and we're alive and Balgruuf's still Jarl.”

Faint smile from Kodlak. “Good,” he said and he sounded like he actually meant it. “Vignar won't be pleased, he's Ulfric's through and through, but Balgruuf's a good man and a good Jarl. He has the city's interests at heart. While you won't find me celebrating an Imperial victory, I'm not displeased either. And as for you, girl, I'm very glad you're not dead. What's all this I hear about you being in the fighting?”

So then Elisif had to tell the story, and while she didn't feel she'd done anything so terribly heroic or been anything other than an average fighter at best, Kodlak actually seemed proud.

“But I hardly did anything,” Elisif protested. Kodlak just smiled.

“Maybe you weren't in the worst of it, but the fact remains you were there and you didn't die. Well done, lass. Lass? Are you all right?”

Elisif shook her head, tears rolling down her face. “No!” she cried. “No, I'm not all right, I ran away from Solitude because the Dark Brotherhood were trying to kill me, and then I get here where I was hoping I'd be safe for a bit and then I find the Stormcloaks are here and there's a battle?? Of course I'm not all right!”

“The Dark Brotherhood?” Aela breathed. “Elisif, you never told me this!” Kodlak likewise had turned full on to face her.

“The filthy cowards,” he growled. “Who would dare call them in?”

“I don't know,” Elisif whispered tearfully. “It could be anyone!”

“Well, it's no one in Jorrvaskr, I can promise you that,” said Aela fiercely, stroking Elisif's hair. “Kodlak, she can stay here, can't she?”

“Ordinarily, I'd say yes of course,” Kodlak sighed. “But Elisif, the entire city knows you're here, they just saw you lead troops into battle.”

“I didn't lead anyone!” Elisif protested but Aela brushed that right off.

“Of course you did, you stood up there and gave a pre-battle speech and you fought alongside them, they'll all be singing of Elisif the mighty Dragonborn warrior queen tonight.”

“Oh gods,” Elisif whispered, not feeling at all mighty. “So what do I do? Word will get round, if I'm not in Solitude, this is the first place they'll look!”

“I don't know, Elisif,” Kodlak sighed. “If I had more people, if the twins would come back from whatever insane venture they're on... but no matter. Elisif, could you go back to High Hrothgar? If you went there in secret, the trail might grow cold...”

“The hunt won't go away though, will it?” Elisif sighed. “And I can't hide with the Greybeards forever. We're Nords, we're Companions, we face our problems head on!”

“Well said,” said Kodlak, patting her hand proudly. “I'd help, we all would... if only we knew where their Sanctuary was. Do you think anyone in the Legion would know?”

Elisif didn't know and wasn't hopeful. The Legion didn't concern itself with local law enforcement issues. No, what she needed was someone in an entirely different agency. Someone used to watching from the shadows, making things happen from behind the scenes. Someone good at ferreting out secrets.

“No,” said Elisif softly. “But I know someone who might. Kodlak, can I stay here tonight? I'm exhausted and need to rest, and this place is probably safer than Dragonsreach. But tomorrow, well, there's someone not too far from Whiterun who might be able to help.”

“Yes,” said Aela thoughtfully, “I do believe she might. I'll come with you tomorrow. Someone should be watching your back, make sure you get there in one piece.”

Elisif squeezed Aela's hand in gratitude. Maybe she was in danger, maybe half of Skyrim was out to get her... but she still had her allies. Things weren't as dire as they seemed.

Notes:

And next chapter the main quest reconvenes as everyone meets up in Riverwood and plans their next move. I think you will enjoy it. :)

Chapter 10

Summary:

Elisif turns to her Blades for help, and receives a couple of new allies and a place to run to. However, it's the encounter none of them expected that might just prove the most useful of all.

Notes:

This chapter. Oh my word, this chapter. The key character in this one wasn't even supposed to be in this fic, but he managed to worm his way in anyway. On the other hand, it was a lot of fun to write.

Morning found Elisif saying goodbye to Kodlak, leaving a note for Balgruuf saying she had urgent business elsewhere and couldn't stay but that she was sorry for getting upset at him the previous day. Then Aela was sneaking her out of a secret tunnel under the Skyforge, whispering for her not to tell anyone any of this was here, and the two of them were fleeing south to Riverwood in the early pre-dawn light.

The sun was up by the time they reached the Sleeping Giant and while a few villagers were up and about, the place was still quiet. Delphine was nowhere in sight, but Orgnar pointed them at her bedroom.

“She said to send you both in if you turned up,” Orgnar told Elisif. “She only just got back in herself late last night, mind. Had to leave in a hurry on an urgent trip east. You're lucky you caught her.”

Elisif thanked him and pushed the door open. A very loud and ominous creaking sound echoed through the inn as she did.

“Oh yeah,” Orgnar grinned. “It does that. I keep offering to oil it for her, but she keeps saying no. I think she makes it do that on purpose.”

Sure enough, it had woken Delphine, who was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes and blinking in the sunlight.

“What – El – Maia?” she asked, recollecting herself in time and glaring at Elisif as her eyes focused on the young Jarl. “You are supposed to be in Solitude!”

This. This was why Elisif hadn't wanted to come.

“Well, something came up and I had to leave in a hurry,” Elisif hissed, closing the door behind her once Aela and she were both inside. “And a good thing I did, the Stormcloaks attacked Whiterun!”

“What??” That had Delphine's attention. Flinging herself out of bed and reaching for her leather armour, the Breton woman was now fully awake. “What happened? Is the city still standing?”

“Don't worry,” Aela grinned. “The city held. Balgruuf had the good sense to send to the Legion for help, we sent the Stormcloaks packing.”

Delphine sat back down on the bed, pulling on her boots and looking relieved. “Good. If Whiterun had fallen... I haven't always seen eye to eye with Balgruuf, and Ulfric and I go way back. But Ulfric's playing right into Thalmor hands with this war – well, that shouldn't surprise me. But never mind. You both look fine and Whiterun's still standing, so that's the main thing. I imagine you want to know how the job at the Embassy went, don't you?”

Among other things, yes. Elisif nodded and Delphine got up and went to her wardrobe, flinging it open and unlocking the door.

“Come on,” she said, motioning for them both to head down the tunnel. “We've got a lot to discuss.”

Elisif followed Delphine, looking around her in awe at the secret cellar filled with secret supplies.

“How much stuff have you got in here?” she whispered.

“Enough,” was all Delphine would say to that. “Now, I hope you don't mind, but I've got a couple of guests staying over. I believe you've already met one of them.”

Two men were lying on bedrolls on the floor, one old man in a filthy tunic that had once been white, and the other a familiar face in black leather armour this time.

“Hello there, lass,” 'Ragnar' grinned as he got to his feet, brushing the dust off his clothes. “Good to see you again. You're looking well. Recovered from your big night at the Embassy?”

“I'm still not interested,” Elisif growled, folding her arms and glaring at him. Maybe Delphine trusted him, that didn't mean Elisif was going to. He was clearly some sort of rogue – no one who'd spent their entire life on the right side of the law would have got in and out of the Thalmor Embassy as easily as he'd appeared to.

“Brynjolf,” Delphine sighed as she made her way over to the table. “Elisif's a young woman of refined tastes, she doesn't need you bothering her.”

“Jealous, are we?” Brynjolf smirked. Delphine glared back, narrowing her eyes.

“No,” she said, scowling. “I just don't want to see anyone here hassling the Dragonborn, am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Brynjolf said, but his smile didn't fade and he kept watching Elisif curiously. Elisif made a mental note to keep an eye on this one. He was clearly trouble.

“Brynjolf here's an old friend of mine with extensive experience of infiltration and retrieval,” Delphine continued. “There was no one else I trusted with the job and after finding out what was at stake, he's decided to join up and give us a hand. Brynjolf, this is Jarl Elisif, as you know, although only between us. When we're among outsiders, she goes by the name of Maia and is just a humble mercenary.”

“Not terribly humble in that get up,” Brynjolf said, looking her over. “That gear's rather nice, and as for that glowing sword...” He actually whistled. “Nice piece of kit you've got there, lass.”

“Quite,” said Elisif tersely. “But it's the only gear I have so it stays.”

“Oh, I wasn't suggesting you give it up,” Brynjolf said, looking thoughtful. “Only it's likely to attract attention if you walk around populated areas.”

“What, like thieves, you mean?” Aela said, remembering where she'd seen armour like Brynjolf's before.

“It's not the thieves that bother me,” Elisif said, shivering as she remembered that Argonian assassin.

“Nor should it be,” said Delphine, calling them all to attention again. “We've all got bigger problems than petty thieving to worry about. Aela, welcome back. Good to have you back with us. Is your presence likely to be temporary or permanent?”

Aela leaned forward, resting her hands on the table opposite Delphine. “Let's just say I think Elisif is going to need my help for a while longer, and I'm not sure I want to leave her alone with these two strangers when I don't know who they are.”

“In that case, we're glad to have you aboard,” said Delphine, lips quirking in a smile. While it was clear she didn't entirely approve of Aela's reasoning, it was also clear they needed all the help they could get. “Brynjolf, Esbern, this is Aela the Huntress, one of the Companions. I've already introduced Brynjolf, but Esbern here is an old friend of mine from... from before. He's the greatest dragonlore expert the Blades had and he's who the Thalmor were trying to find. Fortunately we got to him first. Esbern... this is Elisif. The Dragonborn.”

“The Dragonborn,” Esbern breathed, stepping forward into the light so Elisif could see him clearly for the first time. Nord, like her, must be in his sixties if not older, clearly having had a rough life if the state of his clothes was anything to go by. He must have been on the run from the Thalmor too. Elisif felt a wave of sympathy for the man. Not easy being on the run for anyone, but at his time of life, he deserved better.

“Is it true, what Delphine says? You can really Shout? Really take a dragon's soul?” Esbern was gazing at her in awe, as if she was the answer to his prayers. Elisif nodded, smiling herself at the genuine delight on his face.

“It's true. I really can,” Elisif promised. “If we run into a dragon, I'll show you although I hope we don't.”

“I hope so too, although I fear it will be otherwise,” Esbern sighed. “But never mind that, you're Dragonborn! This is marvellous news! The world isn't doomed! There is hope! Young lady, you can't even begin to understand what this means for us all.”

“Here we go,” Delphine sighed, rolling her eyes. “Elisif, you'll have to bear with him, he's a little... well, he's got some odd ideas, that's all.”

“You won't be quite so flippant when I'm proved right, and so far I have been,” Esbern said, reaching into his pack for some books. “Here, the prophecy in the Book of the Dragonborn. Once something all Blades knew by heart, although in recent years it appears most of them have been pre-occupied with other matters.” This was followed by a pointed glare at Delphine, and Elisif decided she liked this Esbern. She sidled over, looking over his shoulder at the prophecy he indicated.

“When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world

When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped

When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles

When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls

When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.”

Esbern stood back after reading it out, indicating the words. “It's all come true, you know. The Imperial Simulacrum, the Warp in the West, the fall of the Tribunal and the Red Year, the Oblivion Crisis, the fall of the Imperial City and... well, the last two lines speak for themselves.”

When the Snow Tower lay sundered, kingless and bleeding. Skyrim, ripped apart by civil war and with no king. Ulfric had a lot to answer for, she knew that... but the return of the World-Eater?

“Wait, Alduin the World-Eater?” Elisif gasped. “The dragon that will eat the world at the end of time??” She felt her knees tremble as she saw Esbern nod, entirely serious. “He's real?” she gasped.

“Oh yes, quite real,” Esbern confirmed. “If my suspicions are correct, it was him who tore Helgen apart and has been raising the others.”

Elisif remembered the black dragon that had been at that dragon mound near Dawnstar and felt sick to the stomach. Alduin the World-Eater, real and here, working to bring about the end of the world, and what was worse... it seemed she was the only one who could stop it.

“I have to kill Alduin or the world's doomed,” she whispered, horrified. Esbern nodded sadly.

“I'm afraid so. But Delphine and I are Blades, sworn to the service of the Dragonborn and we'll help you any way we can. Won't we, Delphine?”

“Absolutely,” Delphine promised, smiling for once, and for once, Elisif actually thought it might just be genuine. It was only Brynjolf looking nervous.

“Hey now, I didn't sign on for killing dragons, lass,” he protested. Delphine shot him a sly grin, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not, you're a killer shot with a bow, Bryn,” she laughed. “But don't worry, it's not all dragonslaying and providing bodyguard services to the Dragonborn. There's always been a covert ops side of things too. I'm sure we'll need your skills for that.”

“I'm all right with dragonslaying and guarding the Dragonborn,” said Aela, placing a hand on Elisif's shoulder. Elisif squeezed it, feeling reassured already.

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered. “I don't know what to say.”

“Maybe you should perhaps wait until you've heard what else Esbern has to say before passing judgement,” Delphine told her. “Esbern, tell her what you told me earlier.”

“Mmm? Oh! Yes, quite. Well, much of the ancient Akaviri dragonlore of the Blades was lost when the Thalmor sacked Cloud Ruler Temple, but I was able to save a few things. In particular, I kept this.” He placed a book on the table called Annals of the Dragonguard.

“What is it?” Elisif whispered. She'd vaguely heard of the Dragonguard but didn't know if their records would be any good. They'd never fought the World-Eater, after all.

“The records of our Akaviri predecessors, from back in the First Era,” Esbern told her. “The Skyrim Dragonguard had a great temple in the Reach, Sky Haven Temple – look, here it is on the map.”

“I know where that is,” Delphine said thoughtfully. “That's the Karthspire mountain, on a big island in the middle of the Karth river.”

“I know it too,” said Aela grimly. “It's the home of one of the bigger Forsworn camps. We had to retrieve a stolen heirloom from there last year, the place is tough. Farkas barely made it out alive, and we'd already lost a younger recruit on that job previously. They've got a Hagraven, Delphine, and she's tough even by Hagraven standards.”

Forsworn... Elisif felt her blood chill at the thought. She'd heard of them, who hadn't? The bloodthirsty marauders who roamed the hills and valleys of the Reach, robbing caravans, killing travellers, attacking outlying settlements, known for their hatred of the Nords and for worshipping strange gods and consorting with Hagravens. They were tough, violent, fanatical and in addition to wielding primitive stone weapons with a deadly skill, they were nearly all gifted in the use of magic. Torygg had told her all about them, speaking of them with a viciousness and hate that she rarely heard him use for anyone else, calling them murderers and madmen, little better than animals. Now she'd have to fight her way past them?

“Why do we need to go to Sky Haven Temple?” she asked, wondering if there was a better option available. Yes it was a secure base from the sounds of it, but surely there were other options?

Esbern flicked the book open and tapped another paragraph.

“Because it's the home of Alduin's Wall,” Esbern said, looking triumphantly at them all as if that was supposed to mean something to them. He was to be disappointed.

“You mean you've not heard of Alduin's Wall? Any of you?”

Blank looks on all faces, but it was Delphine who answered.

“Let's say we haven't,” she said delicately. “What's Alduin's Wall and how does it help us with the dragons?”

“It's a great work of art, a legendary example of ancient Akaviri stonework – really, I'm surprised none of you have heard of it...”

“Esbern,” Delphine sighed. “Please. The point?”

“The point? Right, yes, of course, I'm coming to that,” said Esbern, recollecting himself. “The point is, Alduin's Wall is where the ancient Akaviri set down in stone all their accumulated dragon lore, including the defeat of Alduin himself at the end of the Dragon War. If we can find Alduin's Wall, it may tell us how they did it and we can use the same methods they did.”

A slim chance, Elisif knew, but it was better than nothing. There were five of them after all, and what were a few Forsworn compared to the end of the world? She nodded assent at Delphine.

“Sky Haven Temple it is then,” Delphine said, taking the book and gathering her things. “Come on, let's get going. We've got no time to lose.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a bit of discussion, they decided to take the long way to the Reach – south through Falkreath and along Lake Ilinalta before bearing north then west along the south road into the Reach. Delphine felt it best to avoid Whiterun and that five of them travelling together would attract attention, so the less populated Falkreath route would be better. Elisif agreed, although not for the same reasons. The Dark Brotherhood would never think to look for her in an out of the way place like Falkreath, surely?

They reached the famous Guardian Stones about an hour out of Riverwood.

“They say those favoured by the gods can change their fate if they pray at a Guardian Stone,” Aela explained as she patted the Warrior Stone. “I'm not sure if that's true, but I used to come out here to make offerings all the time. Who knows if it worked.”

“I left some septims for the Thief Stone first time I came out this way,” said Brynjolf, stroking the Thief Stone fondly. “I don't know if it worked or not, but I'm not dead yet so that's something, right?”

Thieving. Elisif knew it. Brynjolf was far too silver-tongued for his own good and certainly anyone else's. Still, he'd got the information they'd needed from the Thalmor and helped Delphine rescue Esbern, so he couldn't be all bad. All the same, she really couldn't condone thieving.

She could use all the help she could get though. So she patted the Warrior Stone, hoping for some of it to rub off.

“Help,” she whispered. “I need to kill Alduin the World-Eater or everyone dies, both here and in the afterlife and oh god, Torygg's in Sovngarde, I don't want Alduin to eat him! So please help because I'm not sure I can do this on my own.”

The Stone felt warm to the touch and then the magic happened as light started to flow along the lines of the Warrior carving on the front before pooling in the stone's hole as the whole thing started to glow, and Elisif felt different. Stronger. More powerful. With the urge to swing Dawnbreaker into something and run howling into battle while her foes fled before her, as a woman whispered 'courage, daughter' into her ear.

“Oh,” she whispered, letting the Stone go. “Oh!” She turned to where the others were watching, a mix of surprise and pleasure on their faces. “What just happened?”

“Looks like someone's favoured by the gods,” Delphine remarked, sounding a little sarcastic, but she was smiling. “Come on, let's get going. All very well getting the blessing of the Guardian Stones but power's no good if you never use it.”

So they journeyed on, and along the way Elisif found herself getting braver. First the troll, and Elisif Shouted it down, sprinting after it and finishing it off with Dawnbreaker, with mage fire from Esbern and arrows from Aela, Delphine and Brynjolf in support. Then the wolves, and with a little help from Elemental Fury, Elisif was carving through them too. The necromancer and Atronach were a little trickier and while his fire magic sent her staggering back, Delphine charged in, her magic resistance protecting her. Elisif tried sending a few arrows the mage's way and to her surprise, some of them were even on target.

The skeletons near the junction with the road to Falkreath itself were easy prey – one strike from Dawnbreaker felled one and the fiery explosion from the death saw the other one off.

“I'm getting better at this!” Elisif called, actually starting to feel rather cheerful about how things were going.

“You weren't bad at it before!” Aela called back, grinning. Brynjolf also looked pleased, as did Esbern and Delphine... was that actual approval on the woman's face?

“You've got a way to go before you're facing down Alduin,” said Delphine, sounding only a little critical. “But you're learning.”

Elisif sheathed Dawnbreaker, feeling rather pleased with herself. Probably as close to a compliment as she was likely to get out of Delphine. She leapt off the rock, rejoining the rest of them on the road, and then her blood chilled as they all heard it, a sound out of nightmares. The howl of a savage beast.

“What was that?” Elisif whispered.

“I don't know but it's coming this way,” Delphine replied, drawing her katana.

“I know what it is,” Aela said grimly, raising her bow. “It's a -”

“HEEEELP!!!! WEREWOLF!!!!”

A flash of red as someone sprinted up from Falkreath, hair and clothes streaming behind him, a shrieking red blur that ran up and crashed straight into Elisif.

“Werewolf?” Elisif gasped. “Where? And why... hey! I remember you! You were the man with the wagon!”

“Yes!” Cicero squealed as he grabbed her shoulders, eyes shining in delight. “Cicero remembers pretty Maia! Kind Maia! Sweet and generous Maia who helped poor Cicero!” His smile faded as he stared desperately up at her. “Could sweet and heavily armed Maia and her dangerous-looking friends help poor Cicero again? Please?”

“I -,” Elisif began, but she didn't have time to answer. The werewolf that was chasing Cicero had emerged into view and would be on them in seconds. Cicero shrieked and dived into the undergrowth. Heart in her mouth, Elisif raised her weapons. The huge werewolf hadn't shown any signs of stopping... at least not until Aela fired at it.

“I know you,” Aela growled. “Time for an end to this!”

The werewolf staggered to one side, lifting its head and letting out a ferocious roar as it saw Aela standing there, and reared on its hind legs, preparing to turn on her. Elisif saw, felt her heart stop and then the world slowed down as something propelled her into action.

“FUS RO DAH!” The wolf went flying and Elisif sprang after it, weapons raised. Arrows flew at the beast, and Delphine was by her side, katana slicing into the beast, but Elisif was barely aware of anything other than her axe and Dawnbreaker carving into the werewolf's body and blood spurting out. Strike after strike after strike before it could recover and fight back... and finally it died. Elisif staggered back, exhausted, just finding the strength to clean her blades off before sitting down in the middle of the road, staring at it. Werewolf, she'd just killed a werewolf, after it had been chasing poor Cicero.

Said poor Cicero had crept out of his hiding place, scurrying over and crouching hesitantly next to her. He'd tilted his head, face pale, eyes wide and a nervous little smile on his face.

“Maia!” Cicero squeaked, cheeks flushing pink. “You saved me!” Without warning, he launched himself on to her, flinging his arms around her as he cuddled her tight, head resting on her shoulder. Which was all very lovely but didn't explain why he was here

“Cicero!” Elisif gasped, patting him awkwardly on the back. “Are you all right? What are you doing out here, did you bury your mother? Why was that werewolf chasing you?”

Cicero hesitated, letting her go and sitting back on his heels.

“Cicero brought his mother to her new crypt, yes,” he said softly, turning oddly serious. “Cicero has... laid her to rest. But Cicero didn't know what to do next so he waited, hoping for a sign. But no sign ever came.” He sighed, expression halfway between a pout and a scowl. “No sign from the gods for poor Cicero, no Words to comfort him in his hour of need, no. Is it any wonder Cicero became angry? That he lost his temper? That he became enraged after some filthy pretender mocked and slandered his poor deceased mother?” His eyes slid to the werewolf's cooling form, Aela and Delphine currently examining it, and Elisif could guess that maybe he'd got in a fight with someone who he'd not realised was a werewolf.

“Who was he?” Elisif asked. “Aela, you said you knew him.”

“That's right,” Aela nodded. “He was a Companion once. We used to hunt together... until his methods got out of hand and we asked him to leave. That was ten, twelve years ago? I didn't know what had happened to him and didn't care to... well, I guess I do now. Odd, I didn't think he lived in Falkreath. I know most of the townsfolk there, and he wasn't one. His name's Arnbjorn.”

Elisif had never heard of him – it was a common enough Nordic name after all. But Brynjolf apparently had, because he'd gone very pale.

“Arnbjorn??” he breathed, horrified. “Sweet Dibella's tits, we just killed Arnbjorn? By the Eight, we need to get out of here. Did anyone see us?”

Delphine looked up sharply. “You know him?” she asked, frowning. Brynjolf nodded, eyes not leaving the dead werewolf.

“Aye – well, not personally. Not very well, and I didn't know he was a werewolf. But if my guess is right... Delphine, he's not an ordinary thief or bandit. He's married to Astrid, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood.”

The Dark Brotherhood... Elisif couldn't help but cry out. They'd already tried to kill her once, and now she'd just killed their leader's husband? Things couldn't get any worse. Slowly, she turned to look at Cicero, wondering if he'd known this, and while he looked pale and nervous, he didn't look surprised. He'd known his pursuer was Dark Brotherhood, or at least suspected it.

“They've got a contract out on you as well, haven't they?” Elisif whispered, suppressing a wave of fury at the way they could just go out there killing people, bringing innocent lives to an end without a care for the harm they caused, the damage they did. First she'd had to run for her life, and now poor Cicero, who didn't have any of the resources she did, was being hunted too. He didn't even have armour, just his tattered jester outfit and a dagger. A very nice dagger, to be sure, but just a knife when all was said and done.

Cicero nodded, still looking nervous.

“Cicero offended the wrong people,” Cicero whispered. “Now Astrid wants to kill me! Murder poor, innocent Cicero!”

Elisif felt her heart go out to the poor man. She could hardly leave him on his own, not after this.

“They want to kill me too, someone already tried in Solitude,” she told him. “But they haven't got me yet, and when I'm... when I'm ready, I'm going to come back and take them all on, and they won't hurt anyone ever again! But right now, we're going somewhere safe, somewhere they'll never think to look. Why don't you come? We can look after you too.”

“Wait a second,” and that was Delphine, interrupting as usual, and Elisif could cheerfully have throttled her. Why did Delphine always have to act like she was the one in charge? Sure enough, she was sitting across from Elisif, glaring at her again.

“Do you mean to tell me someone took a contract out on you with the Dark Brotherhood?” she demanded.

Elisif nodded. Possibly she should have mentioned this earlier, now she thought about it.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Delphine cried. “Dammit, how am I supposed to protect you if you don't tell me these things?”

“I didn't ask for your protection!” Elisif snapped. Delphine just glared back.

“Tough, I'm sworn to guide and guard you anyway,” Delphine snapped. “And you've got Ulfric Stormcloak after you and now the Dark Brotherhood trying to kill you too – I'd say you need it all right.” She got to her feet, looking around. Esbern was doing likewise, casting some sort of spell.

“No life signs anywhere near, I don't think anyone's seen us,” Esbern said quietly. “But we can't stay here.”

“You're right,” said Delphine. She indicated the body. “Brynjolf, Aela, get this out of here. We're not far from the lake, dump it in there, it'll keep the evidence hidden long enough for us to be far away. And as for you...” She was staring at Cicero, lips pursed, clearly not trusting him in the slightest. Cicero had also got up, looking thoughtfully back at Delphine, faint half-smile on his face.

“Hello,” he purred, suddenly looking a lot less innocent and harmless than he had before. “Cicero doesn't think we've been introduced. Cicero is sure he'd remember you.”

“Hey!” Brynjolf snapped from where he and Aela were manhandling the dead werewolf away. “She's spoken for!”

Delphine shot a glare at Brynjolf that could have chilled lava. “I am not -!” She stopped, possibly seeing the grin on Cicero's face and realising that could be seen as an invitation.

“I am not after companionship,” Delphine growled. “I'm more interested in exactly who you are, where you came from and why you just happened to be here, with the Dark Brotherhood on your tail.”

“Oh, Cicero is just a harmless little fool!” Cicero cooed, pirouetting over to Delphine and leaning up against her, gazing up at her, still grinning. “Just a humble merryman from Cyrodiil, making his own way in the world after his dear Mother passed on. Just poor Cicero, all alone, with no Family left to him.” His grin faded as he pouted up at Delphine. “Cicero's been very lonely, you know.”

Delphine grimaced as she stepped back, pushing him away from her. Elisif felt obliged to intervene at this point. Maybe she wasn't exactly fond of Delphine, but she didn't need Cicero harassing her.

“Cicero, stop bothering her!” Elisif sighed. “Come on, come over here, if you want a cuddle, I can manage that.”

Cicero looked up, laughed softly and shook his head, still smiling but not quite in the same way, looking surprisingly gentle.

“Maia is very pretty but not at all Cicero's type,” he said, sounding actually kind. “But Maia is Cicero's friend, yes?” He bounced back over and stood before her, arms folded as he looked her up and down. Despite being two inches shorter than her, Elisif felt a little intimidated by him. Close up, he was older than he'd seemed at first, probably close to Brynjolf's age, late thirties at least. Not unattractive... but not really Elisif's type either.

“Yes, we're friends,” she said, and while she did genuinely like him, she also felt some primitive instinct telling her she would not want to be his enemy.

“Of course, of course!” he cooed, clapping his hands and dancing on the spot. “You saved me from the horrible werewolf! And you helped me before, on the road! Oh, but not just me, hmm? You helped Mother too, and Mother is surely grateful. Mother wouldn't want any harm to come to you, no. Mother likes you, and so does Cicero! Never mind that harlot Astrid and whatever corrupt and false contracts she's made. Cicero likes pretty Maia, and Maia helped Mother, so Mother would want Maia to live and be happy! So Cicero shall help Maia, yes? Cicero and Maia, best friends forever!” He'd clasped his hands together, capering gleefully about. No doubt about it, he was the strangest man Elisif had ever met... but a friendly one and the fact Cicero genuinely didn't seem to find her attractive was oddly reassuring.

“Friends,” Elisif confirmed. “Does that mean you're coming with us?”

“Cicero would love to!” Cicero cooed. His face fell as he glanced back down the road, scowling. “Si- Stendarr knows Cicero doesn't have anywhere else to go,” he muttered. Elisif felt her heart go out to him. Poor man. He'd not been well-treated just lately, she could tell. The poor thing just seemed so lonely. Well, maybe he'd be happier with some company.

“I hope you're all right with that,” Elisif said firmly, turning to Delphine. “But I'm not just leaving him on his own for the Dark Brotherhood to kill.”

To her surprise, Delphine just shrugged. “It's preferable to having to kill him as well,” Delphine sighed. “He's seen too much to just let wander around. Fine, bring him. Just keep an eye on him, make sure he behaves himself. And you, Cicero or whatever your name is. Don't cause any trouble, and do what you're told, and there won't be any problems. We're on an important mission, I don't need amateurs getting in the way and messing it up.”

Cicero turned back to Delphine, that crafty smirk back on his face again as he giggled.

“Cicero doesn't mind you giving him orders, oh no,” Cicero purred at her. “You can boss poor Cicero around any day.”

“Talos help me,” Delphine growled, and the glare she was giving Cicero was positively glacial by this point. “Look, jester, just keep your hands to yourself and your thoughts private, am I clear?”

“Perfectly clear!” Cicero chirped, although the grin never left his face. “Cicero is a good boy!”

“Delphine, are you sure-?” Esbern murmured, looking a little concerned himself by this point.

“No, but what choice do I have?” Delphine sighed. By this point, Brynjolf and Aela had returned, Brynjolf scowling to see Cicero was still there and his mood didn't improve on learning Cicero was coming with them.

“Fuck's sake, Del, are you sure I can't bury him in Lake Ilinalta as well?” Brynjolf sighed.

“Bryn,” Delphine sighed. “He's harmless – mostly harmless. And our Dragonborn likes him. We'll keep him unless he becomes a complete liability.”

Brynjolf's expression clearly said he thought Cicero was well past that point already but he said nothing further, just drawing protectively closer to Delphine and glaring at Cicero every time he got near. Elisif watched Cicero scampering about, singing to himself with not a care in the world, and edged closer to Aela.

“Did I do the right thing, bringing him with us?” she whispered. Aela didn't seem at all certain, but at length she nodded.

“I think you did the honourable thing in saving him, and I don't think he's got anywhere else to go,” Aela sighed. “I just hope he doesn't cause trouble for us.”

Elisif hoped not either, but looking at Cicero, she couldn't be terribly sure of that. She'd just have to keep an eye on him and hope for the best.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the unexpected having to hide a body and acquisition of a demented jester, they made good time and nothing else went wrong. Until that is they rounded the corner after Half-Moon Mill, made their way down the hill... and ran straight into the dragon.

“DRAGON!” Cicero shrieked, diving behind Elisif. Well of course he was scared, he'd got barely any weapons or anything.

“Stay with me,” Elisif whispered to him, her own heart pounding. “I'll look after you.”

Cicero nodded and shadowed her, whimpering to himself as the dragon swept overhead. Elisif reached for her bow, having the horrible feeling this was going to be a hard one. There wasn't really anywhere for it to land after all. Delphine, Aela and Brynjolf were already shooting at it, and Esbern was sending firebolts its way, Atronach by his side. Elisif grabbed her own bow, a very nice ebony one, but all the fancy archery gear in the world couldn't hide the fact she wasn't the best shot out there. She'd trained in Solitude, she'd got Aela to show her a few things, but she was still fairly average. It was also very hard to hit a dragon in flight, it turned out.

“Maia,” Cicero whispered, tugging on her arm. “Maia!”

“Cicero, what is it, I'm trying to fight a dragon!” Elisif cried, trying to focus on the scaly beast before it came in for another sweep.

“Maia!” Cicero wailed, tugging at her arm even harder. Mara help her, but unless he'd seen someone sneaking up behind them...

“What??” Elisif snapped at him, feeling a bit guilty for losing her temper, but really, now was not the time for fooling around.

“Cicero knows archery!” Cicero cried. “Lend Cicero your bow, he can hit that dragon!”

Lend him her bow? He really didn't look like the warrior type, but if he said he could shoot... She passed the bow and her supply of steel arrows over. Kyne knew he couldn't miss any more than she was doing.

Cicero shouldered the quiver, and nocked an arrow to the bow. As he raised the weapon, his entire demeanour changed, the foolishness fading as his eyes narrowed, face looking deadly serious as he focused on the dragon, eyes tracking it in flight. He moved along with it, eyes never leaving it, utterly calm, faint smile on his lips... and then he let go. The arrow flew faster than Elisif could see but she could see the dragon seem to fall back as the arrow smacked into its side. The beast recovered quickly and came round for another go, but Cicero had another arrow nocked... and that didn't miss either. Then he broke off, turned and ran down the road, looking over his shoulder at the dragon as he did, pausing to shoot off another arrow, and that didn't miss either, before continuing to the bottom of the hill.

The dragon, enraged beyond all measure by the irritating little joor that kept shooting it, followed, breathing fire at Cicero, who somehow contrived to not be there when flame hit ground. Elisif had to hand it to him, the little fellow was good. Talented archer, agile too – Elisif was beginning to wonder if he really was a jester at all, in fact she was fairly certain by this time he was no such thing. But she didn't have time to speculate. Cicero needed her help.

“VICTORY OR SOVNGARDE!” she howled at the dragon as she ran towards Cicero. The dragon had crashed to the ground, advancing on Cicero, who'd put the bow away and drawn his dagger. Brave, but unlikely to be much help to him against a dragon.

“Get after her!” Elisif vaguely heard Delphine shouting, and Brynjolf and Aela's arrows whistled past, all thudding into the dragon. Elisif had her weapons drawn by this time, ready to dual-wield.

“SU!” she Shouted, and she felt the world slow down as she flung herself into the dance, carving into the dragon's side as she turned and weaved, the Warrior's wisdom showing her what to do, knowledge instinctively coming to her as she attacked. The dragon turned from Cicero to her, growling as its head swung at her... and then it cried in pain as Cicero pounced on to its head, dagger clutched in hand and face twisted in a rage that might have been frightening had Elisif not been too deep in a warrior's trance to notice.

“DIE, DRAGON!” he howled, stabbing into its head and eyes as he crouched on its skull, clutching one of its horns in his free hand and he definitely wasn't a jester, Elisif was positive of that now. But she didn't have time to think about that, not with a dragon to deal with. Arrows and magic were flying everywhere, and Delphine was on its other side with her katana at the ready, doing some damage of her own.

Underneath a barrage of spells, arrows, a Dragonborn and a Blade carving it up and a lunatic in a jester's outfit stabbing it repeatedly in the skull, the dragon didn't stand a chance. It died by the road, near the mound it had been raised out of in the first place.

Elisif stopped to catch her breath, cleaning her blades off before getting to her feet. The dragon was already smoking, flames crackling up and devouring it from within... and Cicero was still sitting on top of its head, cackling to himself.

“Cicero!” Elisif cried, alarmed. “Cicero, get down from there, it's on fire! You'll be hurt!”

Cicero whooped in delight, but he did leap off the dragon's head, landing cat-like in front of her. Getting to his feet, he danced in front of her, capering about, squealing about how they'd killed a dragon.

“We killed it, we killed it, we did, we did!” He stopped dancing, face inches from her own, wide smile in place. “Pretty Maia stabbed it! With her shiny, shiny sword! You were very good at it. So fast! So much blood! You must be very talented.”

“Oh, there's better warriors than me out there,” Elisif sighed, but the praise was nice. “You weren't bad yourself! You didn't miss once with that bow, and not many would have flung themselves on to a dragon with just a dagger in their hand.”

Cicero just giggled, face flushing bright red as he swayed from side to side.

“Maia is too kind, too kind!” he cooed, eyelashes fluttering, clearly a little embarrassed at the praise. He was pleased though, Elisif could tell, and it was nice watching him be happy. Definitely not her type, but he was rather sweet.

Then the dragon soul boiled out of it, wrapping itself around her and Elisif gasped, bracing herself as the dragon's essence sank into her, her own mind trapping it deep inside until she found another word wall. Elisif shook her head, opening her eyes to see a dragon skeleton and her companions all looking on with various degrees of satisfaction and surprise. Pride from Aela, satisfaction from Delphine, absolute delight from Esbern, amazement tinged with worry from Brynjolf and from Cicero, utter shock.

“But you.. you just...” He gestured at the dragon, staring at its skeleton then back to her, waving his hands frantically. “You ate it!” he breathed, sounding awestruck. “You ate a dragon!”

“Oh. Well, yes,” Elisif admitted, feeling herself blush. “I, er, took its soul. That's what happens when I fight one. It's a bit frightening to watch, I know, but don't worry, it doesn't hurt and isn't anything to worry about, really...”

“You took its soul...” Cicero breathed, before chuckling once, then twice, then he'd broken down into howling, hysterical laughter.

“Oh but that is ridiculous, ridiculous!” Cicero howled, slapping his thigh. “Maia surely hasn't done that. Because that would make her Dragonborn, like in the stories, and Maia isn't Dragonborn, the Dragonborn's Jarl Elisif, and there surely aren't two. And you can't be Jarl Elisif, because Jarl Elisif lives in a big palace in Solitude...” His voice trailed off as he looked up, probably remembering Elisif telling him she'd been in Solitude not long ago.

“Your name is not really Maia, is it,” he said, and his expression was completely unreadable, but Elisif could see Brynjolf circling behind him with dagger in hand and felt Aela move closer.

“No,” Elisif admitted. “I'm sorry, Cicero. I'm Elisif, Jarl of Solitude, and I'm Dragonborn, like in all the stories. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but I've got enemies and I don't know who to trust.”

Cicero had a hand over his mouth, eyes bright and then he was squealing again, face bright pink as he capered about before staring at her, fascinated.

“Cicero never met a Jarl before!” he gasped. “Not close up anyway. Er. What is Cicero meant to call you? You have to forgive humble Cicero, he is just a lowborn simpleton with no idea about protocol or etiquette or anything. He hopes he's done nothing improper.” This last was followed by a nervous giggle and Elisif bit her lip before she burst out laughing herself. Really, the last thing she felt like right now was a Jarl.

“You can just call me Elisif,” she told him. “But only when it's just us, right? When people other than us are around, you need to call me Maia still. I don't want people knowing who I am!”

“No, no, Cicero understands,” Cicero purred. “Cicero can quite see pretty Elisif not wanting anyone to know who she is. Cicero knows she has... enemies.” His face grew serious, brooding look in his eyes as he stepped back, staring solemnly at her as he scratched his cheek.

“Pretty Elisif has enemies,” he repeated. “The Dark Brotherhood are seeking your death, you know.”

“I know, I told you earlier,” Elisif sighed. “They tried in Solitude, which is why I'm not there now. And why we can't linger – look, let's see if this dragon's got anything worth having and go.”

Cicero nodded, faint smile on his face, and then he reached out, taking her arm. “Sweet Dragonborn, pretty Dragonborn, do not be afraid,” he said gently. “Cicero shall look after you. The pretender Astrid wants to kill you, but she wants to kill poor Cicero too so do not fear. Cicero will take her down first. She has already lost her sheepdog and her lizard. We'll kill her other pets too, fear not, pretty Jarl.”

Elisif nodded, relieved to have the support, and then she realised Brynjolf had his dagger out again, Delphine was raising her bow and suddenly it dawned on her she'd never told Cicero her assailant in Solitude had been an Argonian...

“Oh gods,” she gasped, ripping her arm back out of Cicero's grasp. “You – you're one of them. That's where you learnt to fight, you were in the Dark Brotherhood too!”

Cicero had gone very still, eyes widening just a fraction, and then he bolted, fleeing down the road towards the Reach... or at least he did until Brynjolf sprang after him, long stride easily outpacing Cicero and he'd tackled the shorter man to the ground, pinning him down in a hold that stopped Cicero from getting at his dagger.

“LET GO OF ME!!!” Cicero howled, writhing in Brynjolf's grip, teeth bared in fury. “CICERO SHALL STAB YOU, YOU THIEVING WRETCH!”

“Del, we can bury him in a shallow grave now, right?” Brynjolf called cheerfully. “Right – argh! Son of a...” Cicero had bitten his hand and was trying to get free. He almost made it too, but by this time Aela had caught up and planted a boot on his hand before he could get his dagger.

“Elisif, I've changed my mind,” Aela announced, also sounding pleased at the prospect of bloodshed. “Saving him was a terrible idea, in fact the honourable thing is actually to put the little murderer down for the good of everybody. Never thought I'd end up agreeing with a thief, but dumping him in a shallow grave would solve an awful lot of problems.”

A wail that was part fury and part terror emanated from Cicero's mouth and Elisif felt it tear at her heart. This was horrible to watch – she'd got to like Cicero. Even if he was quite mad, he was sweet and charming and friendly and he'd promised to protect her even if he was Dark Brotherhood – or had been at any rate. It sounded like they'd kicked him out, which was a little worrying if someone was considered too mad or dangerous even for the feared assassins' guild.

“Please,” Elisif gasped. “Please don't kill him!”

Brynjolf and Aela just looked at each other, sighed wearily and turned their attention back to Cicero. He'd stopped struggling, but the pained whimpering from where Aela was stepping on his hand wasn't much better.

Delphine had arrived by this point, standing over Cicero with her arms folded, and Elisif knew this was it, he was dead, Delphine wouldn't hesitate to order his death, she wasn't a woman who messed about. So it was Elisif could barely believe her eyes as Delphine motioned for Aela to step back before kneeling at Cicero's side. Elisif moved closer, surprised to see Delphine actually looking thoughtfully at him. Cicero blinked and looked up, wary but no longer fighting.

“Changed your mind?” Cicero gasped. “You want Cicero for a pet after all?” He yelped as Brynjolf's knee, already wedged between his legs, jerked up into his groin.

“Bryn!” Delphine scolded. “Stop that.” She turned back to Cicero, heedless of Brynjolf groaning.

“So. Cicero. You're Dark Brotherhood. Or were. Guess they kicked you out, huh.”

“Cicero still is Dark Brotherhood!” Cicero hissed, face twisting in a grimace. “They, they are the heretics! The false Brotherhood! Deceivers, liars, pretenders! All dancing to the tune of that harlot Astrid!!!”

“So you said,” Delphine said calmly, sitting down next to him, cross-legged on the tundra. “I also heard what you said to Elisif.” She beckoned her over, and Elisif approached, sitting next to Delphine. Cicero did look up at her then, actually smiling, heavy-lidded eyes blinking slowly at her.

“Pretty Elisif,” Cicero laughed, still a little breathless. “Cicero is sorry if he scared you. And for the contract too. It wasn't Cicero's idea, you know. Astrid organised the whole thing.”

“Astrid,” Elisif said softly, thinking over everything that had been said so far. “The leader of the Dark Brotherhood.”

The wrong thing to say. Cicero's face clouded over as he started shrieking again.

“LIES! TREACHERY! ASTRID IS NOT THE LEADER OF THE DARK BROTHERHOOD, MOTHER I-!” Cicero immediately stopped talking, horror in his eyes as he realised perhaps he'd said too much.

“Mother,” said Esbern softly, looking absolutely fascinated. “You mean the Night Mother, don't you? She was the one who split from the Morag Tong all those centuries ago, your order's founder.”

“But she must be dead by now, surely?” Elisif heard herself say, and then it occurred to her that the mother Cicero had been transporting to her new crypt hadn't been his own but the mother of his order. He'd been taking her... where? To the Dark Brotherhood's Skyrim base, that much was obvious.

“CICERO IS TELLING YOU NOTHING!” Cicero howled, eyes darting nervously between them all, and Elisif had a feeling he was going to go for his knife again.

“It's all right,” Delphine said, sounding gentle and kind and utterly unlike her usual self. “I'm not interested in the details of Dark Brotherhood politics. I'm just looking to protect my Dragonborn. I was a Blade once, sworn to protect and guide any Dragonborn that might arise. You understand I'm not pleased this Astrid of the Dark Brotherhood has taken a contract against Elisif.”

Cicero glared at her, spitting on the floor. “Oh, Blades. Cicero has heard of the Blades. Blades killed Dark Brothers and Sisters once. Protecting their Emperor. Pah!” He scowled at her, pouting a little and then his mouth curved into a smirk. “Cicero has heard the Blades are not doing so well these days either.”

Delphine steeled herself, pointedly not rising to the bait. “We've had better days. But we have a Dragonborn again and a purpose. We've got dragons to kill, a world to save.” Then Delphine actually smiled. “Want to help?”

“Delphine!” Brynjolf shouted. “You cannot be serious!”

“He's a murdering little fiend from an organisation that we know has it in for Elisif!” Aela protested. “How do we know he's not planning to kill us all?”

“Oh, Cicero is tempted,” Cicero muttered darkly. He glared up at Delphine. “What is in it for Cicero, hmm? And why is Delphine offering? Cicero doesn't actually believe Delphine secretly wants him for a plaything.”

Delphine did grin at that. “Sorry, Cicero. That's not what I'm after. But what I do want... The Dark Brotherhood aren't going to stop hunting Elisif. Not when there's a large amount of coin and a lot of professional pride at stake. I can help keep her safe and one step ahead, but she's going to be queen. She can't keep running forever. To get her out of this, we need to take the fight to them. But to do that, I'd need to know where they lived and how to get to them.” She tilted her head, smiling sweetly at him. “That's where you come in.”

“Delphine, this sounds like a terrible idea...” Esbern said, looking warily at Cicero. Brynjolf also looked dubious, but Aela was starting to nod in understanding and Elisif realised what Delphine was getting at. The Dark Brotherhood's safety lay in secrecy, but if someone were to spill their secrets, an outcast member with an axe to grind...

“They were horrible to you, weren't they?” Elisif whispered. “That's what you were telling me earlier, wasn't it? Astrid doesn't believe in the Night Mother any more, wants to run things her way, is that it? But you don't agree, and you were the only one to think so, so they picked on you.”

Cicero looked up, eyes wide and sorrowful as he nodded at her.

“Mean they were to poor Cicero. Teasing and mocking or ignoring him!” Cicero whined. Brynjolf rolled his eyes, clearly sympathising with Astrid on this one.

“Dark Brotherhood assassins being terrible human beings. There's a shocker,” he muttered. Cicero glared at him, hissing under his breath.

“Not to each other!” he growled. “Dark Brothers and Sisters are Family! Children of the Night Mother! But Astrid isn't. Astrid thinks she doesn't need Mother any more. Astrid thinks she's better than that. And the others all follow her, the sheepdog, the lizard, the Redguard, the unchild, all of them! Heh. Well, not the sheepdog or lizard any more, pretty Elisif took care of them!” He giggled, grinning at her again. “Cicero likes Elisif! She was nice to him. Helped him! The first person in cold, frozen Skyrim to show him any kindness or sympathy.”

What that said about her fellow countrymen and women, Elisif wasn't sure – yes, Cicero was an odd little lunatic and a hardened killer, it turned out, but even so, for no one other than her to be nice to him at all was terribly inhospitable.

“If Astrid gets her way, no one in Skyrim ever will have been kind to you,” Elisif said quietly. “Is that what you want?”

“No!” Cicero gasped, shaking his head, wide eyes not leaving hers.

“Then help me,” Elisif whispered. “You know how they work, even if you never tell us how to find them, you know who they are, you can warn me if they're nearby.”

Cicero grinned, sly look in his eyes.

“If they are nearby, Elisif can be quite sure Cicero will do more than warn her. Do not fear, Cicero will happily deal with the problem for her.”

Elisif looked hopefully at Delphine, who hadn't taken her eyes off Cicero. The grin on her face mirrored Cicero's own.

“All right, he's in,” Delphine said. “Let him up, Bryn.”

“You are not serious,” Brynjolf said, shaking his head in disbelief. Still, he let go Cicero go, glaring at him.

“Don't get any ideas, lad,” Brynjolf growled, standing back as Cicero climbed to his feet, flexing his fingers and retrieving his dagger. “You're only here because your friends are after the lass here. Otherwise you'd be in the same state as that dragon.”

Cicero brushed his clothes off, pointedly ignoring Brynjolf before glancing up at Delphine, grinning at her.

“Delphine likes the idea of giving sweet Cicero orders after all, does she?” he purred, grin only widening as Brynjolf growled at him. Delphine sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Just behave yourself, don't stab any of us and do what you're told, and there won't be a problem,” she told him. “Now come on and get moving. We've got a way to go before we get where we're going.”

“Where are we going?” Cicero asked, tilting his head.

“To the Reach,” Delphine said. “There's a safe place out there where we can hole up and start planning. But before we can get there, we'll probably have to get past a whole ton of Forsworn first. Have you heard of the Forsworn, Cicero?”

Cicero's eyes lit up, malevolent glee spreading across his face. “Oh yes. Cicero has heard of the Forsworn. They think they're so scary? Cicero shall show them who's scary!” Leaving Delphine, he scampered over to Elisif, linking an arm in hers. “Don't worry, pretty Elisif! Cicero shall kill lots and lots of Forsworn for you and then, then you shall have your Sanctuary. Safe, safe, from prying eyes and lying, heretical false Brotherhoods. Come, come, walk with Cicero! You and I are going to be fast friends. Fast friends!”

So saying, he skipped alongside Elisif, cooing and babbling to her all the while and to her credit, she only looked a bit nervous and humoured the little fool with good grace. All the same, Aela followed close behind, shadowing them both with her own dagger at the ready if Cicero tried anything.

Next to Delphine, both Brynjolf and Esbern had drawn closer.

“I hope to the Eight you know what you're doing, Del,” Brynjolf muttered, still glaring at Cicero. “The man's not just a murderer, he's an unpredictable sociopath. Who knows what he might do?”

“I know,” said Delphine, still watching Cicero fondly. “But he's useful. He's our key to getting the Brotherhood off Elisif's back, and who knows, he might be able to help with the Thalmor too. He'd definitely make a good dragonslayer, did you see the way he went for that one?” She did look up at Brynjolf then, looking a bit sheepish. “Is it wrong for me to be a bit fond of him despite everything?”

“Yes,” said Brynjolf firmly. “Delphine, the man's insane. Please. Please tell me you don't fancy him.”

Delphine laughed, shaking her head, amused. “He's a sweetheart, but I have the feeling he'd be a bit high-maintenance.” She glanced up, sly smile on her face as she caught Brynjolf's eye. “Jealous, are we?”

“What, of him?” Brynjolf snorted. “Hardly.” A pause, during which Delphine's grin never wavered, and more than a hint of anxiety crept into Brynjolf's expression.

“Del, you wouldn't. Would you?” Brynjolf asked nervously. Delphine shook her head, laughing to herself as she looked away.

“Del?” Brynjolf asked, starting to look genuinely concerned that she might actually take up with Cicero. “Del, please. Promise you won't. If you're going to turn me down, please don't let it be for him.”

Delphine reached out and squeezed Brynjolf's hand, smiling as they made their way along the road to Karthspire. No, Cicero wasn't really her type when all was said and done. But still, he had his uses. Delphine took her oath as a Blade seriously, and if her Dragonborn was threatened by the Dark Brotherhood, she'd do whatever it took to bring said Dark Brotherhood to its knees. If that meant recruiting a homicidal lunatic with an extremely eccentric dress sense, then so be it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the other side of Skyrim, in Windhelm's Palace of the Kings, Ulfric was receiving the official report of the Battle of Whiterun. Needless to say, he was not pleased.

“What do you mean, you failed?” Ulfric snapped. “We needed that city, Ralof!”

Ralof only flinched slightly at Ulfric's wrath.

“The Legion were there in force, my King,” said Ralof, standing rigidly to attention. Always best to never let Ulfric know quite how much he got to him, no matter how angry the Jarl of Windhelm got. “And... and the Dragonborn was there. Jarl Elisif. She was on the frontlines, fighting. We couldn't get close, but her Shouts felled many of us.”

Ulfric hissed. This was not good news. For Elisif to be able to do that meant the Greybeards had taught her all three words of Unrelenting Force. Which meant her Thu'um now matched his. Not that he intended to tell Ralof that.

“She cannot Shout constantly,” Ulfric growled. “Shouting leaves you weary, you cannot keep doing it. Why is it none of you got close enough to injure her? Are the Stormcloaks incapable of shooting straight now? Is there no one capable of carving a path to her? While I'd have liked her alive, I will tolerate her death. The gods can call another Dragonborn. The Empire will have difficulty finding another puppet ruler.”

“She had protection, my lord,” said Ralof softly, his voice shaking a little as he prepared himself to deliver the next blow. “The Companions of Ysgramor took the field against us – three of them at any rate, including Aela the Huntress. They didn't stray far from her side, and they cut down anyone who came near her.”

Ulfric did straighten up at that, brow furrowing. “So. Kodlak Whitemane has taken a side. I'm disappointed. I thought him a true Nord. I also thought him committed to Ysgramor's legacy and keeping the Companions out of politics. It seems I was wrong. No matter. We will retreat and gather our forces and when we attack Whiterun again, we'll take the city and then we will see where the Harbinger's true loyalties lie. Dismissed, Ralof.”

Ralof nodded and took his leave, leaving Ulfric alone with Galmar Stone-Fist.

“Well, Galmar, it would appear our Dragon-Queen has claws after all,” Ulfric said, impressed at Elisif's bravery despite the harm done to his own cause. “Do you still think she's a powerless figurehead we can afford to ignore?”

“She's a menace for as long as she remains free,” Galmar growled. “Recruitment's dried up as of late and morale's slipping, Ulfric. No one wants to raise a sword against a Dragonborn. We need to find her.”

Yes, they did. But abducting her from Solitude was a suicide mission, and when she left Haafingar, she'd proved extraordinarily good at going to ground. Ulfric was certain she wasn't so foolish as to wander around Stormcloak territories in any case, and on the Empire's side of the battle lines, there were always those prepared to help their Dragonborn Queen in waiting. Ulfric would wager she was long gone from Whiterun by now. But there was hope. There were also plenty of Stormcloak supporters in the Imperial Holds, and they'd be watching too. Sooner or later, she'd make a mistake, and then he'd have her. He hoped so anyway. This war was definitely not going according to plan, but really, who could have planned for a Dragonborn rallying the other side?

“Who approaches the Jarl of Windhelm?” Galmar barked out, reaching for his axe. Ulfric glanced up, surprised to see a young Nord woman walking into his war room without a care in the world.

“Only the very brave or the very foolish approach a Jarl without summons,” Ulfric said, standing up to look at her better. “I'd have your name, kinswoman.”

“Njada Stonearm, sir,” she replied, looking rather confident for a mere mercenary. “Formerly of the Companions of Ysgramor... until our Harbinger fell for the Dragonborn's charms and turned out to be an Empire-loving milk-drinker.”

“Harsh words,” Ulfric murmured, but there was something about the young warrior's attitude he liked. He'd always liked women with a backbone. “Tell me, do you treat all your former lieges like this?”

“Only the ones who turn out to not be what I thought they were,” Njada said proudly. “They tell me you're a true Nord, a true son of Skyrim who will bring the worship of Talos back to this land and send the elves fleeing back to Alinor. Is that not so?”

“Watch your tongue, girl!” Galmar snapped. “You're standing before your true High King!”

“Galmar,” Ulfric said, waving for his housecarl to be quiet. So there was at least one Companion who felt she could no longer back her Harbinger with any honour. Interesting. Very interesting indeed. “Our friend's come a long way. We should be hospitable, no? Well, Njada. I will let history judge me and the opinions of others fall where they may. Whether any of us are true Nords is not something we ourselves are ever the best judge of. But I do intend to rid Skyrim of the Thalmor and their Imperial toadies for good. Should I end up as King in the process, I'll accept the responsibility.”

Njada smiled, delighted to hear it. “Good, we need a proper ruler, not that pathetic child the Empire wants to land us with. So what if she's Dragonborn? Takes more than being some mystical dragonslayer to make a good ruler.”

“You don't think she'd make a good queen then?” Ulfric asked, eyebrow raised. Truth be told, he was actually starting to think Elisif had the makings of a fine ruler... but he kept the thought to himself. Others might mistake his respect for the young Dragonborn for agreement with her.

“She barely makes a good Jarl,” Njada sneered. “How much has she been in Solitude lately, hmm? Hardly at all, it seems she'd rather spend her time in Whiterun tagging along behind Jorrvaskr's glory. And all she's done is drag Jorrvaskr down to her level. Which is why I left and have come here. I want to fight for a true Nord, and there's none truer than you, Jarl Ulfric.”

“Well put,” Ulfric said, approving. Any new recruit was worth having and a former Companion... he could use that. “So then, Njada Stonearm. If Elisif has been associating with Jorrvaskr, what have you learnt about her? Is she staying there now? Going back to Solitude? Somewhere else? If I can find her, I can bring her to our side, or at least deprive the Empire of their Chosen One.”

“I don't know where she's going,” Njada admitted. “She wouldn't say, just left in secret with Aela in tow. But I can tell you how to find her. She wears scaled armour, wields an ebony war axe and a golden sword that glows with unholy fire... and she calls herself Maia when she's travelling. It was the name she used when she first came to Jorrvaskr, before we found out who she really was. If you send word out to look for a young Nord woman called Maia, you'll find her before long.”

Ulfric smiled, a sudden sense of certainty settling in his heart, a sense of triumph snatched out of the jaws of defeat. Maybe he'd lost Whiterun... for now. But knowing Elisif's pseudonym, that might just deliver her into his hands.

“Galmar,” he said, grinning. “Get Jorlief in here, I've got letters to write to our friends out there. To Laila, Skald, Korir... and to Dengeir, Sorli and of course Thonar. About time we started hunting our runaway dragon in earnest, don't you think?”

“Aye, Ulfric,” Galmar said, having perked up immensely. “I'll get right on with it.” He nodded approvingly at Njada. “She'll do. You want to swear her in or shall I?”

“I'll let you have the honour,” Ulfric said, always preferring to let Galmar do the oaths. It always felt a bit odd to lead someone into declaring him King. Much better for a devoted underling to encourage the others, made him look less egocentric. “Welcome aboard, Njada. I think you and I are going to do great things together.”

“I hope so, Jarl Ulfric,” Njada smiled as Galmar returned, ready to take her oath. “Anything you need, you just ask.”

Ulfric just smiled as he watched her swear loyalty to him. Things had just moved that bit back in his favour.

Notes:

I am so sorry about Cicero, he was not supposed to be in this one! Except the little fetcher's insinuated himself in anyway. Still, he's here and he's making himself useful, so may as well put up with him. I suspect I may need to up the rating, Cicero has a way of increasing the questionable content in any fic just by being there. Ah well. OTOH, look, he's here and on the side of the Aedra (sort of). :D

Sky Haven Temple next chapter, and the Blades will need their wits about them to get past the Forsworn... both with the initial fight and the aftermath.

Chapter 11

Summary:

The Blades take Sky Haven Temple, but have to get past a dragon and a Forsworn camp to do it. However, the Forsworn are not the barbarians they appear and word of a destroyed camp can't fail to get back to their leader... and he is not a man to be crossed.

Notes:

Readers of Nightshade and Juniper are likely to recognise a few people. ;)

Another great victory for the Forsworn, it appeared. A dragon had attacked their camp (again), they'd killed it (again) and now the thing was lying dead, its corpse draped over the Karth Double Bridge... for now.

“Well, we killed it, Ma,” Kaie ap Mireen said, smiling despite the nervousness she always felt when her fearsome mother, Mireen ap Cordach, Matriarch of Karthspire, was less than pleased. “It won't be bothering us again.”

A lie and the entire camp knew it, but Kaie had to stay optimistic. If the rest of them saw her or Mireen lose it, they'd all panic, and then they might as well end their lives on the spot.

“It's still warm,” Mireen growled, claws skittering over dragon scale. “I think its soul may still be... daughter, we did cast soul trap on the beast before killing it, did we not?”

“Yes,” Kaie said, fingering the shattered remains of the black soul gem in her pocket. “Only... well, this happened.” She held the fragments out to her mother, wincing in anticipation of the inevitable fury and she could see half the warriors nearby withdrawing to a safe distance.

Mireen hissed, lashing out at the soul gem fragments and sending them flying, heedless of Kaie's muffled cry of pain as her claws raked Kaie's hand in the process. Kaie bit her lip, shielding her hand as she poured Restoration magic into it. She loved her mother, yes, would follow her as Matriarch until the day she died... but her mother was a cruel woman and not just to outsiders.

“Damn it!” Mireen hissed. “That means its soul is still intact, which means when that other one comes back, as it will, we shall have to do this all over again!” She flicked fingers out at the camp, bits of it still smoking from the last attack. “Ask yourselves how often we can keep rebuilding. Ask yourselves where we're meant to get food from if we have to hide in the Karthspire all the time. Ask...”

“Mother,” Kaie whispered, shooting glances at the others, all looking worried. “Mother, stop, they'll hear you!”

“Ssss, let them,” Mireen growled. “They will do nothing. Still they wait for someone to save them, still we all wait for the orders, for the Sacrament to do something, for our beloved King to actually lead us instead of cowering in that mine like the coward he is.”

“He's not cowering!” Kaie snapped, feeling someone ought to stand up for her father at this point. “He didn't ask to be imprisoned!”

Mireen's eyes darkened, as if she knew something Kaie didn't. “And yet he remains,” Mireen murmured. “Mining their silver and murdering their enemies – he can give orders from there and yet he's never requested the death of any of Thonar's people, don't you think that odd, daughter? Only the odd crony here or there.”

“I'm sure he's got a plan, Ma,” said Kaie softly as the two of them made their way back to the camp, leaving the warriors of the Forsworn to poke at the dead dragon in the early morning haze. “He knows we're not ready to strike yet.”

“Nor will we be if he does not organise us properly,” Mireen murmured. “We have a King, and yet no King worth the having. He is of no use to me, to us, in that prison!”

“You've not heard from the Ap Sithisai then,” Kaie asked. In the absence of any real jailbreaking experience amongst the Forsworn, Mireen had had the idea of turning to the few outsiders the Forsworn trusted and tried invoking the Black Sacrament. Nothing. No Speaker come to treat with them, no contract to slaughter Thonar Silver-Blood and get the King in Rags out of Cidhna Mine. Their one real leader was as far away as he'd ever been... and yet information still got to him and orders still got out, which meant no one was brave enough to declare themselves king in his place for fear of his loyal agents. The violent ends of those who'd tried made that point very clear, and as his one remaining child, Kaie had personally dealt with more than a few upstarts herself. The only way anyone was taking over from Madanach was by getting into Cidhna Mine and challenging him personally... and that had never gone well. The Reach's most feared battlemage still had all his skills and all his ruthlessness.

“Nothing,” Mireen sighed. “We're one camp among many and our only real advantages are that we control the sacred Karthspire mountain, and I was his wife once. Sharreela would love a camp in the centre, Drascua has people surrounding us and would like that hole in the middle of her territories plugged, and Keirine hides in the North, being no help whatsoever. She never did like me.”

You married her twin, treated him and his daughters horribly, made his life a misery throughout, so much so that he actually prefers prison to having to deal with you, and you're surprised she doesn't like you? But Kaie was loyal and not a fool, and Kaie said nothing. It wasn't like her mother wasn't at least trying to hold the camp together, and maintaining the place independently both as a human woman for twelve years and then as a Hag herself for the last eight was no mean feat. Both her parents individually were formidable mages and talented leaders. It was just a pity that together they were as likely to tear each other apart as work as allies.

“Much as I hate to say it, we need your father,” Mireen sighed. “Keirine knows what's happening, I am near certain, but she hoards her knowledge. Drascua hoards her power, Sharreela hoards her Briar Hearts, and here we are caught in the middle. I was queen once and now look at me. We need our king, Kaie. He was the one they swore loyalty to, and Keirine will tell him what she will not tell me. The dragons go beyond infighting among us, even beyond the Nords. We need to be organised, unified, and we are not. We need Madanach, and I would go into that mine and haul him out by the hair personally if I could. As it is, I was hoping the Mor Gwadoreen might do it for me, but they have clearly got bigger concerns.”

“What about the Thieves' Guild in Riften?” Kaie asked. “They must have done jailbreaks before now?”

Mireen just laughed, mad Hag's cackle as she actually grinned at Kaie. “To do that, they will first have to survive Cidhna Mine and win your father's trust. That will take some doing. He despises thieves, and Nord thieves worst of all. I think not. No, inyeen, we have no choice. You'll have to go.”

Kaie's world ground to a halt as for one horrible moment she wondered if Mireen knew about Madanach's own secret jailbreak plan. The top secret scheme hatched between him, Kaie, Keirine of Hag's End and Nepos the Nose, in the works for the last six months and that had involved Kaie sneaking in and out of Markarth, running messages, setting up Druadach Redoubt as a secret base of operations for the entire Forsworn for when Cidhna stopped being theirs, leading the recent raid that had taken Kolskeggr gold mine over so they'd have a source of funds to replace the silver they'd been stealing from the Nords, sneaking in sufficient armour, weapons and supplies for six Forsworn prisoners at least, and spares for two extra in case anyone else ended up inside, and storing it all at Nepos's house, all ready for when her father finally decided the time was right to break free. All of it ready, all these carefully laid plans almost good to go, ready to spirit her father out from under the Nords' noses and off to Druadach Redoubt, and making sure her mother knew nothing, encouraging Mireen to focus on hiring the Dark Brotherhood when she already knew from her father's experiences that the Sacrament didn't work... and Mireen knew?

But Mireen was barely looking at her, and Kaie realised her mother knew nothing. Good, good, Kaie loved her mother, but she was never bringing her father back to her. If the two ever met in person again, it would be with Madanach returning with an army at his back, King to Matriarch, not husband to wife.

“What, to Markarth? You think he'll listen to me?” Kaie asked. Mireen nodded, actually patting her hand.

“Of course he will, he was always sentimental about you girls. Tell him everything about the dragons, tell him we need a united front against them. Tell him... oh, I don't know!” Mireen sighed. “Just tell him his people need help, and that if he could persuade Keirine to share her auguries, I'd appreciate it. She's supposed to be First Matriarch, she can fetching well act like it.”

Now that Kaie could do. Her father would certainly appreciate the warning that Mireen was after him, and Mireen did have a point – the dragons were ravaging their camps and Kaie wasn't sure how much longer they'd be able to hold out. They'd already had to send the mothers and children to refuge at Red Eagle Redoubt, and wasn't Drascua already holding that debt over them. They needed Madanach to sort the politics out before this descended into an even bigger mess.

Cold breeze and a shadow overhead – an even bigger shadow, the black dragon that heralded doom, hovering over its deceased comrade.

“Not again,” Mireen whispered, weariness finally showing. “Are they not even waiting until nightfall now?”

“Ma, do you want me to...?” Kaie said, reaching for her axe. Mireen shook her head, motioning for Kaie to go.

“No. Get to Markarth. Find your father, I know he's got agents in the guards sneaking you in. Tell him, get him to send help. And m'inyeen, if when you get back...”

“You'll hold out,” Kaie said fiercely. “You're Mireen ap Cordach, rightful leader of Karthspire, descendant of Faolan himself, you'll still be here when I get back.”

“I know,” Mireen said, half-smile on her face, and even a Hagraven could still love her last remaining child as claws nudged Kaie's arm and those black eyes turned a gentle look at Kaie. “But if we are not... go safely, my child. Old gods keep you.”

“And you. Don't stop dancing,” Kaie whispered, one last hug for a mother she didn't share affection with often, and then she was running, Forsworn shouts and screams echoing in her ears as a great Shout of “SLEN TIID VO!” echoed across the Karth river canyon and the dragon they'd just killed rose to life again. Kaie blinked back tears and kept running. She hoped her father would have answers, might answer the call and break out of jail at last, join up with Keirine who might just have invented some vast super-strong black soul gem that could trap even a dragon's soul, and then they might just stand a chance.

It was a very slim hope, but it was all Kaie had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After dealing with the dragon, things actually had gone rather smoothly. Despite the singing and the babbling, Cicero had behaved himself, mostly either chatting away to Elisif or cooing to himself as he skipped along, or occasionally chatting to Esbern about dragons.

“Cicero used to have a dragon, you know, a little toy one his mama made for him called Binkie. Cicero loved that dragon! He was lost in the war, when the elves came and invaded the city... Cicero still misses him. Oh, but that was then and this is now, and dragons are real! Except bigger than Cicero imagined. And not nearly as friendly.”

“No, Cicero, they are not,” Esbern replied, actually smiling as he humoured the little madman. “In fact, they're more dangerous even than the Thalmor, and I know you don't like the Thalmor.”

Cicero disliked the Thalmor intensely, having seen the Aldmeri Dominion's soldiers invade his city, destroy his childhood home and kill his adored mother, and when they'd run into a patrol on the road, Cicero had wasted little time launching an attack. Everyone else had been left with no choice but to join in, although in all honesty no one had exactly raised too many complaints. Cicero was now wearing a set of Thalmor armour and gloves, although it didn't fit him that well. It was better than the jester outfit though, although he'd refused to part with the hat.

Of the Forsworn, they'd seen nothing, which was something to be thankful for. They'd stopped for a rest at the Old Hroldan Inn, before deciding to push on, making the most of the light. Karthspire wasn't far now.

Elisif braced herself. This was likely to be a tough fight, even with a werewolf and a jester-assassin in the party. She was a little worried about it. And then the familiar roar of a dragon echoed across the valley, and as they approached the Karthspire itself, it was on them.

There followed pitched battle, with arrows and magic flying after it, and Elisif, with Cicero using her bow, was left with very little to do other than sprint over the river to dry land and hope it'd come into land nearby. Quite what her life had come to that she was actively hoping for a dragon to land nearby, she wasn't sure, but there it was.

The dragon finally crashlanded on the other bank, and Elisif tore after it, not looking to see if the rest of the Blades were following, just knowing she had to get to it while it was down, and it was probably best if Brynjolf, Aela and Esbern stayed back anyway. So she called down Elemental Fury and carved into it, not stopping, not daring to stop, not until it howled its last and died. Then, as always, the soul-taking, and Elisif felt another one sink inside, locking itself away until she found another Word Wall.

She looked around to see how her Blades were reacting. Nothing. Not a single one of them was there, and then she heard the unmistakeable sound of Cicero shrieking, “CICERO WILL SEND YOU TO THE VOID!!! HAIL SITHIS! LET'S KILL SOMEOOOONNNNE!” This was followed by a werewolf's howl, and then the combination of Destruction magic and screaming.

Ah. They'd clearly found the Forsworn camp then. Pausing only to swallow a healing potion, Elisif ran to join them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Forsworn had fought bravely, their magic cutting the very air, but it wasn't enough against a werewolf, and Delphine's magic resistance didn't hurt either. Esbern fired magic into them from a safe distance, Brynjolf assisting with archery support, but it was Cicero and Aela carrying the day, the wolf shredding all in its way to pieces, while Cicero howled threats and abuse, hardly needing to fight anyone personally. Hardened Forsworn fighters took one look at the bloodthirsty maniac threatening to bring death in the name of Sithis, and promptly ran. Very odd. Elisif had heard of Nord warriors being able to scream battle cries so terrifying their opponents fled in terror, but she'd never heard of an Imperial having that gift. Maybe Cicero had some Nord blood somewhere.

Finally Elisif had caught up, having picked off a few stragglers but mostly been able to avoid the fighting, and it seemed Cicero and Aela had the Hagraven of the camp cornered.

“Cicero shall end you, filthy Hag!” Cicero hissed, weapons out as he advanced, his ebony dagger in one hand and an Elven war axe taken off a dead Thalmor in the other.

“It was not supposed to be this way, Sithision,” the Hag hissed, not having failed to hear the shrieking. “Who hired you?? Was it the Silver-Bloods?”

“No,” Cicero growled, advancing. “Your people attacked first, so Cicero murders you all. That is all the soon to be dead Hag need concern herself with.”

“Give the call signs next time, Dark Brother, and we would have stayed our hands,” the Hag hissed. “As it is, you are not the equal of a Matriarch!”

She sent a fireball his way and Cicero shrieked and dodged. Aela however didn't even seem to care, shrugging off the ice spells that followed it as she pounced on the luckless Hag. The screams as she died echoed around the valley, and then silence. Aela staggered back, sitting on the grass, and then her beast form wore off and she was huddling up, naked.

Cicero looked up, shrieked again and looked away, blushing. Elisif wondered if there were clothes anywhere Aela could borrow, if any of the Forsworn had any armour that wasn't in pieces or bloodstained.

“You're a werewolf,” and that was Delphine, glaring down at her. “You could have said!”

“Never came up in conversation,” said Aela through gritted teeth. “Most people tend to object. But it's pretty much the only way to survive taking on these bastards, so I made use of it. Don't tell me you can't stand the sight of glory before you either.”

“Glory is not what I'd call it,” said Delphine, still scowling. “But it did the job, I suppose. Suppose I'd better find your clothes too, hmm?”

“No need, got 'em right here,” Brynjolf announced cheerfully, Aela's gear in his arms. “Gave me a bit of a shock, seeing you transform like that, but no matter. Better mind yourself in future though, changing back without your gear's a bit of a drawback, eh lass?”

Aela's eyes narrowed but fortunately Delphine wasn't too pleased either, taking the gear off him and leaving it with Aela before dragging him away.

“Just let her get changed in peace, you old letch,” she muttered. Brynjolf laughed, but let himself be led off. Elisif also left Aela to get dressed, instead seeking out Cicero.

“What did the Hag mean, give the right call-signs?” Elisif asked, frowning. “Do the Dark Brotherhood and the Forsworn have an agreement?”

Cicero shook his head, confused himself. “Cicero doesn't think so, pretty Elisif. No one in Cyrodiil ever mentioned the Forsworn, and Astrid certainly didn't. Cicero doesn't know any call-signs.”

“But they ran when you shouted at them,” Elisif said softly. “When you screamed Hail Sithis, and she called you Sithision. Who is Sithis?”

Cicero did look up then, eyes cold and dark. “Who is Sithis, the pretty dragon asks. A question best not answered, pretty one. The cold of the Void, the terror of midnight, a heart that once beated stopping its pulsing – Sithis is all those things.” He tilted his head, smiling strangely. “Sithis came first, before anything. Before All That Is came into being, it was All That Is Not. That the Hags worship it too does not surprise Cicero – many others do. But as for the Hags and the Brotherhood reaching an agreement – no, Cicero knows nothing of that. It never happened, or was a long time ago.”

The Dark Brotherhood had been around since the Second Era, and Elisif remembered that there'd been tales of the Reachmen being here since at least the First Era. Long histories for both, it could have happened. But the Hagraven was dead, and Elisif didn't think anyone in the Forsworn would want to talk about it. Probably best left alone then. The last thing Elisif needed was Astrid teaming up with the Forsworn to hunt her down. Best no one knew any of this. If the Forsworn worshipped the same dark deity the Brotherhood followed, that was something best forgotten by everyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunset over Karthspire, and Kaie could only stare in horror at the ruined camp, caved in tents, smoke rising from what could have been dragon fire or Destruction magic, Kaie didn't know. Bodies everywhere, blood everywhere, and up by the altar, Mireen's dead body, looking as if a beast had torn it to pieces.

Kaie put a hand to her mouth, choking back tears. Maybe Mireen hadn't been the nicest woman on the planet, but she'd still been Kaie's mother. Now she was gone.

“Who did this?” Kaie whispered, heedless of the tears on her cheeks. “Who?”

“Princess?” she heard a voice cry. “Princess, is that you?”

“It's me,” Kaie said listlessly. No point turning to see who it was, no enemy would call her Princess.

A small group of Forsworn warriors emerged, the survivors who'd fled the destruction returning to see what could be salvaged. One of them approached, a dark-haired man with facepaint who Kaie remembered was called Cuilann, dropping to his knees before her.

“Princess,” he whispered. “We're so sorry. They just came out of nowhere, they had power like you wouldn't believe!”

“They had a werewolf,” said another, a woman this time with ash-coloured hair and vivid green eyes, called Fionnuala if Kaie recalled correctly. “And a mage, and oh Princess, there was one with red hair and eyes like the Void, who wore a jester hat and fought like nothing we'd ever seen! He – he was a Mor Gwador, princess, he was invoking Sithis, said he'd send us to the Void.”

Kaie felt her knees shake and she sat down before she could fall down. The Dark Brotherhood, taking contracts against the Forsworn? That was bad. That was beyond bad. If the old gods had abandoned them, if Sithis had turned against them...

“Where are they?” Kaie asked. “Where did they go, do you know?”

Wordlessly, the surviving Forsworn pointed at the Karthspire itself.

“They went inside,” Cuilann said. “Killed everyone in there too. Then they went into the old Akaviri ruins. They're still there.”

“Are they,” said Kaie softly, drawing her axe. “Well then, it's about time we went and showed them who the true children of Sithis are, don't you?”

She cast her armour and would have turned, but Fionnuala grabbed her arm.

“There's more!” she cried. “They got inside the ruins, don't ask me how! They got the bridges down, unsealed the place, and we followed... but it's a dead end. Just a courtyard with a man's face on the wall and a blood seal on the floor. None of our blood would open it. And they're not there. It's like they just vanished.”

Kaie lowered her hands. They'd unsealed the Akaviri ruins. Got inside, made a base in there and sealed them up afterwards. Kaie and her sisters as children had tried to explore many times, but got no further than the fire trap, at which point Eithne had sustained a nasty burn to the arm and their parents had, united for once, unanimously banned any further trips into the old ruins. Now these alleged Dark Brotherhood assassins had got in there first go? Kaie had never heard of the Dark Brotherhood having any Akaviri links so how had they got inside?

“What else?” Kaie asked, mentally drafting the report she'd have to make. “Names, descriptions, anything you can give me.”

“The red-haired daedra in the jester hat was called Cicero,” Fionnuala whispered. “I don't know who the werewolf was but there was an old Nord wizard, short hair, grubby white tunic, and a red-haired Nord archer in black leather armour with lots of straps and pockets and a hood. Also an older blonde Breton, but not a Reachwoman, I don't think. Had leather armour and a curved sword, not seen its like before.”

“Then there was this young Nord girl with red hair, really pretty, younger than us even, we think,” Cuilann added. “And that's the oddest thing of all. She had this fiery sword and it was her who killed the dragon, just ran after it without even flinching after they shot it down. Carved it to bits all by herself. And then...” Wordless, he pointed at the dragon's body, just visible on the crest of the hill to the south. Kaie squinted and realised she wasn't looking at the corpse she'd seen this morning. She was looking at a skeleton.

“It burned as it died, and then the fire all went inside her,” Cuilann gasped. “Princess, we think she took its very soul!”

“I don't think that one's coming back,” Fionnuala added, seeming to perk up a bit at something at least going right. Kaie just stared at it, dazed. A super-strong soul gem that could capture a dragon's soul – and it existed, just not in gem form. A human woman, a Nord. Her father was going to absolutely love that.

“Princess, what do we do?” Cuilann was asking, sounding a little desperate. “Did you want us to go to Red Eagle Redoubt, get warriors to help us retake the camp?”

“No,” said Kaie, realising Karthspire camp was a lost cause, especially if these mysterious Mor Gwadoreen Akaviri had occupied the ruins and one could kill dragons permanently. “Get yourselves there and get help, salvage everything in this camp and get the bodies seen to. But don't try and re-occupy the place, just leave it be. If they come out, do not try and fight them, just run.”

“But Princess, they killed our Matriarch!” Fionnuala protested. “We have to do something!”

“Yes, and we will,” Kaie said, steeling herself. “But this is beyond us, bigger than us, and one camp can't deal with this. We need our King.”

“What's he going to do from in prison?” Cuilann asked, rolling his eyes. Kaie didn't even blink before she'd dealt him a sharp backhander.

“Then maybe we'll get him out of prison,” Kaie said coldly, ignoring Cuilann as he rubbed his face and whimpered. “Maybe we'll get our leader back and he'll lead the reclamation force personally. Then we can either treat with them or put them to fire and the sword. But that is the King's call to make, not yours. Get back to Red Eagle Redoubt and tell them Karthspire camp is no more and that it is off-limits until I get word from the King.”

“We will, Princess,” Fionnuala promised, helping Cuilann up. “And you? Are you going to Markarth now?”

“Yes,” said Kaie, getting unsteadily to her feet. “I'll be at Nepos's. The King will need a full report and I'm the only one who can get in to see him. Old gods keep you, when I have orders, I'll be back.”

Waved goodbyes, and Kaie was running back across the Reach's fields, to where she kept her secret stash of leather armour used for passing unremarked in the Nords' city. Time to brief her father. Madanach the King in Rags was needed like he'd never been.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sky Haven Temple proved to be everything Elisif had hoped for and then some. The place was huge! Carved right into the centre of the Karthspire, a great hall in the middle with a banqueting table and Alduin's Wall itself on the right-hand side, then all the rooms and corridors leading off it, including a library, an armoury, a communal kitchen, bedrooms, then the courtyard at the back, overgrown but with some impressive views of the Reach. It was a little run-down but Delphine seemed to think it was salvageable and was already having conversations with Brynjolf over how to get the place outfitted.

Esbern hadn't stopped enthusing over the architecture since he'd got there, and had had an avid listener in Cicero who'd skipped after him, cooing over it all, and whether Cicero actually understood all Esbern's commentary on the mix of ancient Nord and Akaviri building styles was debatable, but his enthusiasm was undeniable. Elisif sat at the table, watching and listening and smiling as Esbern pointed key features on the wall out to Cicero.

“You see, Cicero, it's all here, all the elements of the prophecy of the Dragonborn. Look, here is the Numidium, the Brass Tower of legend, and here is an Oblivion Gate, representing the Oblivion Crisis, and here, this is the last part, the Last Dragonborn contending with Alduin at the end of time with Blades in support – look, you can see their distinctive Akaviri longswords.”

Cicero had tilted his head, almost bent in two as he contorted himself to peer at the Dragonborn on the wall more closely.

“It doesn't look like Elisif,” he said, scratching his head. “It looks like a man if Cicero is honest.”

“Well, they didn't know who the last Dragonborn would be,” Esbern explained patiently. “So they carved a generic figure to represent the Dragonborn.”

“Prejudice and discrimination!” Aela announced as she arrived from the armoury. “Men aren't generic either.”

Esbern opened his mouth to argue the point, then noticed Delphine come in to see how far he'd got with the Wall, and decided that three armed warrior women were not the audience to argue this with.

“Yes, very true, Aela, but this was back in the First Era and standards were different back then, in fact it could be anyone under all that armour.”

“So it could,” Delphine replied, taking a seat and putting her feet up on the table. “Got anywhere with finding out how they defeated Alduin yet?”

“Ah yes, well, the first defeat of Alduin is the centrepiece of the whole panel,” Esbern explained, indicating the huge dragon in the middle. “Look, this is Alduin falling from the sky, and here are the Tongues arrayed against him.”

“I know that, Esbern,” Delphine sighed, closing her eyes and leaning wearily back in her chair. “What we need to know is how.”

“Well, I've been thinking about that,” Esbern said, indicating the three Tongues and the swirls emanating from their mouths. “This looks like the Akaviri symbol for a Shout, yes, see how it's coming from their mouths in unison. It seems there was a Shout used to defeat Alduin. Unfortunately there's no way to determine what Shout was used.”

Delphine took her feet off the table, folding her arms and resting her head on them, slowly shaking her head and cursing.

“Well, a Shout makes sense,” said Aela thoughtfully. “You're a Dragonborn, stands to reason if you're meant to fight Alduin it'd be the Thu'um you'd use to defeat him. So where do you learn your Shouts from?”

“Word Walls,” said Elisif, staring at Alduin's Wall as if the Thu'um would leap out of it at her. Alas, no such luck. “But that isn't one. Otherwise, the only other place I've learnt Shouts from is the Greybeards.”

“Knew it!” Delphine sighed, finally sitting up. “Damn it all. I suppose that means we'll have to ask them for help. Good thing they've already let you into their little cult.”

“It is not a – look, just what have you got against the Greybeards anyway?” Elisif snapped, having had just about enough of Delphine's attitude. “They're the sacred holders of our traditions! Dedicated to peace and learning! They've done nothing wrong!”

“No, because they've done nothing!” Delphine shot back. “All they do is sit up on that mountain, hoarding the sacred knowledge of your people for themselves. Think about it, have they tried to stop Alduin, or do anything about the war? No. They've left all that up to you.”

“I am Dragonborn and Queen, I know my duty when I see it,” Elisif said firmly. “And it's probably a good thing not all Nords know the Thu'um. Power in the wrong hands is dangerous!”

“Power's no good to anyone if no one ever uses it!” Delphine cried. “The Greybeards are afraid of it, and they're afraid of you, of your power. So they drip-feed you with knowledge, make you work for it, just a few Shouts here and there, simple ones, weak ones, throwing people to the ground, running fast, limiting your knowledge because they're afraid of what you might do with it.”

“So they should be!” Elisif shouted, getting to her feet. “Unrelenting Force might be weak but it still felled a king! Are you surprised they keep the knowledge secret? If you're not afraid of this power, you've not understood it.”

The room had gone quiet in the wake of her outburst, Esbern and Aela both looking away uncomfortably, Cicero hopping over and wringing his hands nervously,

“You don't need to be afraid, Elisif,” Delphine said softly, and she met Elisif's eyes without flinching. “It's not a curse. It's a gift.”

From a god with a sense of humour, clearly. Why not give a grieving widow the same power that killed her husband? Clearly nothing could go wrong there, oh no, not at all.

“Some gift,” Elisif whispered. Delphine at least had the grace to look a bit sympathetic.

“If not you, somebody else would have it. Someone has to stop Alduin, why not you? At least you won't misuse it. Just don't go too far the other way either, that's all I ask. We need you, Dragonborn and we need you strong.”

Elisif nodded, too tired to argue the point. And Delphine was right, the dragons had to be stopped, she knew that... she just wished the ones meant to help her would stop arguing.

“Hey, Delphine, take a look at this armoury!” Brynjolf emerged from it, two swords like Delphine's in his hands and wearing a set of steel armour that Elisif had never seen anything like before. “This stuff is worth a fortune!” He struck a few poses, dual-wielding the swords with the skill of a born warrior, although he wasn't moving as gracefully as he usually did, clearly not used to the heavy steel.

“You are not selling our stock of Blades armour!” Delphine shouted, getting out of her chair.

“Why not, we could make a bit of gold off this,” Brynjolf said, sheathing his katanas. “Come on, Del, you want this place outfitted? That's not going to come cheap.”

“You're a thief, steal something!” Delphine cried, exasperated. “NOT off me!”

“Ah yes, the way to a woman's heart, stealing and fencing her things,” Aela said calmly, smirking at Brynjolf. “Good one, Brynjolf.”

Brynjolf, faced with that logic, did relent on that point, and Delphine decided to go investigate this armoury. Elisif followed after, more than curious herself. That armour did look shiny.

“Loads of it, look at it, and it's good as new!” Delphine breathed. Aela was peering over her shoulder, impressed, and Cicero had crept in too, cooing at it.

“Not bad,” Aela noted. “Although a little heavy for my tastes. I'll have a sword and shield though.”

Cicero likewise tried a set of it, attempting to sword-fight in it but definitely lacking his usual finesse.

“Cicero cannot move in this,” Cicero scowled. “How is Cicero supposed to sneak up on people dressed like this, they will hear him coming a mile off!”

“You can't sneak up on a dragon,” Delphine sighed. “But if you insist, get it off and take a sword instead. What about you, Elisif, want a set?”

Elisif stroked the cuirass of a Blades armour set, thinking it over. On the one hand, she wasn't really used to heavy armour herself... but on the other she wasn't the sneaky type either and it would keep her safe from dragons.

“If there's some that would fit me,” she said hopefully. Delphine smiled and led her further in, and eventually they found a set that was a perfect fit. Delphine and Aela helped her into it, and there was a mirror nearby. Elisif stared at herself, the Akaviri steel plating fitting her like a glove. It was heavier than she was used to, but not nearly as hard to move in as Cicero had made out. She could get to like it, and it looked fabulous.

“I really like it,” Elisif whispered.

“Then consider it yours,” Delphine told her. “Oh, that reminds me. Something else I meant to give you!”

She disappeared into the shadows and returned with an Akaviri katana. Different to the others, brighter, shinier... and when Delphine unsheathed it, the lightning dancing on the blade proved why.

“Dragonbane,” Delphine said quietly. “Legendary lost Akaviri dragonslaying blade, allegedly forged for Reman Cyrodiil. You should have it. Wield it with that Dawnbreaker one, you'll be unstoppable.”

Elisif took the blade, gasping as the lightning danced in the half-light. She gave it an experimental swing and couldn't help but squeal at the light.

“I can keep this?” she gasped, amazed. Delphine nodded, grinning.

“Of course you can. You're the gifted dragonslayer after all. Only fair you should have the dragon blade. Give Alduin a few hits from me when you finally corner the bastard, won't you?”

Elisif sheathed it, promising she would do that very thing. All right, perhaps Delphine wasn't so bad after all. Not that Elisif would admit she was starting to like the woman, of course not. But new armour and a new sword went a long way towards it.

Notes:

Setup for the next segment, this one, but the next segment's good. Next chapter has Elisif visiting Markarth and being appalled by the corruption and violence in a city that should be supporting her, and Cicero makes a new friend...

Translation of the Forsworn language for those not familiar with Nightshade and Juniper:

Ap - child of
Ap Sithisai - children of Sithis
Sithision - son of Sithis
Inyeen - daughter
M'inyeen - my daughter
Mor Gwadoreen - Dark Brotherhood

Chapter 12

Summary:

A simple day trip to Markarth turns into the stuff of nightmares as Elisif witnesses its corruption firsthand, the Dark Brotherhood are in the city and Cicero finds a friend who... understands him.

Notes:

I am so sorry about this one. Basically, the entire second half of this chapter is probably going to squick half the readership. To sum up, Cicero ends up doing the Taste of Death, because he's a disturbed and depraved individual willing to do virtually anything an attractive woman tells him to. So, if this is likely to offend you, and frankly I quite understand, skip the second half, starting from when Cicero sneaks into the Hall of the Dead. All you need to know is Cicero does the Namira quest and being the good, obedient boy he is, gets the Ring of Namira and Eola as his new lady friend and Blades recruit.

Three days later, and Elisif was starting to go stir-crazy. Yes, there'd been the excitement on the first morning when the second dragon had attacked the courtyard, but the six of them had made short work of it. But that was two days ago now, and Elisif was bored.

Brynjolf had left for Riften on day two to see about running a few jobs, get some coin pulled together to fit the place out properly. Delphine and Aela had gone to see if the remains of Karthspire camp had anything worth having, but it appeared the Forsworn had returned in the night to clear the place up, because the entire place had been uprooted and cleared. Even the bodies had been claimed. Aela had sworn she'd seen a few in the undergrowth, but they'd fled at the sight of them.

“We've got them on the run, Delphine,” Aela had said, sounding rather proud of herself. Delphine hadn't been so sure.

“Those are just scouting parties, I think,” Delphine said, brooding. “They know we're here, they know what we did to that camp. They're a lot more unified than people think, I think they're just biding their time until they know more. We'll have to be careful.”

Elisif wished there was some way of negotiating with them. She didn't want to hurt them, she might even be able to agree to them having their land back, or at least having a Reachman Jarl. But Igmund's family had been in charge of the Reach for years. She had to be fair to him as well.

Well, all this was academic anyway. Not like she'd ever end up having to negotiate with whoever led the Forsworn. Did they even have a leader? Delphine seemed to think so, but who knew.

Aela had left on day three to go back to Jorrvaskr, see how Kodlak was doing and see how the city in general was managing. And if rumours of Dark Brotherhood activity could be gleaned too, Elisif was fine with that. Brynjolf had already promised to talk to his own sources in the Guild, but Elisif wasn't sure how far she could trust the thief. Sure, he was friendly and charming and seemed genuinely fond of her, but the fact remained he was still Thieves Guild and who knew how intertwined they really were with the Dark Brotherhood.

So it was just the four of them, Esbern exploring the library, Delphine exploring the rest of the Temple and clearing out various rooms, unearthing bits and pieces that could be useful. She'd already got one of the bathrooms – an indoor bathroom! That pumped running water from the Karth! - up and running, and the kitchen was good to go too. Cicero had been surprisingly helpful, scampering after Delphine and helping with the heavy lifting and fetching and carrying and chopping firewood and going hunting, returning with lots of fresh meat, pelts and some almost certainly stolen potatoes. She just hoped he'd not stabbed anyone in the process. Easy to forget the man murdered for money and indeed his own enjoyment sometimes. But most of the time, he was perfectly sweet and friendly, cooing and fussing over his pretty Dragonborn and lovely Grand Mistress.

“It's Grand Master,” Delphine sighed. “Acting Grand Master. The Akaviri language used the same word for both male and female leaders, so we do the same.”

Cicero just giggled, biting his thumb and looking coyly at her.

“Cicero thinks Grand Mistress suits pretty Delphine,” he purred. Delphine just put her head in her hands, exasperated.

“Still not interested, Cicero,” Delphine sighed. “Go and bother someone else. Does Esbern need anything?”

“Esbern is more interested in books than people,” Cicero muttered. Then he shrugged and got up. “But he is still nicer than any of Astrid's people were.” Whistling to himself, he skipped off, presumably to bother Esbern.

Elisif took advantage of the quiet and went to sit next to Delphine.

“Delphine,” she said quietly. “Delphine, what are we doing next? I mean, we got this far, and believe me, I'm very thankful for the help... but I can't stay here forever and there's only six of us, four of us with Aela and Brynjolf gone. What next?”

“You're meant to be off to see the Greybeards, but I don't really want you going alone, and while I like Cicero, I don't entirely trust him,” Delphine sighed. “Damn it, if we just had more people... but as it is, you'll have to wait for Bryn or Aela to get back and take you up there.”

Frustrating indeed, especially with dragons out there ravaging Skyrim. But if all that was needed were more people...

“Delphine,” Elisif began. “What if I recruited some more people?”

Delphine lowered her quill and notebook and looked Elisif over, surprised.

“You'd do that?” she said, surprised. “Well, I suppose you did sort of get us Cicero, and I know Aela's involved mostly to keep an eye on you. All right, if you find anyone suitable and trustworthy and not a Thalmor agent, I guess I can take a look at them. Did you have anyone in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Elisif, grinning. “His name's Erandur and he's a Dunmer and priest of Mara. He lives a solitary life in Dawnstar but he's still quite capable. I helped him save Dawnstar from the Daedra Vaermina, and he helped me save Haafingar from no less than two necromancer covens. He's not got much of a life to leave behind in Dawnstar, I think he'd love to come here and help.”

“You think so, do you?” Delphine said, thinking this over. At length, she nodded. “All right. If you vouch for him, he can join us. Get to Markarth today, hire a courier and write to him, tell him to come to the Old Hroldan Inn. Take Cicero with you – I'm not sure I'd want to inflict him on the Greybeards, but you should be all right just taking him into the city. Frankly, getting him out from under my feet for a few hours is doing me a huge service.”

Entirely understandable – too much Cicero would give anyone a headache after a while. Elisif had never met anyone quite so desperate for company. Then there'd been the time she'd got up in the middle of the night to find him wandering the corridors, looking scared and pitiful and wanting to know if she knew where his mother was. She'd not really known what to do other than take him outside to sit under the stars for a bit and cuddle him, whispering she was sure his mother was out there somewhere and thinking of him too. He snuggled her back, and then whispered that if Astrid had hurt Mother, he would carve her to pieces. Elisif really hadn't known what to say to that, other than pat him on the back and tell him maybe he'd be able to go home one day. He'd just smiled that sad little smile of his and thanked her for her kindness. They'd stayed out there for some time before he'd finally got cold and walked her back to her bedroom. She still wasn't sure if he'd actually slept at all that night, but he'd seemed perky enough the next day.

Even so, she was sure being cooped up in Sky Haven Temple wasn't good for him. Getting him some fresh air and some new scenery would be just the thing, she was sure. Prophetic really, because a few moments later, in he walked, brandishing her ebony bow.

“This will not do!” he snapped. “This will not do at all.”

Delphine rubbed her forehead, clearly having a headache coming on.

“What won't do?” she sighed.

“This!” Cicero snapped, thrusting the bow at Elisif. “Sweet Elisif, pretty Elisif, Cicero knows you meant well and he thanks you for the loan, but it simply won't do. This bow is ALL WRONG!”

Elisif took it back off him, inspecting it. It didn't look any different to when she'd given it to him, and he'd used it well enough before.

“What's wrong with it?” Elisif asked. Cicero sank down into the chair next to her, arms folded as he glared sternly at her.

“It is the wrong size!” he hissed. Elisif scratched her head. She'd always thought bows were fairly interchangeable, but she supposed Cicero knew more than she did about archery. Delphine had just gone back to her work, smiling to herself.

“I didn't know bows came in sizes...” she began, but Cicero was nodding vigorously.

“Oh yes, yes indeed!” he breathed. “They must be precisely calibrated to the wielder's height and arm length. Otherwise it works... but not well. Cicero's poor arm is very sore from all the shooting at dragons and Forsworn.” He looked up at her, those dark eyes staring pitifully at her as he pouted.

“I... you poor thing,” Elisif said, glancing at Delphine, who was biting her lip and looking like she was trying not to laugh, which really wasn't that nice of her. “I was going to Markarth today anyway, did you want to come? I can get you a new bow while we're there.”

Cicero looked, inhaled and then squealed, clutching his hands together and beaming at her.

“Cicero would love to!” he gasped. “Cicero thought you would never ask! Let humble Cicero get his things and we shall be on our way. Cicero and the Dragonborn, on the hunt!” Cicero skipped off, singing happily to himself, presumably to find his weapons and armour. Delphine lowered her quill and grinned at Elisif.

“There you go, you were wondering what to do next. Now you've got a plan.”

She had indeed, although Delphine could look a little less cheerful.

“The poor man, I had no idea the bow was hurting him!” Elisif whispered. “And you! Laughing at him! He was in pain!”

Delphine chuckled, shaking her head. “I – yes, I'm awful, laughing at poor Cicero like that. Poor man. Well, he's yours for the day, so you look after him, you hear? Don't let him wander off or get into trouble. I wouldn't want him arrested, especially not here. Markarth's prison's a dangerous one.”

What was so dangerous about it, Elisif didn't like to ask, although Torygg had mentioned it once or twice too, always refusing to tell her the details on the grounds no decent woman should have to hear about the cutthroats and murderers that inhabited the place. Cicero might be an assassin, but he was also needy and vulnerable and definitely didn't need locking up in what was essentially a high security hole in the ground.

No, this would be a flying visit, just to find a courier, write to Erandur, find Cicero a new bow then back home. Nothing could be easier.

~~~~~~~~~~

Markarth loomed up in the noonday sun, Dwemer stonework gleaming in the sunlight and making Elisif's eyes hurt. Cicero trotted behind, staring at it in awe. It turned out he'd not seen anything like it since leaving Cyrodiil.

“Look at it, Maia, look!” he gasped. “Stone, stone, solid stone, like in the Imperial City! And yet... not.”

Elisif had never been to the Imperial City, in fact she'd not even been to Cyrodiil. Suppressing a pang of envy, she patted his arm.

“It was built by the Dwarves, long ago,” she told him. “Then it got settled by the Reachmen, and then it became a Nord city when the Reach became part of Skyrim.”

“When Tiber Septim won the Battle of Old Hroldan and defeated the Forsworn,” Cicero grinned, having read a few books on the Reach that Esbern had found for him in the library. “Yes, yes, Cicero has read of it. So much blood!” He cackled to himself, rubbing his hands. Elisif shivered a little, wishing he didn't have to be quite so gleeful over the idea.

“Well, Markarth is quite safe these days,” she told him. “The Forsworn only attack in the hills and wilderness. You don't have to worry.”

“Oh, Cicero wasn't worried,” Cicero purred, fingering the hilt of his ebony dagger, and Elisif could only sigh as she recalled yet again that death and violence didn't put Cicero off. Quite the reverse. She just hoped he'd behave himself in Markarth.

“Welcome to Markarth, traveller,” the guard on the gate said as they passed by, Elisif back in her scaled armour with Dragonbane and Dawnbreaker at her side, and Cicero in his elven gear, the hat hidden away but she was sure he had it on him. “Safest city in the Reach.”

Only city in the Reach, unless the definition of city had changed recently. Elisif was sure she'd have remembered the paperwork if it had. Still, she nodded at the guard and entered.

The gates opened onto the market, Dwemer buildings looming over them, the inn on the left, houses built into the cliff on the right and the Markarth Brook flowing down the central street. It looked beautiful, although Elisif could hear smelters and forges from the other side of the central crag and was sure the industrial centre of Markarth was less appealing. Still, this side of the city looked nice.

Elisif was looking around to see if there was a forge anywhere when it happened.

“Glory to the Forsworn! The Reach will be ours again!”

Forsworn?? Here? Elisif drew Dawnbreaker, staring around wildly and then she saw him, near the jewellery stall, a Reachman with a knife. Before she could do anything, he'd grabbed the Nord woman who'd been browsing and slit her throat.

Elisif stared as the woman slumped lifelessly to the floor and the guards struck, butchering the killer in seconds.

“I die... for my country...” he gasped as he died, and then he lay still, blood pooling out everywhere. Kynareth save her. What sort of city was this??

Behind her, Cicero cackled and capered, delighted.

“Hee! HEEEEE!!!! Cicero likes this place already! Cicero should have come here years ago!”

Elisif sheathed her sword, feeling her knees go weak and her stomach turn as she remembered Ulfric sinking a sword into her husband, blood everywhere and now another innocent had just died in front of her. Shaking, Elisif sat down by the wall, trying not to cry. She should never have come here, never.

“Maia? Maia? Pretty Maia?” Cicero was kneeling by her side, looking worried. “Are you all right?”

“No!” Elisif gasped. “I just saw a woman murdered, of course I'm not all right!”

Cicero paused and then began stroking her hair.

“Of course, of course you are not, Maia is not used to death and blood. Maia is sweet! Innocent! Maia is a dragonslaying hero, Maia does not trouble herself with such things as removal of her enemies, no. That is what loyal Cicero is for, is it not? Do not worry, sweet Maia, Cicero will look after you.”

Elisif really didn't know how he could change from murderous to sweet in seconds, but she was rather glad of it. Then a shadow fell over them both and Elisif looked up, hand going to her sword.

“Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

It turned out to be a young Reachman, face painted in the traditional style, but not dressed like a Forsworn, or armed as far as Elisif could see. He just looked like a young man out for a walk.

“It's fine,” Elisif said, letting Cicero help her up. “I just had to sit down for a bit after...” She indicated where the guards had brought stretchers and were hauling bodies away. The young Reachman shivered, looking sympathetic.

“I know, I saw it too. To have such a thing happen here in the city... how much did you see?”

“Saw the whole thing,” Elisif whispered. “I just couldn't do anything about it. My first time in Markarth and this happens!”

“That must have been a horrible shock,” the young man said. “I hope the Eight give you more peace in the future. Oh! I think you dropped this. Some sort of note, fell out of your pocket.”

Elisif's hand went to the sealed letter to Erandur in her pocket but it was still there, quite safe. She frowned at the young man.

“I didn't drop anything – is this your note?”

He shook his head, utterly guileless. “No, that's your note. You dropped it when you sat down.” He pushed it into her hand and turned to leave, and now Elisif was sure something was up.

“Do you know something about all this?” Elisif demanded. She was almost positive he did, and if someone was behind the attack, if it wasn't a one-off, she was honour-bound to do something about it.

“Me? No,” the young man laughed, shaking his head. “I just stepped out for some air. Had one too many pints of mead at the Silver-Blood inn.”

Drinking in the middle of the day? But Elisif hadn't smelled mead on his breath. She watched suspiciously as he left and then opened the note.

Meet me at the Shrine to Talos.

Well hadn't this little mess just got complicated. She showed the note to Cicero to see what he made of it.

“What do you think he wants?” she murmured. Cicero pursed his lips, frowning.

“Cicero doesn't know but he is up to something. He is not Brotherhood, no, but Cicero doesn't trust him. He lies, Maia. He knows too much.” Cicero's frown faded and then he was all smiles again. “But Maia doesn't need to worry about this. Maia has business in this city and once that is done, Maia and Cicero go home, yes? Yes! Let Markarth deal with its own problems.”

“Markarth's problems are my problems, I can't just walk away from this, Cicero! I'm queen!” Elisif protested. Cicero's smile faded as his eyes darkened and he glared at her. Elisif felt her bravado fade as she remembered that for all the prancing and posturing, Cicero was underneath it all a very dangerous man.

“Now see here,” he murmured, voice dropping to a growling low pitch. “Sweet Delphine was very insistent that you are important. She was most keen that you return safe and unharmed. Cicero thinks that if Elisif starts poking under stones, things might start crawling out from under them... and that would be bad. Very bad indeed. Also if Elisif were harmed, Astrid would take the credit and Cicero will not have that. Let the filthy pretender work for her coin!”

Fair point, it wasn't like Elisif didn't have other things to do. All the same, she could sense the secrets, the corruption just under the surface of this city. When she was queen, she promised, she'd come back here and talk to Igmund and see just what sort of city he was running here. But for now, she had a courier to hire and a bow to buy for Cicero.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Courier hired, letter sent, Erandur likely to be on the way within a few days, and now Elisif was haggling over the price of an Elven bow with Ghorza, the Orc who ran the forge. It was very shiny and Cicero had taken one look and starting cooing over it. So Elisif had given in to the inevitable and asked after it. Good thing she'd been able to top up her coin purse to a full thousand septims before leaving Solitude really.

“Do you need his measurements?” Elisif asked, reaching for her purse. Ghorza stopped, looked up and stared at her as if she was insane.

“I'm selling him weapons, not armour,” Ghorza growled. “Why would I need to measure him?”

“To make sure it's in his size...” Elisif stopped, seeing the incredulous stare the Orc was giving her, and slowly turned to look at Cicero, who was giggling nervously, looking rather flushed.

“Your arm wasn't sore at all, was it?” she snapped, glaring at him. “Did you just want a new bow? You could have just asked!”

Cicero giggled, swaying from side to side as he looked coyly up at her. “Oh but sweetling, you might have said no! Or left poor Cicero behind! And Cicero cannot keep using yours, can he?” He turned to Ghorza, producing his own coin purse. “Four hundred and forty septims for the bow, yes? Here!”

Ghorza took the coin, probably just wanting to get him out of her shop and gave him the bow. Elisif could only shake her head as she followed him out.

“I really don't get you sometimes,” she sighed. Cicero was still giggling. “Do you have any money left?”

“Well, no,” Cicero admitted. “Not a lot. But some! More will come. It always does. Oh but sweet Maia, pretty Maia, it was a funny joke, was it not? You believed me! Believed foolish Cicero's funny joke!”

Which Delphine hadn't seen fit to enlighten her about either, although it was possible the Breton had seized at any excuse to get Cicero out of her hair. Elisif had her hands on her hips, glaring at the little jester, who just laughed all the harder. At least he did... until he glanced over her shoulder, the smile fading, blood draining from his face and then he promptly dived into the Markarth Brook, hiding under Ghorza's forge, out of sight, finger pressed to his lips.

Elisif would have asked why until she saw the figure walking down the steps from the Hag's Cure alchemy shop at the top of the city. A woman in hooded red and black robes with a handprint on the front, and as she approached, Elisif could see the grey skin of a Dunmer. Cicero had gone pale, hiding in the shadows and while he didn't look scared exactly, he looked nervous. Elisif could only think of one reason for Cicero to look nervous. Red and black, like the armour on that Argonian who tried to kill her, and Elisif didn't know if it was a good thing or not that she knew his name now, Veezara he'd been called.

This woman was clearly one of his siblings in darkness. Elisif drew out of the way, staying close to the wall and watching out of the corner of her eyes as the woman headed for Understone Keep, barely sparing her a second glance. It wasn't until she'd gone that Cicero finally clambered out of the stream, shaking the water off himself.

“Who was she?” Elisif whispered, needing confirmation of the worst.

“Gabriella,” Cicero murmured, the syllables rolling over his tongue like poison. “Obsessed with death, claims to venerate Mother but she's Astrid's really. Never stepped in to defend poor Cicero from the others' teasing, no!” He turned to Elisif, looking unusually grim. “Maia must go. Now. Leave the city, go back to the Temple. Cicero shall deal with this.”

Elisif nodded, looking nervously at the rest of the city, wondering if there were any others out there. Cicero seemed to guess what she was thinking.

“Do not worry, pretty one. Astrid has few enough people left to her and she could not have known you would be here. She is likely here alone on other business. You will be safe once Cicero has dealt with her. But go you must! Quickly now! Cicero shall see you back at our Sanctuary.”

Without further words, Cicero was gone, slinking off after the Dunmer and Elisif could guess what he was planning. The thought made her a bit sick, but on the other hand, her safety lay in secrecy and Gabriella was an assassin after all. Even so, the thought of Cicero killing her in cold blood unsettled her. This city had seen enough death.

Elisif recalled the note the young Reachman had given her earlier. To meet at the Shrine of Talos. It had to be about that young woman's death, must be.

She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. With the Dark Brotherhood around, she should be heeding Cicero's words and fleeing the city. But Cicero had said she was likely a lone assassin too. Which meant maybe Elisif might be all right. Markarth needed help, that was clear, and what sort of queen would she be if she let fear get in the way? She could at least see what this Reachman wanted. Slipping away, Elisif went off in search of the Shrine to Talos. She had a murder to investigate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriella had made her way into the Keep, apparently unaware of Cicero tailing her. Good. Cicero hadn't got where he had in life by being bad at his job – quite the reverse. Clinging to the shadows, he watched as Gabriella stood in the corridor, watching a priest of Arkay arguing with a Nord warrior about the Hall of the Dead being shut. As the Nord stormed off, Gabriella approached the priest.

“Excuse me, brother, did I hear correctly? The Hall of the Dead is shut? Whatever for?”

“Does it matter?” the priest snapped. “It's closed, you can't go in there, that's the end of it.”

“What?” Gabriella cried. “But I always visit Arkay's shrines when I'm in a big city. I'm a devout follower of the god of death, I was hoping for his blessings! Can't you at least tell me why? Or is it coin you're after?”

“It's not... all right, I'll tell you. But you have to keep it to yourself.” The priest whispered to Gabriella who looked suitably impressed – if a little appalled.

“That's awful,” the Dunmer said, sounding sympathetic. “Would you like me to help? It sounds like it just might be my area of expertise. I'm very skilled at... pest control.”

“Well, I was going to ask the Jarl to hire someone... all right, here's the key. See what you can do. Any help you can offer would be wonderful.”

Gabriella promised she would and made her way off to the Hall of the Dead. Wanting to meditate over dead bodies, that was Gabriella all over. Cicero smiled, drawing his dagger and pulling his hat on, his lucky hat that helped him sneak better. What better place to kill someone than a mausoleum? Made hiding a body so much easier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Not many would walk into a crypt blindly, smelling of steel and blood... but not fear.”

Gabriella started up at the voice, seeming to echo off the walls and inside Cicero's head too as he crept in after her.

Mother? Is that your voice I hear?? No, no, surely not, Mother wasn't here, Mother was in Falkreath, all alone, far away... This was someone else. Someone different. Someone... wrong. But not in a bad way. Cicero shivered. That voice was the very soul of evil and he could feel it enticing him on. Was she talking to Gabriella or him though?

“I don't know who you are,” Gabriella said imperiously, casting her mage armour. “But you have no business here. Show yourself, shadow warrior. Let us at least talk like reasonable adults.”

Laughter, soft sibilant chuckling echoing around the stone tombs. “I wasn't talking to you, Dark Elf. But since you asked... I know your robes, Dark Sister. Are you here to kill me or recruit me?”

“Verulus wants this place cleansed. He didn't specify how,” Gabriella said, looking around in vain. “But we could do with the recruits. Even if you are a... corpse-eater.” A little shudder from the Dunmer, and Cicero's eyes shot up. The mysterious woman had been living here, eating corpses?? How revolting. Disgusting. Vile. Filthy. Enticing. Cicero shivered, shaking his head, repressing memories of killing previous victims, seeing the blood flow and resisting the urge to taste it. Sometimes he'd not resisted. Wrong, wrong, he knew... but so hard, so hard to resist. Seemed this woman had gone one step further. Then Cicero saw Gabriella looking up, frowning.

“Wait, who else is here?” she asked, reaching for her dagger. No response from the woman other than more soft laughter. Cicero reached for his own knife, guessing he didn't have much time. He also guessed the mysterious woman wouldn't object too hard to witnessing a good stabbing.

Cicero pounced. Gabriella had just enough time to see him and cry “You? How?” before Cicero slit her throat and let her fall lifeless to the floor, blood pooling out and yes this felt good, felt so good, blood everywhere, just how he liked it. Cicero dropped to his knees beside her body, helping himself to her coin purse, all five hundred septims of it, replenishing his own. He knew he'd find money eventually. He always did.

“Now that's more like it,” the hidden woman breathed, sounding delighted and Cicero hissed quietly. Whoever this little harlot was, she had no right whatsoever sounding so seductive and aroused and doing strange things to Cicero's head like she was.

“Who are you,” he growled. “Show yourself!”

Movement and then she was there, a young Breton with short dark blonde hair, one eye blind and sightless but still pretty for all that. She was dressed in studded armour, sword at her side, and Cicero had a feeling she probably knew magic too. She was smiling at him, and Cicero didn't know if he liked that or not. That was the smile of a born predator and Cicero wasn't sure he liked being prey. He guessed it all depended what sort of hunt she had in mind.

“Hungry?” she purred, nodding at Gabriella's corpse. “Don't let me stop you. I will not shun you for what you are. It's all right. You've found a friend who... understands you.”

Cicero just bet she did.

“Do you,” he said, tilting his head and starting to smile craftily back at her. “Do you truly know what I am?”

She just smiled, coming to kneel on the other side of Gabriella's body. “You're a true-born child of darkness,” she whispered. “Oh, so was she, she reeked of death too. But she was a mystic, meditating on death without really understanding what it means. Of someone, a friend, a sibling maybe, living and breathing and warm... and then not. Hacked to pieces in front of you? Or maybe you just found the body. Cold and lifeless and you were there for hours, perhaps days, until they found you and she wouldn't move or react and you were alone and so hungry...”

“I didn't eat Mama!” Cicero wailed, flashing back to the Imperial City, barely thirteen, picking his way across a neighbourhood in ruins, the battle over but the Thalmor still ravaging the place anyway, hunting for his mother and when he finally found her... He couldn't remember. Couldn't remember any of it, only the numb horror of her being cold and unmoving, gone, gone forever and his childhood was over and nothing had ever really been all right since. Mama...

“It's all right,” the woman said softly, eyes surprisingly gentle considering she was a murdering cannibal deviant. “It doesn't matter. She was dead, and she always fed you in life, didn't she? Why not in death too? She wouldn't have wanted her boy to go hungry.”

Cicero shook his head, tears in his eyes. He couldn't remember... but for all he knew, he might have done.

“Cicero never did,” he whispered. “Cicero is a good boy!”

“Yeah, you sure are,” the Breton said, patting his arm with a smile. “Well, maybe not her. Maybe you didn't actually take a nibble. But I bet you were tempted. It's OK. You don't have to hide it any more. I know what you are, Cicero. You're a hunter. Like me.”

Cicero did look up then, little growl coming from his throat.

“Cicero is nothing like you!” he hissed, and the woman just kept on smiling.

“You just stabbed a woman in front of me, and you say we're not alike?” she laughed. “Sure you don't want a nibble of this one? Food's going cold.”

“Very sure,” Cicero said through gritted teeth, looking the other way as she shrugged and began stripping the corpse, taking the robes and Elven dagger for herself. Then came the sound of chewing and Cicero definitely didn't want to look at that, certainly found nothing arousing about this strange woman feeding on the flesh of his former Dark Sister, that was not an erection in his underwear, certainly not, oh Sithis, he was doomed.

Magic flashed behind him, then the sound of the woman ordering the corpse into a coffin, and she was a necromancer too, that was just marvellous. The coffin lid slammed shut, and then there was Destruction magic, first ice then fire.

“There's a broom up by the shrine, could you bring it for me please?”

And now he was doing her fetching and carrying – Sithis, this was too much, he should treat the designing little hussy like he had Gabriella, silence the sole witness... except he couldn't bring himself to do it. He passed her the broom, amazed to see the blood on the floor reduced to red dust.

“Freeze-drying,” she explained. “Old Forsworn method of getting blood off stone, we – they – perfected it when they took Markarth. First you freeze it solid, then you burn it, then you sweep it up. Thanks, honey.” She swept the red dust into a corner and handed the broom back with a smile.

“My name's Eola. And yeah, I used to be a Forsworn, it's where I got my training. Grew up on a camp, both my parents were committed to the cause. Me, I had two sisters die, saw it happen to one with my own eyes. When I came of age, I had other ideas and ran away. Never looked back.” Something in her eyes told a different story though, and despite the levity in her voice, Cicero realised that when she'd talked of being cold, hungry and alone, clutching at a loved one's corpse after they'd been killed, she'd spoken from memory, and that she'd looked back more than a few times on the Forsworn family she'd left behind. Cicero felt his heart go out to her and he knew then he truly was doomed. Everything about this Eola woman was wrong... but he still wanted to cuddle her better. And possibly then kill someone with her, butcher the corpse for her and then bend her over a hard surface and... oh Sithis, this was ridiculous. He was better than this, wasn't he? Wasn't he?

Apparently not because he'd put the broom back and gone back over to her.

“You have not been here long, have you,” he said gently. “You had a home, didn't you?”

“Yeah,” Eola sighed. “Nice little place just outside Markarth called Reachcliff Cave. Just an old Dragon Cult ruin, not even a big one, one of the few not colonised by the Forsworn. But it was home and it was mine. Until the dragons came back and the Draugr decided it was time to start serving them again. I had to run for my life.”

Just outside Markarth... near Karthspire perhaps? With Elisif safely on her way home and Gabriella dead, Cicero had a little time to spare. Perhaps he could help. Perhaps he could be of assistance to the pretty murderer, stab some Draugr for her. He had his new bow now, and Elisif had given him her ebony axe earlier, finding it a bit heavy to carry now she had two swords. Yes, yes he could certainly help. And if the pretty flesh-eating necromancer proved grateful and wished to... reward him... well, Cicero wouldn't say no to that either.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Draugr had proved easy prey in the end. Even the Deathlord in the final chamber had fallen to Cicero's axe and arrows and Eola's magic. None of them had ever even seen Cicero coming. He was feeling very pleased with himself, and Eola had looked nothing short of admiring. Then she'd given him gold and told him to go find a main course to reconsecrate the Shrine of Namira with. Well of course she was a Daedra-worshipper, Cicero hadn't even been surprised by that point. About the only thing about her that could actually have shocked him by then was finding out she was an untouched virgin. Which struck him as vanishingly unlikely, to put it mildly.

So he'd done as asked and lured that priest of Arkay back, giggling all the way, and really it was amazing what a tale of a cave full of undead needing Arkay's blessings and a bag of gold would do.

There they'd been, he and Eola standing across each other with Namira's altar in between them and a sleeping priest of Arkay on top of it.

Carve, she'd told him. Cicero had never flinched from a good stabbing in his life. So he'd carved, squealed at the blood spatter and then licked the blood from his fingers while she'd stared hungrily at him.

“Ladies first,” he'd murmured. She'd laughed and told him no, guests first. If most of the blood in his body hadn't been flowing straight to his cock he might have said no... but as it was, his big brain wasn't really thinking properly, it had been over a decade since anyone had looked at poor Cicero like that, and so he'd carved again and swallowed the meat down.

And then Namira had spoken and Cicero's world had imploded. He'd just stood there staring as Lady Namira herself had told him he'd pleased her, that he was now Keeper of her Ring, and to wallow in his wretchedness as her newest champion. He'd just nodded, tears rolling down his face and then she'd been gone... but her ring remained on his finger.

“She spoke to me,” Cicero whispered, staring vacantly into space.

“Yes,” Eola said softly, coming to stand before him, stroking his face, staring in awe. “You're everything I hoped you'd be... and more.”

“She spoke to me,” Cicero whispered again. “Twelve years of tending to Mother and nothing and I bring Namira one victim and... and Cicero gets to hear her voice...! Named Champion... Keeper...”

“I know!” Eola breathed, still smiling at him. “To be given that honour... I'm so proud of you.”

Cicero nodded, biting his lip and then he was sobbing, howling his heart out on Eola's shoulder, clinging on to her as grief for twelve wasted years as the Night Mother's Keeper, resentment at said Night Mother for never repaying him with her voice, not ever, not once, washed over him, tearing him apart, making him cry with the sheer emotion. And then the love, the hope, the realisation he'd been claimed by another... the realisation he was free, thanks to the woman before him.

“All right, champion,” Eola whispered, rubbing his back. “You're all right. It's a little overwhelming, I know. Oh honey, I've got you, it's all right.” She raised her voice to the rest of the coven, two of whom Cicero recognised from Markarth market and stables. “Right folks, our champion is clearly touched beyond words, so he and I are going out for a little privacy. Carry on without us and drink to Namira's glory. Tonight we have been blessed, brothers and sisters!”

The coven cheered and raised glasses, all praising Cicero's name. Cicero smiled tearfully back and raised the ring so they could all see it, before following Eola out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sat under the stars by the river, Cicero huddled in Eola's arms as she stroked his hair and comforted him, and then he started talking, hesitantly and rambling at first, then telling her everything, all of it, all the Brotherhood's secrets, the Sacrament, the Listener, how he'd been one of their best assassins until the Listener died and the Night Mother came to Cheydinhal. How he'd become Keeper and how the others had left, left him alone in the dark for so long, so very long! Then he'd gone to Falkreath, to the last remaining Sanctuary, but found no Listener, just heretics who'd abandoned the old ways and mocked him as a fool. In the end he'd lost his temper when Astrid had insulted the Night Mother and tried to kill her, and had to run for his life... and then he'd found the Blades and their Dragonborn, Jarl Elisif of Solitude, High Queen to be. And she was pretty and nice and had been kind to him before and saved him again from Arnbjorn, so he'd joined up with her. That and depriving Astrid of the large sum of money she'd receive on Elisif's death struck Cicero as amusing.

“Jarl Elisif,” Eola said faintly. “High Queen of Skyrim according to the Empire. Dragonborn. And you joined up with her.”

“Yes!” Cicero giggled. “Yes, yes! Sweetling, she... she eats dragons!”

“Really?” Now that had grabbed Eola's attention. “I didn't know there was meat to be had on a dragon! How does she get through the scales?”

“It burns,” Cicero breathed, eyes wide as he described it to her. “The dragon burns and she takes the fire into herself! It is all bright and shiny and she takes the fire and then the dragon is gone! Dead! A skeleton! So obviously Cicero was very impressed and now he helps her. Keeps her safe. From Stormcloaks and Forsworn and Thalmor... and discreetly stabbing false Dark Brothers and Sisters when they get too close.”

“So that's why you were stalking that Dunmer,” Eola said, realising just who was skilled enough to sneak up on a Dark Brotherhood assassin – another Dark Brotherhood assassin obviously, one turned renegade after his entire order fell apart.

“Oh yes,” Cicero grinned. “Cicero sent Elisif home for her own safety and dealt with the sneaky Dunmer before she could bring word to Astrid. Of course, he didn't expect... this.”

“Nor did I,” Eola whispered, running fingers through his hair as they cuddled. “The last true Dark Brotherhood assassin, becoming Champion of Namira. Never saw that happening.” She wrapped her arms around him, holding him closer. “Whatever happens, you will always have a friend in me and a home here at Reachcliff. You just be sure and tell me the rest of the story, you hear? I want to know how it ends.”

Cicero didn't respond to that, not immediately. Then he looked up, smiling in the aurora.

“Why not see for yourself?” he purred. Eola frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?” she asked, thinking she'd just been invited to join the Blades... but surely not, weren't they supposed to be heroic dragonslayers, protectors of the Empire?

“Come with me!” Cicero whispered, grinning. “Delphine and Elisif were talking of recruiting more people, Cicero heard them! Sweet Eola has skills. Sweet Eola is a former Forsworn nightblade. Delphine is worried about the Forsworn after we wiped out one of their camps. Eola could help!”

“You don't know the Forsworn that well if you think they'll listen to me,” Eola said bitterly. Not to a runaway who'd been AWOL for the last decade. All the same, it wasn't like she had no leverage to speak of. And killing dragons – that sounded exciting. Hunting down the Dark Brotherhood – even more so.

“Please?” Cicero whispered, looking hopefully up at her. “Come with Cicero! Keep him company! Cicero is tolerated because he is useful, and Elisif likes him... but Brynjolf and Aela wouldn't care if anything happened to him, and Cicero will not be useful forever. Cicero would like to have a friend there...”

Bless the man, but he was adorable. And lonely, Namira he must have been so unhappy. All that time with no one, literally no one... poor boy. Even in the Blades it seemed he was tolerated rather than loved. Maybe Eola could fix that.

“I don't have to worship Talos, do I?” she asked. “I mean, I really don't think that would be a good idea. Not that I'm scared of the Thalmor, but I'm still a Reachwoman at heart. I don't care if Talos is a god or not, but he's not getting prayers off me.”

“No, no,” Cicero laughed. “Cicero doesn't think it's required, not any more. Not now a new Dragonborn walks.” He looked hopefully up at her. “Does this mean sweet Eola will come?”

Eola smiled, tracing a finger down his cheek, making him squeak, and that sounded delightful, Eola could stand to hear that again.

“I'd follow you anywhere, honey,” she murmured as she leaned in to kiss him, lips meeting his. Cicero moaned, little keening noise in his throat, and then he was kissing her back, pushing her onto her back, reaching for the buckles on her armour as she reached for the ties on his jester shirt. Then there was no more talking, just touching and kissing and lovemaking and Cicero the Keeper finally found peace.

Notes:

And there we are, Murderer and Murderer, happy together. Next chapter, we find out just where Elisif's been.

Chapter 13

Summary:

Cicero returns from his night out with a new lover and new recruit in tow, one with Forsworn ties and a Daedra's power, so Delphine will be pleased, right? Wrong, as it becomes apparent the Dragonborn's in trouble, having wound up in the toughest prison in Skyrim surrounded by Nord-hating Forsworn, with only her wits and her courage to sustain her.

Notes:

Next chapter is up already due to several reasons: it's ready, I really enjoyed it and wanted to share it, and given that at least some of you will have skipped half of last chapter, here's something to compensate. Also you want to know what happened to our heroine, right?

It was early when Cicero and Eola snuck into Sky Haven Temple, arms round each other and giggling as Cicero explained all about the place, enthusing about the running water in the bathrooms – boiler needed stoking first of course, but hot baths!

“You can stoke my boiler any day, cariad,” Eola murmured in his ear and that set Cicero off blushing and giggling again. At least up until Delphine's voice rang out across the main hall.

“Where the fuck have you been, Cicero?” Delphine shouted. Cicero went still, gulping nervously and with good cause, because Delphine was advancing, hair down and unbrushed, face pale and worried, clearly furious with Cicero.

“Er... look, Grand Master, Cicero found a new recruit!” Cicero cooed, hoping to distract her. Eola smiled too, but Delphine barely noticed her.

“Never mind new recruits!” Delphine snarled. “All the recruits in the world are no use to me if we've got no Dragonborn!”

Cicero's smile faded, a horrible sense of foreboding settling upon him. No Dragonborn... but surely Elisif had gone straight home as he'd told her. Had something happened to her on the road? Or... no. No, she wasn't that stupid. Surely even the idealistic young High Queen wouldn't have gone off meeting strange young Reachmen in isolated places.

“Oh, but Cicero told Elisif to come home right away while he dealt with the Dark Brotherhood assassin!” Cicero trilled. “Surely she arrived back long ago!”

Delphine advanced on him and grabbed him by the shirt. “She never came back last night,” she growled. “I waited up till midnight then fell asleep. Woke up an hour ago and her bed's not been slept in. I was hoping she was with you and you'd spent the night in Markarth.”

Cicero shook his head, torn between tears and shrieking rage and howling, hysterical laughter.

“Cicero sent her back... Cicero thought she was here. Cicero did not know... did not know she'd go after that Reachman!”

“What Reachman?” Delphine and Eola said in unison, then both turning to look at each other properly for the first time.

“Who is this?” Delphine asked, frowning. “You're... you're a Reachwoman, aren't you?”

“Am I ever,” Eola sighed. “Ex-Forsworn in fact. Don't worry, that was a long time ago. I don't have a problem with Talos-worship as long as I don't have to participate.”

“Ex-Forsworn,” said Delphine, looking thoughtful. “Hmm. Interesting. Could be useful. All right, I can use all the help I can get, especially right now. I take it Cicero told you everything.”

“He did that,” said Eola, rubbing Cicero's back, cuddling him now Delphine had let him go. Delphine didn't miss the gesture, raising an eyebrow as she watched him snuggle up next to Eola.

“So that explains where you were all night,” Delphine remarked, faint grin on her face. “Well, far be it from me to kick Cicero's girlfriend out. All right, Cicero, tell me about this Reachman. Who was he and what did he want with Elisif? Does he know who she is?”

So Cicero explained, telling Delphine everything, with much wailing about how he'd told her to walk away, leave it alone, no good could come of it, and Delphine listened, both resigned and appalled, while Eola listened in utter shock.

“And so she went to meet him as soon as you left her,” Delphine sighed. “Damn it, Cicero, you know she can't resist a sob-story! Although I suppose if there was a known Dark Sister in town, you'd have to deal with that first. So, this murder. You think the perpetrator was a Forsworn agent.”

“Positive!” Cicero cried. “He said 'Glory to the Forsworn' and stabbed her! Then the guards killed him.”

“Right. And this other man that spoke to you, was he a Forsworn agent too?”

“I don't know,” Cicero whispered. “I don't think so. Cicero heard him swear by the Eight...”

“Doesn't mean he's not one,” said Eola grimly. “Sithis, Cicero, I think your Dragonborn may be in trouble.”

“The Forsworn have an assassination ring going on in Markarth, a secret underground resistance,” Delphine said, eyes widening in horror. “Oh Talos, of course they do, they're masters of covert ops and insurgency. Even back before the war, we were taking note of them – they got organised all of a sudden, there was this gradual increase in activity, then while the Empire's back was turned, they took the Reach. It was actually quite brilliantly done – we were cursing their opportunism and suspecting Thalmor involvement but whoever planned all that was a damn genius.”

“Madanach,” Eola said, looking rather proud of him. “Not just him, he had a high command of course. Keirine, Mireen, Nepos, a few others. But the Forsworn have leaders, Delphine. They have a King.”

“They have... he's still alive,” said Delphine, surprised. “Didn't they capture him a few years after retaking Markarth from him? I'm amazed he wasn't executed.”

“So am I,” Eola whispered. “But he's still alive and in Cidhna Mine. I don't know what state he's in, for all I know his health went years ago and his mind followed.” Her voice caught on the end of that sentence and she looked away.

“Oh don't you worry, I have a feeling his mind is just fine,” Delphine said, starting to pace up and down. “So, there's a Forsworn underground in Markarth freely murdering people, and just by coincidence, that city is home to a maximum security prison containing the King of the Forsworn, who we know is one cunning son of a bitch capable of taking the disunited Reachman hill tribes and turning them into an organised resistance movement in under a decade. He's clearly behind it, but what bothers me is how the Nords are just letting it go on. Thonar Silver-Blood owns that prison, he hates the Forsworn, he's a Stormcloak sympathiser. Why he's not had Madanach killed is a mystery. It's not because he's a decent human being, let me tell you.”

“So what do we do?” Eola asked, wide-eyed and fearful. “It sounds like a fucking hornets' nest and it also sounds like your Dragonborn just started poking it.”

Delphine looked at Eola, eyes narrowed, appraising her very carefully.

“Our Dragonborn,” said Delphine coldly. “You want in to the Blades, you better start thinking of her as our Dragonborn. And here's your chance to prove it. Both of you, get to Markarth now. Find her, find out what's happened to her and get her back here in one piece. I don't care about whatever conspiracy is going on there. I just want the Dragonborn back here. Go. Now. And hurry. From what I know of Madanach, he is not a man who messes about. If she's really been poking into his affairs... Talos, just get out of here.” Delphine turned away, hands running through her hair.

“Delphine?” Cicero whispered, reaching after her as she walked away, stricken with guilt. Eola grabbed his arm, leading him away.

“Leave her,” said Eola softly. “Elisif's the one in real trouble. Come on, let's go.”

Cicero nodded once, following Eola out. Time to track down the Dragonborn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif sank to her knees as the prison gate slammed shut, scarcely able to believe this was happening. She was High Queen! A Jarl! They couldn't do this to her. But they had.

She'd met that young Reachman, Eltrys his name was, and after hearing his story, of course she'd offered to help. So she'd searched the room of that woman Margret, found she'd been an Imperial spy investigating the Silver-Bloods, and after that, it hadn't been hard to work out Thonar was using the Forsworn somehow to kill his enemies. So she'd gone to confront him. It hadn't gone well. Two of his servants had killed his wife while she was there, and after that he'd furiously told her everything, how he'd stopped the execution of the Forsworn King Madanach and commuted it to life imprisonment in his mine in return for Madanach using the Forsworn to deal with his enemies. That had been twenty years ago. Now it seemed the so-called King in Rags was tiring of the arrangement.

She'd run back to Eltrys to tell him all this, only to find him dead and Markarth guards standing over him, intending to frame her for the deed. She'd gone along quietly, sure that once she got to see Igmund, she'd be set free immediately and a proper investigation could start.

They'd not taken her to Igmund. They'd taken her straight to the mine, where Thonar had been waiting, smug smile on his face. She'd looked straight into his eyes and her heart had sank as she'd realised he knew exactly who she was and she'd just played right into his hands. He'd had her incarcerated without even pretending there was any justice involved, saying not to worry, he'd send a full report to the Jarl, save him the bother of trying her.

So here she was, alone and unarmed, trapped in a high security prison full of Forsworn. Male Forsworn, who'd likely been here a long time, without a woman in their midst and oh gods, she was a Nord, they hated Nords, what were they going to do to her? Worse, no one knew she was here, Delphine didn't know where she was, Cicero didn't know, oh gods, she'd been such a fool to come alone. She could only hope that when Cicero got back to Sky Haven Temple and realised she wasn't there that they'd come looking. If anyone could organise a jailbreak out of here, it was Delphine. Or alternately she could at least get a message to General Tullius or Falk, get diplomatic negotiations under way to get her out of here. Thonar would have to let her out if Igmund commanded it, and Igmund would have to give the order if General Tullius was breathing down his neck. It would be embarrassing and probably the end of her freedom to roam Skyrim as she pleased, but it was better than being stuck down here. Cicero had been right. She should have left well alone. She wasn't cut out for prison.

Nevertheless, she wasn't completely out of options. She recalled the conversation she'd had with Cicero on the way up here, telling him to make sure he behaved himself and didn't break the law or he'd end up in Cidhna Mine, the toughest prison in Skyrim. Cicero had just giggled and told her he'd survived tough prisons before. The key was to find the most powerful man in the prison and make himself indispensable to him, helping him, bringing him things, dealing with his enemies for him, anything he wanted, anything at all, and Elisif had a horrible feeling Cicero had included sexual favours in that anything.

“With the prison king at your back, no one else will give you any trouble at all,” Cicero had assured her. “Do not worry, sweet Maia, it has never failed Cicero yet. Er. Not that he intends to get caught while he is here. Or do anything bad! No, no, that would never do!”

It was a deep irony that Cicero genuinely had stabbed a woman in this city and slipped off scot-free, whereas she'd done nothing wrong and ended up in prison. But she was stuck here until Delphine could arrange a rescue, and that meant surviving in the short-term. So that meant following Cicero's advice... and tracking down the prison king.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken some doing, but she was in. Trying to get past that Orc guard, who'd looked her up and down, smirking at her but thankfully just wanting a shiv as the price for getting to see Madanach. So she'd got one for him. She'd had to pretend to be a Skooma addict to do it, but she'd managed it. And all the while, the men of the prison had been watching her, always watching her, not doing anything but looking, but still looking and she knew what was on their minds, she could tell. Something told her it was only a matter of time before one made a move and the prospect terrified her.

All the more reason to find Madanach quickly. So here she was, making her way down the tunnel towards his private cell. Didn't reek as badly as the rest of the prison down here, apart from the private toilet facility off to one side, the sole one in the prison, needless to say. Elisif made her way down the tunnel to the room at the end, wondering what she'd find.

What she hadn't expected was a bed, chest, food, wine, and sitting behind a writing desk, an older man, dressed in prison rags but looking distinctly less grimy than the rest of the prisoners. He was busy writing a letter of some kind. More kill orders for his underlings?

He barely spared her a second glance as she walked in. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to say to him. Ask for help? Shout at him for aiding and abetting death and corruption? Shout at him for real and hope it killed him outright before he could recover and start casting back?

She wasn't sure that last one was a good idea. Even with her fully armed, she had a feeling he'd be tough to beat. One did not get to be King of the Forsworn by being weak.

“Well, well. Look at you,” he growled, eyes flicking over to her but not lingering and that was actually a relief. Someone in this mine not staring at her like she was a piece of meat. “Your kinsmen have turned you into a wild animal, caged up and left to go mad. So, my fellow beast, what do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Justice? Not a lot of that in this city, Nord.”

“I noticed,” Elisif growled, wondering if she was strong and fast enough to throttle him. Probably not. He was the same height she was, more or less, but stockier and stronger from the look of it. Stronger and not remotely reluctant to kill Nords. She'd have to be careful. “You've got a lot to answer for.”

“Do I,” Madanach murmured back, anger flashing in his eyes. “And what about you, hmm? You're the one who came here, started meddling, going where you weren't wanted, antagonising the wrong people. Now your foolishness brought you here and you expect me to make it all better for you? You Nords, you want it all on a plate, don't you? You disgust me.”

“You're not exactly endearing yourself to me either!” Elisif shot back. “You're the one murdering innocent people on the orders of someone who you should be fighting! At least I'm not a hypocrite!”

The quill slammed down, and as Madanach slowly got out of his chair, glaring at her, Elisif stepped back, realising she'd gone too far.

“Oh gods,” she whispered. He was advancing on her, eyes narrowed as his mage armour flared into being. This was it, death coming for her, and now it was actually happening she wasn't greeting it with open arms, she was terrified. But she was still a true Nord and if she died bravely, Sovngarde awaited, right? Torygg, get some mead ready, I'm coming home... Elisif closed her eyes.

“Go on then,” she heard herself say. “Send me to Sovngarde, I don't even care.”

Silence. Nothing at all, and finally Elisif risked opening her eyes to see Madanach not moving, just frowning at her.

“You know,” he said at length, “it's almost like you want me to kill you.”

Elisif just shrugged, not sure she really wanted to talk about this with a stranger, especially not the King in Rags.

“Why would you care?” she snapped. “You hate Nords, don't you?”

He didn't answer. He was just staring at her, appraising her very carefully.

“Who are you?” he murmured. “They told me you were some mercenary called Maia, but there's something about you... You're not a mercenary, that's for damn sure.”

“Does it matter?” Elisif sighed. “Look, are you going to kill me or not?”

Madanach returned to his seat, crossing his legs and stroking his chin, still that thoughtful look in his eyes.

“Not yet,” he said, almost smiling, and definitely intrigued now. Well, she had his attention at least. But how to keep it and persuade him to keep her alive long enough for the eventual rescue?

“What about helping me escape then?” she asked. Well, not like she'd lose anything by asking. He must have ways in and out of this place, surely.

That did get a laugh. “Perhaps,” he said. “I'm just trying to work you out. You see, I've had a lot of reports come in of late. Lots of interesting ones over the last few months, and some frankly baffling ones over the last week or so. Some mercenaries destroyed one of our camps the other day, but not ordinary mercenaries, no. A werewolf, a little red-haired daedra in human form, some other warriors, at least one mage, and... a young Nord woman with red hair who killed the dragon that had been menacing the camp for the last week and allegedly took its very soul.” He was staring straight at her, eyes cold and Elisif began to realise that if she'd been in trouble before, she was pretty much doomed by this point.

“You know, that camp was home to my daughter and her mother,” he said, still sounding oddly calm for someone whose people she'd helped kill. “You're very fortunate my daughter got out before the carnage started, but as it is, she lost her mother. My little girl is heartbroken, Nord.”

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered, wondering if it was worth telling him she'd hardly killed any Forsworn, it had been the others... but she was queen and they'd been there because of her. Leaders took responsibility for this sort of thing, right? “We just needed access to the ruins in the Karthspire, we'd have negotiated... but they attacked first.”

Madanach didn't answer, but he nodded once and Elisif felt herself relax a little. He wasn't going to kill her quite yet, it appeared.

“Why did you need access to the ruins,” he said, still sounding eerily calm. “They've been abandoned for decades if not more. I was fifteen when I came to Karthspire and joined the Forsworn, and that was nearly forty five years ago now. The place was sealed off tight and the elders said the place had been that way ever since they could remember too. Now you and your people manage to just turn up and get in when we never managed it in all those years?” He shook his head, laughing to himself. “You know, the Akaviri have been gone for years, and their successors, the Blades, they've been on the run since the war ended. I heard the Thalmor hunted them all down.”

“You heard wrong,” Elisif said before she could stop herself. Madanach just smirked, triumphant at having got something out of her.

“So. You're a Blades cell. Now that is interesting. You know, the old tales talk of the Akaviri being friends and allies when they first came to the Reach. That when the Cyrodiils finally conquered the land, they intervened and stopped it being an all-out bloodbath. They treated us fairly, unlike others I could name. Then the First Empire fell, and the Akaviri remained, living in peace with us. It was only when Tiber Septim came that they followed his lead and let him abuse us and enslave us. And so we turned on them too. It's said that's why they sealed their temple up and fled the Reach. You a Talos-worshipper, girl?”

“No!” Elisif protested. Not that she had anything against Talos, but Talos worship was illegal and had been all her life. She'd only ever known eight Divines.

“So why'd you join the Blades? And why are you reclaiming that temple?” Madanach returned, eyes never leaving hers. No, definitely not giving her the creepy male gaze the other prisoners had, but this wasn't exactly preferable. At least she'd known what the others had wanted. She had no idea what Madanach was after. But she might as well tell him, keep him talking.

“I'm not a Blade,” she told him. “But as for why we need the Temple, we were hoping it would have clues on how to fight dragons.”

“You don't seem to need the lost knowledge of the ancients to do that, girl,” Madanach remarked, and he did grin at that. “From what I heard, you managed to kill one just fine on your own.”

“That was one dragon!” Elisif protested. “There's lots of them, and if I don't stop them, their leader will destroy the world and the afterlife too! I need to bring down Alduin, that's the first of them, but he's no ordinary dragon and I don't know how. I was hoping the temple would have answers.”

“And did it?” Madanach asked, still that strange curious smile on his face. Elisif shook her head.

“Not exactly,” she sighed. “But it's a secure base and it did give us some leads. Which I can't follow up because I'm stuck in here!” She glared at him, remembering how she'd ended up here in the first place. “The world is going to end and it'll be all your fault!”

The inconsiderate son of a bitch had the nerve to laugh.

“I shall have it engraved on my tombstone,” he promised. “Madanach ap Caradach, Lord of the Reach, Scourge of the Nords, Destroyer of Worlds. How does that sound? Suitably impressive?”

Sending him to that tomb earlier than he'd planned was starting to seem like less and less of a bad idea, but Elisif had a feeling it wouldn't end well for her either, and she needed to fight Alduin before she could finally die and let the world sort itself out.

“Get me out of this bloody prison,” she hissed. “Get me out of here and... and...”

“And you'll what?” he retorted, one elbow resting on his desk, and now he just looked bored. “Grant me a full pardon? Send Igmund packing and get me my land back? Have Thonar Silver-Blood executed for crimes against humanity?”

“I... er...” Elisif began. Technically, perhaps she could do all that, but Igmund was one of her supporters, she couldn't just hand his Hold over to the Forsworn. Thonar on the other hand, she'd be quite happy to ram a sword through his chest. True, it would also be illegal... but didn't she have a friend who specialised in that sort of thing? “All right. Get me out of here and I'll get Thonar killed.”

“Promises, promises,” Madanach said, shaking his head. “You'll forgive me if I don't trust you quite yet. Do you even know why we're fighting?”

Not a question she'd expected. “You want to rule the Reach,” she said, confused. Madanach went still, before slowly shaking his head.

“Actually no, I just don't trust anyone else to do a good job of it,” Madanach sighed. “And certainly not the Nords – you may think I'm corrupt and a murderer, and maybe you're right, but you think this is new? I'm nearly sixty, and this city was no different fifty years ago when I was a boy growing up in the Warrens. Wasn't new then either. You want to know who we are, what we're really about? Go and talk to Braig, he's one of the prisoners here. Apart from me, he's been here the longest. Tell him I sent you, ask him how he ended up here. When you've done that, come back here. Perhaps then I might be able to help.” Without another word, he turned back to his work, ignoring her.

“That – that's it?” Elisif asked. “You just want me to go talk to one of the other prisoners?”

“Did I stutter?” Madanach growled, not even looking up. Elisif flinched. While she didn't think he was going to kill her now, he was still rather intimidating, to put it mildly. But if all he wanted was for her to go and talk to another prisoner, well she could do that. So off she went to go find this Braig character.

What she didn't see as soon as she'd left the room was Madanach lower his quill, move noiselessly out of his chair, watch her walk away, taking a few moments to engage in all the eyeing up he'd been repressing throughout their conversation, before trailing in her wake, clinging to the shadows in a way even Cicero would have admired, casting a Muffle spell to make things easier. The King in Rags was no stranger to stealth or covert operations, and he was already hatching plans. He just needed proof that his suspicions were correct.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Braig turned out to be a fifty-something balding Breton, painted with the usual Forsworn war-paint, hacking away at the rock surface and snapping at her when she asked to speak to him. As soon as she mentioned Madanach though, his entire demeanour changed.

“Did he now?” Braig said thoughtfully, lowering his pick and sitting down, making himself comfortable. “Well all right then, if he wants you to hear it, I'll tell you. But let's hear yours first. When was the first time you felt chains on your wrists?”

First time?? This was the first time. Elisif could cry. She shouldn't be here, she wasn't a criminal, she didn't belong here! But her story... she could tell him that.

“Never,” Elisif whispered. “I grew up in Wayrest, out in High Rock. It was just me and my father. He was about your age when I was born, he'd married a much younger woman. But she'd died in childbirth, leaving him with me. I don't think he ever got over it, but he loved me regardless. We weren't exactly rich, but we weren't poor either. Then when I was about nineteen, he started to get sick. Really sick. So he sold everything we had and took us on a boat to Skyrim. To Solitude. He wanted to look upon his homeland again before he died. So we went there, rented a house and lived there, and every day I'd take him to the docks if it wasn't raining and he wasn't too ill so he could see the Throat of the World in the distance. It made him happy, and I was glad of it. Then there was a party at the Bards' College for the Burning of King Olaf Festival. I went along on my own and then I met this young man there. He was so handsome and charming and had a throng of young men and women around him but the moment he laid eyes on me, he barely left my side. Kept seeking me out, talking to me, asking me to look after his drink for me so he had an excuse to come back. I was flattered and pleased and he seemed so nice. A few days later he called on the house and spent some time with my father, and then he started visiting regularly. Then he introduced me to his father and that was... intimidating. And then one day he turned up with an Amulet of Mara and asked me to marry him. So I did. And we were happy. Really happy. We were married for three years, and despite my father dying and then his father at the end of last year, we didn't care because we still had each other. And then Ulfric Stormcloak came to Solitude and murdered my husband. Just Shouted him to the floor and ran him through before he could defend himself. Right there in front of me, in front of everyone!” Elisif felt the tears started to come, and she wiped her eyes, sniffing as she tried to blink them away.

“He was twenty five years old,” she whispered. “He wasn't a seasoned warrior, he'd had some training but he was just a young man and he couldn't Shout like Ulfric could. And Ulfric just walked up to him and killed him. Not because he'd done anything wrong even, but to make a point. He did it because he could. And he broke my heart.”

Elisif had been sitting down anyway and that was probably a good thing because it meant she didn't injure herself due to her legs giving way as she began to cry in earnest.

“I shouldn't even be here!” she sobbed. “I should be in Solitude right now, in our house there, with my husband alive, looking forward to – I was pregnant, did you know that? We'd just found out, I'd told him that morning, and we were so happy. We'd wanted children more than anything. Then he died and... and I lost the baby and nothing's been right ever since. I should be in Solitude, thinking of names and picking out decorations for the nursery... and instead here I am, travelling Skyrim, trying to learn to be a warrior so I can challenge Ulfric and get revenge on him. Instead I walk right into Thonar Silver-Blood's hands and he slung me in here to get me out of the way. Even Madanach got a trial, didn't he?” Elisif wiped her eyes and looked up at Braig, wondering how he was taking all this. It had gone strangely quiet out there, the mine silent, no one hacking at rock faces, no one talking or anything. Just an old Forsworn warrior staring back at her and looking guilty for even asking.

“Well, you wanted my story,” Elisif sighed. “It's a sad one, I know.”

“I – yeah,” said Braig faintly, sounding a bit helpless and for some reason he was looking over her shoulder, eyes pleading with someone behind her. “I'm really very sorry to hear it, young lady, and believe me, I do know how it feels. I lost my little girl too. She was barely four years old. Nord soldiers killed her and threw me in here. I'll spare you the details. Er... are you all right?”

Elisif shook her head, feeling her heart breaking all over again, and honestly she was glad Braig hadn't told her any more than that, because that was awful, killing a four year old because of what her father might have done? And her own country's soldiers too, her kinsmen. Nords should know better. Nords were supposed to be honourable warriors, fighting evil and protecting the weak, not murdering children. Were they Igmund's men or Ulfric's, she wondered, and then decided it didn't matter. It wouldn't bring Braig's little girl back, or anyone else. All this in her own country, an entire Hold with its own war going on, and maybe the Forsworn were animals, maybe they were murderers... but the Nords they'd been fighting were no better. Worse in some ways. She'd wanted to see what Skyrim was like for people that weren't Jarls. She was certainly finding out and she didn't like what she saw.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “For everything my kinsmen did to you. You deserved better. I'll try and get justice for you, I swear.”

“Don't waste your pity on me, girl,” Braig growled, not looking at her now. “I'm just an old Forsworn who wishes he'd killed more of Ulfric's men when he had the chance. Never mind justice for me. Just give Ulfric a few swings of the axe from me when you see him.”

Elisif nodded tearfully. She could certainly do that – if she ever got out of here. She got up to find Madanach, turned round... and realised he'd been there the whole time. There were five of them, that yellow-eyed prisoner Uraccen, the young one called Odvan, Duach who'd given her the Skooma, Borkul at the back towering over the others, and at the front, Madanach kneeling, staring at the ground, and then he looked up.

The one thing she'd never have expected to see in the Forsworn King's eyes when looking at the Nord Queen was understanding, sympathy and pain of his own.

“How much of that did you hear?” she gasped, mortified.

“Enough,” was the response as he got to his feet, holding out a hand to her. “I wanted you to know what it was like for us, turns out you already do. Braig, thank you, I know you don't like talking about it, but this was important, trust me.”

“Anything for the cause, sir,” Braig said deferentially, picking up his axe and staring at the rock face. Madanach nodded at the others, all of whom were also looking sympathetic, even Borkul, and motioned for them to get back to work. They dispersed quickly enough, leaving her with the King in Rags.

“You were listening in,” she whispered. “You son of a bitch.”

He had the nerve to smile. “Braig won't talk about his story unless it's on my orders, and he always asks for the other person's first. I wanted to know who you were, really. Now I do... and now I think we can help each other. Come with me, let's talk.”

He knows who I am. Of course he did, how many other people's husbands had Ulfric walked into Solitude recently and murdered? The others might not know, being stuck down here, but Madanach must have had reports from his people on the outside. By this stage she wasn't even frightened... just numb. Whatever he did to her, it couldn't hurt worse than seeing Torygg dead had. She just nodded and went over to him, not even objecting as his hand came to rest on her upper back and he led her out.

No one even looked at her as they went out, apart from that Nord Grisvar, but he just looked confused – or at least he did until Madanach glared at him then he very quickly looked away. All rather different to how it had initially been. No staring, no ogling, nothing. Cicero had been right. Get the prison king on your side, no one hassled you. Even Borkul nodded respectfully as Madanach led her back to his room.

He settled her down on the bed, leaving her there before producing a tankard that actually looked clean-ish, and filling it with wine. Kneeling by her side, he passed it over, still that sympathy in his eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked as she sipped at the wine. It was cheap Alto wine but right then Elisif couldn't have cared less. It helped.

“How in Kyne's holy name am I supposed to be all right after all that,” Elisif whispered. “I lost my husband and my baby and oh gods, I never told anyone about the baby before.”

He was sitting next to her on the bed, rubbing her upper back but otherwise sitting about six inches away from her, no part of him touching her and that was a surprise but a nice one.

“It gets easier to bear,” she heard him say quietly, sounding like he knew first-hand and Elisif remembered hearing Torygg speaking of Ulfric, telling Elisif what a great man the Jarl of Windhelm was, how he'd smashed the savages of the Reach, torn their resistance movement apart, overthrown the treacherous usurper who'd led them, heroically reclaimed the Reach for Skyrim, and Elisif had lapped it all up unquestioningly. Now here she was hearing it all from the other side, and she was questioning everything she'd ever been taught. Here she was, trapped in a prison with said murdering usurper, and here he was, comforting her.

“What was your story?” she said, looking at him properly. “I mean, apart from being king and then getting dethroned – Torygg told me that one.” She didn't mention Torygg gleefully recounting about how Ulfric had shown those murdering witchmen a thing or two, or how she'd snuggled up with him and thrilled to the details. It didn't seem right to enjoy the victory when you knew innocent children had died, and not by the hands of the so-called witchmen either.

Silence, and he'd let her go, hands in his lap, just looking at the ground. He picked the wine bottle up and took a swig straight from it.

“I had a daughter too, four of them once,” he said softly. “Eldest was called Eithne, she'd be thirty four, thirty five maybe, if she'd lived. Married maybe, out there leading the fight perhaps, I might have grandchildren, you know. I'd have loved grandchildren.”

Elisif hadn't even realised what she was doing before she'd taken his hand, squeezing it.

“Could still happen?” she said hopefully. “You've still got one daughter at least!”

Madanach smiled bitterly, still not looking at her.

“Eithne was the reason I took over the tribes, turned them into the Forsworn, started all this. I wanted a better world for her than the one she'd been born into. She was my heir, my princess. And then when she was fourteen, the Nords found the camp we were living on – just me and her, the other three were at Karthspire with their mother. Ulfric was with them, he was Jarl himself by then, but he left Windhelm when he heard they were storming my camp. Apparently he hated unfinished business. It was a bloody fight, but I could have carried the day – it was me, Ulfric, Thongvor and Thonar, and Igmund left standing. Four against one, but I could have won. At least until my daughter, who I'd told to hide and stay out of sight, decided to go for Ulfric. He just shouted her down with that voice magic of his and ran her through. I surrendered after that. Dishonourable? Perhaps. Should I have fought and avenged her, even if it meant my own death? Maybe. But she was my little girl, my reason for fighting. Didn't seem a lot of point going on without her.”

Elisif remembered the days after Torygg's death, when she'd just stayed in bed, lying there as the miscarriage took her, sobbing her heart out or just staring into space, barely aware of anything. She'd got better since, got better at going through the motions anyway, and since the whole Dragonborn thing, she'd had things to take her mind off it. What had he had? Just four walls of his prison cell and a rebellion to lead.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her turn to comfort him now, and of all the people she thought she might share a grief with, all the people who might understand, she'd never expected it to be the leader of the Forsworn.

He squeezed her hand back and took another swig of the wine.

“One day, we will have our freedom,” he said quietly. “One day, I will see them pay, the bastards who killed my family, threw me in here, ravaged my land... Thonar, Thongvor, Ulfric, I'll see the Void take them all. All things must die.”

She didn't know Thongvor at all, but as far as Thonar and Ulfric went, she was quite happy to see them bludgeoned.

“I'll give Ulfric a stab from you,” she promised. “Thonar too. If you get me out of here.”

Madanach finally looked up, actually smiling, sly grin that might have unnerved her once but now actually gave her hope.

“Yes, you and I have business to discuss, don't we. Jarl Elisif, known as the Fair, and recently Dragonborn. The Fair suits you. I'm not sure about the dragon, not unless you've got scales somewhere.”

Elisif took her hand from his, and shoved him in the side, but in all honesty, she didn't feel terribly offended and nor was he, just laughing and lounging back against the headboard.

“I don't have scales! Or a tail, before you ask. I just... can take a dragon's soul when it dies. Stop it coming back.”

“Like you did at Karthspire,” Madanach said, nodding in understanding. “That's how I knew it was you, by the way, I'd been wondering why the Empire's choice for Queen of the Nords could go from helpless figurehead to being idolised just by adopting a warrior name like Dragonborn. So it does actually mean something. A useful talent to have now they've come back.”

“I could wish they'd picked someone else,” Elisif sighed. “But they chose me so I guess I have to do this.”

“And what do you do with the souls once you have them?” Madanach asked, actually looking fascinated. “Can you enchant things with them?”

“I've... never tried,” said Elisif, thinking of the two inside her right now and starting to wonder if she could actually enchant things with them. An interesting possibility, but she really needed to hang on to them in case she found another Word Wall. “I use them to learn how to Shout – once I've learnt a Word of Power, I can use the soul to learn how to use it.”

“Voice magic,” Madanach breathed. “You can Shout. Like Ulfric.”

“Better than Ulfric,” Elisif said proudly. “It took him years to learn the few he does know. Me, I can learn words in seconds, I just need to see them written down. And then I just use a dragon soul and I can shout it. Of course, I have to kill the dragon first but even that's getting easier, and now I've got the Blades with me, I've got help! That's who they are, they're the guards of the Dragonborn, they're an order of dragonslayers. They served Reman Cyrodiil, but if they'd already made arrangements with you, that was why they stopped his Empire wiping you out. But when Talos arrived, a full Dragonborn again... if the arrangement had weakened or broken down, they'd have had to obey him.”

Madanach nodded, eyes flashing angrily again. “I see. And the current full-blooded Dragonborn, where does she stand on the Reach?”

A difficult one to answer. On the one hand, the Forsworn had killed an awful lot of people. But on the other, they'd been effectively Thonar's puppets for years, their king trapped in a daedra's bargain and too grief-stricken to care about anything else... or at least he had been. The man in front of her didn't look heartbroken at all, in fact he seemed cheerful. Pleased. A certain vibrant energy radiating out of him.

“Torygg hated you all,” she said quietly. “Thought you were all murderers. Animals. Traitors. But he also admired Ulfric and look where that got him.” Elisif considered her opinion on the Forsworn. Murderers, perhaps, so they'd have to stop that. Traitors? Well, insurrectionists yes, but given what currently passed for the government of the Reach, she found herself no longer blaming them. And as for animals... when you started treating any sentient being as less than a person, that was usually when the trouble started.

“Igmund's not that good a Jarl, is he?” she sighed. “Especially not with all this going on under his nose. And as for Thonar Silver-Blood, I'd happily kill him myself for slinging me in here without even a trial. Whereas you've actually been nice to me and you in no way had to be.” She turned to face him. “You know, you'd make a better Jarl than Igmund. But no more murdering innocent people, or massacring Nords, understand? You have to behave yourselves. I can't get you your land back or grant you a pardon if you're not actually sorry and willing to change your ways.”

Madanach was grinning, and there was very little evidence of remorse there at all, but he did nod in agreement.

“Oh, don't worry, my little deal with Thonar is drawing to a close. And if the High Queen of Skyrim is considering giving us our land back, well, I can agree a little amnesty for a while. May I take it your Blades friends won't be destroying any more of our camps?”

“I'll talk to them,” Elisif promised. “It really was just the Temple we wanted, now we have that, we're good.”

“I hope so,” Madanach said. He was still watching her, something clearly still bothering him.

“What is it?” Elisif sighed. “What else do you want?”

“I have some more questions, if I may,” Madanach said. Elisif nodded for him to go and ask them. “If you're so against murdering the innocent, why are you working with the Dark Brotherhood? Don't tell me you don't have one of them with you, I have eyewitness accounts of a little red-haired daedra called Cicero swearing he'd send us to the Void in the name of Sithis. Well, he's not one of us, and the only other organisation who believe in Sithis and the Void are the Brotherhood. Going to get them to stop murdering innocents too?”

“If I have to,” said Elisif, remembering Veezara lying dead on the floor of her bedroom and Arnbjorn bleeding out on the road through Falkreath. “They tried to kill me once. They'll try again, but I don't intend to let them win.”

A sharp intake of breath from Madanach, and she'd never thought she'd see fear in his eyes, but he looked genuinely worried.

“They have a contract out on you,” he gasped. “Sithis, Elisif...”

And this was what Elisif had feared, the Dark Brotherhood and Forsworn being in league.

“You have an agreement with them,” she said, prepared to run if she had to – but where, that was the trouble. So it was she could have cried when Madanach shook his head.

“We used to. Many years ago when they first got started. We trained their assassins, they helped us out. Sithis is one of our gods, they worship Sithis too.” Then his eyes hardened. “But we drifted apart years ago. Sacrament doesn't even work any more. There's no one in the Forsworn remembers the old days personally, and I think they've abandoned us. So you're planning to take them on, are you? Presumably this Cicero's a renegade member.”

“Yes, although he doesn't see it that way,” Elisif explained. “The Dark Brotherhood's down to one group, according to him. They lost their Cyrodiil Sanctuaries after the war, there's just the Skyrim one and it no longer follows their leader, the Night Mother. Cicero still does, but he's the only one. There was a fight over it and he had to flee the Sanctuary. We saved him and now he's working for us. He thinks they're liars and heretics, not the real Brotherhood any more, so he's willing to help me fight them. He's... a bit odd, all right, very odd, but he can be really nice and he's already taken care of one of them for me!”

Madanach's worry had eased, and now he just looked sad. “So the Brotherhood have abandoned their Matriarch. No wonder the Sacrament stopped working.” He did smile then, grinning at Elisif in the candlelight. “In that case, I'd say they've got it coming. All right, next question. How exactly did you end up here anyway? My opinion of the Nords' intelligence has never been high, but even they aren't stupid enough to throw their own queen into prison, right? Surely the Jarl recognised you, he was up in Solitude at that Moot thing they held after the old High King died.”

“I never even got to see Igmund,” Elisif sighed. “Thonar has the guards in his pay, or some of them. They framed me for Eltrys' murder and Thonar had them throw me straight in here. I think he knew who I was and wanted me out of Ulfric's way. I don't know if he's either hoping you'll kill me, or if he's holding me here until Ulfric sends men to collect me, hoping you'll have treated me so awfully I'll do anything Ulfric wants if it means I get rescued.”

Laughter from Madanach as he refilled her tankard and drank more of the wine himself. “And that's Thonar all over, judging everyone else by his standards. Honestly, I have daughters, I don't go around raping and abusing innocent young women, or even the guilty ones for that matter.” His face turned sombre, shadows in his eyes. “So if Thonar knows who you are and is in contact with Ulfric still, he's probably sent word to him already. If Ulfric wants you alive, and there's a good chance he might if he thinks he can use you, he'll be sending people for you soon. We don't have a lot of time.”

No, they really didn't, and Elisif was a sitting duck here if Ulfric did decide to collect her.

“You wouldn't let them take me,” she whispered. She wasn't sure quite how far she could trust Madanach but he'd not want to let an asset like her fall into Ulfric's hands, right?

“Never,” Madanach growled and Elisif felt a little nervous. She'd hate to have that anger turned on her – Madanach was a frightening man when he was angry. But it passed as soon as it had arrived.

“Don't worry,” he said gently. “I'll make sure that doesn't happen. I just have one last question. Are you serious about learning to be a better warrior so you can kill Ulfric and avenge your husband?”

“Very,” Elisif said, remembering the blood on the Blue Palace's tiles and the screaming, gods she hadn't even sounded human. “He broke my heart, destroyed my family. He pays.”

Madanach didn't seem remotely worried by her anger, in fact he looked delighted.

“A woman after my own heart,” he laughed. “Tell me, have you given any thought to what happens after? You'll need back-up to get you in there and then out again without his guards killing you, and then that city's going to need a new Jarl. Unless you were planning to run it yourself.”

Truth be told, Elisif hadn't really thought about it – that was all General Tullius' area.

“I'm assuming I'll have the Legion at my back,” Elisif said, shrugging. “But if I don't... well, I'll go in alone if I have to. I just want him dead. I don't care about anything else, I never even wanted to be queen, that was all Falk and Tullius' idea. If I don't make it out of there, at least I get to go to Sovngarde. I get to see Torygg again.”

Madanach said nothing, lowering the wine bottle to the floor, eyes never leaving hers, face sombre and Elisif could almost swear he looked sad about this, but why would he? He'd known her only a few hours, not like it'd break his heart to lose her or anything.

“That sounds like a colossal waste,” he said eventually and Elisif closed her eyes, not even sure why the tears were coming again, but there was just something in his voice, some wistful yearning there, as if he'd actually miss her if she died.

Well, she'd probably miss him too if he died. He wasn't a monster at all, just a man like any other – well, not like any other, he was a smart, charismatic battlemage who led an entire movement after all. But he wasn't a wild animal like Thonar had claimed either and while she didn't know if she could entirely trust him, the fact remained she liked him. Felt safe around him. Comfortable. In other circumstances, she had a feeling they'd be friends.

They still could be.

“Was there anything else you wanted?” Elisif asked, desperately wanting to get off this subject before she starting sobbing again.

“Just one thing. A little favour if you will,” said Madanach, still lounging back, hands behind his head, still that odd wistful look in his eyes, accompanied by a faint smile.

“What sort of favour?” Elisif asked. Hadn't she already agreed to talk the Blades round to non-hostility against the Forsworn, get Thonar killed and look into possibly getting them their land back?

“Just this,” Madanach said, leaning forward, wincing as he sat upright, Restoration magic flaring as he returned to sitting on the edge of the bed. “That when you decide to launch your suicide by guard attempt in Windhelm, you see me first. Let me know when you're doing it.”

“What, you want me to get arrested again?” Elisif asked, before seeing the twinkle in his eyes and realising no, he had no intention of staying in Cidhna Mine any longer than he had to.

“There's a Forsworn camp in the north of the Reach, in the Druadach Valley, just north of Karthwasten, on the southern bank of the Darkfall River,” Madanach told her, his voice soft and low but his eyes alive with promise. “It's called Druadach Redoubt and it's going to be my command centre. You want to see me, you'll be quite welcome as long as you don't bring an invading army with you.”

“You're breaking out of here,” Elisif gasped, hope flaring inside. She was getting out of here, they were all getting out of here!

Madanach nodded. “Yes. We've planning it for months, but recent events have convinced me now's the time to execute it. Want in?”

“Yes!” Elisif cried, ready to cry with relief. “Yes, of course. And I'll be sure to let you know when I'm going to Windhelm as well, so you know to start listening out for the news.”

“Yes,” Madanach said, still grinning. “Of course I'll want to do that, yes.” He got off the bed, patting the back of her hand. “Listen, we can't go just yet. I've got to make some arrangements first, get everything in place. But it shouldn't take too long, not more than a day at the most. In the mean time, you can stay in here with me. I know it's not much but it's better than anywhere else in this prison. There's facilities just down the corridor, food and wine here, and you can have the bed when you get tired. Make yourself at home.”

“But won't you need the bed,” Elisif asked, feeling the wine starting to go to her head. She was tired, a nap wouldn't hurt, but wouldn't he need to sleep at some point?

“I slept earlier,” Madanach told her. “Don't worry about me. You just rest and leave it all to me.”

“Thought you weren't going to make it all better for me?” Elisif said as she laid down on the bed, grinning sleepily at him.

Madanach stopped in the doorway of his room, laughing softly and glancing back at her.

“Not just for you,” he told her. “But if it makes you happy, I can live with that.”

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in a prison cell in the toughest prison in Skyrim, in a bed that wasn't hers, separated from her entire previous life and utterly at the mercy of and dependent on the man known as the Scourge of the Nords. So why she felt safer than she'd done since Torygg died, Elisif had no idea. She just crawled under the furs, closed her eyes and let sleep claim her.

Notes:

And there you go, there's Elisif making friends all over.

Next chapter, Cicero and Eola, unaware of all this, start planning their own jailbreak operation... with mixed results.

Chapter 14

Summary:

The High Queen of Skyrim's fast asleep in Cidhna Mine and the King in Rags can't quite believe his luck. However, before he can start making plans, he first needs to make sure the rest of his family are on side. Meanwhile, Cicero and Eola are in Markarth figuring out a rescue plan of their own, and while Cicero goes to make sure there's a Dragonborn left to rescue, Eola's forced to face her past.

Notes:

And here's where it all gets interesting as everything starts coming together. We've got Madanach point of view bits as the King in Rags starts plotting, Eola's past coming to light, and Cicero being Cicero.

Notes on the Reach-tongue:

Cariad - beloved

Keteen - compensation, blood money, weregild

Admor - Nord (i.e. someone from Atmora, the Nords' real home, and if they could go back there, the Forsworn would be very pleased about this)

Brenhina - Queen

Gwaneth - sister

Bach - little

Rhan-Brenyeen - Reach-Princess

Brenyeenma - my princess

The message had gone out. Kaie was on her way. Leaving Madanach sitting alone in his room, busying himself with disposing of all his various top secret Forsworn documents. Easy enough when you had the power of fire and frost at your command.

Over in his bed, Jarl Elisif the Dragonborn stirred but did not wake. Good, he'd need to have a rather delicate conversation with his daughter and he didn't want Elisif waking up half way through. Hopefully the wine would keep her unconscious for a while.

Jarl Elisif. Here. In Cidhna Mine. A Nord Jarl, for Anu's sake. Not even on the opposing side in the war, it was one of her own supporters' Holds. Poor girl, to come all the way out here and end up embroiled in this. At least Madanach had made his own choices. It didn't sound like she'd had that option. Poor girl.

Never in his life had Madanach ever thought he'd be feeling sorry for a Nord Jarl. He'd never expected to offer hospitality to one either and here he was doing just that.

He'd definitely not expected to have a grief in common with her, and he'd certainly not expected to find himself liking her. That she was remarkably easy on the eye didn't hurt of course, but he'd also enjoyed her company. She'd made him smile, and that wasn't something that happened often. Which was why the resignation in her voice and the hope as she talked of going to Sovngarde to join her husband had stung like it had. It just seemed so wrong for a sweet young thing like her to end up lying dead in a pool of her own blood. The first Nord he'd actually enjoyed spending time with, and she was dead set on throwing her life away? Not on Madanach's watch.

Besides, if she was dead, she couldn't grant him that full and unconditional pardon, or make him Reach-King, or indeed skewer Thonar for him. And once all the treaties were signed, clearly it would be in everyone's interests for Skyrim and the Reach to be ruled by two people who got on. Who understood each other. Who could talk business and then relax afterwards with a nice glass of wine or Reach jenever and just enjoy each other's company over dinner. Obviously. Which meant Elisif couldn't die. Elisif would just have to keep on living. Not like Sovngarde was going anywhere after all.

Rattling of the gate in the tunnel, which meant Kaie was here. Retrieving his key, Madanach went to let her in.

“Da! I got your note!” she gasped as he unlocked the gate to the secret escape tunnel and let her in to the mine. “Is it really happening tonight?”

“Depends, what time is it out there?” Madanach asked, having long since lost track of that sort of thing.

“About two in the morning,” Kaie replied. “Are we going now? I brought all the gear, it's waiting by the door.”

“Not yet,” said Madanach softly, although the thought of freedom being so close was almost too much to bear. Patience, Madanach. He could hardly just abandon the High Queen, could he now? “Come on, come with me. There's something I need to show you. And keep your voice down.”

Kaie followed, noiseless in her enchanted boots, and as she followed him into his room, she gasped to see Elisif sleeping peacefully in his bed.

“Who's that-?” Kaie began until Madanach hushed her.

“Not so loud! You'll wake her!” he whispered. Elisif waking up to find Kaie here would never do. He wasn't quite ready for them to meet properly yet.

“Who is she?” Kaie whispered back, looking faintly appalled. “Da, have you got a girlfriend??”

“What – no! It's nothing like that!” Madanach insisted. Honestly, him and a Nord High Queen, the very thought was ridiculous. Not that he'd exactly object if Elisif hauled him into bed, but the prospect was so unlikely it was best not entertained at all. “It's just this is the only proper bed in the prison, and I can hardly have our guest sleep on the floor. You'll never guess who the Nords have locked up in here, m'inyeen.”

“Why, who have they-?” Kaie drew closer, saw red hair, Nord features and recalled descriptions of the Karthspire attackers and promptly drew her axe, hissing.

“She's the dragonslayer,” Kaie growled. “The one whose people attacked Karthspire. Murdering bitch, I'll – Da, let me go!”

Madanach had tackled her, grabbing her round the waist with arms pinned to her side, and while Kaie was strong, she wasn't quite strong enough to break her father's grip, not without injuring him in the process.

“Yes, I know she did,” Madanach said through gritted teeth. “And we're owed our keteen for that, I know, Kaie, I know. But don't kill her. Hear me out. Please.”

“She killed Ma,” Kaie whispered, but she'd stopped struggling. Madanach was still her father and more than that – he was also still her king.

“I know, cariad, I know,” Madanach murmured, loosening his grip and turning the pinioning into an embrace, turning her to face him, eyes staring into hers.

“Kaie, do you love me?”

“What sort of question's that?” Kaie asked, looking a little uncomfortable. “You know I do, Da.”

“And do you trust me?” Madanach asked, stroking her cheek. Kaie hesitated but eventually she nodded.

“And will you follow my lead?” Madanach asked, knowing what the answer would be but still feeling a little nervous. Longer pause this time but Kaie did eventually relent.

“To the Void itself,” Kaie said quietly. “Da, what is this about? Why are we sparing my mother's murderer?”

“You should know, you had the same reports I did, you brought me most of them,” Madanach said, amused. “Our little dragonslayer's a woman of some importance, and the local Jarl doesn't even know she's here. Thonar threw her in here to get her out of the way, hoping we'd deal with her for him. Only he miscalculated. He's been thinking of us as beasts for so long, he thought he was throwing her to a bear pit. Except he has thrown her into an eagle's nest, and we shall teach her how to fly.”

Kaie stared at him before her gaze slowly shifted to the sleeping Nord.

“Who is she,” she whispered. “Who've you got there?”

“Jarl Elisif of Solitude,” Madanach whispered, barely able to contain his glee. Every time he thought it, every time it occurred to him he had the damn High Queen in his cell, he could barely hide his mirth. “Dragonborn and the Empire's High Queen.”

“No,” Kaie breathed, stunned. “But... how? I mean... why??? Didn't she have guards? What about those people with her at Karthspire?”

“She was here alone and started poking into Thonar's affairs, trying to root out corruption,” Madanach explained, not sure he wanted to admit to Kaie the exact nature of said corruption. He had a feeling she'd not easily forgive him. “That's how. She's led a rather sheltered life up until now, still believes in truth and justice and people being good really.”

Kaie had to laugh at that. “And now she's met you. How's that going for her?”

“Not only has she come to no harm and managed to persuade me to protect her, she's also persuaded me to not take revenge for Karthspire and to halt our entire attack strategy,” Madanach admitted. “I must be getting soft in my old age.”

Kaie was looking incredulous by this point. “How in the world – Da, please. Tell me you asked for a price for all that. If you've handed all that over on a plate, I think I may have no option but to do as the Orcs do and stage a takeover.” From the disbelief in her eyes, she clearly wasn't entirely joking. It was a good thing Madanach had an answer for her really.

“Don't worry, I'm not such a fool for a pretty face. She's made some promises too. Specifically, a full pardon for us all, Thonar Silver-Blood's death and our land back.”

Madanach finally let himself smile properly as he watched Kaie's face run the whole gamut of emotions and then she was hugging him tight.

“You're not serious,” she whispered. “By Sithis, you are, aren't you! You – oh my gods!”

“Impressed?” Madanach asked, grinning. Kaie nodded, wiping tears away as she let him go.

“You trust her to keep her word?” she whispered. Madanach just shrugged.

“If there's been no progress after a year, we'll resume fighting. In the mean time it costs us nothing to stay our blades. Let the Nords keep fearing where the axe will fall next. We've got bigger plans, cariad.” He smiled, stroking her cheek. “Is this enough for you, daughter? Will you put aside your demand for blood if she can get us our freedom?”

Kaie nodded, eyes shining. “Yes. By the gods, yes, if she can do that... yes, I'd forgive her.”

Madanach held his daughter tight, feeling more relieved than he could say about this. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I know it's a lot to ask, but this sort of chance doesn't come along twice.”

“I understand,” Kaie said softly, looking at Elisif again. Then she turned back to her father, knowing grin in place. “You like her, don't you.”

“I won't deny I'm a little fond of her – stop it,” Madanach warned her, seeing that look in his daughter's eyes and guessing where her mind was going. “It isn't like that, I keep telling you.”

Kaie kept on grinning and let him go, kneeling next to Elisif, actually curious now as she carefully pushed hair away from Elisif's face. Elisif stirred but didn't wake up.

“You're doing this for her as much as us,” Kaie said, smirking. “You want to be Reach-King again so you're a worthy consort for her.”

“That is not why I want to be King!” Madanach snapped, coming to crouch next to his daughter, still a little nervous about letting Kaie near Elisif unsupervised when Elisif was sleeping and helpless. “But seeing as you're here, you can answer me one question. She is pretty, isn't she? I'm not imagining it, am I?”

Kaie looked over at her father and just shook her head, laughing softly to herself.

“All the things you could ask and that's what you want a second opinion on?” Her expression softened as she squeezed her father's hand. “She's gorgeous, Da. You're going to have to murder all the other suitors to get to her, but you'd enjoy that part.”

“Thank the gods, I was beginning to wonder if I'd hallucinated the whole thing,” said Madanach. Wouldn't be the first time he'd had a particularly vivid hallucination of a beautiful woman walking in and offering everything he'd ever wanted on a plate... but usually a bottle or two of Skooma needed to be imbibed first, and there were usually a lot less clothes involved. “After the length of time I've been down here, even Borkul's starting to look attractive. Wanted to make sure my standards hadn't slipped.”

“If you're secretly hoping the beautiful young High Queen of the Nords is going to marry you, I'd say your standards are as impossibly high as Auntie Keirine always said they were,” Kaie laughed, not fazed at all by the the glare Madanach was giving her.

“You and your aunt need to stop talking about my private life,” Madanach growled, getting up. “Come on, you should go. We're breaking out tomorrow – well, today now. Tonight. Get some rest because it's a little more complicated than I anticipated. The High Queen had some very nice things with her, or so I heard. Meet up with Argis tomorrow and get hold of it all, then tell him to go home sick. He's going to have a few days at home with the flu. Tell him it's the healthy option, a lot healthier than being in the guards is going to be in the near future.”

“Will do, Da,” Kaie promised, saluting him with a fist to the chest and slipping off to start making arrangements. Madanach watched her go before turning back to look at Elisif. She really was very pretty. Far too young for him, obviously. All the same, he did feel rather protective of her. Whether it was the Stormcloaks she needed protecting from, the Dark Brotherhood or the dark side of her own mind, he'd do what it took to keep her alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Early morning in Markarth and two figures were slipping into the city, one young woman in studded armour and a man in a jester outfit, the latter drawing more than a few looks from the guards although had they but known it, the former was just as dangerous, more so in some ways.

Hogni was already at his stall as Cicero and Eola made their way over.

“Good morning,” Eola drawled, having already told Cicero to shut up and let her do the talking. “We'd like some venison for breakfast please. Oh, and a little local gossip.”

“Some choice cuts of venison? Absolutely!” Hogni said, just a little too loudly before lowering his voice and leaning forward. “Eola, what are you even doing here? Do you want to bring the guards' attention down on us?”

“Don't worry,” Eola murmured. “Tell me what I'm after and I won't be long. I'm looking for a girl called Maia. Nord, red hair, really pretty, wearing some shiny scaled armour and a glowing sword.”

“Oh, her!” Hogni said, shaking his head. “Eola, trust me, you don't want to get involved with that one. Say, wasn't he with her yesterday?”

“Never you mind,” Eola said tersely, shooting a glance to where Cicero was humming to himself, twirling on the spot and successfully distracting the guards while Eola chatted to Hogni. Such a good boy. “What happened to her, where'd she go?”

“She happened to other people from the sound of it,” Hogni said, remembering Hroki from the Silver-Blood inn telling him the story, pale and horrified as she recounted it. “She killed one of the smelter workers, a young man called Eltrys. We don't even know why. Poor man had his whole life ahead of him, pretty young wife, baby on the way. Terrible thing. We think it might have been jealousy maybe. They'd been seen meeting earlier, we think he'd turned her down perhaps and she couldn't handle it. So they say. Anyway, she's in Cidhna Mine now and you're best off out of it.”

Eola felt her world come to a standstill. The hornets' nest had swarmed all right. Cidhna Mine... roughest prison in Skyrim, full of Forsworn men who were sex-starved and hated Nords. While Forsworn culture in general was sexually liberal and celebrated sex and sensuality, and sexual consent and open communication about such things considered cornerstones of How Things Were Done, that didn't mean there weren't exceptions... and Cidhna Mine was not a Forsworn camp. Who knew what being shut away in the dark did to a man – well, look at Cicero.

“Thank you,” she whispered faintly, paying Hogni more than the meat was worth and taking a few cuts, before retrieving Cicero and hauling him off to sit on the stairs leading up to the next level, out of sight of the guards.

“It's bad,” Eola whispered. “She's in Cidhna Mine. They're saying she killed a man.”

Cicero looked at her, stared back, saying nothing for a full half minute before suddenly bursting out laughing.

“Oh but Eola, sweetling, that is ridiculous!” Cicero laughed. “El – Maia isn't a murderer! Maia is a kind woman, a sweet woman! She doesn't even like killing bears! She is not... like us.” He lowered his voice on the last two words, sweet little smile on his face but his eyes portended blood.

“Well of course she didn't do it,” Eola sighed. “Someone framed her, someone who didn't like her poking around.”

“Madanach,” Cicero said softly, fingering his dagger. “Does sweet Eola want Cicero to sneak into Cidhna Mine, take care of the Forsworn King for her?”

“No!” Eola cried, grabbing Cicero's hand before the dagger could come out. “I mean, no, something more is going on. If Madanach has a secret assassination ring going on, why'd he get her arrested? She's a Nord, there's no reason to keep her alive. Plenty in the Forsworn would happily kill her. Something more is going on, and we need to find out what.”

Cicero tilted his head, motioning for her to go on. “Does Eola know how? This is her city, not Cicero's.”

“No, not my city,” Eola said quietly. “Madanach's and always was. But he had a steward, a right-hand man, taking care of it all for him. A man called Nepos.” Eola glanced up to the top tier of the city, home to the wealthiest of the city. How a Reachman had got to be one of them was a question few asked. But Eola knew the name and Eola could guess why he was still so influential.

“Ooh!” Cicero breathed. “You want Cicero to take care of him too?”

“What – no!” Eola sighed. “No, we need to be careful who we stab. The Forsworn have our Dragonborn so we need to rescue her – but no heroics, right? Or careless stabbing. Cicero, I'm – I'm still one of them, even though I ran away years ago. I don't think I'll ever really not be one – I left them, they never left me. Namira help me, I never wanted to do this but... well, Ma's dead at least so I suppose I don't have to worry about that any more. Cicero, I'm sorry, but I think the only way we're getting her back is if... is if we use me as a bargaining chip. I'm sorry, sweetie.”

Cicero's face fell, eyes staring helplessly up at her, and this was breaking Eola's heart, it really was, but what choice did she have?

“But Cicero only just found you,” he whispered, sounding heartbroken. Eola stroked his cheek, feeling a bit torn up herself. But she wasn't going back as a helpless child any more. This wasn't the end.

“I'll be all right,” she told him. “And you and me aren't done yet either, jester boy. We'll see how this goes, but right now I need you to leave the negotiations to me. What I need you doing is making sure there's a Dragonborn left to rescue. Are you able to sneak down there, see if they'll let you visit?”

Cicero scoffed at the mere idea.

“Cicero thinks not. Maia doesn't need a visitor. Maia needs a bodyguard. Maia needs someone to sit next to her and watch over her and ensure no one tries to take liberties. Do not worry. Cicero has survived tough prisons before. Here.”

He handed over all his things, saving the Ring of Namira for last, keeping only his motley and his dagger, before leaning down and kissing her full on the lips.

“Negotiate for me as well, pretty Eola,” Cicero whispered. “And if it doesn't work, know I'll never forget you.”

“Cicero, no,” Eola whispered, realising what he was planning. “Don't, please!”

“You have any other ideas?” Cicero breathed. “Cicero left Maia alone in this city and she got herself arrested. Cicero will not leave her alone again.”

Eola nodded, giving him one last hug.

“Don't kill Madanach,” she whispered. “Kill whoever else you have to, but not him. And if you need to stop him killing you... tell him you know where to find me. You tell him Eola's a friend of yours.”

Cicero nodded, but he was looking very suspicious. “He knows you,” he said, frowning. “But he has been in prison these past twenty years, you can only have been a child when he saw you last. Why would the King in Rags care for some Forsworn child?”

Eola couldn't even bring herself to look at him, and she should perhaps have told him this before, but damn it, hadn't she spent the last decade trying to forget and move on? A waste of effort in the end. The Reach had a way of calling you back, and how was she supposed to forget the King in Rags in a hurry?

“He cared for his own,” she whispered, not meeting Cicero's eyes, the little gasp from him telling her all she needed to know.

“Oh. Ohhh. Oh that... that explains... oh Sithis. Sweet Eola is a Ragged Princess.”

Eola nodded, tears prickling at her eyes. Not something it had ever been safe to admit or talk about, and the main reason she'd never really let anyone get close – even a Daedra-worshipping cannibal had some standards and having to lie to a serious lover about who she really was had been a bit too far even for her. But she no longer had a choice, and seriously this Elisif had better be something special for her to go back to a past she'd done her best to forget. It was probably already going to cost her Cicero and she was really starting to like him. She'd miss the little idiot.

So it was that she was surprised to hear him giggling softly, and then the laughter got louder until he was lying on the steps next to her, howling away.

“What?” Eola cried. “Oh gods, what is it with you? It's not funny!”

Cicero dried his eyes, hysterics slowly subsiding.

“Oh sweetling, it is, it is, Cicero is going to have to go to a very tough prison run by the fearsome King in Rags, all the while knowing he has done unmentionable things with the man's daughter.” Cicero giggled again, and when Eola looked closer, she realised Cicero was actually shaking despite the giggling. When he put it like that, it was a little bit frightening.

“So don't tell him,” she whispered, starting to giggle herself. “Oh honey, I'm sorry, I honestly had no idea you'd end up spending the morning after facing up to my Da. Who – oh gods, yeah, just don't mention me unless you have to. Not until you're out of there and can run.”

“That will not help, is he not a terrifying battlemage??” Cicero gasped. “Oh sweetling, Cicero is doomed. But he will think often of you in the Void after Madanach has killed him.”

“It won't come to that,” Eola told him. “You just find our Maia and keep her safe. Don't worry, I've got contacts. I'll get you both out, I promise.”

Cicero leaned forward and kissed her again, and Eola moaned softly at his touch. He really was quite good at that. Eola really hoped this worked because if it didn't, she was frankly stuffed. The world would end and she'd never get to kiss Cicero again. She wasn't sure what bothered her more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaie was long gone and it must be morning by now – the guards had changed shifts after all, although Madanach was sure they varied the shift patterns sometimes just to confuse the prisoners. Wouldn't surprise him. Damn Nords.

But still, it probably was morning. Which meant Elisif might be deigning to get up some time soon, yes? He could have his bed back, right? Come on, Elisif, I'm old, I need sleep, don't make me wake you up... The alternative was joining her, and that was just asking for trouble.

Resting his head on the desk maybe. It'd be agony once he woke up, but Restoration magic could fix that, right?

No good, it was no good, he was getting too old to sleep contorted on hard surfaces. He'd have to wake her up.

Then came the shrieking from the main prison, and that had to be pretty damn loud to echo down here. Casting his mage armour, Madanach ran down the tunnel, frost magic ready to go.

“LET POOR CICERO IN! CICERO WANTS TO SEE MAIA!”

That halted Madanach in his tracks. One of Elisif's companions, a little red-haired daedra called Cicero. Oh sweet gods, the little murderer had got himself incarcerated and from the sounds of it, daedra was an apt description. Namely one of Sheogorath's.

“Tough shit. You ain't coming in,” Borkul growled. “Boss said he wasn't to be disturbed. Not by you, not by anyone.”

“But he has sweet Maiiiaaaa!!!!” Cicero whined. “Maia is Cicero's friend!”

“I said no!” Borkul snarled. “Now get out of my sight, new meat. Go mine up silver like the rest of us.”

Heavy sigh. “Cicero is very sorry, dear Borkul. But you have left Cicero little choice.”

There followed the sound of something Madanach hadn't heard for some considerable time – the sound of Borkul screaming in pain.

“GAAAAHHHHH!!! GET OFF ME! MALACATH'S BALLS, YOU LITTLE FETCH- AAAARRRGGGHHH!!!”

“LET – POOR – CICERO – IN!!!!!”

Madanach decided it was time to intervene before Cicero actually killed the man. He flung the door open to be greeted by Borkul staggering around the central fire, trying in vain to dislodge the short Imperial with red hair who was draped around his upper body, looking as if he was actually trying to pull Borkul's head off by the ears. From the very focused look on Cicero's face, he might even manage it.

“ALL RIGHT, THAT IS ENOUGH!” Madanach roared, sending an Ice Spike flying across the room for good measure, narrowly missing Cicero. As the spike splintered into the far wall, Cicero looked up, saw Madanach standing in the doorway glowering at him and promptly let go of Borkul, slithering to the ground and seeming to almost glide over to him, all hostility seemingly forgotten. Instead, he was actually grinning broadly.

“You are Madanach!” he cooed. “The King in Rags! Cicero has heard about you! Cicero has heard that you are deadly and murderous and fearsome! Is it true?”

“If you wish to find out firsthand, by all means keep babbling at me and attacking my people,” Madanach growled. “If on the other hand, you had a reason for seeking me out, I suggest you get on with it.”

Behind him, Borkul was staggering off, rubbing his neck and groaning. Cicero had left some nasty bruises. If Madanach hadn't already known he was Dark Brotherhood, he'd have suspected it after seeing that.

“Oh, Cicero wasn't looking for you. Well, not specifically. Cicero has a friend here! A dear friend who was wrongfully imprisoned only yesterday. A pretty young lady called Maia. Cicero has looked all over this prison, but not found her. So he asked the others and they said she was with you.” Cicero tilted his head, those dark eyes narrowing and Madanach, for the first time in a very long time, began to actually feel nervous. “Cicero hopes Maia has come to no harm down here. That would be most... unfortunate. Cicero would become... angry. Madanach does not wish to see Cicero angry.”

Madanach shifted a little uncomfortably as he began to realise Cicero was actually right about that one. He really didn't want to see this one lose his temper.

“She's fine,” Madanach said tersely. “Unharmed, quite happy, fast asleep... and if you think I'm letting some random stranger in to see her, you have another think coming. You could be anyone. She has enemies, Cicero. How do I know you're not one of them?” He lowered his voice, leaning a little closer. “They say the Dark Brotherhood are after her. How do I know you're not one of them, hmm? Not many could take on Borkul like you just did.”

Cicero opened his mouth to speak then closed it again, clearly a bit torn between two things which were both true and yet in direct conflict. In the end he settled for avoiding the question.

“Oh but of course Cicero is a friend of sweet Maia's!” he trilled, fluttering his eyelashes. “Maia helped poor Cicero, saved his life, and now Cicero helps protect Maia! Madanach need only ask her, she will tell him that!”

“I will be doing that very thing, you can be sure of that,” Madanach growled. “But first, I need to be sure I can trust you to behave. You've attacked one of my people already, and someone of your description also savaged a camp of mine not so very long ago.”

Cicero's eyes barely flickered. “Did they?” he said, all wide-eyed innocence. “That's awful! How dare some miscreant kill all those poor, innocent Forsworn and that lovely old woman in charge of them? Shameful, sir, quite shameful.”

Indeed, although Madanach by this point was thinking the actual concept of shame was entirely foreign to Cicero's mind.

“Quite,” said Madanach, repressing a smile. “In fact, when I catch up with that miscreant, he can be very sure he'll need to go quite some way to making it up to me. But I'm sure you'd never do such a terrible thing, would you now, boy?”

Cicero quite vehemently shook his head, protesting that he never would, loyal Cicero was a good boy who loved order. Loyal, eh? Madanach would see about that.

“Clearly someone else thought otherwise,” Madanach mused. “You must have done something to end up here. What are you in for, Cicero?” As if he couldn't guess. Cicero giggled, blushing as he bit his thumbnail, looking rather embarrassed.

“Oh well, this is a little awkward,” he began, still grinning. “Only... there was a little... misunderstanding. An accident! It wasn't Cicero's fault!”

“I'm sure it wasn't,” Madanach said, raising an eyebrow and waiting for the rest – really, this was a little like watching Eithne trying to talk her way out of trouble, although that thought wiped the nascent smile from his face, as thinking of her usually did. “What exactly happened?”

“There was... an altercation,” Cicero began. “There were... words. Hostilities! Violence! Coarse language such as made poor Cicero blush to hear.”

“That doesn't normally get a man jailed,” said Madanach, itching for Cicero to stop dancing about and get to the point. “Did a man die and was your knife the one stuck in his ribs?”

“In the ribs???” Cicero cried, appalled. “In the ribs?? Tcha! Amateurs stick a knife in the ribs.” Cicero leaned forward, grinning, eyes aglow with professional pride. “Slit his throat and watched him bleed. He won't be calling Cicero an Imperial milk-drinker again.”

He'd killed a Nord then, that was something. And now Madanach had to know who it was.

“Who won't?” Madanach asked. Cicero giggled, hands to his face.

“Thongvor Silver-Blood!” Cicero squealed. “He was just standing there, right there in Understone Keep, all on his own... and now he isn't! It's a good thing stone's easy to clean, there was blood everywhere!”

Cicero looked delighted with himself, and Madanach was hard-pressed not to punch the air himself. Just one left to go. He could have hugged Cicero for this, but he restrained himself. Wouldn't do to get carried away.

“Well now,” Madanach laughed. “That is impressive. You might just fit in around here after all. All right, maybe I can let the Karthspire incident go... perhaps. But you're not getting in to see Maia until I'm convinced I can trust you. That you'll do as you're told.”

More protesting and insisting that yes, he would, Cicero was a good boy who lived to serve and would do anything sweet Madanach asked, anything at all.

“Anything?” Madanach asked, guessing that the particular anything he had in mind Cicero would have no problem with whatsoever.

Cicero just leaned closer, heavy-lidded eyes gazing up at him and a hazy little smile on his face.

“Anything,” Cicero gasped breathlessly. Something told Madanach Cicero was no stranger to prison nor was he a stranger to doing whatever he had to in order to survive, up to and including offering sexual services to the prison boss. Most unfortunately for Cicero, Madanach, having now laid eyes on an attractive woman not his own daughter for the first time in years, was no longer desperate enough to avail himself. Instead he just drew his shiv and placed it in Cicero's hand, curling his fingers around it.

“There's a man in these mines, a Nord called Grisvar the Unlucky. He's rightly named, a thief... and a snitch. Feeds information to the Silver-Bloods. He's the only one in here not allied to me... other than you. Change that for me, Cicero.”

“You want me to convert him?” Cicero asked, puzzled... and then the penny dropped and he squeaked.

“Serve him like you did Thongvor, and you're in with the Forsworn,” Madanach murmured, patting Cicero on the shoulder. “And in the mean time, I'm going to go wake Maia and tell her you're here. If she confirms your story, you can see her. After you've proven yourself.”

Cicero grinned up at him, and the daedra description had never looked more apt. Definitely a true son of Sithis, this one.

“The Reach-King can count on it,” Cicero purred, before skipping off to find Grisvar. As soon as he was gone, Borkul staggered over, still rubbing his neck.

“Are you seriously letting him in?” Borkul demanded. “He's insane.”

“Yes,” Madanach admitted. “But he is a friend of Maia's, and he is also very willing to get his hands dirty. I can always find a use for that. When he's done, send him in. It's time he and the Admor-Brenhina were reunited.”

~~~~~~~~~

Eola watched from the shadows as the guards took Cicero away. Seeing as the Jarl had seen everything and Cicero gleefully pleaded guilty, going so far as to ask for fifty seven other offences to be taken into consideration, there'd been very little debate. Igmund had ordered him slung into Cidhna Mine for life, for the good of everyone. Eola had closed her eyes, silently wiping away the tears as they'd hauled him off, the cackling echoing around the Dwemer halls. The Forsworn had more cash than anyone suspected, but not nearly enough to pay Cicero's likely bounty after this. If Nepos couldn't or wouldn't help, Cicero was doomed. She just hoped her father treated him well.

She followed from a distance until they dragged him into the mine entrance, watching as Cicero lost his freedom... and then he was gone, and it was time to hand over her own. Taking a deep breath, she went to track down Nepos.

She'd packed all her things before leaving Reachcliff, and she'd brought them along still. Not a lot, just her studded armour, a few bits of jewellery, a little gold, her sword and hunting bow, some potions, Cicero's weapons now as well... and her old Forsworn armour. Enchanted, like all Madanach's family had. Perfect gear for a Forsworn nightblade. Not that she'd ever actually officially served as one – she'd run away first. But she had the armour still. She'd already pulled on the boots and gloves. Clutching the headdress in her hands, she slipped into Nepos' house, putting it on once inside.

The house was quiet, a few soft sounds of daily living, someone sweeping, someone else chopping food up from the sound of it, a fire crackling away, rustling of pages as someone read. Eola moved quietly up the entrance hall, to where a woman with silver hair and yellow eyes was sweeping. She crept closer... and the woman cast a spell before turning to look right at her.

“Name and business, newcomer,” she snapped. “And don't sneak. Thieves sneak. Assassins sneak. Guests do not.”

“But nightblades do,” Eola said quietly, standing up and stepping into the light. “Where is Nepos. I need to speak with him.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, reaching for her dagger, and her left hand was held ready to cast. “No ordinary warrior would come here and I don't know your face. Who are you, to interrupt the old man's rest.”

“No ordinary warrior,” Eola purred, smiling sweetly at her. She'd taken down lone Forsworn in the hills before now. Tasting the flesh of her own kind, now that was always something... special. Something a little extra forbidden about it. This woman would be a joy to taste, Eola could tell that.

But not today. From further in, a man's voice called out and although she'd never met him, he sounded familiar.

“Let her in, Uaile. I'll speak with her.”

“But sir,” Uaile protested, clearly concerned by this. “You don't know who she is.”

“Then let's find out,” Nepos said, sitting up and turning to look at Eola. As she stepped into the light, she was gratified to see his eyes widening. They'd always told her she looked more like her father. They'd also said she looked like her oldest sister Eithne, although she'd left home when Eola was five and died not long after – Eola barely remembered her face. She just remembered a fearless warrior to be who'd always told her to hang in there, she wouldn't be little forever. Eola missed her.

Nepos had known Madanach and Eithne both, and she could tell he was wondering who she was exactly, even though the list of possibilities wasn't high.

“Know who I am yet?” Eola said softly, approaching and hoping the headdress didn't do too good a job of making her look like every other Forsworn. So she pulled the thing off and let her hair fall down, irritably patting it back into place as she did. She looked up to see Nepos staring at her, shocked... but also proud.

“That's exactly what your father used to do when he took his off. He always hated wearing the things too,” Nepos said softly. “Welcome back, Rhan-Brenyeen.”

Eola nodded, taking a seat next to him, trying to ignore the shocked whispers among the various young Forsworn hanging around the place. Even Uaile had sat down, stunned.

“You remember me,” Eola said softly. “Did we ever meet? I know I never went to Markarth as a kid.”

“Not that you'd remember, you were just a baby. You were born in this city, you know,” said Nepos, his voice barely above a whisper but in the silence, it couldn't help but carry. “But your father used to mention you – and when you ran away, he cancelled all Forsworn military activity in the entire Reach, had everyone out looking. Had undercover agents scouting the borders, visiting the cities – Whiterun, Solitude, even Falkreath.”

She'd suspected as much. It was why she'd gone off-road, not stopped until she'd reached Pale Pass then sneaked over into Cyrodiil and freedom. Nine years ago, and times had been more innocent – she'd never have managed it these days.

“I'm sorry,” said Eola, the unfamiliar feeling of guilt stabbing at her. Her mother she'd not cared about at all by the end, and she'd been just glad to get away from Kaie's nagging. But her father... he'd been away so long he'd barely seemed real any more. But he was real, alive and he must have been so afraid he'd lost her.

“So you should be, he was worried sick,” Nepos said, a touch of reproval appearing. “And who has to deal with it when the king is worried? Me, of course. Honestly, it's like having a particularly demanding spouse sometimes. I'm beginning to see why Mireen left him.”

“Oh, I rather think it was a mutual thing,” said Eola, realising she'd missed this. Missed having someone to talk to, someone who understood. Someone who knew traditional Reach culture, knew the war that had twisted all their lives... knew her own shattered family and its secrets. She'd always told the faithful that true fellowship was found only with those who accepted you for what you are. But to do that, they first had to know what you were, and Eola's story was known to very few.

“True enough,” Nepos laughed. “So, Brenyeenma, why now? We've had a lot of interesting developments over the last week. I refuse to believe your return is coincidence, although I'm sure your father will welcome the news.”

Eola was sure he would, but the thought of possibly seeing him again – what if prison had changed him, as the years had changed her? What if he wasn't the fierce warrior she remembered any more, but a tired and weak old man? What if he disapproved of the witch she'd become? What if she reminded him of her mother? What if... oh but she couldn't think of all this. She had a job to do.

“I need help, Nepos,” Eola sighed. “I've found some new friends lately, including one very dear to my heart. Only they came here and one of them got involved in the little assassination ring you and Da have got going on. Lady called Maia. Ended up in Cidhna Mine. I imagine you've heard of her.”

Nepos' eyes had narrowed, and now he was watching her very carefully.

“I know of her. Eola... you know she's a Nord. Why are you befriending Nords?”

“That's none of your concern,” said Eola, bristling. Here it came, the judgement. The questions. Wanting to know why she wasn't a true Forsworn. The reason she'd run away in the first place. “But she's my friend and I want her out of that mine. Her and another man who was arrested this morning. He's called Cicero.”

Nepos' eyebrows did raise at that. “Now that's a name I know from more than one source. There's rumours he laid waste to Karthspire, you know. Eola, your mother... I'm afraid she's...”

“I know,” said Eola, not wanting to have to fake a grief she surely didn't feel. “And Kaie, did she die too?”

“No,” Nepos said, and Eola hadn't expected to feel the level of relief she did on learning her bossy, self-satisfied older sister wasn't dead yet. “No, in fact she's -”

“Eola??”

Eola's relief shrivelled and died as she realised Kaie was not only not dead, but right here. Forcing a smile, she got up to see her sister staring at her from across the room, wearing a set of leather armour rather than Forsworn, but the dark silver-grey hair shaved in a mohawk with one braid trailing down her cheek that was like their mother's had been once, the piercing silver-blue eyes that were their father's, and the cheekbones they shared hadn't changed a bit. Kaie was a bit older but still very much Kaie the Reach-Princess.

“Kaie,” Eola said, determined not to lose her temper or be baited into an argument. “Good to see you.”

Kaie was shaking her head in the firelight and all over the room, Forsworn were slinking off, possibly to give them privacy, possibly to take cover, Eola wasn't sure.

“After nine years, is that all you can say?” Kaie whispered, sounding like she was about to cry. “Eola, where have you been?”

Did it matter? “Here, there, everywhere,” Eola sighed. “Travelling. Cyrodiil, Morrowind, High Rock, anywhere in Tamriel that wasn't the damn Reach!”

Pain in Kaie's eyes as she made her way over.

“You stupid woman,” Kaie whispered. “I thought you were dead!” Before Eola could apologise for disappointing her yet again, Kaie had flung her arms around her, hugging her half to death.

“You came back,” Kaie wept softly, and now Eola had no idea how to react, other than hug her sister back. Of all the reactions, she'd never expected that. Kaie had missed her?

“You're alive, thank Anu, you're alive,” Kaie was saying. “Look at you, you're a warrior still, we can fight Nords together, you were always the best of us. It'll be like it should have been, we'll be a family again!”

“Kaie!” Eola gasped, trying to extricate herself from her sister's grip, feeling increasingly awkward. Namira, no, this wasn't why she'd come back!

“Kaie,” Nepos interrupted, his voice carrying over everything, with a quietly authoritative ring to it that had Kaie letting her go and listening. “Perhaps you should hear Eola out before you start recruiting her into the Forsworn?”

“Recruit?” Kaie laughed. “Don't be silly, Nepos, Eola's one of us and always was, isn't that right, Eola? Eola?”

“I didn't come back to join up, Kaie,” Eola said, hating the way Kaie's face fell as she said the words. “I need help. Two friends of mine just got arrested and one of them's not even guilty. They're called Maia and Cicero and I need you and Nepos to help rescue them...”

Kaie's face had shut up entirely, her eyes narrowing as she glared at her.

“Maia. And Cicero.” Kaie's eyes glimmered in the firelight, just like their father's but without the warmth he'd always had for them both. She was looking at Eola like Madanach had probably looked at his enemies. “The same Maia and Cicero who just wrecked Karthspire. Friends. Of yours. Eola, you... tell me you weren't involved in that.”

“I swear it, Kaie, I didn't know until after that had all gone down,” Eola pleaded. “Didn't even meet them until it had already happened. Please, Kaie, they're not enemies, at least they don't have to be. Please help?”

Kaie was staring at her bitterly, and Eola felt her hear sink as she realised what little leverage she had left was evaporating like the morning dew. Kaie was Forsworn to the core and not the forgiving type. Just like their mother then.

“You sound so like Da sometimes,” Kaie said quietly, shaking her head. “I swear you're both crazy. You're in luck anyway. Da's already spoken with Maia and pardoned her for Karthspire, in return for... well, I'll tell you later. So you're involved too, eh? I imagine that'll please Da at any rate. He missed you, gwaneth bach. You broke his heart when you left.”

“Likewise,” was all Eola felt like saying to that. Not like she'd not screamed and bawled her eyes out when they'd told her her oldest sister was dead and her father never coming home. Kaie just snorted.

“Well, you're going to get to see him yourself in a few hours. We're jailbreaking him tonight, him and everyone in that prison, including your friends. Everything's good to go, we just need to retrieve your Maia's things from the guards. We've got a man in there to help, but it might involve slitting a few throats. You in?”

Eola could barely believe her ears. Madanach and Elisif had met and not only had Elisif not been harmed, they'd worked out a deal? A deal involving a jailbreak, and from the smirk on Kaie's face and the way Nepos was grinning as he stared into the fire, this had clearly been in the works for months. Her father was finally cutting loose, and it seemed like he was bringing the Dragonborn with him.

“I'm in,” Eola whispered, ready to cry. Not only was she getting Cicero back and the Dragonborn released... she was getting her father back too. She had a family again. She just hoped he wasn't horribly disappointed in her.

Notes:

Readers of N&J and Cicero Dragonborn will have seen that Eola reveal coming a mile off, everyone else, I hope it's not too farfetched. And yes, Madanach does indeed secretly fancy Elisif, and who can blame him? Next chapter, everything comes together as Lots of People Escape Cidhna Mine.

Chapter 15

Summary:

Night falls and it's time for the jailbreak. But things don't go entirely to plan and freedom was never won without birthing pains.

Notes:

JAILBREAK CHAPTER! As promised, there is a suitable amount of death and destruction, mixed in with a touching reunion or two, and some flirting. I had fun with it, let's put it that way.

Notes on the Reach-Tongue:

Ap Davrha - child of the dragon, or Dragonborn.

Gwadorai, inyeenai, Davrha-Brenhina - Brothers, daughters, Dragon-Queen.

“Elisif.”

Elisif smiled, feeling the sun's warmth on her face as she rested in bed, eyes still closed, just enjoying the moment before she had to get up.

Someone nudged her shoulder again.

“Five more minutes, Torygg,” she said sleepily. A pause and then he was shaking her shoulder.

“Elisif, wake up,” he said again, and his voice sounded off. Was he ill? She hoped he wasn't losing his voice. He sounded awfully gravelly.

“All right then, my love,” she whispered, turning over and opening her eyes, smile on her face as she reached out for her husband.

It wasn't daylight. She wasn't in their bed at the Blue Palace. Rough earth walls all round her, a magelight on the ceiling... and that wasn't her husband kneeling by the bed, it was the King in Rags whose cheek she was stroking.

Elisif recoiled like she'd been struck, feeling her cheeks blazing. He was looking at her rather strangely, although not angrily. Just... surprised.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered, mortified as she shrank back into the furs. Bad enough she still dreamed of happier days, but to start dragging strangers into them?

“It's fine,” he said, voice sounding a little strangled and he didn't look entirely fine, there was something about the way he was staring at her, probably thinking she was completely insane.

“I thought you were my husband,” she whispered, feeling wretched and embarrassed and oh gods, she'd never live this down. At least she'd not actually kissed him. That would have been just the end.

Another pause, and then a low chuckle from him.

“Get me my kingdom back, and I'll consider it. But until that happens, I'm afraid you're going to have to remain disappointed.”

That got her attention.

“That is not what I meant!” she snapped, sitting up and glaring at the insufferable man. He was smirking back at her, and trust him to find it amusing. “You... you... I don't want to marry you!”

Now it was his turn to sit back, all righteous indignation.

“Well I'm very sorry, Brenhina, but while you may be used to Nord men hanging after your every utterance, pining for every scrap of attention, us Reachmen are harder to woo than that. It's marriage or nothing, Elisif, I'm not being your concubine.”

“I am not after a - !” Elisif shouted, about ready to hit him... and then she saw the mischievous shine in his eyes as he began to laugh. Elisif stared and then shook her head, wondering why on earth she'd not just crept up on him and killed him to start with. But even as she thought it, she knew the answer. Damn him for doing it, but somehow she'd grown to like him.

“You are impossible,” she told him sternly, trying not to smile herself or it'd just encourage him. “No, don't look pleased about it! You're supposed to be in trouble!”

“Get me my kingdom back and marry me, and you can tell me off all you like, and I will take it with a smile on my face,” Madanach promised, still grinning, and honestly, no wonder he'd ended up in prison. The man never knew when to stop. All the same, he was making her laugh for the first time since Torygg died, not to mention having cured her embarrassment over nearly kissing him.

“I'm not marrying you,” she told him firmly. “You're a wanted criminal, known insurrectionist and not only that, I think you might actually be insane.”

“Oh, there's crazier than me out there,” Madanach told her, levity disappearing as a faintly haunted look appeared in his eyes. “There's crazier than me in this very prison in fact. We had a new arrival while you were asleep. A young man who says he's a friend of yours. Calls himself Cicero.”

Cicero? Her Cicero? Cicero the Jester Assassin? Here? But how... well, she could guess how, it was probably more a matter of who.

“Cicero's here?” she whispered, and then she heard the singing.

“Oh, and if I spy a snitching bird... I'll snap his neck before he's heard!”

“Yes,” Madanach sighed, seeming to age before her eyes as his shoulders sagged. “He is.”

“Madanach, Madanach, sweet and lovely Madanach, Cicero has done as you asked and dealt with the problem, can he see Maia now?” Cicero cooed from the passage. Madanach turned hopeful eyes to her.

“If you don't want to see him, paralysing him and hauling him out of here is an option,” he told her. Elisif shook her head. Cicero had got himself jailed to come and see her. He must have been worried sick when she didn't come home.

“In here, Cicero!” she cried. “I'm fine, you don't need to worry!”

Cicero skipped into the room, looking a little grubby and very strange in prison rags rather than motley, and not one but two shivs at his waist. Two shivs... and another one in his hand which he returned to Madanach, excitedly saying Grisvar had had two, Madanach could have his back... and was that blood on his footwraps? Blood and probably not Cicero's own.

“Sweet Aedra, Madanach, who did you get him to kill?” Elisif snapped, about ready to lose her temper. “You promised to stop killing people!”

“I said I'd stop Forsworn hostilities and not kill any innocents, Grisvar was not an innocent,” Madanach shrugged. “I don't need a shiv-maker on the outside, and I definitely don't need him leaking details to the Silver-Bloods about what we're planning and where we've gone, and he was never coming with us. Also Cicero could have said no.”

Cicero had slid on to the bed next to her, giggling and looking delighted, and you didn't need to be terribly good at reading people to know Cicero was never going to have said no to the chance to stab someone without consequences.

“You are a bad man,” she said through gritted teeth, to which Madanach just smirked., but she didn't get a chance to say anything else before Cicero had pounced, cuddling her tightly.

“Sweet Maia is alive!” Cicero cried. “Unharmed! Well-treated!” He looked up, lips pursing and eyes narrowing. “You have been well-treated, of course. You have not been subjected to any... indignities.”

“What... no! No, Madanach's been surprisingly nice. Even let me use his bed. I mean, he's completely self-interested, stubborn and a little crazy, and he's definitely a bad man, but he didn't hurt me, and I don't think he will.”

“I'm not going to,” Madanach promised. “Don't worry, Cicero, Elisif's safe from me.”

Cicero looked up, going pale and then he was growling, letting Elisif go as he leaned towards Madanach.

“He knows!” Cicero growled. “The Forsworn King knows too much!”

“Cicero!” Elisif snapped, grabbing his wrist before he lost control completely. “Yes, Madanach knows. No one else in this prison does though, at least I don't think they do. But I told him everything, Cicero. He's agreed to help. As long as we don't attack any more Forsworn camps.”

Cicero was still glaring at Madanach, but he did nod, snuggling back into her arms again.

“Cicero will not. If they do not attack poor Cicero first.”

“Trust me, after Karthspire, no one's going to be the one to start anything with you,” Madanach said dryly. “Just keep your distance from any camp other than mine and there won't be any trouble.”

Hopefully not, but him saying that reminded Elisif what else she'd agreed to.

“You're also going to have to kill Thonar Silver-Blood,” Elisif sighed. “I mean, he threw me in here when I wasn't guilty of anything, just to get me out of Ulfric's way, and he's been hijacking an entire movement for twenty years to get his enemies murdered. Which you can't mention to anyone, Cicero.”

Cicero had gone very still, eyes narrowing yet further.

“He has been using the Forsworn to kill his enemies,” Cicero growled. Elisif nodded, wondering why Cicero was quite so angry about this and then she realised why at the same moment Cicero spat it out.

“But that is our job!!!” he snarled. “That is what the Dark Brotherhood is for, not the Forsworn! And Mother was still speaking back then, we still had a Listener twenty years ago, Cicero met her, Cicero remembers!”

“It's disgraceful, isn't it, Cicero?” Madanach purred, never one to waste an opportunity. “All these years, he's been holding me to ransom, making me and mine do his dirty work instead of doing the honourable thing and hiring your people instead. That's an awful lot of coin, Cicero.”

Cicero's teeth were bared in a snarl as he fingered a shiv, features shadowed in the lamplight and looking like a fiend from Oblivion itself. Elisif backed away, wondering if this had been a good idea.

“Cheating Thonar will pay!” Cicero growled. “Oh how he will pay... Do not fear, pretty dragon. Cicero will see the thieving wretch suitably punished.”

Elisif nodded weakly, swallowing her fear and beginning to wonder just who she'd thrown in her lot with. A murderer and a master of murderers... and yet she'd still take either over the Silver-Bloods any day.

“I do like him,” Madanach pronounced, looking rather proudly at Cicero. “You have good taste in friends there, Elisif. Now, having said that, I'm afraid I do now have to ask you both to leave so I can have my bed back. I am an old man who hasn't slept all night, and that can't be good for me. So if you'll excuse me...”

Elisif had got up before she'd quite realised she was doing it, making way for Madanach and even feeling twinges of guilt as he lay down on the bed, pulling furs over himself and smiling as his head hit the pillow.

“Nice and warm for once, it's a shame we're not staying longer,” he murmured. “Now, Elisif, do try and keep an eye on Cicero, won't you? A day in this city and he's stabbed two people already.”

Grisvar and whoever he'd murdered to get arrested, Elisif presumed.

“Actually, I think it might be three,” she said, looking at Cicero. Cicero grinned, face going pink as he began to giggle, sly look in his eyes.

“Four,” he breathed, snickering into his hand and Elisif silently wondered if there was any wine left. Madanach stared at him, speechless, before bursting out laughing.

“I really do like him,” he laughed. Frankly Elisif wasn't even shocked by this point.

“Out,” she said tersely to Cicero. “Let's let the King have his rest, and then you, young man, are coming with me. After all this, I'm a bit worried about letting you out of my sight.”

“Cicero will have to relieve himself at some point!” Cicero giggled as she steered him out of the cell. Elisif just shook her head. This was going to be a long day.

Madanach, warm and comfortable in a bed that smelt of Elisif (and there was absolutely no down side to that, not at all in Madanach's mind), watched them go, feeling rather pleased with how all this had gone on. He'd been wondering how he was going to excuse having to kill Grisvar, and then Cicero had turned up and solved the problem for him. And even better, now Cicero was Elisif's problem for the next few hours while Madanach had some well-earned sleep. All in all, so far things were going rather well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hours passed too slowly for Elisif's liking, but at least Cicero had been no trouble. She'd had no trouble from the Forsworn either, in fact Uraccen had dropped by and quietly told her if Cicero gave her any problems or bothered her, she only had to say and they'd deal with him. Which was actually rather sweet, but Elisif had assured him she wasn't worried about Cicero. She'd got some odd looks but no one had said anything. Cicero had spent a few hours poking around, even doing a bit of mining, before curling up next to Elisif and falling asleep in her lap. A little awkward, but at least it meant he was quiet and not stabbing anyone. He'd excitedly told her what he'd been up to since she'd last seen him, and while she had a feeling he was editing a lot out, apparently he'd helped a young lady clear a tomb of Draugr and she'd been more than eager to join the Blades in return. She'd been rather eager to do other things too, it turned out.

“You've got a girlfriend?” Elisif had gasped. Cicero had gone a bit pink but nodded, grinning.

“Yes!” he'd squeaked. “And she was a Forsworn once too, except she left. But she still has contacts so she is talking to them to try and free us. Except Cicero did not think pretty Maia would have made friends with the King in Rags and joined his jailbreak plan.”

Elisif wasn't at all sure there was any way out of the Forsworn except by dying. She hoped Cicero wasn't going to get out of Cidhna Mine to find his new girlfriend killed for desertion. Maybe she'd have to talk to Madanach, see if he'd be willing to commute the sentence. It was nice seeing Cicero happy. She'd hate to see him heartbroken.

Of course, then he'd confessed to stabbing Thongvor Silver-Blood and Elisif had been appalled... but somehow not feeling as appalled as she might once have done. In fact, it wasn't even a bad plan – Cicero had wanted to get arrested and get in with the Forsworn so he could look after her better and one of the Silver-Bloods made an ideal target. Certainly she couldn't bring herself to feel too sorry about it, not after what Thonar had done to her. All the same, of all the ideas to have... She sometimes wondered if it had been a good idea recruiting Cicero, but the alternative was letting him get recruited by someone else and that was an even worse idea.

Finally, the prison had gone quiet outside, the guards had changed shifts twice, and Borkul slipped into Madanach's cell. Minutes later, Madanach emerged, running fingers through his hair as he did. Elisif poked Cicero awake and got up, feeling her heart skip. Was this it? Were they leaving now?

Madanach glanced her way and grinned knowingly and Elisif knew then, knew it was time. She was getting out of here. Finally!

“Brothers,” Madanach announced, still that smile on his face. “And Maia, of course. I always told you we'd escape together one day. Well, my Forsworn, that day is today. I've had Kaie on the outside gathering supplies and stashing them ready for us, and we're looting this mine too. Borkul, Braig, get to my room, we'll take the food and wine in there, share it out. Not a lot but it'll help. Take the furs off the bed, anything small and easy to carry. Everyone else, grab all the ore you can carry and get a pickaxe each. We'll need to be prepared, our escape tunnel is a little dangerous. Not you, Maia, you let them get on with it. Just take an axe with you and be sure to stay close to me, hmm?”

Elisif made her way over, feeling a bit self-conscious about being excused manual labour like that, but not about to complain either.

“Why aren't I helping?” she whispered.

“You can help carry some of the supplies if you like,” Madanach murmured. “But you're not being seen doing any manual labour on my watch. You're...” He stopped, leaning back against the wall, faintly amused by something. “You're under my protection and I want them to see that.”

I don't need your protection, was what she wanted to snap back. But on the other hand, she probably wouldn't have got far without it, and he was helping her escape.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and he looked back at her with some surprise, that odd smile on his face again.

“You're quite welcome,” he said gently, before turning to watch the other prisoners scurrying around filling their pockets.

Finally everyone had gathered back in the main chamber, all good to go. Madanach surveyed them all, nodding in approval.

“All right then, it's time to get out of here. Now, I know you're all desperate for a crack at the Nords and I don't blame you, but let me remind you this is not an uprising or even a battle, but an escape. We're not here to slaughter the entire city, we're just interested in getting out of here. By all means kill anyone who tries to stop us, but if they're not fighting us, don't start one with them. We get out of here, make for the gates, get out of the city.”

“Then where, boss?” Borkul asked. “Take it you got a camp lined up ready to take us in.”

“I do indeed,” Madanach replied. “But I've got some business to take care of first. Namely getting the Davrha-Brenhina here home... and then I want to meet these friends of hers who've been helping her kill dragons. We're off to Karthspire.”

Karthspire... Sky Haven Temple... oh gods. Even if Madanach's intentions were benevolent, which Elisif couldn't be certain of, the mere thought of Madanach meeting Delphine, and Delphine's likely reaction, didn't bear thinking about.

“You can't!” Elisif cried, and she immediately regretted that as Madanach turned to frown at her.

“Why not,” Madanach growled. “I want to meet your friends. Besides, I let you go wandering off on your own, who knows where you might end up? I want to make sure you're safe.”

Elisif had a feeling that by safe, he meant constantly guarded, as fucking always. Fortunately Cicero seemed to share her opinion, also looking a little panicked.

“Oh, but there is no need for dear Madanach to trouble himself!” Cicero babbled as he sidled over to her. “Cicero can see sweet Maia home, there is no need for the Forsworn to come.”

“I think otherwise,” Madanach said coldly. “I know you made assurances, Maia, but the fact remains your friends wrecked a camp of mine and I want to meet them for myself and ensure that it won't be repeated. I'd hate for there to be any misunderstandings now.”

Elisif did not like this one bit, but it didn't seem like she had a lot of choice. Besides, at least if she was there, she could help negotiate peaceful co-existence. And she had Cicero too. Madanach had to at least know what Cicero was capable of. Also she couldn't fault him for being wary of the rest of the Blades. Still, this wasn't the way she'd have chosen to break the news to Delphine that she'd just signed up to help the Forsworn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tunnel proved less dangerous than Elisif had expected, the Forsworn running ahead and dealing with most of the dangers. First the Frostbite spiders, dying in a blaze of fire. Then on through the Dwemer tunnels, which were quiet... right up until they saw the Dwemer Centurion looming up ahead.

“Is that...?” Borkul whispered.

“Yeah,” Madanach muttered. “Tread quietly, I don't want it waking up. Maia, you be sure and stay behind me.”

Slowly and quietly, the little group attempted to sneak past... but to no avail. No sooner had they set foot on the walkway, than the lights flickered on, steam jets hissed and the monstrosity began to move.

All around Elisif, mage armour flared into being and Destruction spells blazed at it. Cicero had vanished, she had no idea where, and the Forsworn were fanning out in attack formation.

“Borkul, get out of here, Kaie should be at the gates with proper weapons, get her to help,” Madanach shouted, giving his bodyguard a shove. “Maia, stay behind me, do NOT try and fight it!” Madanach shot a lightning spell at the Centurion, as Borkul leapt off the walkway and ran to find this mysterious Kaie. The robot staggered but was still very much fighting, scalding steam enveloping Braig and Duach who both staggered away, Restoration spells flaring. Then it advanced on Madanach.

“Maia, run, jump off, get after Borkul, if I don't follow, grab your things and run, and don't stop,” Madanach growled, fire at the ready in both hands.

“I'm not leaving you to fight it on your own!” Elisif gasped, panicking a little at the thought of losing Madanach. The Forsworn alliance would be dead without him, and even though they wanted independence, until that happened she was still their High Queen as far as she was concerned. She wasn't leaving him behind.

“Maia,” he snarled, unleashing twin fireballs at it. “I won't tell you again. Go!”

“No,” Elisif whispered, feeling courage come from somewhere as she stared the machine down. Victory or Sovngarde, and she'd fight with what little she had at her disposal. “FUS RO DAH!”

The Shout hit the Centurion dead centre, sending it flying back, crashing into the far wall and sliding to the floor, but still not dead. Slowly it was trying to pick itself up.

“Hit it with everything!” Madanach shouted to his fellow Forsworn. “All spells, strongest you have, before it gets up. If you're low on magicka, run! And as for you...” He grabbed her arm, and then grinned at her. “Good work, now let's go.” He led her away, running for the exit... and as it came into view, two young women, probably only a few years older than Elisif herself, came out of it, both wearing full Forsworn armour, mage armour in place.

“Glory to the Forsworn!” one shouted, blasting fire at the Centurion. The other didn't say anything, just raising her hands and dual-casting a powerful lightning spell at the Centurion, making it writhe and spasm. The thing was almost dead... and then a giggling Imperial with red hair pounced on it, one shiv slicing through cables in the thing's throat that had been damaged by all the fire magic, and the other slicing neatly under the dynamo core and sending it flying. Bereft of its heart, the Centurion finally died, collapsing on the floor.

For a few moments, silence. Then Cicero retrieved his shivs, saw the two Forsworn women, his eyes falling on one in particular, and then he shrieked in delight, the sound echoing painfully off the stone walls.

“SWEETLING! Sweetling, you came, you came, you came to rescue your sweet Cicero! Look, look, I killed a Centurion, look!”

“Cicero! You're all right!” the young Forsworn cried, ripping her headdress off to reveal short blonde hair which she shook out, swiftly ran fingers through in a way that reminded Elisif strangely of Madanach, and then ran to Cicero, sweeping him into her arms. Well now, that must be the mysterious Eola. Her attachment to Cicero seemed genuine at least, from the way they were cuddling.

Meanwhile the other Forsworn girl was running up the steps towards them.

“Da!” she cried, heading straight for Madanach, who held out his arms to her, smile on his face.

“Kaie m'inyeen, it's good to see you,” he laughed, hugging her. “Well timed.”

“Nothing attacks my father and lives,” Kaie said, her voice muffled as her father embraced her. “Even if I did manage to sneak past it and not wake it every time I came through here, and you manage to wake it on your first go.”

So this was Madanach's daughter. Elisif hoped she took after him.

“Yes, well, you try sneaking an Orc and a Nord through anywhere,” Madanach said gruffly, before letting Kaie go, turning to face Elisif. “Kaie, this is the woman I told you about. The Dragonborn. Goes by the name Maia when she's travelling, although that's not who she really is.”

“I know,” said Kaie, looking her over. Kaie's eyes had closed over on seeing Elisif, the warmth going out of them. “My father told me who you were, Dragonborn. He seems to think you're going to be a valuable friend and asset to the Forsworn. I hope so. For your sake.”

Elisif recalled Madanach telling her his daughter's mother had died at Karthspire and cringed guiltily, realising where the hostility was coming from.

“I'm so sorry about your mother,” Elisif gasped. “We didn't want to fight you, we really did just want the old Akaviri ruins. I'm so sorry.”

Rage flickered in Kaie's eyes but it was swiftly buried.

“Save your apologies, Nord,” Kaie growled. “Just get us our land back.”

Elisif nodded, flinching only a little as Kaie turned back to her father. Well, she hadn't been killed on sight, so that was something.

“Don't take it to heart, she's still grieving,” Madanach murmured to her, before turning to Kaie.

“Well, daughter, did you get everything together?” Madanach asked. Kaie nodded.

“Yes, it's all waiting, including all Maia's things, and we hardly had to kill anyone in the end. Only... only there's someone you have to meet...” She motioned off to where Cicero and Eola were still reuniting, Cicero now back in his motley, ebony dagger and ebony axe at his sides, and Eola sliding some sort of ring onto his finger. Cicero in particular was looking rather emotional and as she let his hand go, he reached up and began to kiss her.

“Do I want to know what the story is behind the jester outfit?” Madanach said, sounding unusually unnerved for him. Elisif shook her head. She didn't know the story herself, but she had a feeling it was something best left untouched.

“And he's got a lady friend,” Madanach continued, amazed. “How in the Void did he get a lady friend? And a Forsworn at that? Wait, if he's involved with a Forsworn... why didn't he say? Kaie... Kaie, what's going on? Maia, who's the girl, do you know her?”

“I've not met her, but Cicero told me a bit about her. She helped him deal with a Dark Brotherhood assassin then they went tomb raiding together and, well, things just happened, I guess. Her name's Eola.”

“Eola...” Madanach breathed, eyes widening as he turned to Kaie for confirmation. She nodded, finally smiling.

“Our Eola. She came home. Hey, gwaneth. Put your boytoy down and get over here!”

Eola turned, eyes locking with Madanach's, well, the good one anyway. He was staring back at her, stunned and Elisif looked from one to the other, trying to puzzle this one out. Eola the ex-Forsworn, and not only known to Madanach and his daughter but considered by them to be... kin.

“You're... Eola,” Madanach was saying, sounding most uncertain as they approached each other. “My Eola.”

She nodded, lowering her eyes in seeming submission, still not saying anything. Madanach stepped forward, reaching out and lifting her face up to look at him.

“You look just like your sister,” Madanach said in wonder. “Eithne, that is.”

“They do say that, yeah,” Eola whispered back, tears in her eyes. “How much trouble am I in exactly?”

Madanach didn't even answer, just taking her in his arms and holding her to him, and while Elisif couldn't see their faces, at least one of them was crying. Eola definitely, and quite possibly Madanach as well.

“I'm sorry, Da,” Eola gasped. “I'm so sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Madanach whispered, kissing the top of her head and ruffling her hair. “After the way your mother treated you, I don't blame you. If anything, it's my fault, I should have been there for you and I never was. Can you ever forgive me?”

Eola just nodded, clinging on to her father for all she was worth. Behind Elisif, Cicero had crept up, peeping over her shoulder.

“Maia,” Cicero whispered. “Maia, save me.”

“Save you – what from?” Elisif whispered. Cicero pointed at Madanach.

“Cicero has kissed his daughter!” Cicero whispered. “Cicero defiled and debased Madanach's little princess! Does Madanach seem like the sort of man to take that lying down?”

“She's a grown woman, I'm sure it'll be fine,” Elisif whispered back. Next to them, Kaie was smirking at Cicero.

“So that's Cicero, is it? Not bad. My little sister has taste. Completely crazy of course, but that's nothing odd in this family. You'll fit right in, don't worry.”

“Madanach did say he liked him?” Elisif said nervously. Behind her, Cicero whimpered, clinging on to the back of Elisif's prison gear. Kaie had the nerve to laugh.

“Oh that's all right then, at least it'll be quick,” Kaie laughed. By this time, Madanach had let Eola go, both of them drying their eyes as Madanach led Eola over, eyes alive with a joy Elisif hadn't known he was capable of.

“Your sister's back, look!” he told Kaie.

“I know,” Kaie said, smiling. “Welcome back, troll-face.”

Eola poked her tongue out at her sister, but with Madanach right there glaring at them both, nothing could escalate any further.

“Eola,” Madanach was saying, leading her over to Elisif. “Eola, this is... well, let's just call her Maia for now, but she's going to help us. She's a dragonslaying hero who might be able to get us our land back.”

“I know who she is, Da,” Eola said as she lifted her eyes to Elisif's, clearly curious to get a good look at her – and apparently pleased with what she saw. “From the fact Cicero's cowering behind her, I'm going to assume this is the famous Dragonborn. Hello there. I'm Eola. Cicero invited me to join the Blades and help you kill things. Although I'm sure there's a little more to it than that.”

“Wait,” Madanach interrupted. “Blades? You? And you know Cicero?” He turned frosty eyes on Cicero, who'd squeaked and dived back behind Elisif. “Do you know, he failed entirely to mention this earlier.”

“Madanach!” Elisif snapped, feeling someone ought to stand up for Cicero here. “You leave him alone, he's done nothing wrong-” She recalled the four people Cicero had stabbed in the last day alone and mentally revised her words. “Nothing to hurt you,” she amended.

Madanach's coldest glare kept right on glaring at Cicero, before he turned back to Eola, disappointment all over his face.

“Eola cariad, please tell me you're not a Talos worshipper.”

Eola could have been a little more gracious in her response to that one, Elisif thought. Bursting into laughter wasn't exactly respectful, even if Talos wasn't a proper god any more.

“No, Da, I promise you, no,” Eola finally giggled. Madanach's expression cleared, relief in his eyes.

“Thank Magnus. Eola, you do know that little fiend presently hiding behind the Dragonborn's slaughtered half of Karthspire, don't you? The only reason he's not dead is partly because the Dragonborn and I have come to an agreement and partly because he's proved himself useful. And you're telling me you've joined the Blades with him.”

“And they're lovers,” Kaie added gleefully, seeming pleased rather than intimidated by the frosty glare she was getting from her sister. Madanach was glaring at Cicero again, who'd started whimpering in terror.

“Yes, I know all that,” Eola snapped. “But the Blades follow the Dragonborn, and you've apparently looked after her rather than killing her. I'm twenty five years old, Da, I can decide who I'm going to love. I don't tell you who you can and can't get involved with, do I now?”

There was something about the way she said that last sentence, some knowing look in her eyes, as if she knew something about Madanach's love life that Elisif didn't. Which was odd, Madanach had been stuck in Cidhna Mine for two decades, where would he have met someone new? Still, Madanach seemed to take the point.

“Fine,” he growled. “You just better hope I can agree terms with the Blades leaders, that's all. As for you, Cicero.” He walked over to Elisif, ignoring her completely as he peered over her shoulder to where Cicero was hiding. “I find you've been anything less than the perfect boyfriend to my little girl, if I find you've ill-treated or hurt her in any way... you better start running because not even the Dragonborn will be able to save you from me.”

“Yes sir!” Cicero squeaked. “Cicero will be nothing less than sweetness and loveliness itself, sir!”

“You better be,” Madanach growled, before looking up to where the rest of the Forsworn had been sitting around watching all this, all looking greatly amused – at least until their king's attention fell back on them. “Right, everyone after Kaie. My daughter has gear for you all – get yourselves out of prison rags and looking like proper fighting men again. Maia, I asked Kaie to retrieve all the things the guards stole from you too, it should all be there. Kaie, did you bring the other things I asked?”

“Yes Da,” Kaie sighed. “One set of specially blessed armour for Maia here, and at Eola's request, a set for Cicero too. It's all up by the door, come on.”

So Elisif followed, at least until Madanach recalled there were half a dozen men getting changed up ahead and told the women to wait while he returned with everything belonging to Elisif, leaving her to get changed in private while he steered Cicero off. Elisif seized on her scaled gear, feeling pleased beyond measure to be out of rags, with Dawnbreaker and Dragonbane at her side. She also examined the Forsworn armour Madanach had given her. Not bad, although the magicka enchantments weren't that useful to her. Still, she pulled the gauntlets and boots on. Better archery skills would do her no harm.

The Forsworn were all waiting for her by the gates, all watching Cicero dressed in their gear, throwing a few moves with his axe and dagger and cooing.

“Look, look, Eola and Maia, Cicero is a mighty Forsworn warrior!” Cicero giggled. He'd exchanged the motley for Forsworn armour and did look very fearsome. Eola told him he looked adorable, taking him to one side.

“Prison rags over on the pile,” Madanach told her, coming into view, dressed in his own Forsworn gear, a glass war axe at his side, all of it glimmering with one enchantment or another. “Not wearing our gear?”

“Not tonight,” said Elisif. “Might give the wrong impression.” She threw her hateful prison rags on the pile of the stuff that had formed in the corner, before taking in Madanach properly. There'd been something about him even in prison, some dignity to the man. Now he was dressed in Forsworn gear again, all fur and feathers and bone and skulls for Shor's sake, he was positively radiating menace. Strangely, Elisif didn't find it frightening. He noticed her staring, smiled and then let his eyes travel over her in return.

“Now that's a little more like it. That's a couple of nice swords you have there, ap Davrha.”

Elisif nodded in acknowledgement, not entirely sure she was able to speak. Her inner dovah, quiet for so long in the mine, was starting to growl, although not because it saw him as an enemy. No, she had a horrible feeling it liked what it saw, and even worse, she had a feeling he'd realised that too, because that was a victory smirk if ever it was one. Barely glancing at the rag pile, he flicked his wrist and sent a jet of fire into it, keeping the magic going until the whole thing went up in flames.

“King in Rags no more!” he laughed and Elisif forced herself to smile, repressing the little stab of jealousy, of him having the power of fire, frost and lightning at his command and she was a Dragonborn who couldn't even breathe fire. It was so unfair.

Not that she actually wanted to be able to breathe fire, of course. It was just a bit galling that she couldn't.

“And now,” Madanach laughed as he watched all their prison rags burn. “Gwadorai, inyeenai, Davrha-Brenhina. It's time to claim our freedom. Are you with me?”

The roar of approval from the prisoners, princesses and one red-haired Imperial lunatic shook the room like a dragon landing.

“No murdering innocent people!” Elisif shouted, reminding Madanach of his promise of earlier.

“Don't worry, if they stay out of our way, we'll stay out of theirs,” Madanach laughed carelessly. “Come on, let's go! For the Forsworn!”

“For the Forsworn!” came the answering cry as everyone else ran out behind him. Elisif chased after, just hoping that when push came to shove, Madanach would keep to that promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first obstacle came as they emerged into Markarth itself, the night sky twinkling above them, Masser approaching its zenith. Elisif could have cried to see the stars again and breathe fresh air, and she'd only been down there a day. How were the others feeling, she wondered.

She shot a glance at Madanach, seeing him staring at the sky like he'd never seen it before, face open and hopeful and wistful all at once, that odd smile on his face that wasn't the usual smirk or gleeful grin. The one that reminded her he was a man like any other. The others had similar expressions as they stared at the sky, none of them quite able to believe they'd made it out. It was really quite moving.

At least until Thonar Silver-Blood's voice rang out.

“Madanach! You've gone too far this time. I'm going to put you down once and for all!”

Madanach lowered his eyes to look at Thonar and just smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“Well now. Thonar. How very convenient. Ap Davrha, you made me a promise, I believe.”

She had, hadn't she? She could feel the dragon within growling, and for once, dragon and human nature were both in perfect accord as she stepped forward to face him.

“Thonar Silver-Blood,” she announced, voice ringing out. “By my right as the true High Queen, I find you guilty of wrongful imprisonment, profiting from slave labour, hiring assassins to kill your enemies, perversion of the course of justice and treason against your true Queen.”

As she spoke, the guards flanking him had turned to look at Thonar, little gasps of shock coming from beneath the helmets as they began to realise just who Maia was.

“You're not Queen!” Thonar snapped at her. “You need a Moot for that, Empire-lover!”

“You're not Jarl, but you still have people arrested and half the guard in your pay!” Elisif cried, wishing she actually could breathe fire and burn Thonar to a crisp. But as it was, she did have people behind her who could handle that for her. “I sentence you to death, Thonar. Cicero, get him.”

Cicero didn't need telling twice. Ebony axe in one hand, ebony knife in the other, and the Brotherhood's very own spirit of vengeance pounced. Blood spurted everywhere as Cicero claimed a fifth victim, and Madanach raised his own axe. One promise kept, two to go.

“Glory to the Forsworn!” he roared. “Let's go, men!”

All around her, mage armour flared and Destruction spells fired at the guards. Cicero was done with Thonar by this point and had turned on the guards, while Madanach ran to Thonar's side, probably to make sure he was dead. After turning out Thonar's pockets, Madanach pocketed the valuables before retrieving a small journal. Elisif saw him flick through it, nod in satisfaction before setting light to it, flames reducing it to ash in seconds. Interesting, Thonar had had a journal, probably setting down their agreement in writing... evidence which Madanach had just destroyed. Which meant she and Madanach were probably the only ones who knew the truth about his bargain with Thonar now. She just hoped their own alliance held out, she'd hate to end up as a loose end herself. But he didn't seem worried, just fired up for battle as his flame cloak flared into life and he shot lightning at one of the guards racing up to join the fight, sending him sprawling to the ground. Elisif fought back a wave of nausea. Even if the Forsworn only killed those who got in their way, not all the guards were corrupt. Some were good men and women doing their jobs and they were likely to die tonight. The thought made her feel ill, although not as ill as her inner dovah growling in satisfaction. Fortunately she had little time to think on it as Eola had grabbed her arm and was leading her out, expertly slicing through the fighting as magic split the sky and arrows flew around them. Madanach finished dealing with the guard he was fighting and ran after them, firing magic at the other guards as he did so.

It wasn't far to the gates in the end, Eola's magic clearing the way, and finally they were there, the gate guards off fighting the Forsworn. Eola opened the gates, shoved her through and then they were running. The guards outside started in surprise, then as soon as Madanach followed, they cried out and sprang into battle, two of them against the Forsworn King. The outcome was a foregone conclusion, Madanach rather smartly avoiding their warhammers before spraying fire at them both. Then the gate crashed open again, and Kaie and Borkul tore through, finishing the job. Then Braig and Uraccen flung Cicero out of the city, the little Imperial covered in blood and still cackling, with Odvan and Duach bringing up the rear. Well, everyone was out at least and the rest of the stables were quiet, everything locked up and all people and animals inside. Which was a little odd, the place was usually open at all hours, it was almost like someone had warned Banning the stable master something was going down, but Elisif had no idea who Banning would know in the Forsworn.

No time to think about that though. The carriage from Solitude had just got in... and Elisif recognised the Dunmer who'd just got out of it, seen a horde of Forsworn running in his direction and was raising his hands to strike.

“ERANDUR WAIT, THEY'RE WITH ME!” Elisif shrieked, at a volume that would have done Cicero proud.

Erandur lowered his hands, the fire blinking out.

“Maia?” he gasped. “You're... with the Forsworn?”

“Yes!” Elisif cried. “I mean... sort of. It's complicated. I'll explain everything on the way, come on.”

“If you say so,” Erandur said warily, but he followed anyway, nodding once at Eola as the three of them ran for Karthspire, six Forsworn and Cicero hard on their heels, leaving Markarth behind them. Elisif for one hoped she never saw the place again.

Notes:

Next chapter, it's all back to Karthspire where Madanach returns to his people in triumph, and then it's time for Elisif to break the news to Delphine that she's made some new friends.

Chapter 16

Summary:

Elisif's got her freedom back but not without having incurred obligations. There's also the little matter of introducing her new allies to Delphine...

Notes:

A slightly slower chapter but I still like it. The calm before the storm that is next chapter.

The Forsworn war songs are sung to the tune of 'What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor?' and 'Bread of Heaven'/Cwm Rhondda respectively.

The little group fled through the night, not stopping, not looking back, although once out of sight of Markarth, the guards were no longer chasing them. Something to be thankful for.

Eola ran by Elisif's side, saying very little but smiling, always smiling. Madanach's child, and there was something about her that definitely reminded Elisif of her father. Same pragmatism and cunning.

Erandur was behind them, but he was getting old by Dunmer standards and was falling behind. It hadn't taken long for Madanach to catch up, Kaie alongside him and Borkul behind them both.

“Dragon-Queen, I take it the Dunmer's with you?” Madanach growled, narrowing his eyes at Erandur.

“He's my friend,” said Elisif firmly. “And he's one of my Blades, aren't you, Erandur?”

“Anything I can do to help, I will,” Erandur replied, looking Madanach over curiously. “You're a little old to be in the Forsworn, aren't you?”

“I founded the Forsworn, elf,” Madanach growled, and Erandur backed off on hearing that, moving closer to Elisif and wondering just how on earth High Queen Elisif had ended up working with the leaders of the Forsworn.

He didn't have a lot of time to wonder, as the Karthspire double bridge loomed up and Elisif led them over it. Then round the Karthspire itself and... Braziers were lit, torches were burning, tents were pitched and a group of Forsworn were approaching with magic going and weapons raised.

Elisif stopped in her tracks. The camp had been gone, they'd driven the Forsworn off and then they'd come by in the night to claim the remnants. She'd not expected a new camp to form so quickly.

“Names and business, strangers,” one called out, clearly hoping for an excuse to slaughter them all. He was to be disappointed.

“Madanach ap Caradach,” Madanach called, pushing his way to the front. “Here to lead us all to glory!”

Gasps from the warriors, at least one of whom dropped his bow from shock.

“It can't be...”

“Is it really him?”

“Old gods, it is!”

“We're sorry, sir, we had no idea...” the lead Forsworn gasped, motioning for him to enter. “I mean, er, welcome back, my lord!”

“Ah, don't call me that, leave all the milords to the Nords!” Madanach laughed, patting the man on the shoulder. “Come on, let's see what you've managed to put together at short notice!”

“He really did found the Forsworn,” Erandur whispered, drawing closer to Elisif and watching in awe as half the camp swarmed, all wanting to get a look at the king who'd been in prison longer than some of them had been alive.

“That's my dad!” Eola whispered, wiping a tear from her eye as her father stopped to shake hands with practically everyone, slowly making his way to the entrance to the Karthspire. Elisif followed after, unsure what exactly happened next, but she had Eola taking her by the arm, Erandur and Cicero behind her and the Forsworn from Cidhna Mine surrounding them all, Kaie leading the way and calling for people to clear a path, the Reach-King's guests were not to be held up.

“Reach-King! Sir! Are you going to clear the intruders out of the ruins?”

“Are we going to shed some outsider blood tonight, sir?”

“We'll follow you anywhere, sir!”

Madanach had reached the top of the steps by this point and was motioning for quiet. Elisif found herself right at the front of the crowd, Cicero bouncing up and down behind her while Erandur and Eola flanked her.

“Brothers and sisters!” he called out. “It's good to see you again. Did you miss me?”

More cheering and half the camp was stamping their feet and chanting his name. Madanach laughed in the torchlight, let them get on with it for a few minutes before firing a thunderbolt over their heads, which got a few oohs and aahs but did calm everyone down.

“It is good to be free again!” Madanach laughed. “I was away too long, I know. But no more, my friends! Tonight, tonight sees the start of a new era for the Forsworn. Tonight we will start to truly reclaim what the Nords took from us twenty five years ago. Tonight we begin walking the path that will bring us victory! Tonight we broke Cidhna Mine, a prison they said no one escapes from... but we did it. Two days ago, there were three Silver-Bloods in Markarth who claimed half the Reach as theirs! Tonight, they're all in their graves!”

The cheer on hearing this resounded throughout the valley, but Madanach wasn't done yet.

“Last night I had one child left to me, Kaie ap Mireen, who most of you have probably met at one point or another.” Kaie at this point stepped to to his side and raised her fist in a salute, to much applause. Madanach smiled proudly before turning to Eola. “Tonight, I have two. My youngest child, Eola ap Madanach, finally came back to me. Come here, cariad, let them get a look at you.”

Eola looked a bit worried about this, but she went to her father's side anyway, smiling nervously at the massed Forsworn as Madanach put an arm around her and kissed her cheek, every inch the proud father. Gasps and whispers, then a slow smattering of applause that slowly spread out over the camp as the Forsworn welcomed their lost princess home.

“And finally,” Madanach announced, grin not fading as his eyes fell on Elisif. “We come to the matter of these new guests of ours who thought moving into the Akaviri ruins without our permission was a good idea.”

Elisif didn't like the sound of that at all. She looked around for Cicero and Erandur, because if this went south, she'd likely need them both. Fortunately, Madanach wasn't about to go back on his earlier promises.

“Now normally, we'd be putting them all to fire and the sword, but it turns out one of them can take a dragon's very soul. Turns out their leader is rather more important than any of us thought. It also turns out she can't resist meddling and ran afoul of the Silver-Bloods too, ending up with me in Cidhna Mine. Maia, get over here, show yourself.”

Elisif felt herself shaking as she walked over to Madanach, the Forsworn silent and no longer ready to cheer anything. The whole atmosphere felt like an execution about to happen. Was this what condemned criminals felt like? She could only guess, but she was a Nord, Nords were brave, Nords were warriors and if this was death, she would face it with courage. She approached Madanach, who still looked in a perfectly cheerful mood as he motioned for her to stand next to him and face the crowd.

“Maia owes us keteen for the loss of our camp, and she acknowledged this to me,” Madanach continued. “So we talked and we came to an agreement and so far she has lived up to her side. I told her my daughter was heartbroken from loss of her mother – and Maia brought Kaie back her sister. We told her our stories of loss and pain, then she shared hers and it seems she has her own grievance with the Bear of Markarth. I asked her for Thonar Silver-Blood's head on a pike – she gave me not just his but his brother's too. Maybe her people took a camp from us... but with her help, we will send the Nords packing and claim the Reach for ourselves! Prepare yourselves, my friends, for we have never been closer to a lasting victory! You will be receiving orders different from the ones you're accustomed to in the near future, and maybe they will seem confusing at first, but if you follow my lead faithfully, I will make you this promise. A year from now, I will be on the Mournful Throne or in my grave! A year from now, we will have our kingdom!”

His su'um is strong! Elisif's inner dovah was nodding in approval as the massed Forsworn howled their joy to the sky, Destruction spells firing off into the night in celebration. Elisif could feel her legs about to give way from all the emotion, not to mention the gnawing fear inside – just how was she supposed to put Madanach in charge of the Reach in under a year? Maybe Delphine might have some ideas, and oh gods, Delphine, how was she supposed to explain all this to her?

Madanach had an arm around her shoulders, still that damnable smile in place.

“I think they like you,” he laughed. “They're not demanding Akaviri blood in payment for Karthspire any more at any rate. Let's just hope the rest of your Blades friends prove as reasonable.”

Elisif could only smile weakly. How was she supposed to persuade Delphine this was a good idea when she wasn't even sure of that herself?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Delphine, wake up.”

Delphine gasped, eyes flicking open as she started up. The door hadn't creaked, why hadn't the door creaked, there was someone in her room, someone in her room!

It was just Aela, arrived back from Jorrvaskr just in time, seeing an army of Forsworn approaching and only just escaping into Sky Haven Temple to warn Delphine, who'd sealed the Temple up. That had been this afternoon, and the only things stopping Delphine from climbing down the cliffside and fleeing were that she had nowhere else to go, she had to be somewhere Elisif would know to find her, and that this was her new home, dammit! An old Blades temple, hers by right. She'd been running too long already, she wasn't letting the damn Forsworn chase her out. Even if there were a lot of them, and the mood of the newly formed camp was not friendly, judging by the singing. Forsworn war songs were both catchy and incredibly violent, and when you'd heard a few rousing choruses of “What Shall We Do With the Captured Stormcloak?” and “Priests of Talos, Priests of Talos, We Shall Serve You To The Hags, To The Hags!”, all sung in harmony no less, it was enough to make even the bravest warrior reconsider.

Nevertheless, here she stayed, and she'd just about managed to sleep, Aela volunteering to keep watch in case anything happened, or indeed if Cicero and Eola returned. Seemed something had.

“What time is it?” Delphine whispered.

“About two in the morning,” Aela said quietly. “Delphine, you need to see this.”

“See what?” Delphine asked, climbing into her Blades armour, Aela helping her fasten it. Aela had a set now as well, and they'd found some old clothes belonging to a former Blades mage that fit Esbern and all in all they were looking very much the part now. Delphine wondered if that was a good thing, or if it would just antagonise the Forsworn more. “Are our friends still here?”

“Are they ever,” said Aela. “And they've got company. They, er, they've come to parley.”

Come to parley? Now that didn't sound at all like the Forsworn. The Forsworn didn't do negotiation, and even if they did, who would be negotiating? Who had the authority to sign any kind of binding agreement on behalf of the entire Forsworn?

Dear sweet mother of Talos. But he's supposed to be in a high security prison...

Aela led her out to the balcony overlooking Cyrodiil Court, and how the Forsworn had got this far in was ringing all sorts of alarm bells. Then Delphine looked down and her questions were answered... some of them anyway.

“Hello sweet and lovely Grand Mistress!” Cicero cooed, gazing cheerfully up at her, all in jester motley with Eola on his arm in Forsworn gear. There was an apologetic looking Dunmer in priest robes – probably Erandur, and Delphine pitied the man for having got caught up in all this. And there at the very front was Elisif, safe and sound and looking rather awkward. And so she should given there were about fifty Forsworn warriors behind her. Mostly young adults in their twenties, but at the front were a huge Orc and a few older men, and next to Elisif, one in particular that everyone else was standing a little apart from. Silver eyes, silver hair down to his shoulders with braided forelocks, bare-headed but dressed in Forsworn armour that gleamed with enchantments, just like the set Eola and the young warrior woman on his right were wearing. Glass axe on his hip, but if Delphine had heard correctly, that was the least of the weapons at his command. That was Madanach, had to be, and he was staring up at her and actually smiling, seeming both curious... and very calculating.

“Elisif,” said Delphine, doing her best to remain calm. “Why have you brought the Forsworn with you?”

“I'm sorry, Delphine, they weren't meant to be here,” Elisif said guiltily. “Only he invited himself along.” This was said with a pointed glare at Madanach, and the Scourge of the Nords barely reacted other than by smirking at her. All right, so not a captor-prisoner relationship then.

“And does he have a name?” Delphine sighed, hoping that she might get a sensible answer at some point.

“He does,” Madanach put in cheerfully. “Madanach ap Caradach, rightful King of the Reach. It's a pleasure to meet you. You'd be in charge of the Blades, am I right?”

“I'm the Acting Grand Master,” Delphine said tersely. “Can I ask why you're here and what you want with... with Maia?”

“It's all right, Delphine, he knows,” Elisif sighed. “He worked it out on his own anyway. Don't worry, he's not here to hurt any of us. He's on our side. Sort of.”

Madanach struck Delphine as the sort of person to be primarily on his own side first and foremost, but this was a story she had to hear.

“You've come to an agreement with the leader of the Forsworn?” Delphine asked. “How? And isn't he supposed to be in jail? By the Nine, did you end up in Cidhna Mine??”

“Thonar Silver-Blood realised who I was and threw me in prison,” Elisif admitted. “But when Madanach realised who I was, he agreed to help me escape. He had a jailbreak planned anyway, so here we all are. Don't worry about Thonar either, he's dead.”

“Quite dead!” Cicero giggled and that was all the confirmation Delphine might have needed as to who was responsible for that. Eola was patting his back, looking very proud of him.

“I'm very grateful to him. What was his asking price?” Delphine said dryly. Well, she could probably guess.

“A full pardon and my kingdom back,” Madanach said calmly, and of course it was, the Forsworn's objectives all along. Madanach would never have helped a Nord for anything less, would he? “Oh, and no more attacks on my camps either, hmm?”

“Your people fired first, Madanach,” Delphine growled at him. “Now you're here with an army laying siege to us – forgive me if I don't exactly trust you.”

“I barely have a hundred warriors out there, it's hardly an army,” Madanach pointed out. It was still more than she had at her disposal and they both knew it.

“Do I have your word you'll be leaving us alone?” Delphine asked. Not that she really trusted him, but she guessed he must have had to make a few concessions to Elisif too, and she'd never grant him a pardon if he wasn't actually going to keep his word.

“Said I wasn't here to fight you, didn't I?” Madanach said, shrugging. “Look, you destroyed Karthspire camp, we'd like to rebuild it, in fact we're going to rebuild it with Kaie here in charge of it. Don't look so shocked daughter, it's about time you had a camp of your own.”

The young woman who was presumably Kaie had squealed on hearing she was getting a camp of her own.

“And we'll be able to get in and out of this camp freely, I take it?” Delphine said, pondering the implications. While this still seemed a little like a hostage situation, it was an added layer of protection – the Forsworn didn't like the Thalmor either.

“You'll have safe passage,” Madanach promised. “We'll leave the ruins alone, you can do whatever you like in there, come and go as you please. If you're helping the Dragon-Queen here, then you need fear nothing from us. I'm hoping she and I will have our respective kingdoms within the year, a good working relationship between her people and mine benefits all of us.”

A year? That wasn't a lot of time... but there were possibilities. Delphine would need to think about this one. It'd be a challenge... but Delphine loved challenges.

“All right,” Delphine said, nodding thoughtfully. “I'm going to have to hear this story in more detail from the Dragonborn, and I'll be wanting my Blades there back... but we'll stay our weapons if you stay yours.”

Elisif, who'd been following this conversation carefully and looking as nervous as a young girl bringing her new boyfriend home, sighed in relief and Eola looked pretty pleased too.

“Agreed,” Madanach nodded. “Also, one last thing. I need half an hour of your time. A private conversation... without the Dragonborn being there. You can have any others of your people along as long as they're discreet, so not him either.” This was said with a glance at Cicero, who looked most put out by this. “Don't worry, I just need to talk to you.”

Delphine narrowed her eyes and Elisif didn't like it either, already protesting this.

“Whatever you have to say to her, you can say to me, Madanach!” Elisif demanded.

“Well, perhaps you can ask her later, can't you?” Madanach snapped. “I just want a private conversation with your Grand Master, that's all.”

Elisif stared back at him and the seconds ticked by... until she sighed and gave in.

“Fine. But I want her back in one piece.”

Delphine would wager she was more than a match for Madanach one on one, but it was nice to have Elisif get protective of her.

“Send your troops back to camp and I'll come down and talk to you,” Delphine promised. “I'll have Aela here with me, and young Eola too.”

Madanach nodded and began motioning to the others. “Kaie, Borkul, stay here. The rest of you, go. We're done.”

The massed Forsworn filed out, although a couple of the veterans took up positions just outside the courtyard, out of earshot of a quiet conversation but within call if a fight broke out. A wise precaution and Delphine made a note to have Cicero do the same at the end of the entrance tunnel to Sky Haven Temple. He wasn't terribly reliable, but he was fast, nimble and a force to be reckoned with.

Only once the courtyard had emptied did Delphine finally open the door and emerge.

“Thank Talos you're all right,” Delphine said softly, placing her hands on Elisif's shoulders. “I thought... we were afraid we'd lost you.”

“So was I,” Elisif admitted, shy smile on her face. “But Madanach looked after me and got me out of there. He's... he's not so bad as they say. But he's still a law unto himself, so please be careful and Madanach, I swear, if you hurt any of my Blades...!”

“You will tear me limb from limb, I know,” Madanach sighed, rolling his eyes. “Dragon-Queen, go on, get yourself home, have a bath and a decent meal and a long sleep, you deserve it.”

To Delphine's surprise, Elisif nodded before hesitating and then actually hugging Madanach, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“So do you,” Elisif told him. “Thank you. For everything. Enjoy your freedom. I'll... I'll see you around.”

Then she was gone, giving one last wave before vanishing into the Temple. Madanach had actually gasped as she'd kissed him and was staring after her, rubbing his cheek and looking baffled. Very curious. Delphine filed that whole exchange away before turning to Erandur.

“You'd be Erandur, I take it. Elisif told me about you. You're a priest of Mara.”

“I am indeed,” the elf told her. “But I'm also quite happy to help protect Tamriel from dragons and help our friend Maia however she needs me.”

“Good, we could use the assistance,” Delphine said, approving. “Get yourself inside, find our Dragonborn and get her to show you around. There's plenty of spare bedrooms, help yourself. Cicero, welcome back, good to see you and Eola tracked the Dragonborn down. Hope you had no trouble.”

“He stabbed five people in twenty four hours,” Madanach put in cheerfully. Eola was patting Cicero on the back and Cicero had gone bright red, all coy embarrassment. Delphine just closed her eyes, not really wanting to contemplate this any longer than she had to, and wondering, not for the first time, if taking Cicero in had been a good idea.

“Five?” Aela said, her voice a mixture of being appalled and yet also strangely impressed. “Who were they?”

“Gabriella of the Dark Brotherhood, a witness to Gabriella's death, Thongvor Silver-Blood, a thief called Grisvar in Cidhna Mine and Thonar Silver-Blood,” Cicero giggled, still blushing. “Also a number of Markarth guards during the jail break but Cicero lost count of them. Er... Cicero doesn't think he's allowed in Markarth any more.”

“I'm not entirely sure you're allowed outside the Temple any more,” Delphine sighed. “Get inside and wait just inside the Temple – come back if you hear fighting, but otherwise just stay put, you hear? We'll be in shortly.”

Cicero scampered off, still flushed with pride, and how someone as sweet and ethical as Elisif kept attracting murderers like she did was a mystery to Delphine. She turned her attention from the undisputed psychopath to the fanatical insurrectionist.

“So, you wanted to talk to me. You have my attention.” Delphine folded her arms, waiting to hear what Madanach had to say. He'd watched Cicero go, seeming rather fond of the man, but as soon as he'd gone, he'd turned sombre again.

“So you're a Blade. Acting Grand Master. Not that senior then, not when there were still Blades operating anyway. You'd be the last of them.”

Damn the man for being so perceptive.

“Being persecuted by the Thalmor wasn't great for recruitment.”

“No one likes the Thalmor, Delphine, even other Altmer don't like them,” Madanach growled. “We've been persecuted by the Nords for decades too, it's been great for recruitment. Don't tell me there was no one willing to join the fight.”

“You were in a Nord prison for two decades, the Forsworn were still operating all that time, and yet Thonar never had you quietly silenced,” said Delphine, refusing to rise to the bait. “And here you are on the outside, able to pull together a fighting force at short notice and have them all here awaiting you, willing to obey your every command. You're still a man very much in charge, so why did the Nords let you get away with it for so long? I'd love to know the story behind that one.”

Madanach looked a little awkward and swiftly changed the subject. Delphine couldn't help but smile and file this away to discuss with Elisif later. Definitely a sore point and she knew she'd won that bout.

“So, the Dragonborn,” Madanach said firmly. “Chosen to fight dragons and has to destroy their leader or the world ends. You know, for a mighty dragonslayer, she doesn't seem that bothered about destroying dragons.”

“What are you talking about?” Delphine sighed. “She's killed three that I've seen, is learning the Thu'um, wants to save her country. She's doing her job well enough.”

“She's learning the Thu'um but not to kill dragons.” Madanach took a step forward, and she couldn't tell if he was angry or afraid, but he definitely was feeling something. “Ulfric, Delphine. She wants to kill Ulfric. Avenge her husband. Be better than him at Shouting, she might already be better. That's what she wants, Delphine. And I think she's going to go it alone. Walk right into Windhelm, challenge Ulfric and kill him.”

“Oh come on, that's insane,” Delphine protested. She knew Elisif wanted revenge, but she could wait, right? Wait for the Legion to take the city, go in with them, she'd led troops at Whiterun, proven herself, she could do the same in Windhelm, right? “She'd never go alone, if she survived, they'd kill her, Galmar would take over the cause, it would achieve nothing other than to martyr Ulfric. She's not that stupid or that suicidal...”

Madanach's eyes were boring into hers, and he did indeed have opinions and feelings on this topic, very strong ones and that wasn't anger, it was heartbreak and desperation.

“When we first met, we argued and I got up to... I don't know, I just wanted to intimidate her a bit,” Madanach said softly. “She must have thought I was going to attack, and she was unarmed. She didn't beg or plead or run. She just closed her eyes and told me to get on with it. Like she wanted to die and get it over with. When I asked her about it, she just said Sovngarde would await if she died bravely. Delphine, you do not have a fearless warrior on your hands, you have a grieving widow who lost a husband and miscarried a baby she'd only just found out about because of Ulfric. Honestly, if Nords didn't think suicides were cursed to roam Oblivion for eternity, I think she'd have taken her own life.”

Aela's hand on her shoulder, Eola looking pale and worried and it wasn't true, Elisif wasn't suicidal, she was sane and calm a lot of the time, she wasn't crazy, surely? And yet, and yet...

“She can't die,” Delphine said, fighting off the panic. “We only just found her – the world needs her! We need our Dragonborn!” What are the Blades without a Dragonborn?? Nothing, that's what, that's why we crumbled so easily, we didn't have a purpose. If we'd still had a Dragonborn, we'd have done like the Forsworn have – formed a resistance. But they hadn't, and if Elisif died, Delphine wasn't really sure the new Blades would hold on. Aela would go back to Jorrvaskr, Brynjolf to the Thieves, Cicero who knew where and Eola with him, that was if he didn't lose it completely and have to be put down, and Erandur she barely knew. They needed their Dragonborn alive.

“I know that, I need her too!” Madanach cried, fingers ghosting across his cheek again, or at least they did until he recollected himself. “She's the only one who can grant me a pardon and make me king, the only one who thinks of me as a friend anyway. I need her to stay alive long enough to do all that, and afterwards things will run a lot smoother if there's a ruler in Skyrim who actually understands us and who I actually like! So she can't die, Delphine, you need to keep her alive, you need to get her out of there afterwards, make sure that when she goes to face Ulfric, she's not alone!”

“This is what you wanted to talk to me about,” Delphine whispered. “You're worried about her!”

“Of course I'm-” Madanach stopped, looking away, still rubbing his cheek. “Look, you people are sworn to guide and guard a Dragonborn, so I'm told. So guard this one. Keep her alive!”

“I can't fight a city full of guards on my own,” Delphine sighed. “I don't have the people, even Cicero's not that good, and I don't think the Legion are going to lay siege to the city for us.”

“I'm not expecting you to take the city, just sneak people in there and cover her escape,” Madanach growled. Sneak people in there – a stealth mission then. But even that would only last until Ulfric was dead – once that happened, any guards with a brain would seal the city. Delphine couldn't rely on there being any Roggvirs in the Windhelm guard who'd do the honourable thing and let them out. No, their best option was to capture the city, but even if Delphine could exploit Windhelm's simmering racial tensions and persuade those dissatisfied with Ulfric's reign to spontaneously rise up in revolt, she couldn't rule it herself and she really didn't have the troops. Damn it, if only she knew someone who'd done this sort of thing before and had troops at his disposal...

“Why not take the city,” she said quietly, ideas starting to come together. “Come on, you ruled Markarth once, Windhelm's about the same size, how many people do you think you'd need to serve as its new guard force if the old one were to be... unavailable?”

“Around three hundred to rule a peaceful city, likely more if we had to seize it,” Madanach replied, looking very thoughtful as he began to realise just what she was suggesting. “We took Markarth with five hundred of us. But Delphine, that took years to plan, time spent putting people in place, slowly replacing the Nords' servant class with our people and the Nords never noticed because one Reachman's much like another, right? We had a whole slum neighbourhood in place full of disaffected people tired of Nord rule. We still do. But Windhelm?? Ulfric's stronghold? A city full of Nords where my people are going to stick out like a sore thumb? In a few weeks? You ask a lot, Delphine.”

“It's not just Nords live there,” Aela said, speaking up for the first time, eyes aglow. Clearly a topic close to her heart. “There's a whole quarter, used to be the Snow Quarter but they gave it to the Dunmer refugees and never bothered maintaining it again. They call it the Grey Quarter now – it's little better than a slum and it's full of disaffected Dunmer being horribly ill-treated by the Nords. Not to mention the docks – Nord sailors aplenty but the dockers are all Argonians who aren't even allowed in the city. You think Windhelm is all Nords who love Ulfric and Talos? Think again.”

Madanach had gone very still, eyes wide and a smile starting to creep across his face as Skyrim's undisputed expert on exploiting ethnic tensions to spur armed revolution began to process all this.

“If we snuck supplies and people in via the docks, got the Argonians and Dunmer to hide them for us...” Madanach began. “Only we'd need ships, Delphine, the Reach is landlocked, we're not sailors.”

“Now that we might be able to help with,” Delphine said, already plotting the first stages. “The East Empire Company has an office in Windhelm, but it's not doing so well of late. Something to do with pirates strangling the shipping lanes and Ulfric doing nothing because prominent Nord families in the city are doing very well out of it and the last thing he's going to do is help the Empire's traders. Do you know, I think the East Empire might be grateful for a little assistance. Grateful enough to bring in a few extra trading supplies for you – if we tell them you're a covert ops unit from High Rock there on General Tullius' orders to try and unseat Ulfric and administer the place until Tullius can get there.”

Madanach's grin broadened and he burst out laughing.

“All right, I like you, Talos-worshipper. Elisif's adorable and going to be a fine queen, but she's got no head for strategy. You, on the other hand, you're good. My – the Dragon-Queen's in good hands. Listen, keep plotting and I'll do likewise. See if you can send some people to Windhelm and find us a few allies, while I look into the logistics of sorting out five hundred or so Forsworn for a new uprising. I did promise Elisif I'd stop Forsworn attacks on civilians in the Reach while she got us our kingdom. I'll need something to occupy them in the mean time. This will do nicely.”

It would indeed, it just relied on Delphine persuading the Dunmer of Windhelm, Argonians of Windhelm and the Windhelm East Empire Company that everyone could profit from this. Good thing she now had a Dunmer at her disposal, not to mention the best scam artist in Skyrim. As soon as Brynjolf got back, Delphine would need to sit down and start planning this out. Just like old times.

He'd been gone a while. Delphine hoped he was all right out there. Maybe he was a flexibly-moralled charmer obsessed with coin... but he was her amoral charmer. If anything happened to him, they'd have her to deal with, and Delphine had very little forgiveness left to spare.

Notes:

And there you have it, the plotting has begun. Speaking of Brynjolf, he'll be back next chapter. You know I said I wasn't going to involve the Guild much? Change of plan. There's going to be a Thieves Guild subplot. Isn't it exciting?

Chapter 17

Summary:

Brynjolf returns home, in need of a line of funds to sort the Blades out with, and wondering how he's going to explain all this to Mercer... only to find out that's the least of his problems, as the Thalmor Embassy job has had unintended consequences.

Notes:

So here it is, due to popular demand - the Thieves Guild arc! No Elisif for the next few chapters, I'm afraid, as a) most of this takes place while she's off in Cidhna Mine negotiating for assistance with Madanach, and b) even once out of there, she's got a Dragonborn mission and no time to spend gallivanting round the Rift. But fear not, I'm sure you'll find Brynjolf's adventures to be more than satisfactory... if a little, um, traumatic in parts.

Warning for an awful lot of character death quite early on - you don't see it, just the aftermath, but, er... there's a lot of it.

Early morning as Brynjolf got into Riften. Not like he didn't like Sky Haven Temple, or the Reach, but it was a long way from anywhere. It was good to be back in civilisation again, with no Forsworn lurking, all the guards and indeed criminals nodding as he passed, Riften not the prettiest city in the world but still a sight for sore eyes in Brynjolf's mind.

At least until he reached the mausoleum and saw the blood trail. Leading out from the tomb that concealed their hide-out and trailing off into the grass.

What in the name of Zenithar... Brynjolf slammed the button to open the entrance as hard as he could, seeing the opening grate flung open – no, smashed to pieces, wood littering the small hideaway.

The Cistern had been compromised. Fucking Oblivion, the Cistern had been compromised – who, how?? Had Maven turned on them??

Brynjolf dropped into the Cistern, fighting back the urge to vomit as he realised it was worse than he'd feared. Cupboards ripped open, gear everywhere, Mercer's desk kicked over and worst of all, the water in the central pool a vivid shade of scarlet from the bodies everywhere. And there were bodies all right. Vipir lying near the ladder, cut down as he'd tried to run. Niruin slumped by the wall. Thrynn and Rune face down in the water. Cynric cut down in the hallway leading to the Flagon. No sign of Mercer anywhere, but plenty of signs of the bastards who'd done this. Thalmor, two justiciars in their blue robes and several footsoldiers in their gold armour.

“Fuck,” Brynjolf whispered, horrified and shaking all over as he realised what this was about. Revenge for the Embassy job, that's what it was. Someone had sold them out, but who? Not Elisif, she didn't know where the Cistern was. Surely not Delphine, she'd barely left his side since the job, even if she had wanted to sell out the Guild. Which she wouldn't, not to the Thalmor anyway. Didn't leave many people who'd known a Guild man had robbed the Embassy. Maven? She'd recognised him at the party, been furious with him but had stopped at just warning him that if there were reprisals, not to come running to her. Even Maven's influence had limits.

Noise from the training room and Brynjolf nocked his bow, sneaking down the corridor. If there were any more of them...

“Etienne, ssshhh, drink your potion. It'll be all right, I promise you.”

Sapphire, Sapphire was all right, and that made Brynjolf's heart leap. Ex-Dark Brotherhood, very talented cat burglar, one of Brynjolf's better protégées, Sapphire wasn't just a capable thief, she was a very skilled and ruthless fighter. Of course she'd made it.

“It won't be!” Etienne Rarnis sobbed. “I only just escaped from them, I thought I was safe! Now they came here?? Where've I got left to run to, Sapphire?”

Poor bastard. Captured by the Thalmor, rescued by Brynjolf, only to have the Thalmor raid the Cistern.

“I don't think they were after you,” Sapphire said, her voice hard and fierce and really the Thalmor were in for a truly terrible time when Sapphire found them.

“They weren't,” Brynjolf said, emerging into the room, putting his bow away and raising his hands. “They were after me.”

“BRYN!” Sapphire cried, leaving Etienne still crouched by the wall. “Brynjolf, you're alive, thank the gods. Bryn, oh Bryn, the Thalmor, they killed everyone and they took Mercer!”

Mercer was the least of Brynjolf's worries right now but for the Thalmor to have taken him... not good.

“I saw that for myself, lass,” Brynjolf said quietly, holding on to Sapphire and comforting her as best he could. “Are you both all right?”

Sapphire nodded, still looking a bit tearful, but still strong and that was his girl Sapphire all over. She wasn't into men as lovers, Brynjolf knew that and had long accepted it, but the two of them were good friends regardless.

“I think so,” Sapphire whispered. “I made a few healing potions for Etienne and me, but we were both lucky – his Breton blood saved him from the worst of it, and I guess they just must have missed me with their worst spells.”

Etienne was slowly staggering to his feet, glaring at Brynjolf. Oh good, Etienne had realised what Sapphire hadn't.

“You!” he cried. “It was you they were after! Because of what you did to their Embassy!” He had his dagger out, pointing wildly at Brynjolf and while his hands were shaking, he was still capable of killing someone.

“Brynjolf? What does he mean?” Sapphire asked, and he didn't like the look on her face either. “What do you know about this?”

“Etienne, if I'd not taken that job, you'd still be in that Embassy,” Brynjolf snapped at him before turning to Sapphire, adopting a more placatory tone with her. Etienne probably hadn't ever killed anyone in his life, but Sapphire definitely had and rarely lost sleep over it. “Listen, Sapphire, I'm sorry, I didn't know they'd trace it back to the Guild. It was a big job, I couldn't say no!”

“Are you telling me you robbed the Thalmor bloody Embassy and this is payback?” Sapphire said quietly, too quietly, her eyes as cold as the gem she was named for.

“Yes,” said Brynjolf, hanging his head. “I'm so sorry, Saff. Believe me, it was important.”

“What was the pay for this?” Sapphire asked, still eerily quiet.

“Six thousand septims,” Brynjolf confessed. Trust Sapphire to care mostly about the gold.

“Six thousand septims,” Sapphire repeated, still far far too calm for Brynjolf's liking. “I see. Tell me, Brynjolf. Was it worth it? Was the coin worth the lives of all our Guild brothers and sisters?”

“I didn't do it for the coin!” Brynjolf cried, surprising even himself, especially as he realised it was true. The coin had stopped mattering the moment he'd found Delphine's Thalmor file, read it and realised his not-quite-lover wasn't crazy at all, she was sane, strong, brave and in horrible horrible danger.

“So you did it for a laugh?” Sapphire shouted, finally losing her temper. “You brought the Thalmor down on us because you were bored?”

“No!” cried Brynjolf, but Sapphire wasn't listening.

“Everyone is dead, Brynjolf!” Sapphire shouted. “Thrynn, Cynric, Rune, Niruin, Vipir, they're all dead! Mercer probably will be soon if he's not already, and I've not even gone to look at the Flagon yet. All thanks to those Thalmor bastards, and now I find out it was because you were stupid enough to rob them??”

“Sapphire, I'm sorry,” Brynjolf pleaded, although the mere fact she was shouting at him meant at least she probably wasn't about to stab him. “I didn't mean... I didn't know this would happen! I used a false name, covered my tracks, had a whole false identity set up! Someone sold me out, Sapphire. Someone betrayed the Guild. I know who it was too. You want revenge? Come with me, we'll deal with him together then rebuild the Guild, I swear it.”

“Rebuild??” Etienne cried. “Brynjolf, they know we're here, they killed everyone, what's left to rebuild?”

“Then we'll do what we do best, lie low, wait for the fuss to die down... then we'll come back,” Brynjolf growled. “Maybe the Thalmor know my name, they don't know yours. We'll be back, and if we have Sapphire here as Guild Second running things in Riften while I'm based... elsewhere, then that's what we'll do. Let the Thalmor think they won. We'll come back from this, I swear it.”

Etienne didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded, putting his dagger away. Even Sapphire looked mollified.

“Guild Second, huh?” Sapphire said, looking thoughtful. “Well, why not? Of course, that does depend on if anyone survived in the Flagon. I'm not hopeful but Delvin's no pushover and Vex is lethal when cornered.”

True enough, but if anyone had survived in the Flagon, they'd have come back here by now, surely? All the same, Brynjolf had to at least see the damage.

“Come on,” said Brynjolf, quietly dreading the next bit. “Let's see what's left of our little tavern.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Flagon was in no better state than the Cistern – worse if anything. Tables were overturned, chairs smashed, the terrace over the pool was a smouldering mess. Thalmor bodies were scattered around, and they weren't the only ones. Vekel's body was lying near the bar. Dirge by the Ratway entrance. Vex lying dead in the middle of the bar and what looked like Tonilia floating in the Flagon pool.

But in the middle of the wrecked Flagon, one very much alive Dunmer in Guild leathers was kneeling over Delvin Mallory, pumping healing magic into him.

“Come on, Delvin,” the Dunmer urged. “Don't you die on me now!”

Sapphire didn't recognise her, and Etienne just looked blank, but Brynjolf... Brynjolf knew her all right.

“You murdering bitch...” he growled. “Get away from him!”

Karliah backed off, empty hands raised, those odd purple eyes staring back with a mix of horror and joy... joy? What the fuck did Karliah have to be pleased about? Unless she'd had something to do with this.

“Brynjolf!” Sapphire cried, trying to hold him back. “Brynjolf, she's a Guild sister, they don't have Dunmer in the Thalmor!”

“No, but they'll work with whoever's useful!” Brynjolf snarled. “Like that murderer!”

“Brynjolf,” Karliah gasped. “Brynjolf, I swear, I had nothing to do with this, that's not why I'm here. I was trying to save Delvin's life!”

“He's not dead?” Sapphire whispered. Karliah shook her head.

“No. Breton blood probably saved his life. But he needs a proper healer.”

Sapphire didn't wait to hear any more, snapping at Etienne to get over there. She was already kneeling by Delvin's side, reaching for a potion as she tried to rouse him.

“Del,” she whispered. “Delvin, it's me, can you hear me?”

Delvin moaned but didn't wake and Brynjolf winced to see the burns. He'd likely have scars on the left side of his face and he wasn't sure he'd keep the eye. But he was alive, one more Guild brother left to him and Brynjolf wasn't about to lose any more. Beckoning to Etienne to give him a hand, he lifted Delvin by the shoulders.

“The Temple of Mara's not far, let's get him out of here,” said Brynjolf grimly. “And you, Karliah. I don't know why you're here and I don't much care but there's fuck all Guild left thanks to the Thalmor. So count yourself lucky I've got bigger problems on my mind than you and get the fuck out of Riften with your life intact. Am I clear, lass?”

“Brynjolf, who is she?” Sapphire whispered, barely having taken her eyes off Karliah since she'd walked in.

“Her name's Karliah,” Brynjolf growled. “And she killed the last Guildmaster before Mercer.”

“No, you're wrong, it wasn't me!” Karliah cried. “I've got the proof right here, I found Gallus's journal, and was able to get it translated by Enthir at Winterhold. Mercer was embezzling from the Guild and killed Gallus to cover it up!”

She was holding out the journal and what was presumably the translation. Brynjolf nodded for Sapphire to take it from her.

“Etienne and I are getting Delvin here to the Temple. Sapphire, you go over that journal and you see what it says. If you think she's being anything less than truthful... kill her.”

Sapphire flipped the book open, actually smiling. Brynjolf lifted Delvin up and carried him off with Etienne's help. Sapphire knew her business, Sapphire had a near infallible sense for when people were lying to her. Sapphire was also Dark Brotherhood trained and had stabbed her way to freedom after being held as a sex slave in a bandit camp aged just fourteen. Sapphire even now was a bit too free with her blades. If Karliah wasn't what she claimed... Brynjolf was sure Sapphire would deal with the problem for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Delvin was going to live. Scarred, but he'd live. Left eye gone but he'd live. Going to be weeks, maybe months, before he recovered, but he'd live. Brynjolf could have kissed Maramal but didn't, just paying the Temple a large donation for their trouble. He'd given a large bag of septims to Etienne as well. The poor man would be no good in the Blades, his nerves were shot to ribbons. No, the man needed a holiday, so Brynjolf had told him to take Delvin to Windhelm on the carriage as soon as he was fit to travel, then get him on the boat to Solstheim. Delvin's brother Glover lived out there, he could keep an eye on Delvin while he recuperated. As for Etienne, Brynjolf had told him he could go wherever he wanted once that was done, either stick around in Raven Rock and wait for news, or head off to Morrowind or anywhere else he felt like. The poor man deserved a lucky break for once and those were in short supply in Riften it seemed.

The Cistern had been cleaned up by the time Brynjolf got back – the bodies removed and the mess cleared. Sapphire and Karliah were sitting together at the table on the far side, a bottle of Black-Briar mead each and Sapphire going over the diary. The original was written in a language Brynjolf didn't recognise, but the writing looked like Gallus's. Sapphire was reading a translation written out and signed by Enthir of Winterhold, and Brynjolf definitely had seen his handwriting before. Enthir had been Gallus's best friend, it stood to reason he wouldn't have wanted to protect Gallus's murderer.

“Well, what do we have?” Brynjolf asked, taking a seat next to Sapphire.

“It looks legit, Bryn,” Sapphire said, brooding over it. “Gallus was talking about irregularities in the Guild's accounts, things going missing, and he was fairly certain it was Mercer. Also that the Guild's luck had turned and he wasn't certain Mercer hadn't caused that either. Something about Mercer having profaned the Twilight Sepulchre and betrayed the Nightingales. I don't know what that means and she won't tell me. Said she'd explain when you got back.” This was said with a glare at Karliah, who shrugged apologetically.

“Let's just say it's not the sort of thing I want to have to say twice,” Karliah said quietly. “Brynjolf, how's Delvin?”

“Going to live,” Brynjolf said, unable to stop himself smiling at that. First bit of good news he'd heard since he got here. Karliah actually smiled at that, and Brynjolf wondered if perhaps they'd all been wrong about her.

“Glad to hear it,” Karliah said in that soft voice of hers. “So now what, Brynjolf? Going to kill me yet?”

“Not yet,” Brynjolf said, flicking through Enthir's notes. They confirmed everything Sapphire had said, and if Mercer really had killed Gallus to cover his tracks... Brynjolf felt his blood chill as he realised this had been twenty five years ago, Mercer had been Guildmaster ever since, he'd had full reign of the accounts. If Mercer had been embezzling, no one would have known. He pulled Delvin's vault key out and passed it back to Sapphire.

“Sapphire, this is one of the keys to the vault. It was Delvin's. There's only two others, me and Mercer have one each. Needs two people to open the vault and it's not pickable. Come with me, we need to check everything's in order there. If Karliah's right about Mercer... come on.”

Sapphire nodded and followed, Delvin's key in her hand. Brynjolf slid his into the vault door, heard the lock click into place then motioned for Sapphire to try the other one. She did so and the door swung open.

The vault was empty. Cleared out – all the gold gone, all the jewels gone. Nothing. Not. A. Thing.

Sapphire was first to react.

“That lying, thieving, no-good son of a skeever, when I find him, I will kill him!” Sapphire shrieked, tearing at her hair, eyes blazing with cold fury. Brynjolf could barely even speak. All the Guild's money, gone. All the years he'd spent trusting in Mercer, trusting his Guildmaster could turn things around... and the son of a bitch had been on the take all along.

“How...” Brynjolf whispered. “This door was unpickable, how did he do it, how??” He turned to Karliah, who didn't even look surprised. “You know, don't you. You know how he got in on his own.”

“I have my suspicions,” Karliah confirmed. Brynjolf decided right there and then he was half sick of secrets.

“Is it do with what Gallus was writing about? The Twilight Sepulchre?” Brynjolf asked. “And... Nightingales? You don't mean to tell me they're actually real.”

“Nightingales?” Sapphire asked, scratching her head. “What, like in the stories? Sort of super-thieves that watch over the rest of us in life and in death?”

“That's right,” Karliah nodded. “There's three at a time, the Trinity. They serve Nocturnal, the Queen of the Night, Mistress of Shadows, and when they die, they become one with the shadows, guarding Nocturnal's Temple and protecting thieves here in Mundus. Mercer and Gallus were both Nightingales... and so was I. We served Nocturnal and got rich... and then Mercer got greedy. Like you read in that journal, he profaned the Twilight Sepulchre, Nocturnal's temple and conduit to our world. That's how he was able to open that vault – he took her sacred artefact, the Skeleton Key. That's also why the Guild's luck has turned – with the Key gone, Nocturnal's conduit to Tamriel was severed and the source of our luck dried up.” She indicated the remains of the Cistern. “You see the results for yourself.”

Brynjolf didn't want to believe it, but it made too much sense for it not to be true.

“But if our luck's gone, why... why'd the Embassy job work in the first place?” Brynjolf demanded. “It's the riskiest thing I've ever done, but it all worked, I got inside, the distraction went without a hitch, I got in and out with the goods. I thought I'd got away with it!”

“Well, the Thalmor got your name and allegiance and the Cistern's location out of someone,” Karliah returned. “Clearly not that lucky. But you did this job for a client, right? And you were able to carry it out without getting fingered, and when the Thalmor did come, you weren't here. I'm wondering if perhaps something else was watching over you. Some other source of good fortune that wanted you alive and the job doing.”

“Like what?” Sapphire asked, looking at Brynjolf suspiciously. Brynjolf was not a religious man, and belief in Talos was decidedly unhealthy right now... but he couldn't help but wonder if a certain dispossessed Aedra hadn't been involved. It was ridiculous but for the Blades work to go flawlessly and everything the Guild touched turned to ash... no, no good could come of this line of thinking.

“Couldn't say,” Karliah shrugged. “Not without knowing who Brynjolf's client was and what they were after. But maybe this is a discussion for another time. Right now, we've got a Guildmaster to find. He must pay for what he's done.”

“The Thalmor took him, I imagine he'll be paying soon enough,” Sapphire snorted. Karliah shook her head.

“You don't understand, he had the Skeleton Key with him. We need to find it and return it to Nocturnal, or we'll never get our luck back. Try and rebuild all you want, but without Nocturnal, the Guild's doomed.”

Sapphire digested all this, looking thoughtful. “Bryn, what do you think?” she asked finally. Both women were looking at him as if they expected him to mysteriously solve all their problems, but damned if he could think of anything. All the same, Key or no Key, Brynjolf wanted to chase down Mercer. Mercer couldn't have spent all the Guild's money, he had to have stashed it somewhere. The Blades could use that money.

“We need to find where the Thalmor may have taken Mercer – they took him alive, they want to interrogate him, they won't have gone far. Sapphire, where'd they take him, what direction?”

Sapphire indicated the ladder leading up to the mausoleum. As Brynjolf had suspected.

“In that case, there's a trail of blood leading away from the tomb gate. Follow it, both of you, see where it goes, ask around if the trail goes cold. The Thalmor tend to stand out if you get my meaning.”

“And you?” Sapphire asked. “What about you?”

“I'm going to see Maven,” Brynjolf replied, dreading this next bit. “Need to see if we still have a patron after all this.” That was assuming Maven hadn't been the one to sell them out, of course. It was a slim possibility... but Brynjolf really couldn't rule it out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still early, but not so early it would be unreasonable for a thief to call on his Guild patron. Brynjolf knocked on Maven's door, hoping someone was up and the Thalmor hadn't been here too.

He was in luck. Maul opened the door, sword drawn, but he sheathed it when he saw Brynjolf.

“About time you showed up. Get inside,” Maul growled, hauling Brynjolf into the Black-Briar house. Brynjolf swallowed nervously. Maven clearly knew something, that much was certain, and his certainties didn't decrease when Maul ushered him into the Black-Briar dining room, where Maven was sitting at the table, drinking a bottle of her best mead. That was definitely bad. Maven looked gaunt and pale, her hands shaking, and Brynjolf didn't think she'd slept.

“So you're finally back,” Maven snapped, a brittle edge to her voice that had never been there before. “Am I to take it you're the reason the Thalmor were here? They were asking questions. Not terribly friendly questions. About the Guild. About the Blades. About a certain break-in at the Embassy and some elderly dissident who'd been hiding in the Ratway but fled before the Thalmor could round him up. Your name kept coming up.” Maven stared pointedly at him, toying with the mead bottle in her hand. “I warned you, Brynjolf. I warned you I couldn't protect you if you were mad enough to rob them.”

Yes, she had, she'd been very forthright on the matter at the party, furious he'd be stupid enough to show his face there. Brynjolf guessed someone had observed their conversation and decided rumours of Maven's involvement with the Guild were worth following up.

“I'm sorry, Maven,” Brynjolf said, doing his best to sound contrite. “I didn't know they'd find me. I went to a lot of trouble to cover my tracks, but someone sold me out and when I find them... well, it'll make the Thalmor look positively merciful.”

“They searched my house, Brynjolf,” Maven said quietly. “And the meadery. Probably the Lodge too. Threatened me, my business, my family, if they found any evidence linking me to the Guild. Ingun's still in shock after what they threatened to do to her. Oh don't worry, they won't find anything. I'm not such a fool as to leave written evidence lying around. But this is going to have knock-on effects on my business... after all these years, after generations of Black-Briars making the Rift their home... I am half-tempted to sell it all and start over in Hammerfell.”

“You're not serious,” Brynjolf gasped. To lose Black-Briar support when they needed it the most... but after a visit from the Thalmor, anyone would be jumpy.

“No, not yet,” Maven laughed bitterly. “I'm not completely finished. I might even be able to turn it to my advantage yet. But you'd better get yourself out of Riften for a while, Brynjolf. Lie low, change your name, your looks – does the Flagon still have that face sculptor?”

No, Galathil's corpse had been one of those littering the terrace in the Flagon.

“The Flagon doesn't have much of anything any more, Maven,” Brynjolf admitted. “They attacked the Flagon in force, broke into the Cistern, killed virtually the entire Guild. They've got Mercer in custody, and I've got four people left to me, one of whom's lucky to be alive and will need extended recovery time, and the other's nerves are shot to Oblivion by the whole thing and won't be much use for anything. We've got no Guild left, Maven. I think we're all going to have to go to ground for a bit. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?!” Maven gasped, appalled. “A major source of my influence just died and you're sorry?? How long is putting the Guild back together going to take exactly – no, never mind. Brynjolf, go. If they've got Mercer – go and find him. Who knows what he might tell them. Make sure he's not given them my name, make sure no reports mentioning me get back to the Embassy. I'd prefer it if you could extract him alive, good Guildmasters are hard to find. But if not... well, as long as he's not blabbed about my involvement, I'll live with the outcome. When you've done that, you'd better start with rebuilding the Guild, hmm? Let me know once you've got an organisation in the Rift worth backing again.”

About as good as Brynjolf had hoped for. Taking his leave, he went to track down his remaining Guildmates. Time to see how far Sapphire and Karliah had got.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trail of blood led to the back gate of a house which Sapphire recognised at once as Mercer's town house, Riftweald Manor.

“That's Mercer's house. Are you sure?” Karliah asked, staring up at it, but really there wasn't a lot of doubt about it. No one else would have locked and barred all the ground-level doors from the inside and made the sole entrance a ramp leading up to the first floor, a ramp currently in the up position. The blood trailed past the gate and up to said ramp. So presumably Mercer and his Thalmor captors were still inside.

“That's it,” Sapphire nodded. “It was a present from Maven – I've never been inside but the whole Guild knows about it.”

“So why would Mercer have the Thalmor take him to his own house,” Karliah murmured. “Unless they didn't know it was his... but there must be other, easier locations to use for interrogations. The whole of the Ratway, for one.”

“He must have told them he had Brynjolf here but only he could get past the traps and lure Brynjolf out,” Sapphire guessed. “But he knows that's not true and there's only so long he could bluff. So...”

“So he must have been luring them into a trap,” Karliah realised, pushing the gate open. “Come on, let's get inside. Take care, we don't know what Mercer's got lined up here.”

They found the guard first, Vald, one of Vex's exes. Very ex now, he was a frostbitten corpse dumped in the undergrowth of Mercer's back garden. One less complication to worry about anyway. Next, getting the ramp down.

“Leave it to me,” Karliah said confidently, unshouldering a very nice bow and taking aim at the mechanism. One shot later and it came crashing down.

After claiming the house key from Vald's body and getting inside, Sapphire wasn't terribly surprised to find more blood and bodies, but the actual amount of death and destruction was a bit of a shock even for her. First the mercenaries, presumably employed by Mercer to guard the place, all looking like victims of the Thalmor's magic. But then, on the floor below, the dining room littered with Thalmor bodies... also looking like Destruction magic had killed them. But Mercer wasn't a mage...

“How?” Sapphire whispered, examining the dead Justiciar. “What happened here? It's like the Thalmor killed each other...”

Karliah emerged from where she'd been examining the front door, her face grim.

“They probably did. Mercer's a Nightingale, he has all Nocturnal's powers at his command. One such gift allows you to turn people against each other. He did that to the Thalmor and got away while they killed each other. Look at the door bar, it's down but it's got rope around it and a trailing thread that's been severed. Bet you anything Mercer threaded the rope through the lock, used it to pull the bar down from outside once he was through the door, then severed the end and ran.”

“But...” Sapphire whispered, feeling her head spin at the implications. “But if he could do that, why didn't he do it in the Cistern? Why not before they killed everyone else?? Karliah, he could have saved us all, but he just let them take him and let us all die, why...?” Sapphire's eyes blurred as the woman who liked to think she didn't know how to cry started sobbing, the hate and betrayal finally hitting home. Sapphire understood greed, she understood giving in to the lure of wealth and robbing the vault, but to abandon the rest of the Guild to their deaths like that... maybe she'd not been close to all of them, but they were still her fellow thieves. Still her brothers. And they'd died because Mercer had taken advantage of the Thalmor invasion to escape and cover up his crimes. Sapphire had been angry before, but now she was livid and heartbroken and vengeful all at once, a sobbing hate-filled wreck in Karliah's arms.

They were still like that when Brynjolf found them, moving quietly towards them.

“What happened?” he asked, surveying the scene.

“Mercer used his Nightingale powers to make the Thalmor turn on each other and got away in the chaos,” Karliah explained, her voice shot through with bitterness.

“He can do that??” Brynjolf gasped, mind boggled. “But if he can do that, why not do it when they first attacked...” He stopped, inhaling sharply as he reached the same conclusion Sapphire had. “Son of a bitch.” He knelt by Sapphire, taking her off Karliah and holding her to him, stroking her hair as a distraction, to remind himself not to completely let his anger consume him.

“That does it,” he said, voice a low growl that would have sent hardened killers fleeing. “He dies. I don't care what he has to say any more. First Gallus, then ruining your life, Karliah, then stealing all we had, and now I find out he could have saved the Guild but didn't? We kill him. End of discussion.”

Karliah closed her eyes and bowed her head in acceptance of the judgement. “We need to find him first,” she said. “Any ideas where he'd go?”

“No idea, he could be halfway to Morrowind by now,” Brynjolf sighed. “But we can search this place, find out if there's anything here that might tell us where he's gone. This is his stronghold, his sanctuary, if he was making plans to flee, this is where he'd keep everything.”

Sapphire dried her eyes and let Karliah help her up and the three of them began searching. No sign, nothing of interest, a bit of miscellaneous loot but nothing to indicate any sort of heist or secret hideout.

At least not until Sapphire thought to wonder why there was a wardrobe in the side pantry, and Brynjolf took a closer look. Once he might not have noticed anything, but that was before meeting Delphine again and seeing the secret passage in her bedroom. Hidden in a wardrobe just like this one. Seconds later, he had the false back open, revealing the steps going downwards.

“A secret lair,” Karliah murmured. “Cunning. Very cunning. Of course, there'll be traps all over the place, Mercer wouldn't want to leave it unguarded.”

No doubt. But that also meant there was something down there to find. Steeling himself, Brynjolf entered the passage. Time to find what Mercer was hiding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were traps all right. Traps involving firejets in the floor, where all three had to take different routes over the room and leap over the final tile to avoid getting toasted. Then the long tunnel with the battering rams and swinging blades. Karliah told them to wait while she dropped to her knees and slunk underneath, dropping and rolling in precise co-ordination with the blades. Finally she made it to the other end where conveniently there was an off switch for the whole thing.

At the end of the tunnel was a small study, clearly Mercer's inner sanctum. There were books (including a well-thumbed copy of the Lusty Argonian Maid which both Karliah and Sapphire refused to touch and frankly Brynjolf didn't blame them), a good portion of gold and jewels which they split between them, and a bust of the Grey Fox that Brynjolf decided might fetch some coin... if he could find someone to fence it of course. There was a locked display cabinet containing a sword and not just any sword. Only the legendary lost blade Chillrend. Brynjolf wasted no time breaking in and taking that, thank you very much.

Then there were the plans. Oh, the plans. Rather detailed plans, indicating Mercer was going after one of the last great heists.

“The Eyes of the Falmer??” Sapphire gasped. “Are those even real??”

“They're real,” Karliah confirmed. “Gallus was going after them before... but he never got the chance. He'd been planning and researching for years – I'd wager Mercer found his plans and has been building on them.”

The Eyes of the Falmer. Two large diamonds the size of a small baby. Said to have been the eyes of a great Snow Elf statue hidden somewhere in Skyrim. Worth a fortune, enough to both help the Blades out and maybe get the Guild back on its feet too.

Enough to make sure Mercer was set up for life if he got them first, and that made Brynjolf's blood boil.

“We have to find him,” Brynjolf said firmly. “Before he can get those gemstones and go to ground. It's our only lead – once he's got those, who knows where he'll disappear to. He's got a headstart, but he's injured, he'll likely need to hole up for a bit before he can get moving. We can catch him, we can do this...”

“Not as we are,” Karliah said quietly. “He's a Nightingale, he's used the Key to unlock more than just doors. He's powerful. If we need to bring him down, we'll need help. We'll need Nocturnal's assistance. We'll need to rebuild the Trinity.” She looked expectantly at them both.

Brynjolf looked at Sapphire to see if she was thinking the same thing he was. Had Karliah just offered to induct them both into the Nightingales?

“You mean... me and Brynjolf. Nightingales,” Sapphire gasped. Karliah nodded, actually smiling now.

“Inducting you both as Nightingales, yes,” Karliah said. “We won't have full access to Nocturnal's gifts until the Key's returned, but we can have the armour. I think you'll find it to your liking. What do you say?”

What was the catch, was what Brynjolf wanted to say – fortunately Sapphire wasn't born yesterday either.

“But there's a price, right?” Sapphire asked. “I mean, I wouldn't agree to a deal where I wasn't getting anything out of it – you're not telling me the goddess of thieving is going to.”

“You're smart,” Karliah said, nodding approvingly. “She's going to like you. Basically, it's a business deal like any other, a Guild contract in a way. We take the oath as Nightingales, and in return get given the armour and powers of Nocturnal. We can use these to do whatever we want. But we're sworn to protect the Twilight Sepulchre, Nocturnal's conduit to our realm, keeping it safe and open so her influence can protect us. In life... and in death. When we die, our spirits guard that temple, and eventually once Nocturnal's decided our time is up, we become one with the shadows, our influence and skills helping to guide and guard thieves still living.”

Enhanced thieving gifts at the expense of an afterlife. He knew it. Service to a Daedric Prince in the afterlife, what fun. At the same time... one with the shadows. Protecting his fellow thieves, along in spirit for every heist, ensuring things went their way when it mattered... there was something to that. He'd always liked mentoring the younger ones, spotting talent, helping them develop their skills, seeing his wide-eyed raw recruits go on to make something of themselves. He'd hated seeing them fail, seeing them get caught or shot by the guards, their luck running out. To be able to stop that from happening... and an edge against Mercer too.

He wondered what Delphine would think. She'd probably be appalled, but he'd seen her do enough thieving before now, and didn't the Blades work in the shadows too? He didn't know where she was going to end up afterlife-wise, but he had a feeling he'd never have followed her anyway. Talos didn't take thieves to his domain.

“I'm in,” he heard Sapphire say, and he found himself nodding along.

“As long as it doesn't take too long,” he told Karliah. “We can't risk Mercer getting away.”

“Spoken like a true thief,” Karliah laughed. “Don't worry, the place I'm taking you to is just outside Riften. We shouldn't be long.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightingale Hall turned out to be barely fifteen minutes out of Riften, right near the mysterious stone monolith that generations of thieves had whispered was some sort of symbol of the Nightingales and might bring you luck. Some thieves whispered leaving an offering would bring good fortune, going so far as to leave septims and gems out here. Brynjolf had believed them once, as a young footpad just starting out, right up until Glover and Delvin had caught him doing it one night, nearly wet themselves laughing and told him brighter thieves just spread that rumour so they could lie in wait and help themselves to the goodies.

He'd avoided the place since. Now here he was ready to actually join the order behind it.

The entrance was hidden under the cliff – locked but he could tell on sight the lock was a puzzle one that would fox most thieves. Karliah, it seemed, had a key.

Inside, the place had a vast hall with a river running through it – a little rundown but not bad. Karliah led them through to where three stones which she called armour stones were waiting.

“Touch one, it'll give you your armour. Then get changed into it and follow me.”

Brynjolf glanced at Sapphire to see how she was taking this. Apparently in her stride.

“Saff, are you sure about this?” Brynjolf murmured. “It's a contract with a Daedra, they're not exactly trustworthy.”

“If it ends Mercer and gets us our Guild back, I'll do it,” Sapphire said, her face stony. “Why, having second thoughts?”

“Not exactly,” said Brynjolf, although he wasn't entirely sure about this. “I just... thieves and temples. Normally we're robbing the gods, not swearing loyalty.”

“It's not about religion, Brynjolf,” Karliah announced, emerging in her Nightingale gear. “It's business. We make this deal on behalf of all thieves, ensuring all benefit from Nocturnal's gifts. We don't do it, our entire business falls apart. But if you're not sure, go. Hopefully Sapphire and I will be enough.”

On behalf of all thieves... and on behalf of all spies too? Maybe the reason the Thalmor had been able to hunt down the Blades the way they had was because they were benefiting from Nocturnal too. Delphine, I promise, I'll make sure the Nightingales help you... or at least, this one will.

“Don't worry,” Brynjolf promised. “I'm still in. I'm just wondering, why me? You've not seen me in years and I was just a nineteen year old kid back then.”

Karliah's face was hidden behind her hood but he had a feeling she was smiling.

“In that time, you've gone on to be Guild Second, universally liked by everyone in the Guild by all accounts, a finder of many great thieves, very very good at your job, and now you tell me you managed to rob the Thalmor without getting caught? Of course I want you as one of us. As for you, Sapphire, you survived that Thalmor attack with barely a mark on you, and you came back fighting. You're strong, resilient and you're going to make a fantastic Nightingale. You both are. If you're willing?”

Sapphire emerged from where she'd been getting changed, face flushed as she prepared to pull her hood on.

“Never more so,” she whispered.

“Come on then,” Karliah said, leading them both to Nightingale Hall's inner sanctum. “Let's get you sworn in.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, it was all a little anticlimactic. Nocturnal came at Karliah's summons but not in person – just taunting her almost. But she accepted the terms in the end, accepted both Brynjolf and Sapphire as Nightingale, and restoring Karliah to the same.

“I don't feel any different,” Sapphire said, fingering her armour. “Was something supposed to happen?”

“Normally new Nightingales would be taken to the Ebonmere, there used to be an entrance to it from the Hall,” Karliah replied. “You'd get your new powers there. But with the Key gone, none of us have them, not even me. It's how Gallus knew the Sepulchre had been defiled, our gifts vanished, and only another Nightingale could have got as far as there. Which is why we have to find Mercer – he's stolen more than coin.”

“The plans said the Eyes of the Falmer were in the Dwarven ruin of Irkngthand, up near Lake Yorgrim in the north,” Brynjolf recalled, remembering the plans left on Mercer's desk. “If we go there now, we might be able to catch him before he can get away with the Eyes. Or we can lie in wait if he's not there yet.”

“This is one daedra of a slim chance,” Sapphire snapped. “And if we don't find him, what then? I've sold my soul to a Daedra for nothing? I want coin and power, Karliah!”

“We'll find him,” said Karliah, eyes flashing darker than usual. “Nocturnal came to us, I don't think she'd have come if the situation was hopeless. I think we still have her favour, I think there's still a chance Mercer can be caught.”

“There'd better be,” Sapphire muttered. “In the mean time, I'd better go steal myself a sword, this dagger's nice but it won't do me much good in a Dwemer ruin.”

Karliah sighed, and unbuckled her own sword, handing it over.

“Here. Take mine. It was Gallus's once. I don't really need it, I always preferred the bow. It's the Nightingale Blade. I think you could put it to good use.”

Sapphire actually whimpered as she admired it, and Brynjolf let out a low whistle on seeing it.

“Nice! I'd appraise it for you, but I don't think you'll be wanting to sell that in a hurry.”

“No way,” Sapphire breathed. “This baby's mine.” She gave it a few experimental swings before sheathing it. “All right, Karliah, if being a Nightingale means more shiny toys like this, I'm in.”

“You're already in,” Karliah laughed. “But thank you. I assure you, when the Key is restored, we'll all have the chance to heist as many shiny things as we could ever want. But for now, we have a job to do.”

“We do,” Brynjolf said, fingering Chillrend's hilt. “Come on. We've got a renegade thief to find... and punish.”

Notes:

And that's how to do the Guild questline in a hurry when your Dragonborn's not actually a thief. I'm so sorry about the Guild though. It'll rise again in time but for now, the Nightingales are it. Pretty badass Nightingales though.

Hope you like it so far, insofar as you can like a plotline where virtually all the Guild got massacred by the Thalmor. I'm so sorry, but it felt sort of inevitable that the Thalmor would want revenge and Bryn is a bit of a high-profile thief, he's not some underling the Guild can just sacrifice. As it is, I saved who I could, principally magic-resistant Bretons and half-Bretons who inherited their dad's magic resistance.

Next up, the Nightingales hunt down Mercer, and then it's time to start working out where they all go from here.

Chapter 18

Summary:

The Nightingales avenge their Guild - but the aftermath leaves them all wondering where to go from here. Fortunately for them then that fate drops them right into the laps of someone needing assistance from thieves.

Notes:

This one was interesting to write, I've never really written Blindsighted into a fic before, and doing so really brought home how Nocturnal's influence works for thieves. It's your skills that get you through Irkngthand and kill Mercer, but you're sealed in, nearly drown, and it's only luck the roof caves in and you're able to get out. Skills get the job done and luck saves your life. Never really thought about it that way before...

Irkngthand was as horrible as Sapphire had thought it might be, in fact it was worse. She'd always avoided Dwemer ruins on principle – why fight all those automatons and Falmer when there were easier pickings in Skyrim's towns and cities? But she had no choice in the matter this time.

So there they'd been, making their way through a ruined city, fighting off automatons and Falmer, avoiding traps and seething as Mercer fled ahead of them. He'd left a shadowmark and bottle of Black-Briar reserve for them near the entrance, and Karliah even spotted him below them in the lower chamber.

“We're not too late,” she'd gasped, relieved. Brynjolf had cracked his knuckles, growling.

“We've not caught him yet,” he'd muttered. “If he gets those Eyes ahead of us...”

“We can't let him get away,” Karliah had said, leading the way. “It's too important.”

So on they'd battled, Karliah obsessing over the Key, Brynjolf over the Eyes and Sapphire... Sapphire just wanted revenge. He'd let her entire Guild get murdered to cover his tracks. This one was personal – although the coin from the Eyes would be nice too.

After slogging through a particularly densely infested settlement of Falmer, they finally arrived at a door, behind which could be heard the sound of tools on metal.

“He's still here,” Karliah whispered.

“And so are the Eyes,” Sapphire said, nudging the door open and creeping in. That was right, concentrate on the coin, on the gemstones, thinking of the shiny gleam of a sapphire took her mind off all the blood in the Cistern after the Thalmor had finished with it.

Despite everyone moving silently, somehow Mercer heard them. Grinning from where he was dangling from the crown of the biggest statue Sapphire had ever seen, prising the left eye out of it, Mercer laughed at where the three of them were crouching.

“When will you learn, Karliah, you can't get the drop on me!” Mercer sneered.

“Mercer!” Karliah shouted. “Give us the Key, Mercer. It's over.”

“I don't think so, Karliah!” Mercer laughed. “Here, time for you and Brynjolf to get reacquainted.”

A blast of some strange magic, and Sapphire threw up her hand instinctively, some power coming from her and she'd have said it was Nocturnal's had she not done the same thing when the Thalmor came, throwing up some sort of aura that had absorbed their magic and left her virtually unharmed. That same aura was buzzing around her now and Mercer's stolen gifts breezed right past her... but Brynjolf wasn't so lucky. He drew Chillrend and turned on Karliah.

“Brynjolf, what-!” Karliah cried, drawing her dagger.

“I can't stop, lass, I'm sorry!” Brynjolf cried, doing his best to not swing Chillrend at her but not entirely succeeding. Sapphire tried to grab Brynjolf's arm but he was too strong and just shrugged her off. Sapphire had no choice but to leave them both. Maybe if she killed Mercer, his spell would die with him.

“So, little Sapphire, you're still alive,” Mercer growled, approaching with sword drawn. “Crawled to safety over the bodies of all those Thalmor like you did before, hmm?”

“I crawled nowhere, Mercer,” Sapphire snapped, Nightingale Blade standing ready to avenge its former owner. “I stood and fought and I won. And I'll do the same today.”

“Spoken like a true Nord. If only they let thieves into Sovngarde,” Mercer sneered, his own Dwemer blade at the ready.

Sapphire had been raised on tales of Sovngarde, but farmers weren't warriors and both her parents had known Sovngarde wasn't for them. Wasn't for her either – not now anyway. Evergloam was her destination and Sapphire found she preferred it that way.

“I'd think less on my afterlife and more on your own if I were you, Mercer!” Sapphire snapped, advancing with sword in one hand, dagger in the other. “Nocturnal demands your blood!”

“Nocturnal doesn't care about me or you, or anything to do with the Guild!” Mercer snapped. “The Nightingales are over, Sapphire, those days are gone. Accept the truth, Sapphire, there's no honour to what we do. We're thieves!”

“We are thieves,” Sapphire breathed, all her old training coming back to her. “And you are a murderer. But I – I am Death Incarnate!” She swung her blade, Mercer only just managing to block. He staggered back, cursed and raised his hand, some sort of spell at the ready. Sapphire readied herself to power through, but the spell wasn't cast on her, it was cast on the pipes. Dwemer metal cracked, the whole room shook and then water from Lake Yorgrim started pouring in.

“Mercer, you'll kill us all!” Karliah cried, horrified, but Sapphire didn't care. All she cared about was vengeance, and she chased after Mercer, who was dodging and weaving like any Dark Brother. This was going to be a tough fight, but it was only when he turned invisible she realised just how formidable he actually was. Water was pouring into the cave, and Sapphire had to find him, had to.

Of course, all the water also made it that bit easier. All she had to do was follow the drips and the ripples.

Dwemer blade met Nightingale craftsmanship and while his Guild armour was tough, so was Nightingale gear. Mercer was strong, but she was a good two decades younger and while he was experienced, so was she. In the end, youth and speed won out as she broke his guard and shoved the Nightingale Blade into his gut, impaling her former Guildmaster. He looked up, shocked to see someone finally best him but also a little impressed.

“Glover was right,” he gasped, spitting blood. “You are special.” He closed his eyes in pain as Sapphire kicked him in the stomach and wrenched her blade out, irrationally furious that he even dared to bring her old mentor Glover Mallory into this.

“Get your excuses ready, Mercer,” Sapphire snarled. “Nocturnal's waiting for them.” Sapphire sank the blade expertly between his ribs and Mercer breathed his last.

“Shadows take me...” he gasped, and then he was gone. Sapphire, never the sentimental type, cleaned her sword off on his armour before going through his pockets. With Mercer dead, Brynjolf was free and he and Karliah were making their way over.

“Where's the Key,” Karliah gasped and Sapphire dug it out – a black and green monstrosity but still recognisably a key for all that. Alongside it were about 500 septims in coin, lots of jewels and best of all, the twin Eyes of the Falmer. The legends hadn't lied, they were the size of new babies and only just fit in Sapphire and Brynjolf's packs.

“Let's get out of here,” Brynjolf said tersely. Easier said than done. The water was already half filling the room, and the doors proved blocked.

“What do we do,” Sapphire whispered, fighting a rising wave of panic. Not like this, she didn't want to drown, even if she was a thief rather than a true Nord warrior, she'd rather die fighting.

“Up the stairs, let's get to the higher ground,” Karliah said, leading the way. Sapphire and Brynjolf followed, but it was no use. There was no way out and the water was rising fast. Once behind the Snow Elf's head, there was nowhere left to run.

“We're going to die,” Brynjolf whispered, voice oddly flat for someone normally so optimistic. “After all that, we're going to die here.”

“But we avenged the Guild,” Sapphire said, feeling her heart break at the thought of it ending like this. “We got the treasure! We can't just die!”

“Sometimes things just don't go our way,” Brynjolf said sadly, sitting down as the water started to creep over the platform edge. “That's how life goes.” He'd pulled his hood off and Sapphire was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “I'm sorry, Sapphire, I should never have dragged you into this. You had your whole life ahead of you, and a fine career.”

Sapphire shook her head. It felt wrong to see Brynjolf look so dispirited. She knelt beside him in the rising water.

“If it ends here, at least it's with a friend,” Sapphire said quietly. That did get a smile off him. Then the waves reached their chins, and they were swimming. Except for Karliah, standing and staring at the roof as the waves surrounded her face.

“Karliah!” Sapphire cried. The Dunmer barely moved.

“Nocturnal will provide,” Karliah said simply, and then the waves swallowed her under. Sapphire took a deep breath, took Brynjolf's hand and then they were both under water too, clinging on to each other in the murk... and with the last of the light gone, Nocturnal answered. Another explosion rocked the room and the roof caved in, rocks missing all three by inches – and light glimmering in from the newly revealed hole.

Sapphire wasn't going to argue. Striking out for it, she swam upwards, Karliah already ahead of her, Brynjolf close behind, and while her lungs were burning, she had enough strength to drag herself onwards. Finally her head broke water and Sapphire gasped as air flooded back into her lungs, Karliah there to offer her a hand and pull her onto solid land, holding her upright while Brynjolf joined them, all three dripping wet but alive, gloriously alive.

“We did it,” Sapphire gasped. “We got the Eyes!”

“And the Key!” Karliah laughed.

“And justice,” Brynjolf said quietly, arms around them both, and not all the water on his face was from the lake. Sapphire couldn't blame him for getting emotional. Now the excitement of catching Mercer was done, they all had to face the reality of no more Guild. Of having to start all over again.

“Now what?” Sapphire eventually had to ask. “Bryn, I'm with you, whatever you want to do.”

“Don't say that, lass, you don't know where I'm going,” Brynjolf laughed. “But all the same, we do need a plan. Need to fence these Eyes for one thing.”

“We need to give Nocturnal her Key back,” Karliah said firmly. “But I agree, we should sort out the spoils first. Brynjolf, is Niranye still in Windhelm? Think she could help?”

“She hasn't fenced for us in a long time and I doubt she's got the coin... but it's worth asking her,” Brynjolf said thoughtfully. “She might be able to put us in touch with a buyer – if not, Delvin's got contacts all over. We can ask him once he's feeling better.”

“And after?” Sapphire asked. “Where do we even start with rebuilding the Guild?”

“We don't,” said Brynjolf. Sapphire looked up, shocked as she realised perhaps he'd intended this all along.

“But... Brynjolf, the Guild's your life!” Sapphire cried. “You can't just walk away! Where will you go?”

Brynjolf smiled a little at that. “You know, Sapphire, there's more to life than coin alone. I know, the last thing you'd ever thought I'd say, but it's true. Those Thalmor bastards killed my Guild – well, turns out we're not the only ones they've fucked off. I plan to take the fight to the fetchers and make some coin along the way – and maybe in a few years we can really start sorting the Guild out again. In the mean time, I'm not keeping my share of all this. I'm handing it over to someone who really needs the coin. I think it's about time I told you both who my client for the Embassy job was...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The Blades. You've signed up with the Blades,” Karliah said, staring in disbelief at him as all three sat by the side of the lake. “Dragonslayers??”

“I know, it's hard to believe, eh?” Brynjolf grinned, still looking a little embarrassed but not actually at all guilty over this. “But it's true. Delphine turns up after all these years, offers me a dangerous job knocking over the Thalmor Embassy, and I end up fighting dragons and Forsworn and taking over this old Blades temple in the Reach. It's definitely been an experience.”

“Delphine,” Sapphire whispered. “I never met her, she'd left years before I joined the Guild, but Glover and Delvin told me about her. She was one of the best out there, heisting in half the Guild's income at one point. Glover reckoned he'd never seen anything like it, she had one of the finest strategic minds he'd ever come across and seemed to have contacts all over the place. Then she just left one day. They say she never even said goodbye.”

“She never did,” Brynjolf said quietly. “She just disappeared. I got a note about six months later telling me she was sorry but that she was all right and not to come looking for her. She wasn't close to a lot of people, but she and I went out on jobs together all the time. I thought we were friends, was furious with her when she left... but I get why now. She thought the Thalmor had found her and didn't want them to hurt us as well.”

“She gave us ten years then,” Sapphire said, closing her eyes and remembering all the bodies and blood. Brynjolf was right, she couldn't just go back to the Cistern as if nothing had happened. “So what now? Guess you're going back to Delphine. Why does she need a thief anyway?”

“Covert ops and fundraising,” Brynjolf said, patting the Eye in his rucksack. “Blades look after the Dragonborn, keep the world safe for humanity, they need spies keeping an eye out for threats. That's where Delphine got her training, and she can always use talented sneaky types. I'm heading back there after this. She'll be pleased about the cash although less so about the Guild. Doubt she'll miss Mercer though, she never did get on with him. Could never be bothered with courting his approval or pretending she wouldn't have been as good a Guildmaster as Mercer.”

“I like her already,” Karliah laughed, looking thoughtful. “Listen, I'm not sure about joining up. Sounds a bit too straight and narrow for my liking. I'm a rogue, not a hero. But I'm willing to help out on the odd job if you need an extra pair of hands. I'll be at Nightingale Hall, working as an independent contractor. When you need me, come find me.”

“I will,” Brynjolf promised, clasping her hand. “What about you, Sapphire?”

A tricky one. On the one hand, she could help Karliah out – but she didn't know the Dunmer that well and wasn't sure how well they'd work out. Then there was going it alone... but Sapphire didn't really quite have the experience for that yet. There was always joining the Mallories on Solstheim – but thieving opportunities were going to be thin on the ground over there. Then there was the Blades...

“Can I come with you?” Sapphire asked hesitantly. “I don't know about sticking around forever, but I can help out for a bit until we're ready to start sorting the Guild out properly.”

A broad grin split Brynjolf's face and he held out a hand to her, smiling as he pulled her in for a hug.

“That's what I hoped you'd say, lass. Welcome aboard.”

Sapphire submitted to the hug – Brynjolf might be a bit of a ladies' man, but he was also in possession of a certain code and he was one of the few people she felt comfortable enough to let touch her, him and Glover Mallory, someone else who'd never been anything other than a perfect gentleman around her.

“So how far is this place then? This Blades Temple?”

“A bloody long way,” Brynjolf admitted. “But we don't have to set out right now. The Nightgate Inn's not far from here, is it, Karliah?”

“Just the other side of the lake if I remember rightly,” Karliah said thoughtfully. “Come on, let's go and crash out there and have a drink together. We've all earned it, I'd say.”

All three helped each other to their feet, picking their way round to the distant lights of the Nightgate Inn glimmering in the distance, three Nightingales looking for home. They didn't have one yet... but in time, the Guild would rise again. Of that, Sapphire was certain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Nightgate Inn was a small traveller's inn, miles from any towns or villages, not given to having large numbers of guests. So it was with some surprise that the three thieves received the news that the inn was busy that night. Of the three available rooms, two single and one double, only the two singles remained, the double having been rented by two Nord mercenaries. Twins from the look of it – definitely brothers, and there was something about that armour. Brynjolf had seen its like before.

While Sapphire was berating the innkeeper and grudgingly accepting one single bed for Brynjolf, and a bedroll in the other room that Karliah and she would share, in return for a round of free drinks for the three of them, Brynjolf made his way over to where the brothers were sitting at a table, heads down while they had dinner.

“Well now,” Brynjolf murmured, taking a seat next to the smaller of the two men. “Not often a man runs into two Companions of Jorrvaskr on the road. Got any stories of heroic deeds for me, lads?”

“Do I look like a bard to you?” the shorter one snapped, glaring at him. “My brother and I are having a quiet drink and dinner. We're not here to entertain the rest of Skyrim.”

“Ah, now that's a shame,” Brynjolf said calmly, recalling Aela's tales of Jorrvaskr and guessing who these two were. “Especially since we've got a friend in common and all. Aela sends her regards, and shouldn't you two be checking in at Jorrvaskr soon? You've left that old man Kodlak running things all on his own. Very irresponsible of you, Vilkas.”

Vilkas' head whipped round, lips curling backwards in a snarl as he glared at Brynjolf, who realised just a little too late what the wolf armour probably symbolised.

“Don't lecture me on responsibility, thief,” Vilkas growled, and across the table his brother was cracking his knuckles. This might not have been one of Brynjolf's better ideas.

“Now that is a harsh word to call a man you've only just met,” Brynjolf protested, raising his hands to show they definitely weren't in Vilkas's pockets or anything.

“Oh I know you,” Vilkas spat. “You're that market trader from Riften, the one with the questionable potions for sale. An honest city would have run you out of it years ago.”

Very probably, and it was a bitter irony that it was revenge rather than justice that had achieved that objective. All the same, Brynjolf could tell that of all of them around this table, he was the least desperate of the three.

“Well, as you can see, I'm not there now, so perhaps my luck ran out at last. But clearly I'm not the only one. You two lads have not had a good time of it lately, have you now?”

Vilkas said nothing, just glaring at him, but Farkas looked amazed. Really, someone needed to give the lad a few lessons in being a bit less obvious, he knew Companions had never been terribly good at subtlety but this one seemed a bit simple even for them.

“How did you know that?” Farkas asked, awed even as Vilkas had his head in his hands.

“Three empty flagons on the table already but you're not singing and carousing, either of you. Good arms and armour but a little worn of late, almost as if you've not got the coin or time to visit a smith. Your boots look like you've been on the road for weeks, but we're not far from Jorrvaskr, a day if that. And I can sense the desperation a mile off. Whatever your business is, it's not gone well. Let me guess, you swore some binding oath that you'd do something and not go home until it was done, and it's proving harder than you thought.”

“That's amazing,” Farkas whispered, impressed. Vilkas just grunted.

“That's something any con artist can manage, Farkas. He's just a thief, brother. Even if he does claim to know Aela. Hah, you probably just tried to sell her something once.”

Not true, Brynjolf had seen Aela around Riften before, taken one look at the way she held herself and decided not to bother. Aela wasn't in possession of enough coin to be worth the risk of antagonising someone that smart and formidable. There were easier marks. As it was, Brynjolf had got to know her quite well and come to actually like and respect her. Even stranger, it was mutual – they had similar combat styles and she'd been impressed by his skills. Pity her Shield-Brothers weren't so reasonable. Well, Vilkas wasn't anyway. But Farkas now... Farkas was looking hopeful.

“Are you really a thief?” Farkas whispered, glancing nervously around the inn. Definitely a simple one.

“Wouldn't tell you if I was, lad,” Brynjolf murmured. “Don't tell me you want to change jobs.”

“Farkas!” Vilkas snapped. “We do not look up to criminals.”

“I wasn't...” Farkas protested, before glaring at his brother. “Look, if he's a thief, he might be able to help! We never got anywhere, but a sneaky type might.”

“Get where?” Brynjolf asked, his curiosity piqued. He didn't know what the brothers would have in the way of coin, but a favour owed in Jorrvaskr might come in useful.

“Farkas!” Vilkas hissed, but he was gritting his teeth, clearly seeing something in his brother's argument, his hands going to something clipped to his waist – Shor's bones, was that Azura's Star?? Looked a bit worse for wear, but it definitely looked like the descriptions Brynjolf had read.

“You want to tell me what you lads are mixed up in?” Brynjolf asked, just as Karliah arrived with drinks in hand.

“Making some friends, Brynjolf?” she asked, before her eyes raked over the Star on Vilkas' belt, Dunmer eyes seeing what Brynjolf initially hadn't noticed. “By N- by the Reclamations, is that Azura's Star??”

“It is not for sale!” Vilkas hissed, grabbing it and putting it on the table out of either thief's reach.

“In that condition, I'm not sure I'd want to buy it,” Karliah said, looking vaguely appalled at the state the Star had got into as she took a seat on the bench next to Farkas. “What did you do to it?”

“Nothing!” Vilkas snapped. “It was like that when we found it. We're on our way to Azura's shrine in Winterhold to take it back!”

“I'm sure Azura will be ecstatic to see what's happened to it,” Karliah said, eyeing it nervously. Sapphire arrived at that point, fresh from having hauled the bags into the rooms, and accepted her mead off Karliah, taking a seat next to the Dunmer.

“Honningbrew?” Sapphire asked, waving the mead in the air. “I feel like a traitor just looking at it.”

“No need, I get five per cent on all sales,” Karliah said cheerfully, before realising what she'd just admitted and blushing.

“You!” Brynjolf cried. “You're the one who was trying to take down Maven!”

“To hurt a man, first bring down his allies,” said Karliah, shrugging as she sipped her Honningbrew. “If it's any consolation, I can reign in the competition a little if you like? Not really any point antagonising Maven any more...”

“Please spare us your corrupt business dealings,” Vilkas growled, rolling his eyes. Farkas was staring at his own Honningbrew, wondering if drinking it was honourable any more. He hoped so, he really liked the taste.

Sapphire narrowed her eyes, steely glaze not leaving Vilkas.

“Brynjolf, why are we sitting down to dinner with two mercenaries who are clearly going to sit there judging us every five minutes?”

“Ah now, that's a very good question, Sapphire,” Brynjolf said, glad of a change in subject. “See, these two lads are Companions of Jorrvaskr, and they were going to entertain us all with a heroic story involving a sworn oath, Azura's Star and a possible job that we might be able to help with. Weren't you, Vilkas?”

“A job?” Karliah said, toying with her mead bottle, her earlier reservations over the Star forgotten as the prospect of coin dangled in front of her. “What sort of job?”

“We charge for our services,” Sapphire said fiercely. “I doubt you've got the coin to hire us.”

“Now, now,” Brynjolf said calmly. “I'm sure we can negotiate a fee once we've heard everything. Even if we don't take it, well, I'm sure it's a good story. So how did you get hold of Azura's Star exactly?”

“We went to visit her shrine in Winterhold,” Farkas told him. “We needed help with a job and one of the Dunmer in Windhelm told us to seek advice from the priestess there who sees all sorts of things in her visions. She said she'd only help us if we tracked down Azura's Star. So we did and now we're taking it back.”

“My brother speaks the truth,” Vilkas sighed, drinking his mead. “But not the entire truth. Aranea said that if we did this thing for Azura, the goddess would assist us, but that we had to leave quickly if we wished to be in time. For what, Aranea did not or could not say. But we would not be in this inn tonight, here and now, if we had not set out on that mission. So maybe this is meant to be. I can't say I like it... but the welfare of a dear friend rests on this. All right then, thief. You know we're Companions, you say you know Aela... but have you heard of the Dragonborn?”

Silence around the table as both women's eyes turned to Brynjolf. They'd both shrieked on hearing he'd actually met the famous Elisif Dragonborn and pestered him for stories, bombarding him with questions, wanting to know if she was as pretty as everyone said, if she'd really killed dragons and necromancers, if the golden sword was real (and was it worth anything?). He'd said yes to it all but advised against stealing the sword. Elisif was a sweet young girl but with a bit of a black and white view of the world... and she was very attached to that sword. After seeing her take on a dragon, Brynjolf had decided it wasn't worth risking her wrath.

“I'm familiar with Jarl Elisif, yes,” Brynjolf said delicately. “She's involved too?”

“Not directly,” Vilkas said bitterly, staring into his tankard. “But one of our Shield-Sisters, a young Imperial called Ria, decided to follow her on her adventures. Except it didn't go well.”

“She died?” Sapphire asked, and Brynjolf shot her a glare. He'd seen that look before, interest and bloodlust and wistfulness over having to leave the Brotherhood, which meant she was hoping for a revenge contract two Companions could never honourably take themselves.

“Worse,” Vilkas said, shaking his head. “She got captured by the Stormcloaks. They're holding her prisoner in Windhelm, and as she's a political prisoner, there's no bail. I don't know what Ulfric wants with her and I don't care, but she's our Shield-Sister and we won't abandon her.”

“Except rescuing her's harder than it looks,” Farkas said moodily. “She's locked up tight, and we're not any good at sneaking around. Can't pick locks either. That and we're too well-known. Guards'll know we're up to something, they were all keeping tabs on us while we were there, the New Gnisis was the only place we could get any peace. That's where we heard about the Shrine of Azura and thought we might as well try it.”

“You want a jailbreak doing,” Brynjolf said, pondering all this. Now wasn't that interesting. Normally he'd be calculating the fee and charging heavily for this sort of service... but if Ria had got caught because she'd been protecting Elisif, that made a difference. Brynjolf knew the story, had heard it in a drunken late-night chat that first night at Sky Haven when he'd ended up sitting up with Aela and Elisif and later Cicero, who'd actually been quiet, just cuddling Elisif and listening to them talk with an odd little smile on his face. Elisif had looked heartbroken and guilty as she'd retold the whole thing and it was clear she still missed both Jordis and Ria, blaming herself even though Aela told her it wasn't her fault. Well, Brynjolf couldn't bring Jordis back from the dead but perhaps he could get Ria freed.

“A political prisoner in Ulfric's stronghold,” Karliah pondered. “That'll take some doing. I hope you have coin for this.”

The answer to that was clearly no, and Brynjolf doubted Jorrvaskr's coffers were overflowing either. Nevertheless he could afford to be generous on this one.

“On the other hand, he has to know her ransom value's limited and she's not likely to know much,” Brynjolf mused. “I doubt he's got her under the very highest security. We might be able to do something. If you've not got the coin, a favour owed might be possible.”

“I am not doing anything dishonourable for you,” Vilkas growled. “Nor is my brother.”

“If you want our help, you might not get a choice,” Sapphire snapped. Brynjolf placed a hand on her wrist, motioning for her to be calm.

“Tell you what,” Brynjolf said. “As it appears we have a few friends in common, both of whom would also like to see young Ria freed, I'll look into it for you. You stay here at the inn, the three of us will head out to Windhelm tomorrow and scout the situation for you for free. When we've done that and put a plan together, we'll send word and quote you a suitable fee. How does that sound?”

“Too good to be true,” Vilkas said, still dubious. “But all right. I'm not paying you a thing until Ria's back here and safe though.”

“Fine by me,” Brynjolf agreed. “We were heading that way tomorrow anyway on business of our own, it's no bother to do a little investigation.”

“We'll get her out of there if we can,” Karliah said, her voice reassuring and kind, which seemed to go down well with Farkas certainly, and even settled Vilkas a little. “Now, you told us why you were after the Star, but not how you found it. Where did you get it and what happened to it?”

Now that there was a possibility, however slim, of Ria being free, Vilkas could finally relax a little.

“Well all right, I suppose I can tell you the story. All Aranea could tell us was that we needed to go to Winterhold and look for a mage who could turn the brightest star as black as night...”

As Vilkas warmed to the tale, three thieves drank their mead and listened enraptured, and for one evening, Skyrim's men of honour and deep-seated rogues sat around the table and ate and drank as friends.

Notes:

There you go, the Guild questline done and dusted, although the Guild will take a while to rebuild. Many of you also were wanting to know what was happening to Ria, so I am pleased to tell you the Rescuing Ria subplot is now under way! With Nightingales on the case, I think you can all join me in being cautiously optimistic about this one...

Chapter 19

Summary:

Elisif's getting used to having her freedom back, but she's not used to her Blades being so nice to her. Meanwhile, the Nightingales have a job to do...

Notes:

Another bit you've all been waiting for - Rescuing Ria! She's not in quite as bad a shape as some of you seem to think, but but she's been cold, lonely, underfed and terrified and will be glad to be out of there. There's also a bit of a catch-up with Elisif to lead in to the next chapter, and Ulfric's reaction to all this.

Something had changed since she'd got back from Cidhna Mine. Elisif couldn't put her finger on it, but it definitely had. After fifteen hours straight sleep, two hours in the bath until she was sure all the grit and grime of Cidhna was off her, and then a solid breakfast involving bacon, eggs, toasted bread with melted cheese on it which Eola assured her was a Forsworn speciality, and a few mushrooms that Cicero had found for her (fortunately Eola had assured her they weren't poisonous), she'd been ready to face the next challenge.

Except it seemed her Blades had other ideas. First Delphine checking in and making sure she was all right, asking her if she was rested and fed and how was she feeling, and then getting the full story off her, which was a bit odd. Then Aela joining her, giving her a long cuddle and again asking how she was and telling her if she ever wanted to talk about anything, she'd listen. Then Cicero pouncing on her, squeezing her to within an inch of her life, and were those tears in his eyes?

“Cicero, what – what are you doing?” Elisif managed to gasp.

“Cicero was worried!” Cicero cried. “Cicero likes the pretty dragon, he does! Cicero would miss her if anything happened to her! So – so nice Elisif mustn't die. Or go wandering off alone without loyal Cicero or someone else to look after her and make sure she doesn't die or get arrested or anything.”

“I don't think I'd have ended up in prison anywhere that wasn't Markarth,” Elisif felt obliged to point out. Even a Stormcloak Jarl wouldn't have thrown her into what was essentially a pit of sex-starved Nord-hating men. She'd been lucky to get out of there with her life and sanity intact.

“Not the point!” Cicero wailed, clinging on to her. “Cicero should never have left you alone!” He'd stayed that way until Eola arrived and peeled him off her, but he'd not gone far, still fussing over her and worrying.

“Is he alright?” Elisif asked Eola. She just nodded.

“Yeah, he's fine. He was just feeling a bit guilty for letting you get imprisoned. But don't worry. He'll be OK.” Eola was looking very shrewd, clearly sizing Elisif up. In the excitement of the jailbreak, Elisif hadn't really had much of a chance to get to know Eola properly. Madanach's youngest daughter, and there was definitely something in the way she was looking at her that reminded Elisif of him. It was that uniquely Madanachian combination of pleased and predatory.

“What about you, you doing OK?” Eola asked, also sounding mildly concerned, and that was downright weird if Elisif was honest. “Must have been a bit of an experience, nice girl like you ending up in prison with all those Forsworn men.”

“It was that,” Elisif had to agree. “I guess it's a good thing your father decided he liked me. Or more likely that he worked out who I was and decided I was too useful to kill.” Elisif couldn't help but feel a little bit bitter over the fact, even though it had worked out in her favour. All the same, Madanach was a dangerous man and what if she couldn't get him the pardon and crown he wanted? He had an entire army camp essentially laying siege to Sky Haven Temple, and not even having his youngest daughter in here would necessarily deter him.

“Hey,” and there was said youngest daughter with her hand on Elisif's. “He does like you. Yeah, you're a damn useful ally, but don't think he doesn't care about you. He's very fond of you, you know. Says he's looking forward to a long and prosperous future working with you. He says he'd rather have a High Queen in charge who he actually likes.”

Which was nice to hear even if Elisif still thought he had some sort of ulterior motive. She was very fond of him too, she just didn't entirely trust him.

“Thank you,” was all she said and Eola patted her hand, smiling.

“No problem, honey. Now you look after yourself, you hear? You be sure and eat properly, you're far too pale. And you know, if you need anything, you come see me. Got to make sure my da's new bestie is taken care of, hmm?”

Elisif at that point had decided all her Blades were getting a bit too overprotective, and wished Brynjolf was here. The man could charm a Hagraven into bed if he put his mind to it, but at least he didn't generally mollycoddle, unless you counted patting her on the back and offering her some probably ill-gotten mead. But he wasn't, so Elisif went for a walk in the camp instead, dressing in the Forsworn gear Madanach had given her so as not to stand out too much.

It covered virtually nothing, and Nord women were generally a lot bustier than Reachwomen, as was the case with Elisif. Definitely an ulterior motive in giving her this, Elisif was sure of it, but no help for it. She just strolled out over the drawbridges and down into Kaie's little command centre, trying to ignore the stares from the various Forsworn wandering about, one of whom was one of those Briarhearts, and really what sort of culture bred men who voluntarily had their hearts removed and were then re-animated as some sort of super warrior?

Might as well ask what sort of culture bred men who could murder a king and call it honourable. Elisif tore her eyes from the gaping wound in the man's chest with the pulsing briar sewn into it, looking up to see Kaie calling her over from where she was sitting at a table, going over all sorts of plans and papers.

“Hey there, ap-Davrha,” Kaie said, actually smiling. “Don't mind the mess. One thing they never tell you about getting your own camp is all the admin you end up with. Not exactly what I signed up for, but never mind, eh?”

“You don't have a steward?” Elisif asked, taking a seat and feeling very thankful for everything Falk did. When she next saw him – if she ever saw Solitude again – she would definitely have to thank him for handling all this for her.

“Kind of, I've got Mordrann over there giving me a hand with it all, but a lot of this is Brenyeen's eyes only.” Kaie gathered up a lot of the papers and tossed them to one side, away from Elisif. Clearly not that trusting then. “Good thing you're here, I've got something for you. Arrived this morning. Da sent it over. I think he misses you.”

From the smirk on Kaie's face, Elisif suspected no such thing, but she accepted the letters anyway. She took one of them, and felt the world fade away as the dragon tongue blazed up at her. Four separate paragraphs, all carefully copied off Word Walls. Four words of power blazed into her mind, Tiid, Faas, Zii, and Grah, and she knew them, knew what they were, one to slow time, one to send her foes running in fear, and the other two went with words she already knew. Feim Zii. Su Grah. Word Walls known to the Forsworn and Madanach had had the words copied and sent to her. She could have kissed the man. Maybe he was up to something, maybe he just wanted his kingdom back and was buttering her up so she'd do that for him. Maybe. But this was still a precious gift indeed and she wasted no time using the three spare souls she had sitting around in her head to unlock Tiid, Zii and Grah.

“He sent me Words of Power,” Elisif whispered. “You've got access to Word Walls!”

“Half our camps are based in old Nord ruins,” Kaie said, grinning. “We weren't sure if they'd be any use to you, but it couldn't hurt, right?”

“They're useful,” Elisif said, reaching for the letter that had accompanied them. “Will you thank him for me?”

“Thank him yourself,” Kaie replied, pushing quill and paper her way. “Read that letter and write back to him. Then give it to me, I'll make sure he gets it.”

Elisif flipped it open and began to read.

“Davrha-Brenhina,

As a little token of my esteem and sincerity, please find enclosed a gift for you. We've been colonising the Nords' old fortresses since the First Era, and a few of them have walls of words in their tongue. Even our Matriarchs can't decipher them, but I am assured by our First Matriarch you won't have that problem. I can't say I ever thought we'd actually be helping a Nord learn voice magic but then again I never thought we'd be dealing with dragons either.

Talking of which, Karthspire wasn't the only camp with a dragon problem. The north of the Reach is having its own problems – there's one menacing the area just north of where we are and while it's not attacked us yet, it's only a matter of time. There's also one roosting at Dragontooth Crater – I know this because we had to fight it to get one of those words for you – and there's one near the Lover Stone too. Never mind dealing with Our Friend, anything you can do to stop them coming back from the dead would be much appreciated. Killing the World-Eater or failing that, just visiting me and ensuring these are no longer a problem would be a help.

If you have difficulty finding us, Kaie can show you the way, or Eola for that matter. We've got the camp set up nicely now, I can promise you hospitality befitting a queen if you decide to visit. Which I hope you will, it's not every day we get guests. You weren't exactly seeing me at my best in Cidhna Mine, I'd like a chance to rectify matters. Braig's venison stew is to die for – I'd have broken out years ago if I'd known he could cook like that.

Good luck with your slaying of dragons and planning vengeance on our mutual enemies. All I ask is to remember your promise and not throw your life away doing anything heroic... not before you've come to see me and say goodbye.

Here's to the future, High Queen.

M”

“He wants me to visit,” Elisif said, folding the letter, finding herself smiling. “He says they're having dragon problems.”

“He's exaggerating,” Kaie said, barely looking up from the chores rota she was putting together. “Believe me, if they were really in trouble up there, the letter would be a lot shorter.”

Elisif could well believe that Madanach might embellish the truth to get what he wanted, but why, that was the question. If he really needed to see her, all he had to do was ask. All the same, if she could spare the time, maybe she'd drop by and see him again. As it was, she had a war to fight, a mission to be getting on with. A next move to make, and that next move didn't involve dropping in on Madanach.

“Dear Madanach,

Thank you so much, I don't know what to say! That's so sweet of you. If you find any more, send them to me at the Temple, I can use all the help I can get.

I will come and see you, I promise, as soon as I can, get those dragons off your back. But I have something else I need to do first. I've got to visit the Greybeards, the masters of the Voice, and learn a Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky. Apparently that was how the Tongues of old defeated Alduin. So I'm going to learn how to do that, and then I promise I'll come back and deal with those dragons for you.

Elisif lowered the quill, not sure what else to write. That she missed him? Which to her surprise, she did, he made life interesting. On the other hand, it was also a bit like having a sabre cat in the room – it might well be purring by the fire right now but you could never be sure it wouldn't turn on you.

On the third hand, she was a Dragonborn now and dragons were not afraid of sabre cats.

It'll be good to see you again. You're not the monster everyone seems to think and you're good company. I'm looking forward to seeing what you've done with the place. It might be a few weeks before I can get there, but I promise I will come.

Keep some stew warm for me,

Elisif”

It would have to do. Folding it up, she passed it back to Kaie, who sealed it for her and slotted it into one of the holes in the wooden frame that was sitting on her desk, each labelled with the name of a different camp, apart from one labelled 'Nepos' and the one she'd just put her letter into, simply labelled 'The King'.

“You're organised,” Elisif said without thinking.

“Several thousand of us spread out over a number of camps all over the Reach, damn right we're organised,” Kaie said, still barely looking up. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I do have work to do. We can't all be out killing dragons, can we?”

Elisif would take paperwork over dangerous fire-breathing dragons any day, and never mind the part of her that was roaring she'd have them all swearing allegiance to her by the end. She did not want to be a hero, dammit! About the only remotely appealing part of all this was a shot at Sovngarde, if Elisif was honest. But the world needed saving and the gods had chosen her. Time to get back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Windhelm was as cold as it was unpleasant, and seeing as the first thing the Nightingales saw as they entered the city was two Nords hassling a Dunmer woman, that was saying something.

“Ah yes,” Brynjolf muttered. “This is why I hate this city and never come here.” Nord he might be, but all the hatred and politicking... it bothered him. Not to mention a suspicious and wary population was harder to steal from.

“Are you all right?” Sapphire whispered, edging nearer to Karliah. The elf had pulled her hood on, hiding elven features, but her fingers were still visible.

“I'll be fine,” Karliah murmured back. “I've dealt with worse. This city, though... it wasn't like this twenty five years ago. It was friendlier. The old Jarl, Hoag – he was a decent fellow. I'm really not sure about his son.”

“Nor are a lot of people,” said Brynjolf, heading for the marketplace where Niranye had her stall. “Don't worry, lass. He's made a few too many enemies to last much longer.”

Karliah said nothing, just placing one hand on her dagger and drawing a little closer to Sapphire. There was a distinct lack of Dunmer in this part of the city, one sole market trader among what was mostly Nords... and one Altmer talking to a Nord businessman.

“I'm no expert, of course, but it seems to me the last thing a Thieves Guild would want is to draw attention to itself,” the elf purred, smile on her face. The Nord was not impressed.

“The eyes of the law are everywhere these days, Niranye,” he warned her. “The guards are looking for a killer, but who knows what else they might turn up? Good day.” He turned and walked over to one of the other stores, leaving Niranye shaking her head and glaring at him... at least until Brynjolf sauntered over.

“Hello there, Niranye,” Brynjolf murmured. He'd changed back into his Guild armour for this little visit, as had Sapphire. Three of them all in the same Nightingale armour would attract too much attention. It also had the effect of reminding Niranye who he was... not a good thing, it turned out.

“Brynjolf!” Niranye gasped. “What in Zenithar's name are you doing here? As if I can't guess. Look, I told you years ago, I'm not fencing for you lot any more.”

“Now that is a damn shame,” Brynjolf murmured, turning hopeful eyes on her. “I've come into possession of some merchandise I'd like to sell on and was hoping you could find a buyer for me. You'll get a cut, of course.”

“I said no, Brynjolf,” Niranye snapped, yellow eyes flashing angrily at him. “Now get out of here before I out you as a thief and call the guard.”

“Now that's really not very friendly, lass. I'm hurt,” Brynjolf said, shaking his head and leaning in closer, managing to conceal his desperation. Who else was likely to fence the Eyes for him? The next nearest contact was Enthir up at Winterhold. “There's a lot of gold at stake here, it'll be worth your while...”

“Gold is no good if I end up dead!” Niranye hissed. She glanced around and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“Look, Brynjolf, I've known you a long time so here it is. There's another guild in town, a group of Altmer called the Summerset Shadows. I've been acting as a fence for them – I didn't want to but I had no choice! They said they'd kill me otherwise! They find out you're here wanting goods fenced, they'll kill us all! Linwe does not like competition!”

A rival Guild. That was not good, not good at all, especially given Brynjolf was in no condition to deal with them on his own. He had to hope these Shadows weren't that well established yet.

“Where are they based?” he asked. “And how many of them are there?”

“They're up at Uttering Hills Cave, near Anga's Mill,” Niranye told him. “There's not that many, but Linwe's tough and I can't fight them all. Look, if you can do something about them, I'll gladly fence for you again, but while they're still out there? I can't help you, Brynjolf.”

Brynjolf nodded and took his leave, promising to look into matters. Wiping out a rival Guild, eh? Dangerous and difficult... but he had a plan.

“Well?” Karliah whispered from where she and Sapphire had been watching from the shadows. “Any luck?”

“Not exactly,” said Brynjolf. “We may have a problem. There's a rival Guild operating in Eastmarch and for as long as they're here, Niranye won't deal with us... not until we deal with them.”

“Then we'll slaughter the fetchers,” Sapphire said grimly. “Where are they?”

“Sapphire, there's three of us!” Karliah sighed. “Who knows how many they've got?”

“Not so many some heavily-armed warriors couldn't take them out,” Brynjolf said, finally smiling. “Good thing we've got some friends with experience in clearing out bandit dens, eh? Sapphire, get yourself back to the Nightgate and speak with Vilkas and Farkas again. I think I know how they're going to repay us...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ria sat huddled in the corner of her cell, doing her best to keep warm. She'd been glad of the window at first... but that meant the cell was freezing. She had a pelt to wrap around her but all the same, she still wasn't warm enough. The food was hard bread and insipid soup, and a bit of weak Nord ale if she was lucky. There was a slops bucket, cleaned out when the guards could be bothered, but no real way of cleaning herself. She was hungry, filthy, cold, bored, she missed Jorrvaskr, she missed her mother and stepfather back in Cyrodiil and her little siblings.

She should never have come here, or at least stayed at Jorrvaskr and stayed out of the war. Following the Dragonborn had definitely been a mistake – not that she disapproved of Elisif or had turned against her, of course not. She just didn't want to be stuck in a dingy prison cell in Windhelm.

Footsteps outside and that'd be the guards again. Man or woman, they'd all stop by to fling cheap insults at her, call her an Imperial whore or other things along those lines. Sometimes there'd be threats, of violence or worse. So far, no one had acted on them... not yet. Ria feared it was only a matter of time, especially since Ulfric seemed to have forgotten about her. After the initial questioning, when it had become apparent Ria didn't know anything and wouldn't tell them if she did, she'd been left here. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Hey, Imperial. Looks like you got company. We got no cells free, so she's going in here with you. She's got grey skin and light fingers. Don't try anything.”

The cell door clicked open, and a ragged Dunmer woman was shoved inside, falling to her knees from the force of it. Ria could already see bruises forming on the woman's skin. The guards had not been kind to the young thief, it seemed.

The door locked behind her, leaving Ria alone with the young woman. As cellmates go, it could have been worse.

“Are you alright?” Ria asked hesitantly. “You look hurt.”

“I've suffered worse,” the woman said, looking up and Ria gasped to see purple eyes instead of the usual Dunmer red. “Not the first time my luck failed me. Happens to us all. Well, maybe not you very often.” She got up, making her way over to the small bed Ria was sitting on. “You're Ria, aren't you?”

Ria nodded, amazed. She didn't think she was that high-profile to be talked about widely.

“How did you -?” The Dunmer placed a finger to her lips, lowering her voice.

“Not so loud. Guards might be listening. My name's Karliah, I'm here to help. Your friends Farkas and Vilkas sent me.”

Ria could have cried. Her Shield-Siblings hadn't forgotten her. They were worried, Vilkas was worried, he'd been looking for her! She hadn't even thought he'd liked her that much... but he'd sent help.

“You know Vilkas. How? The guards said you were a thief...”

“I am,” Karliah grinned. “But the only reason I got caught was to get in here to find you. Listen, we need to lay low and keep quiet, and in a bit we're going to get a visitor. Please, I need you to keep quiet and say nothing, no matter what happens. Promise me you'll do that, right?”

Ria promised but she still wasn't sure why. Karliah just told her to trust her. So Ria did and she waited and to pass the time, they exchanged stories, Ria telling her about life in the Companions and Karliah telling tales of a few heists from years back, and how Karliah hadn't spent more time in jail was honestly beyond Ria.

Still, the hours went by, until voices could be heard in the corridor – male Nord voices.

“Thanks for this, lad, I'll be sure to make this worth your while,” one could be heard saying, a low-voiced, seductive purr that set Ria's hairs on end. A man like that could sweet-talk a priest of Mara into a drunken night of debauchery.

“Aye, well, they're not exactly earning their keep otherwise,” the other one, one of the nastier guards, growled. “Might as well get some use out of them. Them Silver-Bloods down in Markarth had the right idea. Make their prisoners work for their keep.”

There was the clinking of gold, and the first man talking again.

“I think I like this idea better than mining, lad. Here's your gold. Now take yourself up the corridor and wait. I'll give you the rest when I'm done. Want to make sure I'm getting my money's worth, eh?”

“You pay me whatever you think a grey-skin and an Imperial slut are worth,” the guard laughed, and the other man laughed with him, before the door opened and the man walked in. Red hair, scars on his face from some fight or other, black leather armour and not bad-looking but Ria shrank back in terror. Had the guards just sold them both to him??

“Trust me,” Karliah whispered, before getting up, folding her arms.

“Your kind are the worst kind of scum, but if you're going to take either of us, take me. I promise not to gut you if you leave her alone,” Karliah spat.

“Brave words, lass,” the Nord laughed as he reached for Karliah, spinning her round and pinning her to the wall. Ria looked around for anything resembling a weapon, but Karliah glanced over his shoulder and shook her head. The Nord didn't seem to notice, arms around Karliah and head buried in her shoulder, and Karliah held on to him, making little sobbing noises as he thrust against her. This went on for a few heartbreaking minutes, before it occurred to Ria that neither of them had actually removed any clothes. Then the Nord was reaching into his pocket, the side not visible to anyone who might be watching through the door, but visible to Ria. He produced some sort of strange key, palming it out and holding it towards Karliah as he murmured something in her ear, and Karliah was taking it off him, surreptitiously dropping it down the front of her tunic. The Nord pushed her head down on to his shoulder and gave a few more thrusts, along with some ostentatious groaning, before finally letting Karliah go. She dropped to the floor, lying huddled on the stone, and the Nord stepped back, the two meeting eyes, and they knew each other somehow, Ria was sure... but how?

“Not bad, lass,” the Nord said, just a bit louder than he needed to. “I might have to come back, sample a bit more merchandise. Maybe find a few more customers, start getting a cut myself, eh?” With that, he turned and was gone, knocking on the door and being let out by the guard just a bit too quickly for said guard to have been waiting up the corridor.

“See, told you we could make some coin off this,” the red-haired Nord was saying to the guard. “You keep letting me and my friends in, we can all come out of this rolling in both pleasure and profit...”

Ria was at Karliah's side as soon as their voices faded, shaking all over. Being a prisoner was one thing, being part of some sex ring?? That was something else altogether.

“Are you all right?” Ria gasped. “I thought he was going to...”

“So did that corrupt guard, hopefully,” Karliah laughed. She fished into her tunic and retrieved the key the man had given her. “But don't worry, we're not actually going to end up as the goods in some depraved sex-trafficking business. Brynjolf may be a thief but he's got standards. Some things aren't for sale.” She waved the key in front of Ria. “Look what I've got.”

“He's your accomplice,” Ria realised. “But that's not the key to the door.”

“It's the key to any door you need it to be,” Karliah whispered, beckoning Ria forward. “Come on, let's go. There's only one guard on duty at night, and with any luck, Bryn's overpowering him right now.”

Karliah inserted the key into the lock and after a bit of poking around, it clicked open. Karliah crept out into the corridor, and Ria, keen not to be left behind, sneaked after. She wasn't terribly skilled at clinging to the shadows, but there were plenty of shadows to hide in and at least her armour wasn't weighing her down.

Up ahead came the sound of a scuffle and then the snap of someone's neck breaking. Ria winced at the sound and hoped it was the would-be pimp guard dying. At least then it'd be someone the world was better off without.

Silence as Karliah led them both to the guard room... and there was Brynjolf emptying a chest, dumping all Ria's things and many other bits and pieces on to the floor, before stashing the guard's naked body in there. He'd swapped his black armour for a Stormcloak uniform already.

“Bryn,” Karliah whispered and he turned around, grinning to see them both.

“You made it, lass,” he laughed, giving Karliah a hug. “And this would be Ria. Hello there. You've got a lot of people who will be very pleased to see you in one piece, lass. Your friends Vilkas and Farkas for one, not to mention a certain Dragonborn Jarl who feels horrible about letting you get captured.”

“You know Elisif? And she's alive!” Ria whispered, mind boggling at Jarl Elisif casually associating with what were clearly members of the Thieves Guild. But maybe Elisif hadn't had a choice. Ria certainly hadn't. Not that she was ungrateful, of course.

“I certainly do and she certainly is,” Brynjolf told her. “But before getting into that, we need to get you sorted out. I'll take Gunjar here's post outside so no one gets suspicious. Ria, I need you to use that basin to clean up then take all your things back and get dressed in one of the guard uniforms. Easier to sneak out that way. Everyone's asleep in the main barracks but I don't want to take chances.”

He slipped outside and Ria wasted no time in getting clean and dressed in a guard's uniform before reclaiming all her stuff. Karliah likewise was claiming all her things, getting dressed in a set of grey armour that seemed to fit her like a second skin. She also looked to be claiming a lot of other valuables too, but Ria supposed she should probably keep her mouth shut and look the other way on that one.

“Now what?” Ria whispered to Karliah.

“Now you get out there and walk out with your face hidden, arm in arm with Brynjolf,” Karliah said quietly. “No one's going to question a man and a woman sneaking out with their arms around each other. Don't worry, any groping will be strictly to fool the guards, you're not his type. Now go, quickly!”

“What about you?” Ria whispered. “How will you escape?”

Karliah pulled her hood on, hiding her face under more grey leather.

“Don't worry about me, I've been at this for years. Trust me, I'll be better off without anyone else in tow.”

Ria had no choice but to take her at her word, but she gave Karliah a hug. A thief perhaps, but one who'd risked everything to help her. She wouldn't forget this in a hurry.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As Karliah had said, no one had really questioned two opposite-sex Stormcloak guards slipping off for a little fun, and the two of them were able to leave the Palace of the Kings without suspicion. Ria didn't relax until they got out of Windhelm itself, over the bridge and away towards the Shrine of Talos that overlooked the city, where Brynjolf kept watch while she got changed into her old armour, and then it was her turn to keep watch while he pulled on a set of the same grey armour Karliah had worn. Then away, down the road, through Anga's Mill and not stopping until the Nightgate Inn loomed up in the darkness.

Brynjolf motioned for her to go in first, and Ria did so, looking hesitantly around. She wasn't used to having people around yet... but on the far side was a young Nord girl in the same armour Brynjolf and Karliah had been wearing, and sharing a table with her...

“Vilkas!” Ria cried, tears in her eyes as her Shield-Brother got to her feet. Farkas was there too of course, but it was Vilkas getting up, striding towards her, with a rare smile on his face and tears in his eyes.

“Ria,” he gasped. “Ria!” Next thing she knew she was being swept into a bear hug as Vilkas clung on to her, holding her tight.

“Vilkas,” she whispered, about ready to cry as it hit her she was free, safe, finally out of that horrible prison and if not quite home, back with her Shield-Brothers. “Vilkas, thank the Eight.”

“Are you all right?” Vilkas said, his voice muffled as he clung on to her. “I've been so worried, Farkas and I came out here looking for you, but we couldn't even get near the prison.”

“I'm fine,” Ria said, brushing a tear away. “I mean, I'm really hungry and really tired, but I'm OK. No one hurt me and now I'm out of there, thanks to Brynjolf and Karliah.”

She indicated Brynjolf, just about recovering from being bear-hugged by Farkas, and Vilkas let go of her, holding out a hand to the thief.

“I owe you a debt, Brynjolf,” Vilkas said, shaking Brynjolf's hand. “I wasn't sure you'd ever manage it, and I'm not sure I want to know how, but thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

“Ah, let's not think on debts owed,” Brynjolf said, sounding a little bit intimidated for once. “Sapphire, were our friends here able to help with our little problem?”

“They sure did!” Sapphire said cheerfully, getting to her feet. “I told them there was a den of thieves needed clearing out, and they were quite happy to help.” She reached into her pack and produced a stolen banner that had clearly once been the property of the Summerset Shadows, but evidently not any more. “Linwe and friends are no more.”

That brought a cheer all round and drinks were poured while Ria ordered half the menu and started tucking in. About half an hour later, Karliah showed up, having successfully eluded the guards and got away, and the celebrating started up anew as a drunken Sapphire pounced on her, hugged her and shoved a Honningbrew into her hands. It was nearly dawn by the time any of them got to bed, and it was early the next evening before they all went their separate ways.

“Where will you go now?” Karliah asked Ria as the three Companions gathered their things.

“Back to Azura's Shrine to start with – Farkas and Vilkas have a Star to return,” Ria said. “After that, who knows? I've got a price on my head in Eastmarch still, but there's still eight other Holds to roam. The Dragonborn can't be everywhere, and the east of Skyrim's suffered horribly from dragon attacks. So I guess we might sort a few of those out.”

“Not back to the safety of Jorrvaskr then,” Karliah said knowingly. “You Companions, you never do the safe thing, do you?”

“Where's the fun in that?” Ria asked and Karliah just laughed.

“What about you?” Ria said finally. “Where are you three going, or should I not ask?”

“Best not to,” Karliah agreed. “Sapphire's got to meet someone for us in Windhelm, and then we've got to return a stolen object to its rightful owner.”

“Now that's got to be a first for you,” Ria said before she could stop herself but Karliah didn't seem to mind.

“It is, but some things are best off left alone,” said Karliah, hand going to the Skeleton Key in her pocket. Yes, it had helped jailbreak an innocent woman and Karliah didn't really feel too guilty for that... but Nocturnal's Key really needed to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean, escaped??” Ulfric roared at Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced. “An Imperial agent in the employ of the Dragonborn and you let her get away??”

“She had help, sir,” Yrsarald protested. “There was this Dunmer pickpocket that got thrown in with her, and she's gone too. The guard on duty last night's been found dead, neck broken, and it looks like a professional jailbreak. We think there was a third man involved, a red-haired Nord – he was seen talking to Gunjar beforehand. He might have been the one to kill him, I don't think Da Silva or the Dunmer would have been strong enough to do it that cleanly.”

So the Dragonborn had agents, special agents capable of masterminding a jailbreak. Worrying. Very worrying.

“Descriptions of everyone involved to the guards here, and I also want Jorlief writing to our friends elsewhere and alerting them,” Ulfric growled. “Whoever they are, I want them apprehended or eliminated. Anything we can do to stall the Dragonborn's operations will help.”

Yrsarald nodded and left to find Jorlief – at least he was until Galmar walked in, fuming.

“Don't bother with writing to Thonar,” Galmar barked. “I just had word in from the Reach. All Oblivion's just broken loose out there, Ulfric. And by Oblivion, I mean Madanach. Son of a bitch just broke out of Cidhna Mine, killing Thonar in the process.”

“He what??” Ulfric grabbed the table, fighting the dizziness that had just threatened to overwhelm him. “Thonar told me he had the Forsworn under control! A knife to Madanach's throat, was how he put it to me.”

“Well Madanach just put the knife into Thonar's from the sounds of it,” Galmar growled. “Bastard escaped with some of the most dangerous criminals in the Reach at his side and it gets better. Thongvor's dead too, stabbed in the middle of Understone Keep before all this happened by someone who might be an Imperial agent. Or Dark Brotherhood assassin, we're not sure, but definitely a Cyrodiil man. Half-crazy fool from the sounds of it, but a violent one. He got slung into the mine and they didn't find his body in there so looks like Madanach's recruited him.”

Ulfric waved for Galmar to go on – one lone psychopath didn't bother him, and even joining the Forsworn didn't really matter, Madanach already had many such psychopaths at his disposal. The loss of the Silver-Bloods was regrettable, but when the Stormcloaks took the Reach, he was sure he could find someone in his army who was a capable administrator to take over the place. From the look on Galmar's face, he was saving the worst news until last.

“And there was someone else in there too. A mercenary called Maia. Thonar had had her thrown in there to keep her out of trouble – I daresay he was going to notify us in due course to come and collect her, but she was only in there a day or so before the jailbreak happened. She's gone too, and someone stole all her things from the guard barracks. I guess our Dragonborn's in Forsworn hands now.”

Ulfric could weep. The Dragonborn at Madanach's mercy – while Ulfric had no doubt the jailbreak had been in the works for weeks, the fact it happened a day after Elisif's arrest was no coincidence. Maybe Madanach didn't know who he had and had just decided to abduct a pretty young Nord to be his plaything. But that her things had been taken too struck Ulfric as the fruit of some sort of joint effort.

He really couldn't see Madanach voluntarily helping a Nord Queen out. And Elisif didn't have the power to forgive Madanach's crimes and sign off on him becoming King, not before the Moot, not without Imperial backing. And Tullius had far too much sense to ever agree to that, not when Madanach had rebelled once before. All the same, this was potentially worrying. Past time to make his next move, even if he didn't entirely believe it was going to work.

“Is there any good news?” he asked, suspecting he could guess the answer.

“Depends what you mean by good,” Galmar shrugged. “But rumours the Dragonborn was involved have reached Solitude, and General Tullius is down in Markarth now with Rikke, investigating just what happened and how Igmund could have the Jarl of Solitude in his city, have her get arrested and then abducted by the Forsworn. They say he'll be lucky to keep his Jarldom.”

Which wasn't the best news in the world – Igmund's father had been a good man, and the Empire would likely find some puppet Jarl to replace his son. About the only use to the Stormcloaks that would be was if the new ruler proved utterly incompetent or harsh and half the Hold pledged their support to him in protest. Somehow Ulfric doubted this.

“It seems like your insane plan to rally popular support is finally sounding like a good idea,” Ulfric sighed. “All right, fine, we'll go after the Crown. Send for Njada. She must have delved a few ancient ruins in her time. About time we put her talents to use, hmm?”

Notes:

So there you have it, the Companions and Guild swap missions and everybody's happy! Next chapter, Elisif's on the road again, trying to learn Dragonrend, a job that proves harder than she thought.

Chapter 20

Summary:

Elisif's free and is putting the Reach behind her. With dragons to slay and a Alduin-beating Shout to find, Elisif heads for High Hrothgar... but some doors are closed to even a queen.

Notes:

Back to the main quest! It's the Paarthurnax bit - I have changed the dialogue and axed a lot of the Dovah, but the basics are unchanged. I have also come up with a way of skipping the dull bits of the main quest (and by the Nine, Discerning the Transmundane was dull...). Hopefully this will speed things up a bit...

High Hrothgar loomed up in front of them, looking much as it ever had. Elisif shivered in the cold, her Blades armour not really keeping her as warm as she'd have hoped. Erandur wasn't faring much better – he'd exchanged his robes for a set of Blades armour but it didn't entirely suit him and it was clear he wasn't used to wearing heavy gear. All the same it was keeping him safe from wild animal attacks.

There'd been another troll waiting for them, maybe the mate of the one Jordis and Ria had killed the first time Elisif had come this way. That time she'd been terrified. Now? Now she'd seen a lot worse than trolls. She'd Shouted it to the ground and carved it to pieces with Dawnbreaker, Erandur's fire magic in support. It had died in minutes with barely a mark left on Elisif.

“Are you all right?” Erandur asked, patting Elisif on the shoulder as she stared down at the dead troll.

“I'm fine,” Elisif said, wondering why she could kill something and feel nothing, no pity, no remorse, not a thing. “I just... could never have done this a few weeks ago without going to pieces. Or getting killed. Now I just took it on without even flinching and barely care it's dead. What's happening to me, Erandur?”

Erandur didn't really seem to know what to say to that, other than to give her a reassuring hug.

“You're turning into a warrior,” he told her. “Whether for good or ill, only you can decide that. But you are stronger than you were. Fearless. Given what you've got ahead of you, I think that's a good thing. You'll need to be both. Just don't forget why you're doing all this.”

Torygg, the unbidden thought came to her, the memory of his smiling face flashing through her mind. But the details were hazy and she found there were gaps in her memory and that scared her. He was the love of her life, how could she forget what he looked like so easily? She had no such problem remembering Ulfric.

“To save the world,” she whispered. “Make Skyrim a better place. Stop the war.”

“All good things,” Erandur said. “But what does your heart say, Elisif? What do you really want?”

“My husband back. But I can't have that, can I?” Elisif sighed, and the knowledge hurt as it always did... but the tears weren't coming as readily as they used to and that frightened her. “All I can do is avenge him and save everyone else. I don't think I'm getting a happy ending.”

“Don't say that,” Erandur said gently. “You might get one yet. Lady Mara won't have forgotten you. Even if we can't give you Torygg back, who is to say you won't find someone new? You are a beautiful young woman, you're bound to have suitors at some point, after all this is done.”

The mere thought made Elisif want to be sick. Courtship gifts, most likely insincere protestations of love, having to let someone kiss her and hold her and have sex with her just to continue the line... no. She wasn't ready. She could handle men as friends, getting reassuring hugs off Erandur or chatting with Esbern or getting pounced on by Cicero, or even bantering with Brynjolf, who wasn't really interested despite the flirty comments he liked to dish out, and Elisif liked it that way.

For another lover, for having someone in her bed again, for dealing with suitors who probably just saw her as a ticket to wealth and power... absolutely not.

“Not yet,” Elisif said fiercely. “Tell Mara it can wait. I've got dragons to kill.”

“So you have,” said Erandur, bowing his head a little in acknowledgement. “Come on, we're nearly there, you said?”

They were. Elisif led on, hoping the Greybeards could actually help her. They knew all the words of power, right? They'd know this Shout, surely? She hoped so, because if they didn't, she wasn't sure who else possibly could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean, no??” Elisif cried. She'd come all this way, asked nicely and Arngeir was refusing to help? Just because she'd said she'd been helped by the Blades.

“No, Dragonborn,” Arngeir said firmly. “I will not help you. Not until you return to the path of wisdom.” He turned away, back to his book, pointedly ignoring Elisif. Leaving her at her wits end. How was she supposed to defeat Alduin without it? The world was going to end, and it would be Arngeir's fault, stupid, stubborn, annoying joor, she should fling him down, teach him a lesson about defying a dragon...

“But I need to learn it!” Elisif cried. “I need to be able to shout a dragon out of the sky! Teach me the damn Shout!”

Arngeir did look up then, eyebrows raised and Erandur had a hand on her arm.

“Elisif,” he said quietly. “Elisif, he's in charge of the Greybeards, don't shout at him.”

Belatedly, Elisif recollected herself, realising she was getting perilously close to crossing the line. She was getting so used to just being able to Shout people down or out of the way, having someone say no was something she'd stopped getting used to. Was this what had happened to Ulfric? Had he got carried away by the Thu'um?

“I'm sorry, I just... look what have you got against the Blades anyway? They're helping me!”

“Helping you? Perhaps, for now. The Blades say they serve the Dragonborn – but they do not! They never have. Their Akaviri ancestors carried out a purge of dragons once before when they first arrived here, and now dragons have returned, they will do it again, with your help!” Arngeir was glaring at her from under his hood, and Elisif's guilt was back in full force. He was an old man at the end of the day, he didn't deserve being shouted at.

“I'm not – look, I'm High Queen, or will be,” she said. “The Blades don't tell me what to do. And I don't want to kill every dragon in Skyrim. I just want them to stop burning down villages and killing people! That's all, Arngeir. Please, I'm Queen, I need to protect my country. People are dying out there!”

Arngeir's expression had softened a little but he still didn't look convinced. All the same, he sighed and shrugged.

“Elisif. I cannot help you. I cannot teach you this Shout... because I do not know it. It is called Dragonrend... but its words of power are lost to us.”

Lost to even the Greybeards... Elisif sank into the chair across from him, stunned.

“But I thought you knew all the words of power,” she whispered, feeling lost. If even the Greybeards didn't know this Dragonrend Shout, how would she ever learn it? The world was doomed.

“Not the words to Dragonrend,” Arngeir said. “They are lost to us. Elisif, we cannot help...” Then he sighed, as if resigned to the inevitable. “But our leader, Paarthurnax... he might.”

“Paarthurnax...” Elisif breathed. Arngeir had told her a bit about him when she'd returned the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. He was the fifth Greybeard, Master of the Way of the Voice, a hermit who lived right on the top of the mountain. An odd name, Elisif hadn't heard its like before. Wasn't Nordic. Didn't sound Imperial or Breton or any kind of Mer either, not that Elisif knew anyway. Argonian? Maybe. At any rate, looked like she was about to find out. “I'm going to meet him?”

“You're not ready,” Arngeir said, eyes still cold. “You weren't before and you're still not ready. But thanks to the Blades, you now have questions only he can answer.” He got to his feet, motioning for Elisif to follow. “Come on, come to the courtyard. Let us teach you to open the way to him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not as perilous as Arngeir had said. Sure, it was cold, and poor Erandur was freezing. But a few ice wraiths? Nothing to killing them, not with Dawnbreaker, not once you actually hit them. Add in Erandur's fire spells and they all died swift deaths.

So that aside, reaching the top wasn't as hard as claimed, not once the mist had been Shouted away. Finally they were there, on the plateau right near the summit, a Word Wall looming up ahead of them. Elisif ran over to it, wondering what was written on it.

Nothing. Not a carving anywhere. Just a blank Word Wall and nothing else up here. No sign of life or anything living up here, no house or even a tent.

“Erandur,” Elisif called back, starting to panic a bit. “Erandur, where's Paarthurnax?”

Erandur looked up at the sky, fire flashing into his hands as a shadow swept over them, winds whistling past them and whipping up the snow, the ground shaking as a huge grey dragon came in to land next to them.

Erandur swore in a most unpriestly way, staggering back and coughing in the snow flurry. Elisif had shielded her face, slowly looking up and reaching for Dragonbane. Except the dragon hadn't attacked yet. And from the way it was looking at her, she had a feeling it wasn't going to.

“Er...” she said hesitantly. “Hello? I'm looking for Paarthurnax...”

“You have found him,” the dragon answered, sounding actually curious. “Greetings, wundeniik. What brings you to my strunmah, my mountain?”

So that was what a strunmah was! Elisif felt inordinately pleased at finally knowing that, although the wave of homesickness for the Blue Palace was less pleasing. All the same... a dragon! A real live dragon, not trying to kill her... and Paarthurnax was a dragon, the Greybeards were led by a dragon! No wonder hardly anyone was allowed up here.

“Oh my goodness,” Elisif whispered. “You're a dragon!”

Paarthurnax lowered his head, tilting it. “I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you... Dovahkiin.”

He knew. He could tell, of course he could, who else would have been allowed all the way up here? Who else could have Shouted the mists away? Dovahkiin and dragon, meeting as friends. Elisif could barely believe it... but there was something about this meeting that felt right. Predestined, in a way.

Elisif stepped forward, reaching a hand up to touch the scales of his snout, before stopping, wondering if she was allowed to do this.

“I've never been this close to a dragon before. Not one that wasn't trying to eat me,” Elisif whispered, enthralled. “Erandur, look, he's gorgeous!”

Nervous laughter from Erandur, who was edging slowly away, but a low rumbling chuckle from Paarthurnax.

“Long has it been since someone called me that!” Paarthurnax laughed. “You are different, Dovahkiin. Still in possession of your innocence. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Elisif,” she told him. Paarthurnax hmmed under his breath, thinking to himself, before lifting his head for a Shout.

“YOL-AAZ-OV!” The Shout echoed out over the mountain, echoing off the rocks and sending Elisif to her knees. Did he just Shout her name? Felt like it. Felt like someone had just ripped her soul open, baring it to the elements.

“What was that?” Elisif gasped, recovering herself.

“I named you, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax said, watching her. “Yol-Aaz-Ov, Fire-Mercy-Trust. The last two of those not common among Dovah. But you still have them both, and a Dovah's fire burning in your veins. A good thing, Dovahkiin. Would that more of my kind possessed such – a Dovah's fire and a joor's kindness. Maybe the world would not be so dangerous if they did.”

Yol-Aaz-Ov. Yolaazov. Elisif. She had no idea her name might mean something in the dragon tongue. Fire Mercy Trust. It wasn't the fiercest name out there... but she liked it. She could feel her inner Dovah calm for once, accepting the gift... and as a human, it suited her. Fire Mercy Trust. Yes, she liked that.

“Thank you,” she said, and this time she didn't flinch as she patted his snout.

“You are welcome, young one,” Paarthurnax murmured. “Now you are one of us. And when two of the Dov meet for the first time, there are... formalities. By long tradition, the eldest speaks first. YOL TOOR SHUL!”

Fire blazed from Paarthurnax, into the Word Wall. Elisif cried out, leaping out of the way and running over to Erandur as she watched. Paarthurnax was finally finished, indicating for her to walk over. On the wall, where he'd breathed, was a Thu'um blazing up at her.

“Yol,” Elisif whispered, tracing the letters. “Fire. Oh goodness.”

“A gift, Yolaazov,” Paarthurnax said. “Know fire as the Dov do.”

Knowledge, the gift of a Shout, swirled out from him, sinking into her, and her mind was fire, all she could see was fire, the sight of flames, sound of burning, smell of smoke, what was once whole being consumed... and from the ashes, new life coming, others warming themselves by the fire, the way cleared for something new to be built. Sometimes you needed to destroy things. It was just a matter of working out what to burn and what to save.

“I can breathe fire,” Elisif whispered. “Erandur? Erandur! I think I can breathe fire!”

“Good for you,” Erandur replied, actually looking proud of her. “Just make sure you don't burn any cities down, all right?”

Oh goodness. Being able to breathe fire. A terrifying thought... and at the same time, rather exciting. That was certainly one way to make sure people stopped talking down to her. She'd have to make a point of showing this off in public. She just hoped she didn't end up going too far the other way. Wouldn't do to have everyone scared of her.

“And now, Yolaazov, show me,” Paarthurnax said expectantly. “Let me taste of your Voice!”

“YOL!” Elisif Shouted, squealing as she saw fire fly from her and hit Paarthurnax. A stab of guilt as she realised she might have hurt the old dragon – but it was shortlived as Paarthurnax laughed in delight.

“Yes, yes! Truly you are Dovahkiin! Your Voice is strong, Yolaazov. Ah, it has been long since I have had the pleasure of tinvaak with one of my own kind.”

“I bet,” Elisif gasped, still a little breathless from the fire-breathing. Until Alduin came back, there hadn't been any other dragons. Poor thing, he must have been so lonely. Elisif made a mental note to make sure she visited once or twice a year, keep him company.

“So, Dovahkiin. You did not come all this way for the pleasure of tinvaak with an old Dovah. So tell me. What brings you here?”

Here it was. Here went nothing. If Paarthurnax didn't know...

“I need to know Dragonrend,” Elisif said. “The Shout that can knock a dragon from the sky. Do you know it?”

“Of course,” Paarthurnax murmured. “You seek your weapon against Alduin. I will answer your question – but first, answer mine. Why do you want to learn this Shout?”

Why... well, wasn't it obvious?? Perhaps not to a dragon. Elisif sighed and prepared to tell her story. Again. And Mara help her, she was not going to cry this time.

“A man trained by the Greybeards – by your followers – used the Thu'um to kill my husband. Half the country are cheering him on and want him to be King and now the country's at war with itself. Then the dragons came back, and then I found out I was Dragonborn,” Elisif sighed. “I'm the rightful Queen, I'm tired of the violence, I would like my country whole and reunited and people not getting killed all over the place, so I need to learn Dragonrend so I can stop Alduin. Once I've done that, I'll have no problem avenging my husband, putting down the rebellion and sorting my country out. But first I need to learn Dragonrend. Will you teach me?”

There it was, all out in the open and she'd barely shed a tear. Maybe it had something to do with being armed this time. Maybe she was just getting used to the whole thing. Either way, it was done and now Paarthurnax would help her, right?

“Noble aims, Yolaazov. Noble aims. But have you considered that maybe Alduin was not meant to be defeated? That maybe this world is meant to die so that the next may be born?”

No, Elisif never had. She'd never really been a philosopher, but she was going to be a queen and she was definitely sure she wasn't going to have the world end on her watch.

“Never mind the next world!” she cried. “I'm not letting my people die as long as I'm queen. Also I made a promise to the King of the Forsworn I'd get him his land back, and he is not a man you break promises to! So yes, I need to save the world, because this world isn't done yet! It's still got a story to tell. I want to know how it ends. Maybe I'll save it, maybe I won't, but the gods wouldn't have made me Dragonborn if they didn't want to give us a chance!”

“You are more afraid of this King of the Forsworn than you are my brother,” Paarthurnax said, amused. Afraid? Hah, Madanach should be so lucky. She had many feelings towards said King in Rags but she wasn't scared of him. He'd just looked so hopeful and optimistic over possibly actually getting his land back. She didn't want to disappoint him.

“No,” Elisif snapped. “He's my friend, that's all. I'd like him to have a chance to be happy.”

“A fair answer,” Paarthurnax said, nodding. “All right, Dragonborn. I will answer your question. This Shout you want, Dragonrend. Alas, I cannot teach it to you. Its words of power are not known to me – they cannot be known to me. It is a Shout created by joor, lashing out at the very essence of our souls. Our minds cannot even grasp the concepts. I cannot teach it to you... but I may know how you can find out.”

Elisif certainly hoped so. For all she'd been here for what seemed like hours, she'd not learned a lot. Erandur looked frozen, poor thing.

“How do I find out?” Elisif asked.

“All in good time,” Paarthurnax said. “Do you know why I made my home here on the Monahven, that you call the Throat of the World?”

“No,” said Elisif, rubbing her arms. “So no one else knows you're here and tries to hunt you?”

Paarthurnax did laugh at that. “No, Yolaazov. This is where Alduin was banished from, all those centuries ago. My friends, three of the Tongues of old, Gormlaith, Hakon, Felldir. The Nords had had many heroes since, but none greater.”

Hakon One-Eye, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Felldir the Old. Elisif knew the names, her father had told her the story. Three ancient heroes who'd defeated Alduin centuries ago – they'd lured him to battle and banished him forever using the power of the Voice, the dragons' own weapon. Except the stories hadn't said how. Now it looked like she was going to follow in their footsteps.

“They knew Dragonrend. Where from?” Maybe she could learn it from the same source.

“They invented it, Yolaazov. But that is not how they defeated him. If you can call the outcome a true defeat. Had it been, you would not be here seeking to... defeat him.”

“So how did they do it?” Elisif asked. If not using Dragonrend, how?

So Paarthurnax told her. A tale of Elder Scrolls, and how they'd used one to banish Alduin from time, creating a wound in time in the process, a wound which Elisif might be able to use to see through to the moment of its creation, and learn Dragonrend that way. Possibly. Perhaps. Assuming all went according to plan. First though she'd need an Elder Scroll.

“Where am I going to find one of those?” Elisif sighed as she made her way back down the mountain. “The only place I know is the Imperial Library in Cyrodiil, where the Moth Priests study them. But that's weeks away! Months maybe, and the passes will be closing for winter soon, if they're not already! Erandur, what do I do?”

“I'm not sure,” Erandur said thoughtfully. “But we might not have to go all the way to Cyrodiil. There might be one in Skyrim. The College of Winterhold might have one, or know where to look. And if they don't... Elisif, this is a little unorthodox but I used to know this woman. She helped me when I first left Nightcaller Temple, looked after me, pointed me in the direction of the Benevolence of Mara. Only... she's... well... not exactly an Aedra worshipper. She's a Dunmer, like me.”

Not an Aedra worshipper? Well, not everyone was religious, Elisif knew that... and then she recalled the Morrowind state religion.

“She's a Daedra worshipper?” Elisif gasped. Erandur looked rather awkward, but nodded.

“She's a priestess of Azura,” he admitted. “But she's a good woman – mostly a good woman anyway. Azura sends her visions. She might have seen an Elder Scroll in them. It's worth asking.”

Seeking the help of a Daedric priestess. Elisif hadn't seen that one coming. Still, she was carrying a Daedra's sword, they weren't all bad. Azura, Lady of Twilight and all things that were neither one thing nor the other, was one of the better Daedra.

“All right,” Elisif sighed. “We'll try this woman, and if she can't help, we'll ask at the College. If there's a Scroll to be had in Skyrim, we'll find it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Shrine of Azura proved to be in the wilds of Winterhold, looming up in the midst of the Anthors, a great statue of the Lady of Twilight with the sun in one hand and the moon in the other.

“There it is,” Erandur said proudly. “The Shrine of Azura. Hasn't changed a bit. The Mother of the Dunmer people, looking out over to Morrowind, watching for a day it'll be safe to return. Come on, let's get up there. Aranea always used to have a tent up near the top.”

There was a tent up there, and there was a robed Dunmer priestess watching over the altar... along with three other figures in heavy armour that Elisif recognised at once.

“Vilkas? Farkas? RIA???” Elisif couldn't believe her eyes. Last time she'd seen Ria, she'd been alongside Jordis, fighting off a troop of Stormcloaks. Then Aela had said she'd been taken prisoner and Elisif had been scared she'd never see her again. Yet here she was, safe if a little pale and thin compared to when Elisif had last seen her.

“El – Maia!” Ria cried, running over and embracing Elisif. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that!” Elisif gasped. “Shouldn't you be in a cell in Windhelm?”

“I should,” Ria grinned. “But I escaped. Not on my own obviously, I had help. From some friends of yours. A certain thief called Brynjolf?”

“Brynjolf??” Now Elisif was really confused. “But... he said he was going to Riften...”

“Well, he turned up in the Nightgate Inn the same night me and Vilkas stopped there,” Farkas said. “We told him we'd been poking round Windhelm trying to rescue Ria but not getting anywhere, and he offered to jailbreak her. And he and his two friends did.” He patted Ria, looking very proud.

“And what was his asking price?” Elisif asked. She knew Brynjolf well enough to know by now that he did nothing for free – Delphine had paid him for the Embassy job, and as far as rescuing Esbern and helping get them to the Temple went, he was mostly doing that to win Delphine over. Helping two strangers, even to free a friend of Elisif's, wasn't something she could see Brynjolf doing free of charge and these two colleagues of his would be even less inclined to do so.

“They needed this guild of Altmer thieves taking care of,” Farkas said with a shrug. “Vilkas and me were happy to help.”

Elisif had a feeling that particular job was less about helping make Skyrim safer than about wiping out the competition, but she couldn't really argue about getting rid of thieves.

“Where is Vilkas?” she asked and Farkas pointed at the altar. Vilkas was standing over it, hands resting on the altar and Elisif realised with a shock that she could see right through him to the large glowing star between his hands.

“What's he doing?” she gasped.

“He's in Azura's Star,” Ria said, sounding rather proud of him. “He's cleansing it for Azura, getting rid of some necromancer type who'd managed to store his soul in there. Aranea says we can keep the Star if he manages it.”

That was if he wasn't killed. Vilkas was grunting and swearing, and Elisif was horrified to see a burn appear on his arm.

“Will he be all right?” Elisif whispered. Ria nodded, still looking quite cheerful.

“Oh yes. He said he'd be fine. He's dealt with mages loads of times.”

“Yeah, he'll be all right. Vil's tough,” said Farkas, although he looked a bit less optimistic than Ria. Elisif hoped they were right. Vilkas wasn't the most cheerful of people, but Elisif wouldn't want him to die.

She looked around to see where this Aranea woman was. She was standing near the altar, talking with Erandur.

“Casimir!” Elisif heard her say. The Dunmer woman looked delighted to see him again, reaching out her arms to him. Erandur stepped back, going rigid as he frowned at her, which was odd. Weren't they supposed to have been friends?

“I no longer use that name. I go by Erandur now,” he said stiffly. Erandur had never looked so uncomfortable to Elisif.

“Erandur,” Aranea said, smile fading a little but still looking pleased to see him. She lowered her arms, clearly giving up on the hug. “It's good to see you again, Erandur. You're looking well.”

“I joined the Benevolence of Mara, Aranea,” Erandur said, his voice softening. “We're sworn to chastity.”

“To engage in sex only in the context of marriage or a relationship leading to it,” Aranea said, still looking amused. “I know the vow, Erandur. So tell me, what brings you here? Why are you seeking Lady Azura's help? I'm getting more visitors in the last month than in the last five years, I swear.”

Elisif approached, wondering what to make of this old friend of Erandur's, and honestly Elisif was starting to think less old friend and more old lover given the earlier conversation. Which wasn't a problem for Elisif, but clearly Erandur wasn't quite so happy. She'd have to keep an eye on him.

“Hello,” she said, holding her hand out. “Are you Aranea? I'm Maia. Erandur's a friend of mine, he said you saw visions. We're looking for -”

“An Elder Scroll,” Aranea finished, taking her hand and shaking it. “Yes, I know, High Queen. Azura told me you were coming. She's shown me several visions of your future, some of which you're happier in than others. I hope for your sake the happy ones actually happen. Aranea Ienith, at your service.”

Aranea seemed calm and friendly, but Elisif was a little unsettled to find out this woman already knew who she was.

“What else does Azura tell you?” Elisif said sharply. “Do you know who wins the war?”

“It's not that simple, Elisif,” Aranea sighed. “I've seen visions of Ulfric as High King and you as his unhappy consort. I've seen visions of you as the victorious High Queen but still unhappy because you're not really ruling. And I've seen you ruling as High Queen in truth, consort at your side and while some question your choice, you're happy. Then there are the ones where you end up dead, but let's not talk about those, hmm?”

Elisif didn't want to think about those either, even if dying would reunite her with Torygg in Sovngarde. So she changed the subject back to what she wanted to know.

“So this Elder Scroll,” she pressed. “Did Azura show you where it was?”

Aranea nodded, but she still looked dubious. “In a way. I saw some images. A Dwemer ruin. An old wizard in a cave of ice. An underground city with strange plants. A giant Dwemer machine containing the Scroll. And the College of Winterhold. That's all, I'm afraid. I'm sorry I can't be more specific. But the College is a good place to start, no?”

It wasn't a lot more than Elisif had already had to go on, but a Dwemer ruin and an old wizard... Elisif had never been in a Dwemer ruin before. Probably looked like Markarth except deserted. Not a great omen but she'd have Erandur at her back. Maybe even the three Companions might like to come. She suspected Ria would say yes.

Aranea had gone still, eyes glazing over, clearly communing with Azura again, and then Vilkas collapsed to the floor, fully there now but smoke rising from him. Ria had cried his name, kneeling by him as she tried to rouse the unconscious Companion, Farkas likewise looking on, worried.

“Erandur, help!” Elisif shouted, rushing to Vilkas' side. Half his face was covered in burns, there were holes in his armour, he was bleeding and generally looked awful. Erandur was there, healing spells in hand, Restoration magic chiming as he called out to Mara and let the magic flow into the stricken warrior.

On the other side of the altar, Aranea seemed to come back to herself, shaking herself down and then joining Erandur, her own healing spells flaring. With two of them at work, Vilkas' wounds closed and the burns faded and to everyone's relief he opened his eyes, in possession of a few new scars but otherwise fine.

“Vil, you OK?” Farkas asked, patting his shoulder, nonchalant tone belying the worry in his eyes.

“I think so,” Vilkas said, rubbing his eyes. “That Dunmer warlock was tougher than he looked and he was summoning Dremora... Ria?”

“Vilkas!” Ria cried, clinging on to him. “I thought you'd been killed!”

Vilkas reached up and put an arm around her, holding on to her, closing his eyes and smiling a little.

“It will take more than some warlock and his friends to kill me, Ria,” Vilkas said, slowly sitting up but still leaning on her. “Aranea, you'll be pleased to know he is at least dead.”

Aranea nodded, smiling but she looked like she was going to cry and not from happiness either. Elisif wondered what on earth was wrong with her.

“Vilkas, are you all right?” Elisif asked, and Vilkas's eyes widened as they fell on her.

“El – Maia! What are you doing here?”

“Same reason as you from the look of it, we were here seeking help from Azura. And Vilkas, you can use my real name, Erandur here is a friend of mine who I told ages ago, and Aranea knew anyway.”

“I see,” Vilkas said, letting Ria and Farkas help him up. “Well, it's good to finally see you out here, Dragonborn. Farkas and I have been travelling around eastern Skyrim when we weren't trying to rescue Ria. The war's been hard on the eastern Holds – and without a Dragonborn, the dragons have been ravaging the place. Shor's Stone is only just standing, and the miners have had to retreat into the mine. Darkwater Crossing likewise. And there's nothing left of Kynesgrove. A dragon emerged from the old dragon mound behind the town and completely destroyed it. Take care, Elisif, Ulfric's using it to blame you for not being there to stop it.”

“He's blaming me??” Elisif cried, feeling her cheeks flame at the man's audacity. “He's the reason I can't come east of the Throat in safety, and he's saying it's my fault for not saving Kynesgrove? I can't be everywhere!”

“I know,” Vilkas said sombrely. “Farkas and I did what we could, fighting dragons when we found them. But it only buys a day's respite before they come back.”

“A day's peace is better than none,” Erandur told him. “Don't blame yourself.”

Vilkas nodded but it was clear he still felt guilty. So did Elisif, but really what could she have done? Very little. All she could do was try and stop the problem at source.

“I'm working on a way to stop them permanently, give us a fighting chance,” she told him. “But I'm going to need help. Do the three of you want to give us a hand? I could do with extra blades.” And indeed Blades but all in good time. She could hardly recruit all of Jorrvaskr into the Blades, could she?

“I'm in,” Ria said instantly. “Whatever you need, Elisif.”

“Then I'm definitely coming,” Vilkas growled. “You aren't getting captured again.”

“Just tell me who needs bludgeoning,” Farkas said, reaching for his sword. Elisif smiled, finally feeling a bit more confident about this. She could use all the assistance she could get, and her, Erandur and three Companions could take care of most opponents.

“I'm glad to hear it, although you might not like our next stop. I need to find an Elder Scroll, and Aranea tells me it's in a Dwarven ruin somewhere. I'm thinking the College of Winterhold might know which one.”

Ria just nodded, but Vilkas and Farkas both looked worried, exchanging nervous glances.

“The College?” Farkas said. “They only let you in if you can do magic. Vilkas and me tried to get in to find out about Azura's Star – that Altmer on the gate didn't agree.”

“She said she'd only let us in if we could do some Summoning spell,” Vilkas sighed. “Well, neither my brother nor I are natural mages, let's put it that way. Fortunately we found one in the inn who could help... but I don't think he'll talk to either of us now, not since we took Azura's Star back here.”

Not encouraging, but Elisif knew a few spells that Eola had taught her, and if need be, she could get Erandur to pose as a student while she acted the part of bodyguard... but Erandur was a bit old to be an apprentice.

“Forgive me, but you're taking these three to the College of Winterhold?” Aranea interrupted. “I assumed you'd take Erandur and get him to take the entry test.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Elisif asked warily. Aranea just shook her head, leaning back against the altar.

“You take that lot anywhere near Winterhold, people will know something's up. Four heavily armed warriors who definitely aren't mages go to the College? That will attract attention.”

“Well, do you have a better idea?” Elisif asked, feeling a little harassed. Aranea seemed friendly enough, but Elisif had only just met her. She didn't entirely trust her yet.

“Yes, actually. Azura sent me another vision to give to you. You have a more important task ahead of you. A small squad of Ulfric's people are making a move on a Nord ruin called Korvanjund. They're looking for something you'll find of interest. Never mind your Elder Scroll, you need to leave and go there now, make sure you get to it first. Otherwise your chances of winning the war just got smaller.”

“But the dragons-” Elisif cried, trying not to think of the charred ruins of Kynesgrove. “I need to find that Scroll!”

“Yes you do, but this is more urgent,” said Aranea. “Look, why don't I go and ask at the College for you. Erandur can come with me, two Dunmer mages arriving to do some research at the College's famed library won't raise any eyebrows at all. Meanwhile, you and your warrior friends here can go and explore Korvanjund. I'm sure they've been down plenty of Nord ruins.”

Elisif was dubious about this, but Erandur had vouched for Aranea's trustworthiness, and Ria and the twins all seemed in agreement. It was just Erandur looking worried.

“I'm really not sure this is a good idea...” he began. Aranea sighed and threw up her hands.

“For the love of Azura, Cas- Erandur, I'm not going to molest you. This is just a little research trip, that's all.”

Erandur didn't look convinced, but he did at length agree to it.

“Fine. But only because this is in service to a higher cause,” he grumbled. With that settled, everyone gathered their things and got ready to go, all promising to meet at the Nightgate Inn afterwards with their findings. Elisif stopped to say goodbye to Erandur before they left.

“Are you sure you're going to be all right?” Elisif asked. “What exactly happened with you two? You said you were friends!”

“We were,” Erandur said uncomfortably. “Are. But, well, we spent extended time alone together, and I was very lonely and vulnerable after losing everyone I cared about in Nightcaller Temple. She helped counsel me and I – I took shameful advantage of that generosity. She didn't hold it against me and in fact seemed to enjoy the experience – but she was and still is a lot younger than me by Dunmer standards, and I can't offer her the relationship that she deserves and that Mara would expect of me. So obviously I can't lie with her again, it would be unworthy and unforgivable to lead her on.”

“Only you still fancy her,” Elisif said knowingly, having seen the way he'd been looking at her. Aranea was rather pretty, to Elisif's eyes anyway, who knew what Dunmer standards of beauty were like. Erandur sighed, staring at his feet.

“Is it that obvious,” he said wearily. Elisif nodded.

“I'm afraid so,” she said. Aranea was standing some way away, but even so, perhaps some discretion was advised. “Look, she's a priestess, she's hardly the materialistic type if she's been living up here all this time. She won't care you're not wealthy. You might serve different gods but you have a lot in common. If you really care about her, if there's feelings on both sides, why not go for it?”

“It's not that simple,” Erandur sighed. “I'm too old for her, what if she gets pregnant, I might die before it ever grew up, and I'm in no position to provide for her!”

“There's potions to stop that,” Elisif whispered, reaching up to give him a hug. “And you're not that old, surely. And as far as providing for her goes, once I'm Queen, I'll make sure the two of you are set up properly if that's what you want. Either at Sky Haven Temple, or at my court.”

Erandur didn't say anything, just holding Elisif tightly and she had a horrible feeling those were tears on his cheeks.

“Bless you, Elisif, you're the kindest, most thoughtful young woman...” He stopped talking, letting her go and wiping a tear away from his eye.

“You take care,” he said gruffly. “Here's hoping you find what you're meant to in Korvanjund. As for me, well, I guess I'll just have to restrain myself, won't I?”

Elisif personally thought he was overthinking the situation a bit and that if anyone deserved to be happy, it was him. But it wasn't hers to interfere. Bidding him goodbye, she went to join the Companions. Time to see if this Korvanjund place really did have anything worth taking, or if Azura was just sending her on a wild goose chase. With Daedra, one could never be too sure.

Notes:

And there goes Elisif, levelling up with a cool Dovah name and breathing fire. Soon she'll have the Jagged Crown, and then my pretty, then you will be ready. Soon. :D

Ahem. But next chapter is back to the Nightingales, whose only option regarding fencing the Eyes turns out to lie Reachwards... and they've not heard the news about the Silver-Bloods yet. Has Nocturnal abandoned them? Perhaps not.

Chapter 21

Summary:

Their business in Windhelm concluded, it's time for the Nightingales to fence the Eyes of the Falmer, only to find doing so is going to be trickier than they thought, particularly when thanks to recent events elsewhere, their potential buyer turns out to be no longer in a position to help. Fortunately, Karliah's old contacts are able to save the day. Meanwhile, General Tullius and Legate Rikke are trying to track down their missing High Queen, and the mess in the Reach left in her wake is going to require some difficult decisions...

Notes:

I have been waiting to post this one for ages! I just wanted the next one written first. This is the one linking the Nightingales back in with the main plot, in which Brynjolf returns to the Reach only to find out all Oblivion's broken loose...

Notes on the Rhanic:

Daro - stop

Vi dim ta gelynai - we're not your enemies

Mi chara ap [name] a [name] - I'm a friend of [name] and [name]

Mi gwybod Y Brenin - I know the King

Gwelta yn danu - please (lit. you will see a benefit (from what I'm asking)

Ond gado mi [name] gwelych - just let me see [name]

Yin Rhanaic siarad - she speaks the Reach-tongue

Anas beth? - now what?

Anfaid yenai an Ia-Mor - send them to the Void

Tylwyth Mor - Dunmer

Lleidr bach - little thief

Lleidrai - thieves

“What do you mean, no?” Sapphire hissed. A brief chat with Niranye and now the two of them were sitting in her house after hours, the Eyes of the Falmer sitting on Niranye's table while the Altmer fence poured herself a strong drink.

“Things I can sell on!” Niranye cried. “Gemstones that look much like any other and that I can lend out to Hermir for her to practice crafting jewellery with, I thought you meant! Not... these! Mara's mercy, Sapphire, no one in Windhelm's got the talent to even dent these!”

“Are you joking,” Sapphire said softly. “Niranye, this heist has been literally years in the planning, two Guild Masters died over this, you would not even believe the trouble Brynjolf and I had getting these bastards, and you're refusing to fence them now? We killed Linwe and pals, you said you'd fence for us!”

“I did. And – and I will. Any other little trinkets, fine. But not these, Sapphire. I've not got the coin to cover even a fraction of their value – they're worth more than this entire house.” Niranye gestured helplessly at the enormous diamonds. “Sapphire, you're a notorious jewel thief, don't tell me you don't have contacts.”

Sapphire did, but the truth was, it was small gemstones, easy to steal, easy to make off with, that she specialised in. Easy to prise out of one jewellery piece, melt down the metal, craft another one out of it, sell it on. She'd learnt smithcraft in the Dark Brotherhood, principally how to do Shrouded Armour and fix up weapons, and then when she'd joined the Guild, Glover had taken her under his wing and honed her skills. It was an extremely good way of converting ill-gotten gems into completely legitimate and saleable goods. Sadly not an option with the Eyes of the Falmer.

“Do you know anyone who might be willing to take these off our hands and not ask questions?” Sapphire sighed. Someone surely must want these, some private collector so well-respected the law wouldn't even touch them. They weren't even stolen property technically, no previous owner to set the guards after them. Just semi-legendary diamonds that those who knew of such things might well guess had been pried out of their previous home.

Niranye was examining one of the Eyes, humming thoughtfully. Which Sapphire hoped meant a buyer might be out there somewhere.

“Maybe,” Niranye said. “If you and Brynjolf are willing to resort to a little trickery. Ever been to Markarth?”

“Many times,” Sapphire grinned. It was amazing just how many gemstones occasionally turned up in the Reach's mines, and their Silver-Blood owners liked to claim them all. Sapphire, unusually for a Nord, had managed to win a few Reachmen over and had become known as a buyer for any gems they could smuggle out on the quiet. She didn't pay market value, of course, but it was better than having the overseers take them all with nothing paid in return.

“Good, then you'll know the Treasury House,” Niranye said. “The Silver-Bloods are richer than Zenithar – if you and Brynjolf pose as a Nord couple from out of Skyrim, on the run from the Thalmor due to Talos worship and needing a steady supply of coin so as to set yourselves up in Ulfric's territory, and the gemstones were the only things you were able to take from your vault, you might be able to get a credit line set up with them. You'll need to practice your Empire-hating rhetoric, but I imagine they'll be willing to turn a blind eye to the origins of your collateral.”

It sounded incredibly chancy to Sapphire's ears, but most things in their line of work were. Brynjolf would not be pleased to hear this, but it didn't sound like they had much choice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brynjolf, as predicted, had not been at all happy, and his mood had not been helped by Karliah piously pointing out that this was exactly why they needed to return the Key as soon as they could, and the resulting loss of temper could have led to a vicious falling out had Sapphire not intervened to calm them both down. In the end, things had been patched up and the three thieves had agreed to check Markarth out, maybe check in with the Blades as well, and then once the gold had been shared out, the three of them would head off to the Twilight Sepulchre in Falkreath and return the Key once and for all. So off they'd trotted, walking as far as Whiterun then getting the carriage the rest of the way.

The first sign that something was up was the general absence of Forsworn. There were often a few seen pointedly watching from the distance or just hunting. This time, nothing. The carriage had taken the safer south route, but the driver had remarked in passing how quiet the Forsworn had got just lately. Almost as if they were up to something.

The second sign was the absence of the Markarth City Guard. Instead the city was guarded by Legion soldiers, the rams' horns gone and the Empire's banners everywhere.

“Oh that is not good,” Karliah whispered from under the priest robes she'd 'borrowed' from Danica Pure-Spring in Whiterun. Next to her, Sapphire, dressed in a dress that had once been Alfhild Battle-Born's and with the Eyes nestling under her stomach to make her look pregnant, was also staring around in shock.

“What in Oblivion happened?” Sapphire whispered. “This city was already loyal to the Empire in the war, why the need to invade?”

Brynjolf mentally revised their cover story. Refugee Talos worshippers seeking a line of currency to set up in Ulfric's lands might not be the sure thing it had once been. He could only hope the Silver-Bloods were still in possession of sufficient coin and respect to be able to help.

His hopes were dashed as soon as he got into the inn, Karliah settling Sapphire into a side corner, looking for all the world like a Dunmer healer-midwife tending to a heavily pregnant young woman.

“Haven't you heard?” Kleppr the bartender snapped as he served the mead Brynjolf had just ordered. “I'm surprised it's not halfway across Skyrim yet. The Reach is an Imperial protectorate now, or might as well be. The Forsworn broke out of Cidhna Mine, assassinating the entire Silver-Blood family in the process – oh sure, they're saying that Thongvor might have been a Dark Brotherhood hit, but the assassin's body wasn't left behind after the jailbreak, so if he wasn't Forsworn before, he certainly is now.”

Brynjolf felt his heart sink. Their last hope of cashing these beauties in, gone. He could weep. Of all the bad luck... He could just imagine the 'I told you so' look on Karliah's face when she heard this. He guessed they'd have to head over to Falkreath sooner rather than later. At least Delphine could be relied on to look after the Eyes for them.

“So if the Silver-Bloods are gone, who's got all their money? And why are the Empire here in force?”

“Normally all assets would default to the Jarl without a legitimate heir turning up, but it's anyone's guess who that'll be,” Kleppr sighed. “Igmund's still Jarl, and he's got Nepos the Nose looking after the Silver-Blood estate seeing as he's the only person with any seniority left over there, but seeing as the idiot was so foolish as to let Thonar lock Jarl Elisif herself up in Cidhna Mine without a trial, and now the Forsworn have abducted her, I can't really see Igmund's reign continuing, can you?”

“Shor's left testicle, are you serious?” Brynjolf swore. “Jarl Elisif??? Ended up in Cidhna Mine?”

“That's what they say,” Kleppr nodded. “Apparently Thonar locked her up in there to try and stop her doing any more damage to the Stormcloak cause. I'd say that's backfired rather spectacularly, wouldn't you say?”

“The world's doomed,” Brynjolf managed to utter, paying for the drinks and heading back over to where Karliah and Sapphire were waiting.

“Well, what's up?” Sapphire asked, not liking the look on Brynjolf's face.

“We're fucked. The world is fucked. The Reach is beyond fucked,” Brynjolf said, swigging his mead and wishing he'd ordered something stronger. “Karliah, you were right, we should have gone to Falkreath first. Although that's not going to help poor Elisif. Lasses, I'm going to need to go see Delphine at once – you two can join me or go straight to Falkreath. Our contacts are dead, due partly to the Forsworn and partly to their own fucking stupidity.” He recounted what Kleppr had told him, head in his hands, all hope drained out of him.

“The Forsworn have your Dragonborn,” Karliah whispered, horrified. Brynjolf nodded.

“Yep. The lass who needs to stop the dragons destroying the world is a prisoner on some Forsworn camp somewhere. That's assuming they've not killed her.”

“And our marks, our best hope of trading the Eyes, all dead,” Sapphire said bleakly, her mind on the coin first and foremost, as always. “Fuck, Brynjolf.”

“I know,” said Brynjolf softly. “Fuck it all, coin's no good if the dragons have killed us all.”

Karliah stared at her mead, frowning, looking very thoughtful. “Bryn, who did you say was administering the Silver-Blood estates? Nepos the Nose, was it?”

“That's right,” Brynjolf said moodily. “We tried to buy him off a number of times, but he always resisted. Seemed to find it highly amusing when we threatened him, and his guards are a cut above the usual sellsword bodyguards. Loyal to the death, gifted battlemages and sneaky too. I've never dealt with him personally, but Delvin did once or twice. Nepos only deals with thieves on his own terms, when he wants to, and too many thieves who've tried to force the issue have ended up unpleasantly dead for us to raise objections. He's going to be a tough one to crack. Best left alone, lass.”

“Not if you're me,” Karliah said firmly, getting to her feet. “Come on, Bryn, Nocturnal hasn't abandoned us. Let's get to the Treasury House.”

“Wait a second, I just told you the Guild have never managed to suborn him and you're going to just talk him into it?” Brynjolf demanded. “Lass, have you gone stark staring mad?”

“Trust me, Bryn,” said Karliah confidently. “If he'll listen to anyone, he'll listen to me.”

Brynjolf turned to Sapphire, who at least seemed to share his opinion.

“You're insane,” Sapphire whispered as Karliah helped her up.

“No. Just lucky,” Karliah murmured back. As fast as they could manage with the Eyes of the Falmer down Sapphire's dress, the three thieves made their way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Treasury House proved to still be open and very little about it changed – some of the servants were different, and there were two tough-looking Reachmen standing just inside the main hallway who narrowed their eyes at Brynjolf, but the place seemed peaceful.

“Good evening, lass, we've got urgent business with Nepos the Nose, I was wondering if you could let us in?” Brynjolf purred. Unlikely to work but he had to at least try the softly softly approach.

“Nepos doesn't have any appointments tonight,” the receptionist sniffed. “I'm sorry, I don't think we can help you.”

“Please,” Sapphire whispered, hand on her stomach. “We've come a long way, had to flee over the border from High Rock. The Thalmor are after us, we were hoping Thonar could help... but they say he died.”

“He did,” the girl behind the counter said, her eyes flickering to the two guards and a couple of Reachfolk domestic staff lounging about, a dark-haired man and a silver-haired young woman, both of whom kept glancing over... and Brynjolf had a sneaking suspicion they were no more cleaners than he was. “And if you were friends of his... look, most of our funds are still tied up in red tape, you're better off going elsewhere. I'm sorry.” This was said with a look of genuine sympathy for Sapphire.

Brynjolf glanced at Karliah. This whole situation stank, and the poor receptionist looked terrified. Brynjolf had a feeling those guards weren't just keeping an eye on the silver. He hoped Karliah knew what she was doing.

“Listen,” Karliah said, smiling sympathetically at her. “I know all these recent events must have been very difficult, all the change in personnel, and I imagine it's not done yet. I imagine it must be pretty tense for you.”

“Where is this going?” the girl whispered, eyes darting about, and now one of the guards was peeling himself off the wall.

“Are they bothering you, Rhiada?” he growled. “Do you need Tynan and me to throw them out?”

“That won't be necessary-” Rhiada began, but the other guard was moving in now and the two domestics had got up, reaching for daggers, and now Brynjolf was certain that they weren't really servants.

“Game's up, we're going,” Brynjolf muttered to Karliah, but she'd raised her hands, clenched her fists and held them to her shoulders.

“Daro!” Karliah cried. “Vi dim ta gelynai! Ainma Karliah a mi chara ap Nepos a Keirine! Mi gwybod Y Brenin! Gwelta yn danu, ond gado mi Nepos gwelych!”

Silence. Brynjolf tried to process that he'd just heard Karliah rattle off something that was neither Tamrielic or her native Dunmeri, but that the Reachmen seemed to understand – the guards and cleaners anyway. He shot a glance at Sapphire, who looked as confused as he did... and the Reachmen also looked surprised.

“Yin Rhanaic siarad,” the guard said, dazed. “Uaile, anas beth?”

The woman was getting to her feet, motioning for the others to back off as she approached, eyes never leaving Karliah. When she did speak, it was in perfect Tamrielic.

“Those are some dangerous names to drop into casual conversation, Tylwyth Mor,” Uaile said, eyes narrowed although her voice was calm. “I hope for your sake you really do know them as you say you do. You're fortunate. I did hear talk that many years ago, there was a Dunmer called Karliah who helped procure things for Matriarch Keirine and lived at Cwm Prendwemyn with her. We shall see how you're remembered. Wait here. I'll ask Nepos if he'll see you.” She made her way over to the door leading into the private apartments before glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and if it turns out things aren't so friendly between you... Dryston, anfaid yenai an Ia-Mor.”

“Do I want to know what that last bit meant?” Brynjolf asked, fairly certain he could guess.

“Means we're dead if this doesn't work,” Karliah whispered, confirming his suspicions. Mercifully, Nocturnal hadn't abandoned them yet. Uaile was back in a few minutes, glaring at them.

“He'll see you. Get inside, all three of you, and no funny business.”

Uaile never took her eyes off them as the three of them made their way into the back room, Karliah leading the way. Brynjolf brought up the rear, protective arm round Sapphire and glancing over his shoulder, still not sure this wasn't a trap. But Karliah seemed confident.

Nepos proved to be an elderly Reachman in fine clothes, sitting at a table and quietly munching on an apple, a ploy Brynjolf suspected was just a means of demonstrating he still had all his teeth rather than an actual attempt to fill his belly. Nepos, aptly named, put the apple down and got up, actually smiling to see Karliah.

“Lleidr bach, what a pleasant surprise. You don't look a day older.” He looked her over, raising an eyebrow at the priestly robes. “Have you joined the priesthood or is this part of some cunning ruse?”

“Nepos,” Karliah breathed, racing over to him, flinging her hood aback and hugging him. “It's good to see you. What on earth's been happening over here? It sounds like half the city's been murdered! Are you planning a new rebellion or something?”

Forsworn. Brynjolf bloody knew it. He'd wondered, of course he had. Highly trained Reachman warriors didn't just come out of nowhere, and there had to be a reason Nepos had managed to hold on to lucrative employment and not be a Forsworn target himself. Brynjolf had suspected him of playing both sides, but now it appeared Nepos was far more than a mere agent.

“Now, now Karliah, we both know I'm just a humble Reachman man of business who really ought to have retired years ago,” Nepos scolded gently. “Apart from the fact the city needs me, of course. Good thing I am still here, thanks to the entire Silver-Blood family getting themselves inconveniently killed, I appear to be stuck running things. Apparently I am the only one with any kind of education who knows where everything is.” He gestured for the three of them to sit down, eyeing Brynjolf and Sapphire rather sceptically. “I take it these two are associates of yours. I'm guessing so anyway, because I'm sure that young lady is about as pregnant as I am.”

“Aedra, is it that obvious?” Sapphire sighed. “Thank Mara anyway, I'm sick of pretending.”

“Nepos is very good at reading people, Sapphire,” Karliah soothed her. “Nepos, this is Sapphire and that's Brynjolf. We... well, we need a bit of a favour. The first plan was to try and con Thonar into helping us, but seeing as the Forsworn have got a bit restless, we're opting for plan B.”

“Of course you need a favour,” Nepos sighed. “Anu forbid you visit me for any other reason. After all I've done for you over the years, finding you employment, protecting you from your own Guild, arranging Sanctuary with one of our Matriarchs, persuading Madanach you'd be an asset... you could at least keep in touch better.”

“I'm sorry, Nepos,” Karliah said apologetically. “It wasn't safe to write. But I cleared things up with the Guild at last. Mercer's dead and I don't have to hide. Not from my own kind anyway.”

“Just the law,” Nepos said knowingly. “Well, I can't be seen to be abetting thieves and criminals, Karliah, you know that... but I'll always listen to an old friend. Sapphire and Brynjolf, hmm? How very odd, I know both those names. Sapphire would be that under-the-table buyer that used to buy gemstones off hardworking Reachman miners and pay under the odds for them. How unfortunate for you that I now pay half the value of any found gemstones to the one who mines them. I daresay you'll have to find another sideline.”

Sapphire patted the Eyes still hidden under her dress. “Half the value, eh?” she smirked. “We'll see.” She loosened the dress's stays and finally got the Eyes out from under there, delivering them on to the table, glad to be rid of the blasted things. “What will you give us for these?”

Nepos stared at them, eyes bulging as he prodded them, hardly able to believe they were real.

“What in the world are – where in the Void did these come from?? Do I want to know?”

“No,” said Karliah firmly. “Let's just say we need to cash them in. Quickly.”

“I imagine you probably do,” Nepos said faintly. “Dear gods, are these really two entire diamonds the size of an infant?? Surely not, one such would be nothing short of miraculous, but two... hmm.” He picked one up, scrutinising it carefully, even running a few spells over it, before breaking out into a grin.

“Well well. May I take it you've been delving a Dwemer ruin somewhere? Stealing the eyes of a blind race, how dreadful. I should be appalled, but this is quite the find, more than you realise. They're not two whole diamonds, they're lots of smaller flawless diamonds magically bonded together and then cut, using an old Snow Elf magic that's long been lost... but not in the Reach. You're in luck, I don't think there's anyone else in Tamriel who could break these down... but one of our Matriarchs could do it. I think about a hundred flawless diamonds would be a lot more useful to us all than two great big ones. I can establish a credit line to the sum of twenty thousand septims for these?”

“You said half rate earlier!” Sapphire snapped. “The equivalent of one hundred flawless diamonds is worth a damn sight more than that!”

“Yes, but you're forgetting my own expenses,” Nepos sighed. “Breaking these down will take time, money, considerable magical expertise and Keirine's going to want a cut. Also I can't approach her direct – there will be a middleman involved, and by middleman I mean the head of my own organisation, who will most certainly also be claiming a considerable portion for himself. Then there's my own personal fee for handling all this and administering your little investment, and if you think that's going to be much under ten thousand, think again. All right, fifty thousand for you three, and the rest for me – ten thousand as my handling fee, ten thousand for Keirine's services, and thirty thousand should keep Himself happy.”

“Didn't a certain organisation recently take over Kolskeggr gold mine?” Brynjolf said casually, recalling a bit of idle gossip he'd heard in the Cistern a few months back. “That mine's worth a lot more than thirty thou. I'm thinking a certain gentleman in charge of all that might well be just as happy with ten thou. Thirty for you, seventy for us.”

Nepos pursed his lips, looking coolly at Brynjolf. “You're a hard bargainer, Brynjolf is it? I've heard of you, and I think I might know why you want the gold all of a sudden. It's not just the Guild or your own retirement fund you're lining, is it?”

“Now what business is that of yours?” Brynjolf asked, frowning. The Blades had absolutely nothing to do with this man... unless of course the Forsworn were holding the Dragonborn to ransom and had guessed the note was better off going to Delphine than Tullius.

“More than you might think,” Nepos said cryptically, but the man was smiling. “Apparently you're a thief with honour after all, according to Himself. And honestly, it's not like Keirine's and my share won't end up getting re-invested in the cause after all. All right. Ten for me, ten for the Matriarch of Cwm Prendwemyn's services, ten for the Rhan-Brenin, twenty for each of you... and the remaining ten payable to a certain other organisation currently based in an old Akaviri temple not far from here whose aims just lately happen to coincide with our own.”

“Akaviri temple...” Karliah gasped. “Wait a second, you're sending a cut to the Blades? Why? Brynjolf, what's this about the Forsworn and Blades working together?”

“We're not!” Brynjolf protested, and then he saw the knowing grin on Nepos's face and realised just where Elisif had really ended up. “Shor's bones. Elisif's formed an alliance with the Forsworn.”

“She saw the true face of her kinsmen during her stay in Markarth and has decided that we could hardly do a worse job than the Nords of running the place,” Nepos said cheerfully. “Don't trouble yourself, Brynjolf, your Dragonborn is safe. Madanach escorted her back to Sky Haven Temple personally, she's absolutely fine, no harm done, not to her anyway, in fact I think your little jester friend killed more people than we did during that whole business.”

“Jester?” Sapphire asked warily. Brynjolf just shook his head, not sure he really wanted to explain Cicero. There just weren't words to adequately sum him up although 'lunatic', 'psychopath' and 'pain in the backside' covered an awful lot.

“I'll tell you later,” Brynjolf said hastily, as Nepos collected the Eyes, promising to sort them out with some cash up front and not to worry about any sort of tax, he'd do some creative accounting to cover all this, really it was quite amazing how many debts the Silver-Bloods had had between them, what with Thonar's Skooma habit, Betrid's little alcohol and Sleeping sap problem, and as for Thongvor's penchant for gambling and negotiated affection, it honestly didn't bear thinking about.

Brynjolf let him talk, feeling the relief flow through him. They'd got the Eyes cashed in. The Blades would have coin to spare, as would all three Nightingales, more than enough to start rebuilding the Guild while still leaving them in pocket. More to the point, Elisif was not in fact a Forsworn prisoner – in fact from the sounds of it, she'd managed to impress the Forsworn leader into lending support. Fucking Madanach had joined her cause! The notoriously dangerous warlord whose rebel fighters were still alive and kicking despite twenty five years since the Markarth Incident and their overthrow by the Stormcloaks, and whose organisation had effectively locked the Guild out of the Reach for decades – one Hold only had room for so much corruption and crime, and the Forsworn had monopolised it. They still did from the sounds of it, but possibly not at the Guild's expense, not for much longer.

“So Karliah,” Sapphire was asking. “Exactly how did you get in with the Forsworn anyway? They're not exactly open and trusting.”

“Twenty five years ago, they were the government here,” Karliah said softly. “Everyone in the Guild expected me to go east to Morrowind, where a Dunmer might blend in. So I went west instead, to Markarth. No one even considered I'd go there. Madanach was King in truth, and he hated thieves. He was quite the idealist, for a ruthless warlord anyway. There's a reason he held out for two years – he was well-organised, competent, and really really good at being king. By the end of year one, most of the Reach had got used to the Forsworn running the show. When I showed up, he was confident, even cheerful, and quite receptive to the deal I made him. Inside information on the Guild's operations in return for protection from Mercer. He had me doing spy work for him, we were quite the team. It was an inspired idea. Then the Markarth Incident happened. During the invasion, I saved the life of someone close to Madanach, got them out of the city and to one of Madanach's camps. He never forgot. One letter of introduction to his sister at Hag's End later, and I was safe for years. I gave them a cut of everything I heisted elsewhere, acquired several valuable artefacts for Matriarch Keirine, called the place home. Keirine runs a training coven with lots of women who aren't Reachwomen coming and going, no one raised too many eyebrows at a Dunmer being there. That's how Mercer never found me. Forsworn paranoia kept me safe and I'll never forget it.”

“You saved the life of one of Madanach's blood, we won't forget that either,” Nepos said, his voice kind and fatherly as he secured the Eyes. “Now why don't you take this letter of credit for Delphine and in the morning come back and I'll... oh what now?” Uaile was knocking at the door again, calling out to Nepos, sounding worried.

“Nepos? Sir? You've got more visitors. Sir, it's important, they won't wait.”

“Sithis' sake,” Nepos muttered, before raising his voice. “Uaile, it is gone eleven o'clock, I am hardly a young man any more. Tell them to come back at a civilised hour.”

“I did, but... Sir, it's the General and Legate!” Uaile cried.

“Phynaster's golden balls,” Nepos whispered, the colour draining from his face as he turned to three similarly ashen thieves. “Right, get your things and hide. Ladies, under my bed, now. Brynjolf... no, there's no hope for it, three of you and your things will not stay hidden. Brynjolf, my dear, get in my bedroom, take your clothes off and get in the bed.”

“You what?” Brynjolf sputtered. That was not in the plan, not now, not ever. “Look, I'm all for pretending one of us is your night's entertainment but can't one of the lasses...?”

“No,” Nepos snapped. “Nearly fifty years of bedding men, and now I decide to start keeping company with the fairer sex? Do you actually want everyone in Markarth gossiping? Whereas finding a Nord man between my sheets, no one will even care. Don't worry, your virtue is safe, I'm done training the untouched up at my time of life.”

“I am not...!” Brynjolf protested, before realising there was no dignified outcome to any of this and that he might as well give in to the inevitable. Karliah and Sapphire were already hiding under the bed and Brynjolf shut himself inside the room.

“I hope you two are enjoying the view,” he sighed as he stripped off, doing his best to ignore Karliah's muffled giggling. Sapphire just sounded vaguely revolted but they both piped down as General Tullius's voice echoed in Nepos' living room.

“General, Legate, what a lovely surprise,” Nepos was saying. “Do come in, the pair of you. What can I do for you? It's a little late for a social call. Did you want to look at more records?”

“No, no, I've seen all I need to to prove Thonar and his brother weren't just traitors, they weren't even competent,” Tullius growled. “In fact you're about the only one so far with any brains at all. No, we came to let you know we've concluded our investigations. You'll find the results of interest.”

“Personally I suspect I'm going to find the results a foregone conclusion, but do go on,” Nepos said, pouring drinks for all three of them.

“You may find some of it a surprise,” Rikke said, sounding like she was smiling. “While we've found no evidence Igmund was aware of Maia's true identity, that doesn't excuse the fact that he was letting a private citizen administer justice, if you can call it that, and allowed an innocent woman to go to jail without even a pretence of a trial. While I doubt we'd have ever found out this was going on if the victim hadn't been so high-profile, that it happened to Jarl Elisif rather than a commoner is besides the point. A Jarl should know better. A Nord should know better.”

“I'd expect any ruler with a shred of competence to know better,” Nepos said sharply. “Nord or not.”

“Quite,” Tullius said roughly, sounding a little rattled and given the state of Reach politics at the best of times, Brynjolf didn't blame him. “But the added problem remains that as a result of Igmund's staggering incompetence, our High Queen is missing, presumed abducted by Madanach of the Forsworn. Eight know what he's done to her or where he's taken her. We've not had any kind of ransom note, not yet anyway, so it's possible he doesn't know who she is. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.”

“That poor girl,” Rikke whispered, sounding devastated. “She's already suffered so much. What she must be going through. That's assuming she's not...”

“We'll find her,” Tullius said as Rikke choked on the words. “If we have to turn over every damn Forsworn encampment in the Reach, we'll find out what happened to her.”

“I understand your concerns, of course,” Nepos said, only sounding a little panicked at the prospect of the Legion turning over every Forsworn camp in the Reach. “But Madanach was never a fool, and he's got informants everywhere. I'm sure he knows who she is. I'm also sure he's not so foolish as to risk the wrath of the Empire by harming her. Look, I know you've got a war to fight, don't waste your troops on the Forsworn. I know an awful lot of people among the natives of the Reach, I can start making enquiries. I might be able to find out something for you. Believe me, Madanach will have a plan, he'll want to make contact eventually.”

“You seem awfully well-informed about the state of the Forsworn and the King in Rags' mindset, Nepos,” Tullius said suspiciously.

“I'm just an old Reachman who's been paying attention, General,” Nepos said calmly. “I make no claim to omniscience, I merely would like to offer any help I can in ensuring that poor woman's safe return.”

“Quite,” Tullius said, still a little dubious but not wishing to push the point. “Well, your offer's well-timed. We've been left with little choice. We're sending Igmund into retirement tomorrow along with his steward and housecarl and taking over direct administration of the Reach.”

“General...” Rikke said, a note of warning in her voice. “You know we can't declare the Reach an Imperial protectorate without the agreement of the High Queen. The country won't stand for it. The Reach is still remaining a Hold of Skyrim – we're just taking a more direct interest in its administration. There'll still be a Jarl running it, he'll just have the support of the Legion, seeing as we're still working out who among the guard was in the Silver-Bloods' pay.”

“A new Jarl?” Nepos asked, no doubt raising an eyebrow and sipping his tea at the same time. “Who's that then? Do they know what they're letting themselves in for?”

“He certainly seems to,” Tullius said gruffly. “Rikke and I decided that in order for this to stand any chance of working, we'd need a citizen of the Reach in charge. No point bringing an outsider in, they'd last five minutes. Sadly, since Markarth's leading family were all killed by the Forsworn, that's not left very many people in the city with any influence whatsoever. In fact, much as it pained us both to admit it, we really only have one option.”

Silence for a moment and when Nepos did speak, he sounded rather unsure of himself.

“General, where exactly is this going?”

“We'd like to offer you the Jarldom,” Tullius said, not a hint in his voice that he liked anything about this situation whatsoever, but clearly out of options. “You'll need to swear loyalty to the Empire of course, and uphold the White-Gold Concordat, or at least let the Thalmor do it.”

“I've never been a Talos-worshipper, sir,” Nepos said faintly. “And I have the greatest respect for the Empire, of course. It's just... are you sure? Me?”

“Frankly no, but you're a capable man who everyone speaks very highly of, from the Nord shopkeepers to the Reachman smelter workers,” Tullius sighed. “You've got the skills, I'm sure, it's just a matter of your... commitment. I'm hoping you'll be administering justice fairly and that you'll do your best to keep the Forsworn in line?”

“I shall keep the peace to the best of my ability,” Nepos promised, sounding a little shaken. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow,” Tullius said, getting to his feet. “We'll escort you to the Keep at noon, I imagine you have preparations to make.”

“I certainly do,” Nepos said. “Well, I'll not keep you both any further, I'm sure we can discuss all the details in the days to come.”

“Indeed,” Tullius said, still suspicious but clearly resigned. “Thank you for your time, Jarl Nepos. I'm hoping this will prove a successful partnership all round. We can see ourselves out.”

There were more pleasantries, then Uaile telling the Imperial commanders to come with her, and then the sound of the door closing, a few moments of silence... and then laughter. Cackling, hysterical laughter and at least one squeal before Nepos finally sat in a chair and poured himself a drink.

“You can come out now, lleidrai,” he called. “How much of that did you hear exactly?”

Brynjolf retrieved his clothes while Karliah slipped out, Sapphire close behind.

“Did I hear that right?” Karliah gasped. “General Tullius just made you Jarl??”

“Yes!” Nepos actually squealed. “I don't – my goodness, I don't even know what to say, I just... oh my stars, I have letters to write, Himself is going to either kill me or kiss me, oh sweet Anu, Karliah, this changes everything. Listen, I need to give you that credit note for Delphine – don't worry, Brynjolf will know how to reach her, and yes you'll still all get your coin. Also seeing as your next stop is Karthspire Forsworn camp, I'll need to give you the passwords and a letter for the camp commander, and now it looks like I need to give you a note for her father as well. Make yourselves at home, all three of you, this could be a while, now where is my inkpot...”

Brynjolf exchanged glances with his colleagues, silently wondering what the world was coming to. The Jarl of the Reach was fencing goods for the Thieves Guild – a Forsworn Jarl of the Reach who was clearly on close terms with Madanach himself. And the Empire had signed off on the whole thing. The world was clearly mad... but Brynjolf wasn't complaining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once back in the Keep, Tullius beckoned Rikke into his office.

“Legate,” he began. “Are we doing the right thing, do you think?”

“If by doing the right thing, you mean putting a Forsworn agent on the Mournful Throne, then honestly no,” Rikke said, radiating disapproval of the whole thing. “But it's your call, sir, and I do agree there weren't any other qualified candidates. We can hardly just sack a Jarl and replace him with one of our officials, the Nords would never stand for it. At least Nepos is respected by all of Markarth.”

“Even if he is working for the King in Rags,” Tullius sighed. “At least Elisif is alive and well from the sounds of it. I was worried about her, although you didn't hear that from me. The girl's trouble but she's not corrupt and she's someone all of Skyrim will rally around. The Empire needs her.”

“Do you think he was telling the truth? That he can locate her? I doubt Madanach would just hand her over, sir.” Rikke genuinely did like Elisif, and the thought of the Forsworn keeping her captive broke her heart. She'd heard stories of Madanach – he was not known for his compassion. He was however also not a fool. He'd treat an asset well.

“I don't think he would either, but perhaps he'd be willing to negotiate. Either way, Nepos is probably our best chance at getting in touch.” Tullius was sitting at his desk, hands on his temples as he stared down at the map of Skyrim spread out on it.

“You're really willing to negotiate with the Forsworn, sir? They're barbarians, General,” Rikke said, amazed he was even considering anything other than wiping them out – but she also knew they really didn't have the men, the Stormcloaks were more dangerous and a long drawn-out campaign in the Reach, against hostile natives with magic on their side in rough terrain, wouldn't help anyone.

“I know, but twenty-five years ago, Ulfric tried genocide and it didn't work. Now they all hate him. I can use that if I have to,” Tullius shrugged. “And I will do what it takes to get Elisif freed and returned to us, even if it does involve sitting down to talks with a sociopath like Madanach.”

“I don't like it, sir,” Rikke said softly. This certainly wasn't what she'd joined the Legion for – but then again, nor was biting her tongue and forcing a smile whenever that bitch Elenwen entered the room. If General Tullius thought it was for the best, she'd follow orders without question – but that didn't mean she didn't have an opinion.

“We have our mission, Legate,” was all Tullius said, glancing up at her and holding her gaze. “The Legion does not falter even when things are difficult. The Legion will find a way. Are you with me in this, Legate?”

Rikke hesitated before nodding.

“As always, sir,” she said quietly. Tullius held her gaze for a moment longer before looking away, seeming satisfied.

“Good. Dismissed, Legate, tomorrow's going to be a difficult day for us all.”

Deposing a Nord Jarl from a Hold of Skyrim and effectively placing the Forsworn in charge. Ulfric should have just left Madanach in charge in the first place. With a heavy heart, Legate Rikke headed for bed, wondering when life had got so complicated.

Notes:

I've been wondering for a while what to do about Igmund. It was going to be covert assassination a la Cicero, but then it occurred to me that with Elisif having been the Dragonborn escapee, the Empire would have to react to rumours of her being imprisoned and then disappearing with the Forsworn, and once they'd started investigating, there's an excellent chance of Igmund being made to resign over it, and with the Silver-Bloods gone, who did that leave as Jarl? Next most influential one in town is Nepos and once that idea occurred to me, I couldn't not use it. Madanach will have a fit, of course. :)

Chapter 22

Summary:

Nepos's little promotion has interesting consequences, not least the reaction of Nepos's oldest friend, the man who really had his eyes on that job. Meanwhile, on the other side of Skyrim, Elisif wants to know why Ulfric's sending his best to delve an old Nord ruin. The results, for both her Companions and her, change everything.

Notes:

A little bit of a transitional chapter this one, but it does end with Elisif being a bit of a badass and maturing as Dragonborn and Queen in the process.

Breninma - my king

Lann-Hiril - Blade-Lady, ie. Delphine.

Breninma,

I hardly know where to start but it seems the old gods have finally come through for us. The Legion have done as expected and sacked Igmund – and their chosen successor appears to be me. By the time you read this, I'll have been sworn in as Jarl of the Reach.

Of course, I remain your right hand as always, although I am sure the Empire will be watching my every move. They seem to expect me to be able to rein in Forsworn attacks – I have no idea where they'd get that idea from, but I do hope no one's going to do anything foolish like ordering settlements burned and travellers killed. It would be very embarrassing.

They're also very keen to track down the missing High Queen. I know her business is her own, but it strikes me as a very good idea if she could make contact with one of her allies soon and let the General know she's all right. He's worried about her, poor man. Honestly, the whole conversation was a bit like her parents turning up and demanding to know where their little girl was. Not something I'm accustomed to dealing with, I'll have you know.

And in other news, we've had an unexpected windfall. That Riften colleague of the esteemed Jarl's turned up with a rare find which will need handling by one of our Matriarchs in order to be of any use to anyone. Sixty percent of the resulting value will be going to the jewel finders, ten percent to our New Friend in the Akaviri, and the remainder will be split three ways between you, Keirine and myself. Exact values are unknown, but we're looking at a possible five figure sum for each of us. The Falmer weren't using them anyway.

I will of course update you as the situation unfolds, but it seems things are suddenly looking very good for us.

Yours as always,
Nepos
Jarl of the Reach, apparently

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nepos, you backstabbing, throne-stealing son of a bitch,

I can't decide whether to order your execution or ask for your hand in marriage. I guess I'll have to do neither. You can rest easy a while longer.

Don't worry about Forsworn attacks, I have bigger plans ahead. The Reach can rest easy, my sights have been set a little higher than just a few skirmishes. I'll need those warriors elsewhere.

As for our new Brenhina, I'd love to help, but thanks to the Mor Gwadoreen, it's probably safer for her if everyone thinks she's a Forsworn prisoner. Given their present reduced numbers, it'll take them weeks to investigate all our camps. We can give them the runaround indefinitely. Or kill them, of course. In the mean time, stall for time and rest assured your concerns have been passed on to the Lann-Hiril. I'm informed she's got a strategy of her own for dealing with them. Once they're out of the way, I'm sure the ap Davrha will be happy to drop in on Solitude and pay the General a visit.

I will believe improbable tales of semi-mythical gemstones when I see them. Just get me my cut and all will be well. In the interim, I expect you to administer the Reach to the best of your ability and ensure everything is in order for any future transfer of power. In particular I want clean sheets in the Master Bedroom, a full jenever decanter on the dresser and the place to be immaculate. I know what sort of things you're likely to be getting up to in there, and I want all evidence gone before anyone else takes residence.

Take care of my city for me,

Madanach, Rhan-Brenin (and don't you forget it!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you serious??” had been Delphine's response on hearing what had happened. The entire Blades had been amazed to hear the story – of the Thalmor's revenge on the Guild, Mercer's betrayal, the hunt for the Eyes, and then a fortuitous meeting with two Companions and the rescue of Ria, and finally the news that Nepos the Nose had promised to turn the Eyes into their component smaller gemstones and split the value, with a tenth of that for the Blades. Brynjolf had left the bit about the Nightingales out, although the armour had got some admiring glances, Cicero had not stopped cooing over the Nightingale weaponry and Chillrend, and that new Blade Eola had looked at the Nightingale Blade, then back to Sapphire and Karliah, a rather knowing look on her face, and Brynjolf had a feeling she'd either worked for a Thieves Guild in another province or done her fair share of Daedra trafficking before now. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of the girl, but she seemed friendly and competent and kept Cicero under control, so she was all right with him.

There had been shrieking and stunned gasps, and Delphine had had to sit down and pour herself a drink.

“Seriously?” she said finally. “The Eyes of the Falmer? Anything up to ten thousand septims coming our way?”

“Seriously,” Brynjolf promised. “See lass, told you I'd come up with the goods for you.”

“I didn't think it'd be that quick,” Delphine whispered. “I just hope Nepos can really come through with his end of the deal.”

“If he says he can do it, he will,” Eola said confidently. “He's a man of his word.”

“And we know where he lives!” Cicero piped up. “If he fails to deliver, Cicero is sure he knows he can expect a midnight visit from humble Cicero so he can... explain himself.” This was followed by gleeful giggling and rubbing of his hands, and Sapphire promptly edging away from him.

“That's not all,” Brynjolf said, deciding Delphine would want to know the other bits of news as well. “Turns out that thanks to the Nords of Markarth locking our Dragonborn up, the Empire have decided a change of leadership is due. Our man Nepos is going to be Jarl.”

Delphine's jaw dropped and she stared at Brynjolf for a full half-minute before bursting out laughing, and Eola had her hands over her mouth, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

“Lorkhan's bones, they've given the Jarldom to Nepos?? Stars, Brynjolf, do they know what they've done?”

“Da's going to lose it,” Eola gasped. “He's going to absolutely lose it. Oh gods. Aedra and Daedra, my father will actually explode when he hears this. Cicero, come on, I have to talk to Kaie, I have an urgent need to scream in her general direction.” Hapless jester in tow, she raced out of the Temple. So Eola would be the Blades' Forsworn liaison then. He'd met Kaie, she'd been the young woman in charge. Relatively rare to see a non-Hag female Forsworn leader, but all the others had followed her without question. She'd glanced him over dismissively, been a little friendlier to Sapphire and positively charming when she'd realised who Karliah was. She'd waved them through, saying they were expected.

“Who's her father?” Brynjolf asked, but it was Karliah who answered.

“Madanach. Goodness, so much time's gone by, she was just a baby when I last saw her. Now look at her.”

Brynjolf had to have some more mead at that point. No wonder the Forsworn and Blades had forged close ties – Madanach's little girl among their ranks. He hoped she didn't get herself killed, although she'd looked competent. And that she and Cicero were clearly together – he wasn't sure what was more surprising, Cicero hooking up with the King in Rags' daughter or the fact someone had looked twice at Cicero in that way. It took all sorts.

“So you really have an agreement with the Forsworn then,” Brynjolf said, itching to know the story behind all this. “How in the world did that happen? As if I can't guess.”

“Elisif,” Delphine admitted. “She got herself arrested poking into Thonar's underhand arrangements, and once she was imprisoned she managed to sweet-talk Madanach into helping her out. He worked out who she was and made a deal with her. It's amazing what mutual hatred of Ulfric Stormcloak can bring about. So they're assisting us with operational matters and providing protection while we're working with them on a plan to sort out our Dragonborn's Stormcloak problem and hopefully get them the Reach in the process. I'll tell you the details later, but suffice to say it's going to be interesting. Did you say you and Karliah had bounties in Windhelm?”

“Afraid so,” Karliah said. “I don't normally get caught, you understand, but the job required it. I don't know if Brynjolf has a bounty as such, but if he was seen talking to the guards, they might want to question him.”

“That's a pity,” Delphine said. “Never mind. I might still be able to use Sapphire. I need to scout the place, and I'll need someone unobtrusive to give me a hand. Don't worry about your bounties, I have a feeling Ulfric won't be in charge much longer. I'm sure his successor will be willing to erase any bounties resulting from Nord injustice.”

Brynjolf took another swig of mead, feeling that somewhere along the line, someone had gone mad and he was no longer sure it wasn't him.

“So Elisif's definitely not a Forsworn prisoner then,” Brynjolf said firmly.

“No, she went to High Hrothgar with Erandur – that's a Dunmer priest she recruited – to find out about ways of bringing down Alduin,” Delphine replied. “She was fine when she left, and the Forsworn were keeping an eye on her until she reached the Reach's borders. She got that far unharmed.”

“Might want to tell General Tullius that then, he's thinking of turning the Reach over looking for her. Can't see your Forsworn alliance lasting if that happens, and if he comes here...” Brynjolf let her work the rest out for herself.

“And I'm supposed to do what?” Delphine cried. “I don't know where she is now, if she's still at High Hrothgar or on her way back or what. She's High Queen in her mind and Dragonborn, you try ordering her around. She could be anywhere, and honestly she's safer that way. The Dark Brotherhood are still out there looking for her, don't forget.”

“Someone took a contract out on Jarl Elisif?” Sapphire gasped. “Do we know who? That poor girl...”

“No we don't,” Delphine said, starting to smile. “But we know how to find the Dark Brotherhood now. Once we'd managed to get him to stop rambling about filthy defiling Mother-slandering harlots and their heretical ways, Cicero was very co-operative. I know where their Sanctuary is, I know their current membership, I even know the passphrase. We wipe them out, we'll have eliminated one of the bigger threats to Elisif's safety, and she'll be able to go back to Solitude.”

“You're wiping out the Dark Brotherhood,” Sapphire whispered, horrified. Damn it. Brynjolf should have anticipated this. Even though they'd kicked her out, Sapphire still had some residual loyalty left to them.

“It might not come to that,” Brynjolf said, reaching out to take Sapphire's hand, hoping to calm her down. “Right, Delphine?”

“I'm open to alternative suggestions,” said Delphine with a frown, and next to her Aela seemed confused as to why anyone wouldn't want to wipe them out. “Why?”

“It's complicated,” Sapphire sighed. “It's just I know them. Used to be a member until a little misunderstanding made me have to leave. I don't think I can kill people who used to be friends. Nazir was OK, so was Babette, Gabriella too, all of them really. Can't we buy them off with the money from the Eyes?”

“We don't have that money yet and I don't wish to spend it all buying the Dark Brotherhood off, and do you trust them to keep their word? I don't!” Delphine snapped. “Safest way to make sure this contract never happens is to wipe them out. Also I promised Cicero a bloodfest. I'm not sure what he'll do if I tell him it's no longer happening.”

Sapphire bowed her head to the inevitable. “Can't we at least try and reason with them?” she asked hopefully. “Tell them Elisif's ours and to drop the contract or else?”

“We could do that,” Brynjolf agreed. “Del, let me talk to Astrid, we might be able to figure something out.”

“Delphine, this sounds horribly risky,” Aela pointed out. “And if we talk to Astrid, she'll know we're there and we'll have lost the element of surprise.”

“We'll have lost part of it,” Delphine said thoughtfully. “But we might still be able to do this. Let me think about this. I'll see if we can't work out some sort of plan.”

Brynjolf was more than happy to leave the planning up to her. He wasn't really terribly keen on wiping out the Dark Brotherhood. But business was business, and it was nothing personal. It never was.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, much later, and a knock came on Brynjolf's door. He wasn't asleep and the candles still lit probably told anyone who cared to look that. All the same, few would disturb him given it was just gone midnight.

“Who is it?”

“Me. Can I come in?”

Of course she could. Brynjolf got up and opened the door, feeling the dead weight inside lift a little.

“Delphine. Everything all right?” he asked as she slipped inside the room.

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” she replied, sitting down on his bed unasked, watching him intently. What exactly she intended Brynjolf had no idea, but part of him wanted to find out. She'd changed out of her armour, into some blue dress with slits up the side, hair down for once, and it suited her. It really really did, and once Brynjolf would have been moving in to seduce. Not tonight. Everything that had happened had changed him. Mercer's betrayal. Joining the Nightingales. No Guild. Everything kept coming back to that. No Guild. Without that, what was he? Just some petty criminal.

Small wonder he wasn't feeling aroused. But he was glad of the company.

“I lost my Guild to the Thalmor. They know my name, it'll be hard for me to go out in public ever again.” Brynjolf joined her on the bed, staring at the floor as he sat next to her. “Guess you know how I feel.”

“I do,” Delphine said softly, moving closer. “Bryn, I'm so sorry. I didn't know... didn't know they'd trace it back to the Guild. Especially after all the lengths you went to covering your tracks.”

“Ironically, that was what did us in, I think,” Brynjolf sighed. “They probably investigated the East Empire Company, found the false records, got nowhere... and I think my accomplice there, Gulum-Ei, sold me out for the chance of quick gold and not having to pay a cut to the Guild any more. The Cistern's a well-kept secret, but that lizard knew where it was, he's been there. Bastard. I hope the Thalmor killed him, because if they didn't...”

“I can send Cicero and Eola after him if you want,” Delphine said, faint smile on her face as she rubbed his back. “If you want a long, lingering, drawn-out death, I imagine they'd be happy to help.”

“I imagine they would,” Brynjolf laughed. “Maybe later. Let him think he's got away with it. We can go for him later. I think Sapphire would quite enjoy the chance to have a go herself. Make sure he knows who he screwed over before he dies.”

Delphine laughed and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Sometimes, Brynjolf, I forget what a ruthless son of a bitch you are.”

“I'm just practical,” Brynjolf shrugged. “I don't enjoy killing, not like Cicero does. I just don't think twice about it if it's needed.”

“Same here,” Delphine said, falling silent. They sat there for a few minutes, neither saying anything, Delphine resting her head against his shoulder, one arm positioned carefully behind him, almost an embrace, but not quite. That was typical Delphine, that was – even the affection was guarded, muted, deniable. Still, it was more than he'd got from her before. He moved slightly, carefully, an arm going round her and gently bringing her closer and she didn't resist, letting him draw her in.

They stayed like that for a few moments more, Delphine nestling against his chest, smile on her face... at least until her fingers traced across the Nightingale crest on the armour he was still wearing.

“I know this design. It's on that stone just outside Riften.” She raised questioning eyes to his and in that moment, Brynjolf realised she'd guessed. She wasn't an idiot, and she'd heard the same stories he had.

“They're real, aren't they? Nightingales. The thieves that guard the rest of them, and are said to punish the bad ones but protect the ones with honour.”

Brynjolf wondered if he should feel angry, or be afraid... but he knew her secret. Did it matter if she knew his?

Of course not.

“They're real,” Brynjolf admitted. “It's far more than the stories say. We get power in life, and in death we guard and watch over our fellow thieves. I'm sorry, Delphine, I don't think you and I will be sharing an afterlife. But I'll remember you.”

Delphine said nothing, just nodding and thinking it over.

“How long?” she finally said. “I mean, when did you join?”

“About a week ago?” Brynjolf admitted. That did get her attention.

“A week??” she gasped. “So you only just... you mean, you weren't one all along?”

“No,” Brynjolf said, amused at her shocked face. “Karliah inducted me and Sapphire so we'd be strong enough to fight Mercer. He used to be one but he broke his oath and screwed the Guild over. The whole reason the Guild went into decline was because of him. He betrayed us twice over, you know – the Guild at its peak would never have been attacked, Gulum-Ei wouldn't even have considered selling us out and our Solitude eyes would have warned us. Time enough to evacuate the Cistern, close the Flagon temporarily, cover our tracks. As it is, we had none of that.”

“Bastard,” Delphine said softly. “So you were never a Nightingale back when I was a member.”

“Didn't even think they were real,” Brynjolf said. He still had trouble believing it, even with the armour before him every day.

“Nor did I,” Delphine said. “But part of me wondered and part of me hoped. Maybe I was hoping someone out there might be looking out for me. I actually wondered if anyone in the Guild was one, and I thought it might be you. Delvin was another possibility, but it was mostly you. You were one of the best but it was more than that. You had a real code, you still do... and you really cared about your Guildmates. You checked up on them, helped them out, trained the younger ones – half the younger Guild were your protegees. Everyone really respected you. If I had to pick someone, I'd have chosen you. Karliah chose wisely.”

“Karliah's smart,” Brynjolf agreed. “But whether this was a good idea – I don't know. All I can do is my best, right?”

“It's all any of us can do,” Delphine said, closing her eyes. “Sometimes it's still not enough.”

Remembering the ghosts of Blades past? Probably. You didn't just get over this sort of thing in a day or even a year, Brynjolf realised that now. Even if the Guild was rebuilt, he'd never forget the others. Vex, Tonilia, Vekel, Niruin, Rune, many other thieves he'd known. But he still had his Nightingale sisters and some coin coming his way. He'd get the Guild back on its feet one day.

“Do the Nightingales watch over spies as well?” Delphine asked hesitantly. “Can't help thinking that Gallus died the same year the Concordat was signed, and Eola was saying how the Markarth Incident happened not long after, that the Forsworn believe their luck was severed by parties unknown, except their understanding's not very detailed. If Mercer broke his oath as a Nightingale and cursed the Guild in the process...”

“It's possible but I don't know for sure,” Brynjolf said thoughtfully. “But in theory, anyone who operates in the shadows could benefit from Nightingale patronage. So maybe, who knows. Karliah and I will get that conduit open again, don't you worry, lass. We'll get our luck back. And even if you don't have the rest of the Nightingales at your back... you'll still have me.” He gave her a hug, not wanting to push things. Sex or not, he was too fond of her to ruin things.

“Thank you,” Delphine whispered, sliding her arms around his waist, and Brynjolf decided to take that as a tentative yes to more, arms going round her and stroking her hair. She actually sighed at that, the tension fading out of her as Delphine the paranoid ice maiden finally let herself relax in someone's arms.

“I missed you,” she sighed. “I was worried something had happened. I'm glad you're back.”

About as good as he was likely to get. He'd missed her too – in the quieter moments when he'd not been on the job or focusing on anything else, he'd wondered how she'd react to it all, wanted to tell her everything, wished she was there to help. Karliah he hadn't known that well, Sapphire was still young but Delphine knew him, knew how he worked. Working with her was like having a second shadow that could fight. When Irkngthand had flooded, he'd thought of her, quietly said goodbye and hoped she'd be all right. He could take or leave dying, but he'd miss his old friend.

“I missed you too,” he told her. He hesitated before leaning down, intending to risk kissing the top of her head... only to find she'd lifted hers up and was looking up at him, small smile on her face. Her eyes fluttered closed and she moved before he could react, lips meeting his and her arms going around his neck, and yes, definitely kissing him, he definitely wasn't misinterpreting this, not at all. What was a man meant to do other than kiss back, and he did, holding her to him and kissing her fiercely and while he still wasn't sure he wanted sex, not tonight, he definitely definitely wanted her with him.

“Don't go,” he whispered in her ear, breaking off the kiss for that long but not letting her go. “Stay with me tonight. We don't have to... but I don't want to be alone.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Delphine whispered back, holding on to him, feeling so small and fragile in his arms even though he knew she was as fierce as they came.

So he put out the candles and stripped off and felt her slip into bed alongside him, also naked, and in the privacy and safety the shadows offered, he crawled into her arms and held her tight, finally letting the grief he'd been suppressing show as he wept for his lost Guild. Delphine held him until he was done, until he finally drifted off to sleep in her arms, before kissing him again and closing her own eyes.

And in the morning, Brynjolf woke up surprised, then confused, then pleased, and when Delphine woke up, smiled, bade him good morning and leaned over to kiss him again... this time things didn't stop at kissing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This sneaking around is not honourable,” Vilkas muttered as he skulked in the snowberry bushes just outside Korvanjund.

“You're quite welcome to go home,” Elisif snapped, pointedly not looking in his direction. Honestly, this wasn't exactly easy, concealing four heavily armoured warriors in not nearly as much cover as she'd have liked. At least the darkness helped.

“What and miss out?” Farkas growled, sounding rather enthusiastic at the prospect of slaughtering some Stormcloaks. Elisif had been telling them of all her adventures since she'd last seen them, of Ustengrav and the Blades and the Forsworn and the Brotherhood and the Battle of Whiterun, and Vilkas and Farkas had, despite not greatly caring about the Empire or Talos, both reacted with fury at their home being attacked, not to mention missing out on a fight. Vilkas had decided that Kodlak wouldn't mind if perhaps he and Farkas just helped out a little with the war effort and had no problem following her lead as far as Korvanjund. Only now they were here, he was chafing at the bit, as was his brother, and Ria wasn't a lot better.

“What are we waiting for?” Ria asked. “Don't we want to get inside and find whatever they're after?”

“In a second,” Elisif said firmly, wishing she'd paid more attention when Rikke had tried to explain strategy to her, and that she'd made Tullius sit down and explain his plans in more detail. As it was, she wasn't exactly well-equipped for this whole scouting business. Perhaps she should have brought Cicero. “I need to see if that really is the Stormcloaks around that fire and how many there are.”

“There's five of them,” Vilkas snapped. “Two on watch near the steps, two more down in the gully there and I think there's another by the actual entrance. Probably more inside, and they're all human, most likely Nord. On a night like this, I imagine bandits would all be inside with just one on watch, which means probably Stormcloaks. But what does it matter, they're either your enemies or dangerous brigands. Let's just get out there and put the bastards down.”

“How can you possibly tell,” Elisif whispered, staring back out at the darkness of the ruins. Vilkas just shrugged and Elisif wondered if he was a werewolf as well. Could be, she doubted Aela and Skjor had been the only ones. Shrugging, she reached for her bow. If there were only five of them, then the odds weren't too bad. Good thing her aim had improved recently... and that one of them had wandered off, probably to relieve himself. Taking aim, she loosed the bow just as he turned his back, facing a nearby tree. The arrow smacked into his back and he sank to the ground without a sound. Cicero would have been proud. Elisif really wasn't, but she didn't want to die either. Not yet. Not until she faced Ulfric again.

“That definitely wasn't honourable,” Vilkas snapped. “Don't know who you've recruited into these Blades of yours, but some of them are clearly a bad influence.”

Elisif would have argued the point, but having recruited Cicero to them, she had no leg to stand on.

“All right then, let's do this your way,” she sighed. “Victory or Sovngarde and all that.”

“It will be victory,” Vilkas growled, unsheathing his sword, grim determination on his face as he broke cover, Farkas close behind him. Next to Elisif, Ria was drawing her sword and raising her shield.

“Finally!” she laughed. “Been dreaming of this for weeks! Come on, Elisif, let's kill some Stormcloaks.”

She did look an awful lot like Cicero when her bloodlust was up. Elisif just hoped that was as far as it went, the last thing she needed was two psychopaths in her party. Still, Ria had been cooped up in a Stormcloak prison for weeks, small wonder she wanted revenge.

Drawing her own swords, she ran across the already bloodstained snow after Ria. Whatever was hidden here that Ulfric wanted so badly, she'd find it first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There had indeed been more Stormcloaks inside, and there'd been a lot of shouting and fussing as the four of them had torn into the Stormcloak ranks.

Their steel weapons had barely grazed Elisif's Blades armour, and her swords had barely stopped moving, dishing out blood and pain as she attacked.

“For Ulfric!” one had shouted as he'd come running towards her, and that had been it. Elisif's rational mind had switched off and her Dovah side had woken up, enraged at someone thinking that murdering traitor was worth following.

“Death to the Stormcloaks!” she'd cried, flinging herself into battle without a second thought. “Fall before the true High Queen!” And they had. Throughout Korvanjund they'd fallen, Farkas and Vilkas powering in first and engaging the tougher opponents, then her and Ria rushing in to tackle the rest.

They'd found a puzzle door deeper in the ruins, already unsealed, and that worried Elisif. It meant the Stormcloaks were further ahead than Elisif had thought. Oh gods, what if they got there first and got out before Elisif could catch them? They'd find their dead comrades and know there was trouble, they'd go straight back to Ulfric. She had to find them before that happened.

Dead Draugr and dead Stormcloaks, and a few live ones left on guard duty who fell easily before the Companion-Dragonborn onslaught, and finally Elisif emerged into a large chamber, with a Word Wall barely visible at the far end and nearer were two giant stone coffins and a Draugr's body on the throne between them. But what concerned Elisif more were the two figures leaning over it, two Nords, a man and a woman, the man in Stormcloak uniform and the woman in the bearskin gear of a Stormcloak leader.

Vilkas pushed past Elisif, staring furiously at the woman.

“You???” he shouted, and Elisif had never seen him so angry before. “You traitorous bitch! Did Kodlak's words mean nothing to you?”

The woman turned and looked at him and Elisif's breath caught in her throat as she recognised her. Njada Stonearm, Talos-worshipping Companion who'd favoured Ulfric, and now clearly one of his officers. Elisif felt her inner dragon start to growl as she realised how the Stormcloaks had got wind of her pseudonym.

“You call me a traitor?” Njada snapped. “Kodlak said to stay neutral, and here you are with her?”

“It's not the same,” Vilkas growled. “Ulfric took one of our own prisoner, it's personal. I don't care if we're in the Empire or not, but you don't hurt my Shield-Siblings.”

“I was in prison in Windhelm for weeks, Njada!” Ria cried, also looking furious. “You were working for Ulfric all that time and never came to even make sure I was all right?”

“You made your choice when you went after the Dragonborn,” Njada shot back. “I knew you weren't being hurt. All you had to do was swear loyalty to Ulfric and tell us what you knew and you'd have been freed.”

“I'd as soon swear loyalty to Mehrunes Dagon!” Ria cried. “Ulfric murdered a king!”

Yes he had, and that was the sticking point, wasn't it? The rights and wrongs of Skyrim staying in the Empire could be argued all day – but he'd killed Elisif's husband. That was something she could never forget... and never forgive. He looked up to you, Ulfric. He'd have taken you seriously if you'd just asked. But you couldn't, could you? You wanted the throne for yourself.

Elisif stepped out into the light, slowly making her way over, cold anger trickling down her back as she prepared to face Njada and her Stormcloak friend.

“Why are you here, Njada,” Elisif said softly. “I can't believe Ulfric would waste his troops on a ruin like this just for the grave goods. The Walls only work for a Dragonborn, Njada. He isn't one.”

Njada's eyes widened a fraction as Elisif approached. Good, so she was afraid. So she should be.

“You don't know?” the Nord with her said, sounding incredulous. Blonde, looking a year or two older than Elisif, and already battle-hardened. “But why come here in person if you didn't know it was here?”

“Ralof, ssh!” Njada hissed. “If she doesn't know, don't tell her!” She turned back to Elisif, eyes narrowed.

“We're here for what's rightfully Ulfric's. You can't hope to stand against him, Elisif. Turn and walk away, and we won't kill you.”

“You think you can kill me?” Elisif laughed, feeling the dragon power pulsing inside, the Thu'um good to go, and this would be a fight to sing of, she knew it would be, Njada was strong but not very much stronger and some things even the Stonearm wouldn't be able to block. Get past her shield and Njada was no tougher than anyone else.

“You know you're not actually a dragon, right?” Njada said scornfully, raising sword and shield. “What are you going to do, breathe fire at me?”

Elisif drew her swords, Dawnbreaker in one hand, Dragonbane in the other. She'd show her.

“YOL!”

Njada shrieked, only just getting her shield up in time, and even then she wasn't entirely unscathed, staggering back and crying out at the burns on her legs. Straight into the Draugr on the throne. The one which, now that Elisif was closer, she could see was wearing some sort of helmet with dragon teeth shoved into it.

Maw unleashing razor snow, of dragons from the blue brought down, births the walking winter's woe, the High King in his Jagged Crown.

It couldn't be. It wasn't even real, was it? The legendary lost crown of King Borgas, the Jagged Crown, traditional badge of office of the High King or Queen, made from the teeth of dead dragons – and Ulfric had found it, or one of his people had. Ulfric clearly hadn't believed there was anything here either, or he'd have come in person, but he'd evidently been desperate enough to agree to Njada going in search of it.

Elisif saw it, Elisif wanted it, wanted it more than she'd wanted anything. It belonged to the true ruler of Skyrim, it was made of dragons, what was more fitting for her to wear than the Jagged Crown itself?

Ulfric had taken her husband and her unborn child. He was not having her crown.

However, right now, she had more important things to worry about. Njada had staggered back into the Draugr's lap, and as she'd hit it, the thing had looked up, opened its eyes and growled.

Njada wasn't a coward but she wasn't an idiot either, and with a little scream, she staggered back, enduring the pain in her legs as she raised her weapons against it. Next to the throne, the other two coffins smashed open and the Draugr within stepped out. All armed with ebony, all looking tough, and it looked like one had a frost spell in its offhand.

Elisif glanced at Njada, who glanced back.

“Whoever kills it gets the Crown,” Njada said calmly. Elisif raised her swords, prepared to fight, Dawnbreaker lighting up half the cavern.

“Agreed,” said Elisif, and the battle was on. Vilkas and Ria were dealing with the one on the right, Farkas had charged down the one with the magic, helping Ralof out, leaving Njada and Elisif taking on the one with the crown. With Njada injured, Elisif was doing most of the attacking, but Njada's shield bashing kept it off-balance and kept her uninjured.

Unfortunately, that meant it promptly turned on the easier target, and damn it, why didn't Elisif have a shield?? She should have picked a Blades shield up when she had the chance, as it was, she had to rely on her armour to take the damage, turning her left shoulder towards the Draugr and stabbing in with Dawnbreaker, keeping the strikes up fast enough it was having trouble responding. But her stamina and luck couldn't last forever. She got tired and then the Draugr Shouted, sending Dawnbreaker flying out of her hand. Elisif cried out, distracted, and the Draugr took advantage, its ebony axe colliding with her shoulder and sending her staggering back. Elisif sank to the ground, in agony and reaching for a healing potion... but the Draugr was striding forward, weapons raised.

At least until Njada's sword sliced through its abdomen and it turned on her instead. Njada barely reacted, just raising her shield, letting it hammer away, barely staggering, and Elisif could see the blisters on her legs. The pain must be killing her, but she was stoically resisting to the last. True Nords really did never back down, it seemed.

Crawling away, Elisif reached her pack and downed healing potions, before finally casting a healing spell, draining her entire magicka before looking around for Dawnbreaker. She couldn't see it, and then she heard the cry of “ZUN HAAL VIIK!” echoing out and Ria swearing as her Skyforge blade went flying. Vilkas stepped in to carve the Draugr Scourge they'd been fighting in two, while Ria looked around, saw Dawnbreaker lying on the ground, much more visible than her own sword and snatched it up. With the Scourge dead, the next nearest target was the Deathlord with the Crown and she charged in, giving Njada a hand.

“Sword-stealing cow,” Elisif muttered, grabbing Ria's discarded weapon instead and looking to see who needed help most. Not many options – Vilkas had gone to help his brother and the two of them had killed the other Scourge and had now turned on Ralof. Farkas's greatsword struck first, almost knocking Ralof's weapon from his hands, then Vilkas struck with his greatsword's pommel, stunning Ralof. After that, he was easily disarmed and wrestled into submission, Farkas pinning him to the ground. That just left the Deathlord. It was going toe to toe with Ria, who Elisif had to admit was a lot more skilled than Elisif had thought, Dawnbreaker a constant golden blur as it struck out. Then another Shout and Ria was disarmed too... and before anyone could react, Njada had charged in, bashing into the Draugr with her shield then sweeping into an attack with her sword. The Draugr howled and raised its axe, and while it hit Njada's shield, it was a shield already weakened by the earlier onslaught. The shield cracked in two, one half falling to the floor, and Njada actually gasped. Then she looked up, her nerve seeming to fade as she stared into the Draugr's face, but she rallied herself regardless, blocking with her sword as best she could.

It wasn't enough. The Deathlord struck, the axe sailing down and into her left side, cutting deep into her abdomen in a spray of blood and Njada fell to the ground.

“Njada!” Ria cried, darting back with her own shield raised, and looking about for a weapon or help or anything.

She needn't have worried. Elisif had reclaimed Dawnbreaker as soon as it had left Ria's grasp and ran over to the Deathlord. While it had been busy with Njada, she'd managed to creep up on it.

Dawnbreaker rammed through the Draugr's stomach, fire blazing into the undead warrior and as Elisif tore Dawnbreaker out in a swing that ripped through dry flesh, the life died out of it and magic exploded through the chamber. As it fell, Elisif caught the Jagged Crown by one of the teeth and held it to her, stroking it in awe. A legendary relic, part of history and myth, the sight of Nord armies led by their warrior-ruler in their dragontooth crown having struck fear into the heart of many a foe. And now it was hers.

But before that, there was the little matter of their Stormcloak prisoners. Njada was lying on the ground in a pool of blood, Ria leaning over her and sobbing as she did her best to stem the bleeding.

“Njada, you idiot, what were you thinking?” Ria cried. She looked helplessly up at Elisif as she knelt next to her. “Elisif, we've got potions, right? We can keep her alive long enough to get her back to Whiterun, can't we?”

Elisif felt Vilkas at her back, staring down at Njada and squeezing Ria's shoulder. A glance at him, and she knew he was thinking the same, that Njada would be lucky to make it out of the tomb. She turned back to Njada's pale face and saw she knew it too.

“Not... this time... sister,” Njada gasped. “Let me... go... to Sovngarde.”

“No!” Ria sobbed, looking heartbroken and Elisif realised that despite the war coming between them, Shield-Brothers and Sisters never really lost that bond.

“Ria,” Vilkas said quietly. “Let her go. We can't save her. Better this way. Let her die with honour.”

“Thanks... brother,” Njada gasped, before finally turning to Elisif. Elisif was surprised to see her actually smiling.

“Make the story... a good one... Dragon-Queen,” Njada whispered, and then she closed her eyes. She didn't move again and then Ria began to cry in earnest as Vilkas put his arms around her.

“She's gone, Ria,” Vilkas said quietly. “Shor has her now.” Ria wasn't comforted, just crying harder in Vilkas's arms and Elisif was feeling a bit teary-eyed herself. She'd never quite got it before, how you could fight someone, lose and forgive them for killing you. Now she'd been on the receiving end, seeing Njada die and forgive her for being on a different side. Njada had even called her queen. Elisif tightened her grip on the crown. Not Queen yet, and had Njada not been dying, she knew she'd never have acknowledged her claim. But she was closer and she had a crown now. It was something, and it would make a good story. She'd have to be sure to tell it well, make sure Njada hadn't died for nothing. Everyone died eventually but a good story never did. A part in that was the next best thing to immortality, be you hero or villain. All Nords knew that, but Elisif hadn't really stopped to think about what it meant before. Now she was beginning to understand.

“Elisif,” said Vilkas quietly. “Ralof's still alive. What did you want to do with him?”

“You didn't kill him?” Elisif asked, surprised. She'd have thought the twins would have shown no mercy. Vilkas shook his head.

“He's a Riverwood man. He was going to join us until the Thalmor took his cousin, then he ran off to Windhelm to join the army Ulfric was building. That was five years ago now. I... wasn't sure I wanted to kill him unless I had to. He was never a bad lad.”

No, he probably wasn't, that was the tragedy of it all. Elisif got up and, sheathing her weapons, placed the Jagged Crown on her head, slowly adjusting to the weight as she made her way over. Shor's bones, it was heavy!

“Ralof of Riverwood,” she said as she stood over him. He was glaring mutinously up at her from where Farkas had him pinned down. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

“A crown doesn't make a king,” Ralof snapped. “You won this one, but you won't win in the end. Your corrupt Empire will fall and take you with it!”

Once Elisif might have been tempted to argue the point, but right now she didn't care. She was rather glad he'd survived. Njada had been right – live or die, the story was the important thing, and what use was a story if no one could tell it?

“I'm letting you go,” Elisif said calmly. “Go back to Ulfric and tell him I have his precious Jagged Crown, and soon I will have a throne to go with it. I am Elisif, the true High Queen, born of dragons, and Skyrim is mine. Get back to Windhelm and tell him that, Ralof. You tell him I'm coming for him, and when I do, he'll fall, one way or another. Now get out of here.”

Farkas let him up at Elisif's nod, and Ralof stopped only to grab his warhammer before fleeing out of the tomb.

Elisif sighed and looked around at the rest of the chamber. There'd have to be something worth having, and the Word Wall was a prize regardless. She just needed to rally the others and...

Farkas was still kneeling, staring up at her in awe and next to Njada's body, Vilkas and Ria were doing likewise.

“What?” Elisif said defensively. All that attention was making her nervous. “What is it?”

“You're really queen, aren't you?” Ria whispered. “I mean, you're really a Jarl and everything, not just a warrior.”

“I really am,” Elisif said, feeling a little surprised herself. “With a crown! I've got a crown!” She fingered one of its teeth, wondering how she looked. She definitely felt different wearing it. It was partly the weight, partly the dragon-teeth protecting her cheeks, just barely visible on the edge of her vision, all of it reminding her she was a warrior – more than a warrior. A queen.

Vilkas did smile at that. “Yes, you have, and it looks impressive. Ria, have you got that mirror still?”

Ria did indeed have a small handmirror and she gladly passed it over to Elisif. Elisif stared at her reflection in it, barely recognising herself. Dragon teeth framing her face, red hair streaming out from under it, her actual face half-shadowed – Elisif the woman barely recognisable under something all Nords would recognise as the symbol of their queen.

I am queen, even without a moot. The gods made me Dragonborn, and I will protect Skyrim or die trying, that I promise.

“I'm going to win this war,” Elisif said softly, knowing that she could do it, that she was the stronger now, that Ulfric could never intimidate or bully her ever again... and nor would anyone else.

“Yes you are,” Ria said, finally smiling. “All Hail Elisif, High Queen of Skyrim!”

“All Hail Elisif, High Queen of Skyrim!” Farkas and Vilkas cried, both on their feet now. Once Elisif might have been embarrassed by all the praise – Eight knew that even after becoming Jarl, no one had been hailing her as queen. Now though, now it just felt right. She was High Queen of Skyrim – and once she'd dealt with that pretender king in Windhelm, everyone would know whose Thu'um was stronger.

Notes:

A crown doesn't make a queen, but it can go a long way towards it. And now, Elisif, now you really do look the part.

Next chapter, there's one major obstacle to Elisif emerging from hiding to take her crown, and that's the little matter of the Dark Brotherhood contract. Not to worry, the Blades take their duty to guard and guide the Dragonborn very seriously, and with Nightingale assistance, Delphine's ready to make her move.

Chapter 23

Summary:

It's time for the Blades to do their job and protect their Dragonborn, and that involves striking at the heart of her most dangerous enemies, and while Cicero appreciates the chance for revenge, that doesn't mean he's not grieving. Meanwhile Karliah's finally able to let her grief go as the Nightingales visit the Twilight Sepulchre...

Notes:

This is the one in which I wrap up the Dark Brotherhood and Nightingale plotlines, as Delphine and Brynjolf lead the assault on Falkreath Sanctuary, and then it's time to return the Key. I warn you in advance, the Dark Brotherhood half's got an awful lot of blood in it, and while Astrid's death happens offpage, it is long, drawn-out and painful. OTOH, hardly anyone likes Astrid anyway, but there's always someone...

Silence in Falkreath. In the town, nothing. In the cemetery, just the wind in the leaves. And down the road, where a Black Door looked out over a black pond... silence too, but of a very different kind, as noiseless shadows flitted down.

“What is the music of life?”

“Silence, my brother.”

“Welcome home.”

“Thank you, lad.”

One grey figure remained outside, keeping watch, while the others moved noiselessly inside, bows nocked, weapons drawn, one with magic ready to go.

Astrid heard the door open, and counted the number of assassins she had in Sanctuary. Not many, not since Gabriella and Arnbjorn had disappeared, and Veezara she knew hadn't made it. Killed by his quarry in Solitude, and at least she knew he was gone. Gabriella vanished in Markarth while on the Muiri contract, the very day before the big Forsworn jailbreak, and Astrid had a feeling she'd gone the same way Veezara had. And as for Arnbjorn...

She should have killed Cicero on the quiet, slipped into his bedroom and poisoned him, no one would have cared. As it is, he was out there somewhere and she knew he'd killed her husband. Arnbjorn would have calmed down eventually and come back or sent word if he was still alive to send it.

As it was, she had Festus, Babette and Nazir left to her, and they always called to her when coming in or out. They were all in tonight.

“Show yourself,” Astrid snapped, drawing the Blade of Woe. “I don't know who you are or how you got in here, but you won't...”

A grey-armoured figure stepped into the light, pulling his cowl back to reveal a face Astrid knew, and she only relaxed her guard a little.

“Brynjolf,” Astrid said coldly. “What are you doing here. Did Delvin tell you how to get in?”

“Not exactly,” Brynjolf said calmly, too calmly. “You know, this is a very nice Sanctuary you have here. I love what you've done with the place. Be a shame if anything were to happen to it, wouldn't it, lass?”

The traditional words used to open up a protection scam or Guild debt collection. Astrid had to wonder what on earth Brynjolf was thinking. Were the Guild really so desperate as to run one on the Dark Brotherhood??

“Brynjolf, I hope this isn't a protection scam. I really don't need protecting from you. You want the Brotherhood's coin, you slit a few throats for me like everyone else. I know you've killed before.”

“Aye, but only on my own terms, Astrid,” said Brynjolf calmly. “No, it's not work I'm after. Only you see, a recent betrayal from inside has forced a necessary relocation on the Guild's part. We've had to move out of Riften for a while. We were hoping to get established in Solitude instead, even found a patron... only it appears you people have taken a contract against her. We're not exactly pleased about that.”

A patron... female... in Solitude... with a contract against them. Astrid could only think of one person who that might be.

“Brynjolf, you don't mean to tell me you've asked Jarl Elisif to be your patron!” Astrid laughed. “The shining light of all that is good and pure, she who wields a holy sword of fire to burn out corruption – she's letting you operate in her city?? Come on, Brynjolf, do you think me a fool?”

“No, lass,” Brynjolf said, his voice strangely gentle, almost like he felt sorry for her. “You're a businesswoman, I know. Only this contract on Elisif, this is very bad for my business, you see. So what can we do to resolve this, hmm?”

“You want me to drop the contract,” Astrid said, realising where this was going. “Brynjolf, what sort of message is that going to send out, hmm? The Brotherhood's reputation relies on being able to take down anyone, anywhere, no one being above our grasp. If we tell our client we're not killing her... what does that say about us, hmm? I'm sorry, Brynjolf, but the contract stays. It's a matter of honour, you see. You can find another patron, surely. I can even put you in touch with my client, once the job's done, I'm sure he'll be able to help you out.”

“Honour,” Brynjolf said, nodding in understanding. “Of course. I understand. Some things are about more than the coin. I get it.”

A bowstring twanged and Astrid gasped as something thudded into her chest. She looked down to see the back of a Daedric arrow sticking out from just under her sternum, and she felt her vision start to blur. Legs giving away, she collapsed to the floor, unable to move.

“It was about honour for me too, lass,” Brynjolf said softly as he knelt next to her. “All the coin in the world's no good if the dragons kill us all. For what it's worth, I'm sorry.”

Astrid tried to scream, tried to move, tried to fight, but to no avail. Behind Brynjolf she could see a blonde Breton in grey armour that looked a bit like Guild armour except not quite (it had once belonged to Linwe of the Summerset Shadows, but Astrid wasn't to know that) patting a Dunmer in the same gear Brynjolf had on.

“Good shot, Karliah. Hope that potion works.”

“It will,” Karliah replied. “I intended it for Mercer – I just never got a chance to use it.”

“Well, you have now,” the Breton replied, drawing two slender curved swords. “Come on, let's get the other three – you with us, Bryn?”

“Coming,” Brynjolf said, pulling his cowl back on and drawing his glass sword and matching dagger. “Let's do this.”

He and the Breton ran off, with the Dunmer and a red-haired woman in strange steel armour that looked a cut above the usual mercenary fare in close pursuit, both with bows in hand, and behind them, a Forsworn woman casting mage armour and chasing after with fire blazing in her hands. And in their wake, another figure crept into view, slinking out of the shadows, an all too familiar face in a jester's motley.

“Hello defiler,” Cicero cooed, vicious grin of triumph curving on his lips as he picked up the Blade of Woe and produced a long length of rope and a gag. “Cicero came back for Mother, look! Along with his lovely new friends who are going to carry out a much-needed Purification for him.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper as his lips ghosted above her cheek. “But not you, oh no. You're Cicero's. Cicero will deal with you personally.” With practised efficiency, Cicero secured the gag around her face and secured her wrists and ankles before taking her shoulders and hauling her off into the bedroom. Astrid tried to resist, tried to fight the paralytic poison... but it was no use. Cicero had her... and Astrid, for the first time in a long time, realised what it was to be truly afraid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, the job went without a hitch. The Redguard gave them some trouble, being able to fend off Delphine and Brynjolf simultaneously – but avoiding Karliah and Aela's arrows as well proved beyond even him.

The child vampire was actually a tougher prospect than any of them had thought – she'd pleaded for her life most convincingly, so convincingly even Brynjolf had almost believed her truly a Dark Brotherhood hostage. Right up until Eola, pre-warned by Cicero and able to cast Detect Life to verify this, had lobbed a fireball at her and shouted for them to move on to the others, she'd deal with this one. She had too, Babette wailing as she died as she realised too late that a childish form was only really effective on people with functioning consciences and parental instincts, and not Forsworn cannibal nightblades who knew a vampire when they saw one.

The old man had been last to die, his Destruction magic proving a bit of a problem and sending Brynjolf staggering back – but Delphine had all the magic resistance of her kind and had powered through to finish him off, Karliah and Aela pinning him down with their arrows, and then Eola had caught up from dealing with Babette and shocked him to death with her lightning spells.

It had all been commendably quick in the end, and Delphine had claimed the Brotherhood's ledgers, intending to find out who the client for the Elisif job had been, while Aela and Karliah had copied down the glyphs on the Word Wall to send to Elisif later. Eola had trotted off to give Cicero a hand with Astrid, and everyone else had agreed the pair of them were best left to it. So it was Delphine and Aela were making for Riverwood, Cicero and Eola had been left in the Sanctuary to loot the place, do whatever Cicero wanted doing with the Night Mother's coffin (left unharmed, the sole condition Cicero had insisted on, even being allowed to kill Astrid had only been a polite request), and Brynjolf and Karliah had met up with Sapphire and retreated. The Twilight Sepulchre wasn't far from here, and they did have a job to do.

“It's done then,” Sapphire said, no emotion showing. Brynjolf nodded.

“Aye. It's done. I'm sorry, lass. Astrid wouldn't back down.”

“No. She wouldn't,” Sapphire said quietly, wiping a tear away. “But it's done now, I guess. No sense getting upset, not like I'd seen any of them in years. Not like any of them ever bothered getting in touch to see if I was all right after she kicked me out, eh?”

Brynjolf put an arm around Sapphire, and then Karliah was on her other side, arms around her waist.

“You've got us,” Karliah said quietly. “I'll always be here if you need me, I promise.”

“I know. Thanks,” Sapphire whispered, glad of her Nightingales being there. Just business, that was all the Dark Brotherhood job had been, just removing something that was in the way. Except Sapphire still missed them all. But she'd never been the sentimental type and she preferred to focus on the future, not the past. “So where's this Sepulchre then?”

It wasn't far away, hidden up against the mountains at the end of a simple forest trail. Not much to look at from the outside, but the best treasure stores never were. Brynjolf and Sapphire headed for the entrance... only to stop on seeing Karliah hang back.

“You're not coming?” Sapphire asked, surprised.

“This whole thing was your idea, lass,” Brynjolf pointed out. “You're the one who insisted the Key had to go back to Nocturnal, and now you're dropping out?”

“I can't do it, Bryn,” Karliah said, shaking her head. “After what I've done... I can't face Nocturnal again, I just can't.”

“Why, what did you do?” Sapphire asked, alarmed. “Karliah, if there's something else you haven't told us...”

“No, there isn't, at least I don't think so. But I broke my oath, Sapphire! I failed as a Nightingale! Gallus and I were so wrapped up in each other, we let Mercer destroy what we should have been protecting! How am I supposed to face Nocturnal after that?” Karliah cried.

Brynjolf looked at Sapphire. Sapphire looked at Brynjolf. It was said women were the naturally more empathetic ones – well, whoever said that had clearly never met Sapphire. All the same, Sapphire could be kind to people she trusted and cared about, and apparently Karliah was now one of them.

“Karliah, sweetie, it wasn't your fault,” Sapphire sighed. “Mercer was cunning, Mercer was good at covering his tracks, we know that. And Gallus wasn't so in love with you he hadn't noticed anything – he was on to Mercer. He was this close to exposing him when Mercer killed him and framed you. None of it was your fault, honey.”

“But I should have noticed, should have realised, Mercer was my friend!” Karliah cried. “And I never noticed a thing.”

Brynjolf came to stand on Karliah's other side, an arm around her. “Lass, he was my Guild Master for twenty-five years, I was his second for a good seven years, and I never noticed a thing either. Mercer fooled the both of us. Don't blame yourself. The only one responsible for all this was Mercer himself. Now come on, lass, we're all Nightingales now. All in this together, right? We've come this far, don't think you're running out on us now.”

Karliah hesitated then smiled, squeezing Sapphire's hand then Brynjolf's as he placed his hand over both of theirs.

“All right then. If you two come with me.”

“We're with you,” Sapphire promised. “Nightingales together.”

“That we are,” Brynjolf said quietly as the three of them approached the Sepulchre's entrance. “Shadows guide us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Sepulchre was as dark and dank as any Nord tomb – bones scattered around but the place was quiet.

“No one about,” Brynjolf whispered. “Karliah, was it always like this?”

“I don't know,” Karliah whispered back. “I never used to come this way. There was another portal in Nightingale Hall that took us straight to the conduit. We never needed to come this way. This was the Pilgrim's Path, a route devised by a cult to Nocturnal that used to operate out of here. They weren't Nightingales but they weren't doing any harm either so we let them stay. They're gone now, but their path remains. It was an ordeal, designed to test the faith of those who wished to commune with her.”

“Ordeal?” Sapphire hissed. “You never said anything about an ordeal! What in Oblivion are we facing down here?”

“I don't know!” Karliah sighed. “I never used this path before. But the other ways in are shut and this is our only option. Come on, if I have to do this, so do you.”

Sapphire didn't look happy but she followed anyway. The stone entrance appeared sealed... but there was a ghostly figure in Nightingale gear on guard outside.

“Who's that?” Sapphire asked. “He doesn't look familiar.”

“I could swear I've seen him before,” Brynjolf murmured as he emerged from the shadows, but it was Karliah who named him.

“Gallus,” she whispered. “By the Shadows, Gallus!” She turned to run, only Brynjolf's timely intervention stopping her.

“I can't do this,” she whispered. “I can't! What if he blames me, what if...”

“Karliah!” Brynjolf snapped, holding her as she fought to get free. “Karliah, he won't blame you, he loved you, come on. We're here, we won't let him hurt you.”

“Yeah, if he blames you, he answers to me,” Sapphire said firmly. “Come on, sweetie, let's go meet your ex.”

Karliah let out a sob but calmed down, clutching Sapphire's arm as she let herself be led over to where Gallus was waiting.

“I don't recognise you, but I sense you're one of us. You all are – and Brynjolf, yes, I know you now. Karliah and I always thought you might be a good future prospect as a Nightingale. Glad to see you here. And... Shadows help me, Karliah, is that really you?”

Karliah pulled her cowl off, tears streaming down her cheeks as she nodded, hardly daring to look up at Gallus.

“It's me,” she whispered. “Gallus, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...”

“Karliah,” he whispered, pulling off his own cowl to reveal Imperial features, all the same ghostly pallor but Brynjolf remembered red hair and dark eyes from when Gallus had lived. Gallus had smiled a lot in life and he was smiling now, amazement and joy all over his face as spectral fingers traced Karliah's cheek. “You're alive! Thank the Shadows, I was so afraid Mercer had got you too.”

Karliah shook her head. “I escaped. I've been in hiding all this time, waiting for the right moment to avenge you. I never got a chance until now. Gallus, I'm so sorry...”

“Not this again,” Sapphire sighed. “Karliah, sweetie, it wasn't your fault. In fact if not for you, we'd never have found out what Mercer had done, we'd have assumed the Thalmor had taken the loot. He'd have got away with it.”

“It's true,” Brynjolf confirmed, patting Karliah on the back. “We'd never have done all this without her. As it is, while we've got a lot to do, we've got hope.”

Gallus never took his eyes off Karliah, smiling proudly at her. “That's my girl,” he whispered. “That's my little Nightingale. Saving the Guild. I'm so proud of you.”

“It was Sapphire killed Mercer,” Karliah said softly. “And I don't think we'd have got very far without Brynjolf either. As it is, we've got coin coming our way now. I just don't think it'll be enough.”

“It's not,” Gallus said, face turning serious. “Karliah, I need help. Mercer took the Key. The Ebonmere's shut off, our connection to Nocturnal is gone. The other Nightingales who guard this place, they've forgotten who they are. They're mindless ghosts, they'll kill anyone they encounter, Nightingale or not. And... if the conduit's not opened soon, I'll be sharing their fate. Karliah, please, you need to find the Key and return it.”

Karliah reached into her pocket and produced the Key, her hands trembling. Gallus's face lit up as he saw it, the pride back.

“You got it back. Of course you did. Karliah my love, you're amazing.”

“I'm bringing it back, Gallus,” Karliah whispered. “For – for Nocturnal. And the Shadows. And the Guild.”

“Karliah. You always did have such a noble heart for someone in our business. Thank you. I – suppose I'd better let you get on with it, hadn't I?” He stepped aside, the entrance opening as he did so.

“Do you know what we'll be facing?” Brynjolf asked. If anyone knew, Gallus might.

“No,” Gallus admitted. “I've been trapped in here for twenty-five years myself. Every time I tried to go inside, the others attacked me. I didn't want to hurt my brothers and sisters so I've stayed out here. But there was a thief who tried, many years ago. His journal's over there, it might help.”

Sapphire retrieved the journal and Karliah had fallen silent. Brynjolf edged closer to his former Guild Master, feeling his own guilt prick at him.

“I lost the Guild, Gallus,” he admitted. “The Thalmor killed them all, and it was my fault for robbing their Embassy. The three of us are all that's left – Delvin made it too, but he was badly hurt. I don't know if he'll want to join us. I'm sorry, Gallus.”

“Don't be,” Gallus said gently. “We all know the risks. Brave of you to try robbing the Thalmor. Did it work? Well, you're not dead and they were angry enough to want retaliation so I assume so.”

“I got in and out with what I was after,” Brynjolf said, shrugging. “I'd say it went all right.”

To his surprise, Gallus actually laughed. “Now that's a feat of thievery worth celebrating. Well done, Brynjolf! I have a feeling the Guild's in good hands. Don't waste time mourning the past. We're thieves, we work with what we've got. Do what we've always done, Brynjolf. Go to ground, rebuild in the shadows. It's what we do. Survive.”

Brynjolf nodded, getting it. Gallus had always been like this, kind but not sentimental. He'd never been one to waste time brooding, just learning and moving on. One reason why everyone had liked him.

Sapphire returned with the journal and a nice looking ebony sword which she gave to Karliah.

“Are we ready then?” Sapphire said. “I have to tell you, this journal's not terribly helpful. It's very cryptic. Just a bunch of clues from some old mystic.”

Of course it was. The whole thing had been that way from the outset. At least after this was done, they could all get back to thieving.

“Come on,” Brynjolf sighed, taking the journal and replacing his cowl. “Let's get on with it. Nocturnal wants her Key back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gallus hadn't lied – the Nightingale guardians inside hadn't known friend from foe. There'd been sneaking when they could, fighting when they couldn't, and then there'd been the traps. First the room with light that burned. Then the shrine where they'd had to put the torches out to progress. Then the passage full of traps, avoided when Sapphire had spotted the alternative route and they'd used the Key to go that way.

And finally a black pit which Karliah thought led straight to the Ebonmere – but which had just led to the remains of the last one to end up here.

“You said this was the gateway to Nocturnal!” Sapphire shouted.

“I thought it was!” Karliah cried, near tears.

“Well, I don't see her!” Sapphire snapped. “And now we're stuck here, no one knows we're here, and we're all going to die. Thanks for nothing, Karliah.”

“Lass, don't shout, she didn't know,” Brynjolf sighed wearily. The last thing he needed was a fight on his hands. Karliah was stressed enough as it was. “What was in that journal again?”

“The journey is complete, the Empress's embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion,” Sapphire sighed, slumping to the floor. “So we jumped in and here we are, no Nocturnal.”

“Did we hesitate too long?” Karliah whispered. “Was our faith not strong enough? Didn't we keep her terms?”

“If the portal's shut, maybe she can't,” Brynjolf said broodily. “Dammit, we brought the Key all this way and it hasn't worked.”

“The Key.” Karliah sat up, realisation dawning. “Brynjolf, the Key, we have to use the Key!”

“Not stopping you,” Sapphire shrugged. Karliah produced the Key and held it out and somehow it turned in her hands, reaching down to the floor which opened beneath them and they were falling, falling...

Brynjolf opened his eyes, looking about to see a dark chamber, empty portals on the various sides and in the middle, a dais with a lock in the middle.

“Is that it?” he whispered. “The Ebonmere?”

“That's it,” Karliah breathed, Key in her hands as she approached. “Shall we?”

“Go on,” Sapphire told her, getting to her feet on the other side of the room. “I don't see any other way out of here.”

Karliah inserted the Key into the lock and turned it. There was a click and then the Key sank into the dais as it fell open. A whole flock of nightingale birds fluttered out and in the purple half-light, a dark-haired woman in very revealing black robes rose out of it, languid smile on her face.

“My my,” Nocturnal drawled. “What do we have here? My champions three, my dark Trinity. It's about time. Or was it moments? One tends to lose track. So here you are, awaiting your rewards like good little thieves. A pat on the head, a kiss on the cheek? Except you fail to realise your actions were expected and represent nothing more than the fulfilment of your agreement.”

“Does this mean we're not getting paid?” Sapphire muttered, only to have Nocturnal turn viciously on her.

“Oh don't worry, thief, you'll have your accolades. Your trinkets, your wealth,” Nocturnal snapped. “You have after all performed your duties to the letter. Drink from the Ebonmere, and you will have your powers. You are my Nightingales now, after all, my Agents in the world. The Oath has been struck, the die cast and your fate lies in Evergloam now. Even you, Karliah, came good in the end.”

Karliah actually did sob a little on hearing that. Nocturnal folded her arms and began to sink back into the Ebonmere.

“Farewell, my Nightingales. See to it the Key stays this time, won't you?”

The light faded and she was gone, but the swirling black lake remained. Sapphire was first to approach, staring into its depths.

“That it?” she asked. “We can go now?” All around them, the three portal arches flared into life, leading to who knew where. Karliah had taken her cowl off, drying her eyes.

“We can go,” Karliah said quietly. “That portal takes you to the Sepulchre, that one to Nightingale Hall... and that one is only for the souls of the dead.”

Brynjolf studiously avoided looking at the last one, moving nearer Karliah.

“So that was Nocturnal,” he said, shivering at the memory. “She didn't sound pleased.”

“She sounded indifferent at best,” Sapphire snapped. “Is that seriously who we've sworn our souls to?”

“Yes,” said Karliah, straightening up and pulling herself together. “Don't worry, she was pleased. That's just how she is. A scolding mother, pushing us to do our best, pushy on the outside but inside, content. I assure you, if she'd been angry, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“About these powers then,” Brynjolf said, deciding to change the topic onto something less contentious. “If we're going to spend eternity in Evergloam, I want compensating.”

Karliah rolled her eyes and explained about the three powers, of Shadow, Subterfuge and Strife and how by standing on the relevant moon symbol, you could choose one.

“Traditionally, we'd have a different one each for balance, but we can have the same one as another if we want. But we only get one each. That was what Mercer stole – with the Key, he had all three for himself and the rest of us were locked out. But now we can have them back if we want.” So saying, she stepped on the symbol for the power of Shadow.

Sapphire wasted no time but selected the power of Strife. Leaving Brynjolf with Subterfuge. It would do, he supposed. He'd always been good at influencing people.

“Back to the Sepulchre then,” Sapphire said, looking at Brynjolf.

“Back home,” Brynjolf confirmed, but before he could head over to the portal, someone emerged out of it. Gallus strode into the Ebonmere, holding his arms out to Karliah, who went to him joyfully.

“Gallus, we did it!” Karliah cried. “We took the Key back!”

“So I see,” Gallus laughed. “I knew you could do it. Well done, my love.”

“Thank you,” Karliah whispered. “Nocturnal forgave me! She said I came good in the end.”

“Of course you did, I'd expect nothing less,” Gallus said with a smile. “And now you've restored the conduit, I can finally move on. Nocturnal said my contract's been fulfilled. I can go to the Evergloam, be one with the Shadows at last.”

Karliah looked proud, but also more than a little bit sad.

“Will I ever see you again?” she asked. Gallus nodded.

“Yes. Yes of course. When your count of days is done and your Oath fulfilled, you'll join me in the Evergloam and we'll embrace again. But in the mean time... Karliah, you mustn't mourn me any more. Don't blame yourself for anything that happened, I walked into that trap with my eyes open. None of it was your fault – in fact if you'd not followed in secret and seen the whole thing, been able to retrieve my journal and get it translated, no one would ever have known the truth. You avenged me and you've helped make it possible for the Guild and the Nightingales to rise again. So don't wallow in guilt any more.”

“I won't,” Karliah whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks but she was smiling through them. “I love you, Gallus.”

“I love you too,” Gallus murmured back. “And if loving you was a mistake, I'd make it again and again a thousand times over. But Karliah... you are young and your life will last centuries, Shadows willing. Don't mourn me all that time. Don't save yourself for me. Time has little meaning in Evergloam, but it will seem an eternity in Mundus. I don't want you to be lonely. You get out there and you let yourself love again. Maybe not just yet... but in time, you'll meet someone and I don't want you holding back on my account.”

“Gallus!” Karliah cried, but he just smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

“Live your life, Karliah. Walk with the Shadows... and good luck. I'll be watching over you.”

“Gallus,” Karliah whispered... but he was gone, fading into the portal to Evergloam. Silence and then Sapphire was there, holding on to Karliah as she sagged in her arms.

“Are you alright?” Sapphire whispered. Karliah nodded, clinging on to Sapphire.

“I don't know. I can hardly believe it's all over,” Karliah whispered. “The Key, Mercer, all of it. Now what?”

“Now,” said Brynjolf, coming to put an arm around them both, “now we go home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the Reach after a long journey hauling all the Dark Brotherhood's loot back home. There'd been coin split between all of them, various alchemical and enchanting paraphernalia, even the smithing gear uprooted and now all installed at Sky Haven Temple. Eola could only be grateful Kaie had sorted out carriages and Forsworn to help out transporting it all. But perhaps the most important thing hadn't gone to Sky Haven Temple. No, the Night Mother's coffin was presently set up in Reachcliff Cave, a makeshift shrine created in the small room at the other end of the tunnel leading to the feasting area.

Cicero was on his knees before the coffin, sniffling quietly at the foot of the mummified corpse that was the Dark Brotherhood's patron goddess.

“Cicero is sorry, sweet Mother,” he whispered. “Cicero failed you, sweet Mother! Oh but it had to be done, it had to be! They had strayed! No longer believed! Abandoned the old ways, abandoned you! They had to be purified! But now... but now Cicero will never find a Listener!”

The heartbreak in his voice tore at Eola's heart, not least because it had the potential to destroy him completely, and she wasn't having that.

“Cariad,” she whispered. “Cicero cariad, come here.” She knelt at his side, taking him in her arms, holding his hand and rubbing her fingers over Namira's Ring.

“You did what you had to do,” she whispered. “There was no other way. She understands, honey.”

“Then why won't she speak to me,” Cicero snarled. “Why, when I have been a devoted son, a good boy, taken care of her, loved her, given up everything for her, why won't she speak to me?? Namira spoke to me after one kill and what does my own Mother give me, hmm? Nothing!!!”

He gasped, shuddering in her arms as he clung on to her, breathing heavily. It was some minutes before he got himself under control.

“Cicero is sorry,” he whispered. “Cicero didn't mean... Cicero isn't angry! Cicero is just... tired. So very tired. He's tried, he has! But he just can't find the Listener!”

Eola held on to him, feeling helpless as she tried to comfort him. But what could she say? There was very little she could say to make it all right. Only the Binding Words. But she didn't know what they were. The Night Mother wasn't saying them to her. If only she could find a Listener.

Well, maybe. If she kept an ear out for likely recruits. Kaie might know of a few devoutly murderous types in the Forsworn. She could bring them here, see if the Night Mother took a liking to anyone. Maybe her father could provide a few full-time priests to help maintain the place, welcome pilgrims, see if a Listener turned up from among any of them.

“Cicero,” she whispered. “Cicero, maybe it wasn't all for nothing. I mean, maybe she kept quiet all this time because she needed to come to the Reach. Maybe one of the Forsworn is going to be your Listener, or perhaps it'll be one of Namira's faithful. After all, where else are you going to find a Listener, if there's no Sanctuaries left? Somewhere with lots of true-born murderers, that's where. If this plan of Da's goes without a hitch, he's going to end up with quite a few demobbed Forsworn tribesfolk who miss the fighting. Why wouldn't the Listener be one of them? We venerate Sithis too, don't forget. I imagine we could set up a little Shrine here, get Da to give us some priests, have the Night Mother available for Forsworn warriors to pray to. She might easily find one of them worthy.”

Cicero perked up for the first time since they'd finished with Astrid.

“Really?” he whispered, drying his eyes. “You think the Forsworn might have a Listener in their ranks?”

“Quite possibly,” Eola said, ruffling his hair, pleased to finally see a smile again. “Either way, they'll help keep her safe until she chooses someone. Don't worry, Cicero. We'll help you take care of her. It's not all down to you.”

Cicero looked as if he was about to cry again, from happiness this time and then he was kissing her fiercely, pouring all of himself into it, and Eola wondered just how far he was going to go with this. She didn't have many limits but the Night Mother watching them during sex was a bit too far even for her. Fortunately it seemed Cicero was of the same mind.

“Cicero does not... there are not words... thank you!” he breathed as he broke off. “Cicero never thought... it never occurred to him there would be... another! He never thought he'd have help!”

“Anything you need, honey,” Eola promised. “I'm sure Da will help.”

Cicero clung on to her, lost for words. Eola stroked his hair and held him. Poor boy. Poor, damaged, broken boy. He'd lost his entire family, even if they'd mocked and abused him. Well didn't she know how that felt. But she'd got her father back and her sister, and her people had welcomed her home. She might even see her father King again in truth. Maybe Cicero would one day have a Dark Brotherhood again. But until that day came, she would do her best to make sure he was looked after and safe. Maybe Cicero was a psychotic murderer, a madman and a fool. But he was her madman and she'd love him until the end.

Notes:

OK, Dark Brotherhood and Nightingale subplots largely done, although the characters will still make appearances, particularly if I need anything covert and subtle doing, or someone needs a good stabbing. I'm not planning to have the Night Mother call a Listener, certainly not in this fic, but I wanted to leave open the possibility of it happening eventually so as to keep Cicero reasonably stable and happy. And if anyone will happily collude in building a secret shrine to the Night Mother and keeping it open as a centre of pilgrimage, it's the Forsworn.

Next chapter, Elisif sets out in search of the Elder Scroll and Delphine moves on to the next stage of Operation Overthrow Ulfric. As an advance warning, I'm not going to cover Blackreach in a lot of detail so please don't expect me to linger on that. If you really love Blackreach and this is going to be disappointing, your best bet is to fire up the game and have your Dovahkiin take a wander through the place instead, it'll be a lot more satisfying...

Chapter 24

Summary:

Elisif's got her crown but a crown's no good if the world ends, and it's time to go looking for that Elder Scroll. Meanwhile, Elisif's allies are putting their plans into action as the preliminary phases of the assault on Windhelm get under way...

Notes:

Hello again, sorry for the hiatus, Thicker Than Blood ran away with me. But I do have a chapter of this ready, so here goes! I have skimped on Blackreach a bit, I'm afraid, but it is here. Instead, I filled the chapter out with a joint Blades-Forsworn attack on Rise In The East. Warnings for blasphemous and heretical blood magic rituals as one master illusionist battlemage comes up against a whole faction of them...

Nightgate Inn loomed up in the darkness, the agreed rendezvous for meeting up with Erandur and Aranea to see if they'd learned anything. Elisif hoped so, because other than the College, there weren't many other places where the location of an Elder Scroll might be recorded.

Thankfully, Erandur and Aranea were sitting at a table, looking like they'd just arrived, and from the magical artefacts on the table in front of them, it looked like they'd got somewhere.

“I can't believe you're in favour of helping him!” Aranea hissed.

“He's a lonely soul in need,” Erandur said firmly. “Why not help him out?”

“Because he's completely insane!” Aranea cried. Erandur just shrugged.

“All the more reason to show compassion. Mara would have us be kind and understanding to the afflicted. I believe Azura's teachings say something similar?”

“Showing understanding to the afflicted, yes, not encouraging their delusions!” Aranea growled. “Erandur, he's a Daedra worshipper!”

“So are you!”

“Don't you dare bring Lady Azura into this...”

Elisif stepped into the light before this escalated any further, Ria at her side, Vilkas at her back and Farkas bringing up the rear. Erandur sat up as he felt a shadow fall over him and Aranea actually gasped to see her. Elisif realised she was still wearing the Jagged Crown. She'd got so used to the weight, she barely noticed it after a bit. Hastily she took it off and sat down, placing the Crown on the table. Erandur ran a finger along one of the teeth.

“Now that's a prize. Are those real dragon teeth? Where did you find it?”

“Korvanjund,” Elisif said, still feeling excited and proud every time she saw it. “It's the Jagged Crown! The legendary lost crown of the kings and queens of old! Ulfric was after it, but now I've got it! Isn't it lovely?”

“She's been like this since she got it,” Vilkas said wearily as he took a seat opposite Elisif. “Every five minutes it's been 'I've got a dragon crown, I've got a dragon crown, isn't it shiny?'” Vilkas rolled his eyes, before neatly dodging back as Elisif smacked his arm.

“It is shiny!” Ria said, smiling as she sat next to Vilkas. “You look like a proper Dragonborn in that, Elisif.”

Elisif wrapped a protective arm around her Crown. Yes, yes she did, and the only way anyone was taking it off her was from her cold corpse.

“It's my crown, and I will treasure it always,” Elisif said proudly. “Now. What did you find out and what...” There were two things sitting on the table, one square box and one spherical object. Both looked magical and possibly Dwemer, but Elisif hadn't a clue what they were. All she knew was that they weren't Elder Scrolls. “What are these?”

“That's a Dwemer Lexicon cube. That's some sort of tuning sphere,” Aranea sighed. “Apparently we need them to find the Scroll.”

“Well, that's good, right?” Elisif said hesitantly. Erandur patted her hand gently.

“Of course it is. We had the good fortune to find the world's leading expert on the Scrolls, and he gave us these, saying there was one right here in Skyrim and to use these to find it.”

Which all sounded good to Elisif... until Aranea opened her mouth.

“He's a worshipper of Hermaeus Mora, quite, quite mad, and this Elder Scroll's at the bottom of a dangerous Dwemer ruin. Azura's visions mostly showed you being successful, with the Jagged Crown and everything, but there were a few futures where you died horribly and were eaten by the Falmer.”

“Oh gods,” Elisif said faintly, and honestly she was relieved that Farkas turned up at that moment with the drinks. She really could do with some mead after hearing this.

“Who got eaten by the Falmer?” Farkas asked, handing everyone a bottle of ale each.

“Possibly me if this goes wrong,” said Elisif, shivering. “Farkas, we found out where the Scroll is. It's at the bottom of a Dwemer ruin.”

“Oh. Those,” Farkas said, grimacing. He'd been in enough to know what usually lurked down there. “Not to worry, we'll help. When do we leave?”

“We, is it?” Vilkas queried, raising an eyebrow. “We're all going?” He noticed Ria glaring at him and relented. “Oh all right, fine, if Farkas and Ria are going, I suppose I better had too. Keep you both out of trouble.”

Elisif couldn't help but smile on learning she'd have the Companions with her at least.

“Thank you,” she said. “Erandur, did you want to come? I'll understand if you'd rather not.”

“What, and explain to Delphine I left you to trek off into danger alone? No fear, I'm with you.”

Which just left Aranea, sitting there looking pensive and staring at the mead bottle as if she'd never seen one before. Which it occurred to Elisif she might not have done, having apparently come straight from Morrowind after the Red Year, settled at the Shrine and only recently left it.

“Aranea, did you want to come?” Elisif asked tentatively. “I mean, you've done enough helping Erandur get the information, and telling me about Korvanjund – thank you so much, by the way, I'd never have known the crown was even there otherwise. You don't need to stay around any more, I'm sure Azura needs you back at the Shrine...”

Aranea finally worked out how to open the bottle and took a swig of the contents.

“Not any more,” Aranea said bitterly. “She sent me one last vision before I left. That I'd spent too long among the ice and cold and needed to return to the world. She's sending no more visions my way. I... I guess she doesn't need me any more.”

The entire table had gone quiet, even Vilkas looking a bit sorry for her.

“I still – I mean, we still need you,” Erandur said, only looking slightly embarrassed as he reached out and took her hand. “Er... if that's alright with you, Elisif?”

“It's fine with me,” Elisif said, grinning knowingly. Good, about time Erandur got over his anxieties. Elisif was very pleased indeed to see Aranea's cheeks go pink as she smiled back at Erandur. Maybe Torygg was lost forever more, but that was no reason her friend couldn't be happy, and Elisif liked Aranea. For all the visions and slight craziness, Aranea also struck Elisif as kind and competent. Elisif could do with that on her side and Erandur could do with that in his life.

“So now we're all agreed, where is this ruin?” Elisif asked. Aranea got the map out and pointed at a cross not far north of the Nightgate Inn.

“Alftand. Not far from here, just over the pass and then north-east. If we set out at first light, we should be there in a few hours.”

Sounded like a plan. Elisif bade them all finish their drinks and get dinner in. They'd need an early night from the sounds of it and this might be the last comfortable one they'd have for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Orthus, what in Oblivion is this?”

To say Adelaisa Vendicci was not pleased with her Windhelm underling was an understatement. She'd known about the disruption to the shipping, but to see the office in this state... Honestly, they were meant to be the mercantile arm of the Empire itself. What did it look like to have one of their chief offices looking like a run-down hovel. It couldn't all be blamed on the war – Ulfric Stormcloak didn't have much of a navy. Too many farmers and hunters in his army and not enough qualified and experienced sailors.

“I'm sorry, Adelaisa!” Orthus pleaded. “I'm trying, I really am! It's these pirates, nothing is getting through!”

“Nothing?” Adelaisa said, narrowing her eyes. “With the number of ships we've got out there, I'm surprised at that. So what are you doing about it, hmm? Shatter-Shield's ships seem to be getting through.”

“I've got people on it,” Orthus said quickly. “Good people – the best! A small group of enterprising freelancers who specialise in solving problems. They already found out one of Shatter-Shield's underlings has ties with the Blood Horkers. They're in Dawnstar right now, investigating.”

Adelaisa flicked over the logbook Orthus showed her. Well now, that was something. So the local wealthy family were paying pirates to ensure a monopoly on trading, with no concern for the lives of the poor sailors the Horkers preyed on. And these Nords called themselves honourable. No point going to the Jarl with this, not least because Adelaisa suspected these mercenaries had acquired the logbook by less than legal means themselves.

“So who were these mercenaries?” she asked. “We can trust them, I assume?”

“They didn't say a lot about who they were, only that they could get results and that they're from some outfit called the DragonBlades. Their leader's some blonde Breton woman in her 50s, I think. She had some other Breton girl called Ella or something, think that might be her kid, with her, and some Nord woman called Sapphire.”

Dragons. Of course they were, just lately this country had got obsessed with dragons. Even their queen-to-be was calling herself Dragonborn, presumably to try and win over her blood and honour obsessed countrymen. Well, rather her than Jarl Ulfric if this city was any indication.

“I see, and when are they due back?” Adelaisa said. “I want a word with these... DragonBlades.”

Orthus lit up, pointing at the door.

“There they are! That's their boss, right there.”

Adelaisa turned to see a blonde Breton woman who looked only a few years older than her, dressed in grey leather armour better suited to a brigand than a warrior, but there was an aura of competence to her. Behind her was a Nord woman in the same sort of armour, and a blonde Breton in red and black mage robes with a hand emblazoned on the front. Adelaisa frowned at the symbol, but let it go. If they were helping the East Empire Company, she'd let slide any other... allegiances.

“The DragonBlades, I presume,” Adelaisa said tersely. “Orthus here was telling me you'd agreed to help us out with our shipping problem.”

“That's right,” their leader said calmly. “Delphine Delassabri at your service. This is Eola and this is Sapphire. They're trusted colleagues of mine. We hear you're having a little piracy trouble.”

“Did you find anything in Dawnstar?” Orthus asked hopefully. “Were you able to get any information on where the Blood Horkers are hiding?”

“Oh did we ever,” the younger Breton purred, and Adelaisa did not like the woman's smile. Teeth too sharp. “Del, want to explain?”

“It's as we thought,” Delphine said grimly. “We found this Stig Salt-Plank in the tavern, and it turns out he is indeed a captain with the Horkers. So we took care of him and his men for you. It'll put a bit of a hitch in their operations.”

“Wonderful news!” Orthus gasped, but Adelaisa wasn't so sure. Delphine did not look happy, and although Bretons were prone to euphemism, Adelaisa wasn't convinced their troubles were over yet.

“And? There's clearly more. You said he was a captain, not the captain. So there's more of them out there.”

“Yes,” Delphine said quietly. “They're based out of an isolated fortress far to the north called Japhet's Folly. You round up some ships, head out there, take the place out, the entire operation will fall apart.”

Well, Adelaisa could manage that. Only Delphine still didn't look optimistic, which mean there was a catch.

“So what aren't you telling me?” Adelaisa asked wearily.

“Their leader's a battlemage,” Delphine admitted. “Some son of a bitch master illusionist called Haldyn. That's how they're getting away with it. He creates illusions of storms and mist, drives the ships off course and then the Horkers pounce. You won't be able to get near the Folly without him noticing and doing the same to you.”

“That is not news I wanted to hear!” Adelaisa snapped. “Don't you have anything useful to offer me?”

Delphine did smile at that, before beckoning Adelaisa to come follow her into a dark corner where Orthus couldn't hear her.

“How much do you love the Empire, soldier?” Delphine asked softly, eyeing up Adelaisa's Legion armour. Adelaisa had been retired for over a decade now, opting for an easier life in the East Empire rather than active service, but she could still fight and she still took pride in her service.

“I would give my life in the Emperor's service, but that is neither here nor there... is it?” Adelaisa looked shrewdly at Delphine, beginning to wonder if she was really the mercenary she claimed to be.

“Glad to hear it,” Delphine said quietly. “Well, I imagine you've heard about the war that this city's rebel Jarl started. A war that's probably not helping your own business any, because if a Jarl who actually was loyal to his Empire was in charge, we could go to him with evidence of the Shatter-Shields' profiteering and get help there. As it is, I find it hard to believe he isn't condoning this, or at least choosing to ignore it.”

Not far off Adelaisa's own thoughts on the matter. Seemed Delphine was also loyal to the Empire.

“So what do you suggest?” Adelaisa said softly. If it meant the East Empire got its shipping lanes re-opened, anything to help further the Imperial cause was fine by her.

“If you've got a problem with a master illusionist battlemage,” the other Breton, Eola, said as she joined them, “I find the best solution is to find one of your own. Turns out my da's got a few skills along those lines. He can bring a few of his friends along too, give you a few extra swords.”

“Friends?” Adelaisa queried, eyeing Eola up, and she was quite sure Eola wasn't any kind of High Rock name she'd ever heard. “Who are these friends?”

“General Tullius is getting a little tired of the war dragging on,” Delphine said, fingering the amulet hiding underneath her armour. “So in order not to waste the lives of his Legionnaires on dealing with it, he's resorting to... unorthodox means. Rather than a lengthy drawn-out siege, he's decided to go for a more covert operation. I'm the one in charge of co-ordinating it all, but I'll need a little help. Specifically, I'll need the East Empire Company's help smuggling supplies and people into the city. I already have recipients lined up to sign for these shipments, I just need them transporting. We help you sort Haldyn out, and in return, you help us with our little operation. How does it sound?”

“Let me see if I understand you,” said Adelaisa, wanting to be absolutely sure she'd actually heard this correctly. “You're planning some sort of uprising to unseat Jarl Ulfric, you need aid in getting all the supplies shipped into the city without anyone realising what's going on, and if I help you out, Eola's battlemage father and his friends will help sort out the Blood Horkers?”

“That's about the size of it, yes,” Delphine admitted. “Are you in?”

Adelaisa had had it just about up to here with unhelpful Nords muttering about damn Imperials and generally doing their best to get on her nerves, and if the whole thing screwed over the Shatter-Shields in the process, she was fine with that.

“Count me in,” Adelaisa promised.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adelaisa was having second thoughts about this. First finding out that the pick-up point was Ravenscar Hollow, a known Hagraven nest, although Eola had reassured her they'd sorted the place out and not to worry about any Hagravens, her father had years of experience dealing with them.

Then the battle ships from the East Empire's private fleet arriving at Windhelm, and the captain looking a bit nervous.

“You had trouble with the Horkers?” Adelaisa asked, raising an eyebrow and the poor man shook his head.

“Oh no, ma'am – I mean, they tried, but as soon as their ships got near, these, er, mercenaries started letting loose with Destruction spells and Illusion spells and before they could even board, one Horker ship was going down with its sails on fire and a hole in the prow, and on the other one, the crew were too busy killing each other, not to mention someone was raising their corpses against them. Er... are you sure this lot are honourable?”

Frankly no, but if they were that good, Adelaisa would rather work with them than against them.

“Where are they?” she sighed.

The captain had stepped aside to reveal a mid-sized force of about fifty young-ish Bretons, one heavily-armoured Orc, a red-haired Imperial man in black and red tight-fitting leather gear, and at their head, a silver-haired man talking to Eola. All the Bretons were dressed from top to toe in heavy fur outfits that covered virtually all their skin, decorated with sabre-cat teeth, bones that weren't all animal bones either, and most had warpaint on their faces. Adelaisa began to wonder where on earth Delphine had found them from. They didn't look like mercenaries.

As if on cue, Delphine materialised at her elbow, smiling brightly.

“Well, here they are,” she said cheerfully. “Your special forces as promised, including a very competent battlemage. Come and meet him.”

Adelaisa wasn't sure she wanted to do any such thing, particularly not when she got closer to see a too-cheerful smile, piercing ice-blue eyes and the realisation the man was standing on a fire rune. She hadn't even known that was possible without getting killed.

“Adelaisa, this is Medane Dareche, the battlemage I was telling you about. Medane, this is Adelaisa Vendicci. She's in charge of the East Empire's shipping operations. We'll be working with her throughout this job.”

“It's a pleasure,” Medane purred, and Adelaisa had never met anyone quite this predatory in her life. She was tempted to call the whole thing off, but if General Tullius had sanctioned it, she supposed the man must be at least somewhat trustworthy. “I trust Delphine told you of our price for our... assistance?”

“She did,” Adelaisa said stiffly. “This operation you're planning. I trust you won't be harming innocent civilians?”

“Of course not,” Medane said, and Adelaisa wasn't sure she believed him in the slightest, but if it meant an end to the war and the East Empire's trade flowing again, she supposed she'd have to go along with it. “But perhaps Windhelm docks isn't the best place to talk about this?”

He was right about that at least.

“No, I suppose not, let's get under – why is there a goat wandering around the deck?”

Delphine's eyes had widened a bit and all the Breton warriors had instinctively reached for their blades.

“Lucky mascot,” Medane said calmly. “My people are very superstitious, you see. Many of them have never seen the sea before and were nervous about travelling by boat. The goat's essential.”

Adelaisa was very sure this wasn't the whole story but even more sure the truth was worse.

“Let's just get this operation under way,” she sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sure enough, as they reached Japhet's Folly, the mist descended, veiling the East Empire fleet and reducing visibility to nil. All the sailors, mostly Nords and Redguards who as cultures did not do well with the occult, were starting to fret, and some claimed they could see monsters in the mist. Adelaisa had no choice but to order everyone to weigh anchor.

“Well?” she snapped at Medane and Delphine. “This is clearly no natural mist. Can you do something about it?”

Delphine glanced at Medane who just nodded.

“Leave it to me. He's strong, but he's probably their only mage, and this isn't actually a very tough illusion spell. We can break it, no trouble.” He turned around and it was only then Adelaisa saw one of the Breton women painting a five-pointed star in a circle on the rear deck of the ship, and one of the men setting up some soul gems in holders where the points met the circle. Someone else had the goat nearby, stroking its fur and cooing over it, and Adelaisa had a horrible feeling that the goat was not intended as a mascot.

Medane was stripping his top off and his leggings, shivering in the cold air, before sitting cross-legged in the star's centre and holding out his arms. Two Breton women began painting strange markings on his skin while someone else started drumming and a monotonous chant started up.

“What are they doing,” Adelaisa whispered, transfixed.

“Don't look,” said Delphine gently, taking her by the arm as several Bretons and the Orc formed a line between the ritual site and the rest of the ship, glaring at anyone who came too close. “Just let them get on with it.”

“Are they... dark mages,” Adelaisa said, fingering her sword-hilt. “By the Eight, do I have blood mages and necromancers on board??”

“They're on your side,” Delphine said firmly, turning her away to face the prow of the ship. “Let them get on with it.”

Adelaisa closed her eyes and tried to shut it all out, including the masculine grunts of pain as Eola drew a knife against Medane's flesh, leaving several shallow but wide cuts in his arms, legs and torso, each one immediately covered by the hand of another Breton who'd just slashed their palm open.

“Blood of our blood, our power to yours,” Eola intoned, raising hands covered in her father's blood to the sky.

“Blood of my blood, your power to mine,” Medane called back, eyes shut tight as he slipped into a trance. “Kin of my kin, your king needs your strength.”

“Kin of our kin, our strength is yours,” the various Bretons touching him called back as their hands started to glow and Medane's whole body lit up as an ancient rite that allowed a leader to draw on the magicka of his people was invoked.

“Dread Father, Dread Father, bring the Void unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear,” Medane intoned and that did get Adelaisa's attention.

“WHAT are they doing??” Adelaisa cried, turning around just in time to see someone bringing the goat to Medane, who raised a soul-snaring dagger and, eyes aglow with strange magic, sliced the dagger across the beast's throat. The soul trap flared and Medane raised the soul gem to the sky, hands covered in blood.

“Dread Father, I give you Haldyn,” Medane called out. “Take this soul as payment and open the Void, fill his vision with darkness and his future with death!”

Black lightning struck from the sky, hitting the soul gem and in a flash of pure darkness, it vanished. Medane collapsed back into Eola's arms, the others all letting him go and healing their palms while some Breton observers rallied round their leader with healing magic, potions and a clean set of clothes.

Somewhere in the distance, horrifying screaming started up, and the mists began to clear, Japhet's Folly appearing in the distance.

“What just happened?” Adelaisa whispered, fighting the urge to be sick. All her crew were whimpering in fear, soldiers and sailors alike, none a stranger to combat, but few had ever seen anything like that. “What did he do?”

The Bretons hadn't batted an eyelid, just clearing up shattered soul gems, hauling the goat's body overboard and starting to scrub the star pattern away.

“He just opened the Void and called power from it to attack Haldyn for us,” Delphine explained. “I didn't get all the details, but apparently if a mage is casting in your vicinity and you have more magicka than them, you can establish a connection with them while they open up their power to cast, except the ritual's very draining, requires a blood sacrifice and a soul as offering, and any halfway sensible enemy mage who sees you doing it will interrupt. But if someone is spreading their magic over a wide area like our friend Haldyn was, you've got ample time to perform a rite before he realises what you're doing, and if you know how to pool your magicka with several willing volunteers who are also skilled mages, you're laughing. Well, poor Medane isn't right now, but I'm assured he did it once before and survived. Although that was over thirty years ago... I should probably check on him.”

Adelaisa watched her go and promptly sat down, by now fairly certain General Tullius never sanctioned any of this and that whoever these mysterious Bretons were, they weren't necessarily a better prospect than rebel Nord Jarls who were willing to turn a blind eye to piracy if it harmed their enemies. But she had made a promise to assist them with their uprising against Ulfric, and having seen that little display, she definitely didn't want them on her bad side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, the operation went better than anyone could have hoped. Eola, Sapphire and that strange, giggling red-head called Cicero, had disembarked first, skipping over the ice floes and sneaking in via the side entrance to cause chaos from inside, while the bombardment had started from the sea, assisted with Destruction magic from the Bretons that hadn't been taking part in blasphemous and heretical blood magic rituals.

Medane was wrapped in furs, drinking liberally from potion vials and looking a bit pale but otherwise none the worse for his exertions.

“Dare I ask who you really are?” Adelaisa said, staring down at him.

“Best not to,” Medane grinned, coughing and reaching for a mug of some hot steaming liquid. “Classified information and all that. Just suffice it to say that if you pick up my people and supplies from Ravenscar Hollow and bring them safely to Windhelm, I'll consider this debt paid. Don't worry, we won't perform any more blood magic on your ships. Not unless Ulfric hires himself some battlemages and I don't think it's terribly likely.”

Adelaisa hoped not. After this, she was beginning to realise why people had a problem with mages. Her fears were not assuaged when her men found Haldyn, out of his mind, babbling incoherently and ripping his own flesh apart, convinced there were monsters in his skin. Then that odd jester had slit the man's throat, smile never leaving his face, and at that point, hardened ex-Legion men had turned and fled the scene.

But the Blood Horkers had been wiped out and that was something, and Adelaisa could live with that at least. Mostly she was just worried for the city of Windhelm. Something worse than the Thalmor or dragons was coming for them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank the Aedra there were six of them. Thank the Aedra two of them were skilled healers. Thank everyone that none of them had been hurt, not too badly anyway. The same could not be said of the expedition that had preceded them – a trail of bodies and journals telling of screams in the night and disappearing comrades told its own story. Then there were the Falmer.

Elisif had never come across the Falmer before, although she'd heard stories. The reality was worse. Evil, blind, pale travesties of elves that leapt out of the darkness with viciously sharp weapons coated in poison, and their Chaurus pets that scuttled out of nowhere spitting poison, or flew at them, sharp claws tearing at faces. It was a good thing Aranea was a good shot with her fireballs really. As it is, they all took injuries and Vilkas and Farkas in particular had a few new scars to show for it. Neither seemed to care.

“Pain fades. Glory lasts forever,” Vilkas shrugged. “It'll make for a good story.”

“Plus everyone digs scars,” Farkas said, nodding. “Men. Women. Elves. Khajiit. Everyone. They'll keep me in mead and bedmates for years.”

Ria giggled, Vilkas shook his head in exasperation, Aranea just smiled and Erandur acted as if he'd heard nothing. Elisif could feel herself blushing, but pulled herself together. She was a grown woman, for Aedra's sake, and a married – married once anyway – one at that. Farkas was perfectly entitled to go out and enjoy himself if he liked.

“Come on, let's move on before we run into any more of them,” Elisif said.

The ruin seemed to go on for miles, finally coming to what looked like the end with a Dwemer Centurion guarding the way and then the last two members of the doomed expedition who, clearly having gone mad from this place, turned on them too. Elisif could barely look at the bodies after, leaving the two Dunmer to give last rites.

“You all right?” Ria asked gently.

“I will be,” Elisif sighed. “I just... really really hate this place and we're not even at Blackreach yet.” She pulled out the little round tuning sphere. “Wonder what we're supposed to do with this.”

As one, Farkas and Vilkas clapped their hands to their ears.

“Gods, what is that thing?” Vilkas snapped.

“It really hurts,” Farkas cried, not quite whining but the nearest a six foot three Nord man ever came to it.

“But it's not doing anything,” Elisif said, confused. “Apart from vibrating a little.”

“Are you joking, it's a non-stop high-pitched whine!” Vilkas said, still clutching his ears. “Gods sake, woman, put it away!”

“Dwemer music is soft and subtle and needed to open their cleverest gates,” Aranea said thoughtfully. “It wasn't doing that to you two in the inn, so maybe the gate's nearby. There, what's that console?”

The high-pitched whine seemed to intensify as Elisif approached it, judging by the way the twins were hunching up in pain, and she could feel the sphere vibrating even harder. There was a hole exactly the right size to fit the sphere into and as she did so, both twins sagged in relief... and the whole thing started to sink into the floor, turning into a set of stairs that led to a previously hidden set of doors.

“Do you think that's it?” Ria whispered. “The entrance to Blackreach?”

There was only one way to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blackreach turned out to be absolutely stunning. Sparkling glowing stones in the vast overhead roof that reminded Elisif of the sky. Soft mist rising off the rivers. Exquisitely crafted Dwemer buildings rising out of the silty black earth. Glowing fungi towering above them.

It was a sight to be seen. It was huge too. Elisif wasn't even sure how many Solitudes you could get in this cavern but it was vast. You could live down here, you could have a whole hidden city down here, safe from the enemies above. There was just one downside.

It was also full of Falmer.

“I really really hate the Falmer,” Elisif said through gritted teeth. “I've never met a race with so little to redeem them.”

“They were elves once,” Aranea said solemnly. “They had a prosperous civilisation once, above the ground. Until your people invaded, drove them below ground to the Dwemer, who betrayed them, blinded them and turned them into monsters.”

When you put it like that... Not for the first time, Elisif felt a bit uneasy about her people. Brave, honourable warriors, and for the most part Elisif did think most Nords were essentially good people... but all those great victories meant someone else had lost. It bothered Elisif. Yes, Skyrim was the Nords' ancestral home and Atmora had become unlivable, but couldn't they have come to some arrangement with the elves? Did they have to wipe them out?

Elisif didn't know, and it was too late now. All the same, she felt sorry for the Falmer. Didn't stop her running them through, of course, but deep inside, she made herself a promise that once she was queen in truth, she'd never declare war lightly.

Finally they found the Tower of Mzark, and made themselves at home. Elisif didn't know how far they'd walked or what time it was but she was exhausted, they all were. So rest and sleep and eat, and then time to find the Elder Scroll.

There were buttons. There was cursing. There was a lot of button-pressing and darting around and tears and frustration... but in the end, it worked and the contraption opened up to reveal what they'd come for.

“It's gorgeous,” Ria gasped as Elisif cradled the Elder Scroll in her arms. “I never thought I'd ever see one!”

“Gonna read it?” Farkas asked, curious. “What's it say?”

“Not a good idea,” Erandur warned her. “They say reading them sends you blind.”

Given that she'd have to read the thing at the time wound, that wasn't promising. But Elisif packed it away. She'd cross that bridge when she got there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The elevator in Tower Mzark took them to the surface a lot nearer home than anyone had expected. They were right up in the hills overlooking Giant's Gap, Dawnstar to the north, the Throat to the south and Whiterun clearly visible in the valley below.

“Whiterun!” Ria cried, homesickness finally kicking in. It had been weeks since she'd last been there after all. “We can go home!”

“That we can,” Vilkas said, finally smiling in the sunlight as he put an arm round Ria, who for once didn't seem to mind.

“Well, Elisif, what do you think? The majority vote seems to be in favour of Jorrvaskr,” Erandur said. “I know you're heading that way anyway.”

Elisif could really do with a bath, a good meal, some mead and a warm bed, it had to be said. Even though Whiterun really wasn't safe... but she had five friends with her, if she didn't leave Jorrvaskr during her stay, she'd be safe, right? As long as she kept a low profile.

“All right,” she said. “Jorrvaskr it is.”

Notes:

Next chapter, Elisif returns to civilisation to find her Blades have been busy, and that someone has been interfering yet again. And then it's time to face Alduin.

Chapter 25

Summary:

Elisif's return from hiding goes far better than she thought, thanks to the actions of her allies, but the actions of one ally in particular prove unexpected and not entirely welcome. However, as Elisif goes to battle, she realises she'll need all the allies she can get, as Alduin threatens all she holds dear.

Notes:

This one would be in the nature of a bridge chapter, the bridge leading into the endgame. We aren't there yet, but the finale is starting to take shape. We've got another character being introduced, the wrap-up of a couple of things, some non-explicit man on man action - yes, there is a slash ship happening, and then we start getting ready for the end. Enjoy!

The low profile part died as soon as they got within patrol distance of the city. Guards stopped, took one look, and began whispering.

“Is that her?”

“Looks like her!”

“What's that on her head?”

“I don't know but you can tell she's Queen!”

It got even worse when she entered the city. As one, Whiterun's citizens stopped what they were doing and started following, all whispering to each other, and when she got to the marketplace, she found half the city staring at her. It was young Ysolda who was brave enough to actually talk to her.

“Elisif! I mean... Jarl Elisif! Er... High Queen! It is you, isn't it?”

No sense denying it at this point.

“Yes,” Elisif sighed. “Yes, I'm Jarl Elisif. Did you need something?”

Ysolda was not the shy type, and had a Nord's spirit. Now she'd started, she was determined to go on.

“Is it true what they're saying?” Ysolda said. “About you and... the Dark Brotherhood?”

As one, Dunmer and Companions drew closer to Elisif, reaching for weapons and casting armour. Elisif took a few deep breaths, touched the Jagged Crown for support and stood her ground.

“What about me and the Dark Brotherhood?” she said, hoping she sound calmer than she felt.

“That you and your DragonGuard warriors stormed their Sanctuary and destroyed it!” Carlotta put in. “Anoriath rode out there when he heard the news, went all the way to Falkreath and found the place wide open and the Falkreath guard all saying no one was allowed in due to all the blood.”

Anoriath confirmed the truth of this and Elisif felt her knees go weak. The Dark Brotherhood... gone. Their Sanctuary destroyed. Someone saying she'd done it – well, she had a fair idea who'd started that rumour. It wasn't far from the truth, she supposed. She strongly suspected her Blades at work, and to know she was safe, finally safe from a knife in the dark... Elisif could cry. But she was Dragonborn and Queen and neither cried in public.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I mean, I wasn't able to be there in person, you understand. But the Brotherhood are a menace to any civilised society, a blight on Skyrim's national character, and I refuse to be Queen of a land that harbours murderers like that. So I placed some trusted friends in charge of hunting them down, and now they're no more!”

Whiterun as one got to its feet and cheered, chanting her name, and it was all Elisif could to do take her leave, making her way through the crowds to Jorrvaskr, Farkas and Vilkas carefully urging people to step back and let her through. By the Eight, if this was queenship... Elisif had better be careful. This could easily get out of hand. It was a nice feeling though.

Kodlak was waiting for her inside Jorrvaskr, smiling broadly and opening his arms for a bear hug.

“Lass, it's good to see you. I heard the noise and guessed who it was. Aela brought us the news a few days ago.”

Aela was getting up, Blades gear matching Elisif's own, and Elisif laughed as she hugged her as well.

“Did you wipe the Dark Brotherhood out for me?” Elisif asked, guessing Aela must have been one of those invited along.

“Of course!” Aela laughed. “We showed those backstabbing cowards a thing or two. Killed them all, and it turned out they had a Word Wall in their Sanctuary too. Here.”

Elisif took the paper Aela was holding out and gasped to see a new Thu'um there. Krii – kill. How appropriate. Not one she exactly felt comfortable using, but she'd have to remember it. Then both Kodlak and Aela laid eyes on Ria, and Elisif found herself left alone as they both descended on their lost Shield-Sister, Aela in particular much relieved to see her safe.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” Aela said, holding on to Ria.

“So did I,” Ria admitted. “But Vilkas and Farkas found some friends of Elisif's who got me out of Ulfric's prisons.”

“I can see there is a story to be had here,” said Kodlak, arm around Ria as he looked from Ria to Elisif, clearly very proud of them both... and intrigued as to how they'd managed all this. “Probably several stories – is that the Jagged Crown?? Wherever did you find it? And... sweet breath of Kyne, is that an Elder Scroll?”

“It's a very long story,” Elisif said. “Best told over dinner and drinks. And, er, Kodlak, these two are Erandur and Aranea Ienith. They're priests and they're good friends of mine. Could we all three stay here tonight? Please?”

Kodlak looked the two elves up and down, and if he suspected at least one of them wasn't exactly a priest of the Eight, he didn't say anything. After a few moments, he nodded.

“Very well, if you vouch for them. And speaking of which... Elisif, you have a visitor.”

Elisif turned around to see a figure sitting quietly in the corner, drinking mead and watching her intently. Nord, male, mid-thirties maybe? Dark blonde hair, same braids as Madanach had, very broad shoulders and Blades armour, how had he got Blades armour too? Well, only one answer to that.

“He turned up a few days before Aela,” Kodlak continued. “Had a note from her apologising and saying could I let him hang around until you turned up? Seeing as it's you, I let him stay – turns out he's a very capable warrior. His name's Argis, do you know him at all?”

Elisif shook her head, staring as Argis got to his feet. Six foot something, built like Farkas, one eye sightless and scars on his cheek and war paint on the other. She would definitely have remembered this one... although he reminded her of someone. She wasn't sure who. Someone else scarily intimidating probably.

“Who sent you? What do you want?” she whispered. He finally smiled, handing her a couple of letters.

“A mutual friend. He heard your last housecarl died, so here I am, ready to serve, High Queen. Got some notes explaining it all, and Aela's met me.”

“He's genuine,” Aela said wearily. “Apparently one of your less sensible choices of ally decided you needed a replacement housecarl and found this guy. We were afraid to ask where from, but we kitted him out and sent him here. We knew you'd come here sooner or later.”

One of the less sensible choices – well, that was just Cicero and Madanach really, and Cicero was unlikely to have tracked down a replacement housecarl, he'd have just turned up in person if he'd felt she was in need of protection. Eight knew what Kodlak would have made of Cicero. At least Argis seemed sane.

Elisif opened the first letter and saw Delphine's handwriting staring back up at her.

“Dragonborn,

In case you were wondering, somebody managed to tell your friend from the Reach that your first housecarl was killed by Stormcloak soldiers and said friend decided you needed a new one. Where he found this man from is anyone's guess, although I am assured he's loyal. Who to is another question, but apparently he's worked for the man who sent him for over two decades now. Half-Reachman, lost his Nord mother to Ulfric's men in the Markarth Incident, so I suppose that's reason enough for him to want to help you out. He's definitely a capable fighter though, and we could use the help. I'd take him into your service with the caveat that he's as trustworthy as the one who sent him.

Also we're about to launch our operation on the ones you fled from. Aedra willing, we should have the whole thing wrapped up in a few days, after which you'll be safe... from them at least. We're going to be spreading a few rumours you did it, Bryn is already preparing some suitably embellished tales as I write, although I have told him to drop the bit where the dragon rips the roof off the place and flies off with Astrid in its talons. I imagine you'll be hearing the results soon enough. When you do, can you make yourself visible in some way, call in to see Balgruuf or Falk Firebeard or General Tullius or do something else notable? Your friend from the Reach has heard rumours you're a Forsworn prisoner and that the Legion are planning to tear the Reach apart looking for you. About time you told your friends you're not one, hmm?

Good luck with the dragonslaying. Aedra guard you.

D.”

Oh gods. The Legion thinking she was a Forsworn prisoner – that wasn't good, not good at all. She made a mental note to leave a message for Balgruuf and send letters to Solitude to let them know she was all right. And then there was the second letter and she knew the handwriting on this one all right. Bloody Madanach again.

“My dear Brenhina,

My daughters tell me you had a housecarl when you left Solitude, a sweet young Nord girl called Jordis who died saving you from Ulfric. That's a crying shame to happen to anyone, especially as it means you're now relying on a crazy singing jester, an old Dunmer priest, a bunch of mercenaries and whoever else you can persuade for your protection. Clearly it's not enough, seeing as you managed to wind up imprisoned by your own people and had to rely on a convicted felon to break you out, so I've decided to find you a proper bodyguard.

His name is Argis, apparently called the Bulwark as nothing gets past him (Nords and their nicknames, I ask you...) and he used to help get things in and out of the mine for me. Thonar was under the impression Argis was a true Nord who hated the Forsworn, Argis cheerfully encouraged this and somehow failed to mention Stormcloaks killed his mother in the Markarth Incident and that it was only his Forsworn father's contacts that saved his life. He can be so scatterbrained sometimes.

Be that as it may, he's a very capable warrior. Not terribly stealthy, and no magic to speak of, but he's strong, talented, smarter than he lets on, once punched a bear unconscious, and he's very loyal. So as I no longer need him in the guards, and as job opportunities for Thonar's former employees are rather thin on the ground in the Reach at the moment, I'm sending him to you. Try not to get him killed, he's difficult to replace and we're a bit fond of him. No getting yourself killed either, you're my best hope of a legitimate kingdom, and who would I pour my heart out to on the page then, hmm? Nepos, my sister and my daughters, that's who, and you should see the sarcastic remarks I get back off them.

Also it's come to my attention the Legion think you're a Forsworn prisoner. They seem to think I'm the sort of degenerate who when presented with a pretty and unarmed young Nord woman would take her captive and haul her off to a Forsworn camp to subject her to unimaginable torments. I really have no idea where they get such terrible ideas about me from. (Unless you want to be hauled off to a Forsworn camp, held prisoner and subjected to unimaginable torments, in which case say the word and I'll happily make arrangements.)

Our friend tells me she's off to deal with your less obvious enemies for you, so when she's done that, could you possibly see your way to letting the General know you're alive and well? I think he's worried about you and I would prefer the Legion to not rip my country to shreds on your behalf.

Good luck with the killing of dragons, wreaking bloody vengeance on your foes, and other feats of bravery ranging on the suicidal. DON'T get yourself killed.

Madanach”

Again the little glowing rune symbol at the bottom of the letter that seemed to be Madanach's personal seal. Elisif read the letter, shook her head in exasperation and put it away. She was very fond of Madanach, despite everything, but he really needed to stop doing things like this. They had an alliance pact of a sort, there was absolutely no need for him to keep sending gifts. If this was a gift and not a Forsworn spy and she was none too sure about that.

“You really worked for...”

“Yep,” Argis said proudly. “I know I don't look like one of his people but I served him faithfully for years. Now he says you need a bodyguard so here I am. Here to serve. And help you kill dragons.”

Elisif really hoped that was all Argis was sent here to do, but an extra bodyguard was useful, especially as she'd doubtless have to leave Ria and the twins here. Jorrvaskr needed its Companions back after all.

“All right then,” she said. “We'll be sleeping here tonight, most likely in the dormitory. This is Erandur, that's Aranea Ienith, that's Ria, those two are Farkas and Vilkas, except the three of them are staying here when I leave. I think Kodlak will want his Companions back.”

“It has been a little short-handed at times,” Kodlak admitted. “It's good to have you all back at last. I'll let you all get settled in to your accommodation, then all meet back here for dinner and sharing stories. We're having a feast tonight, lads and lasses!”

The Nord contingent cheered at that, although Erandur and Aranea looked a little nervous.

“The mead's optional, right?” Erandur murmured in Elisif's ear.

“I don't know,” Elisif whispered back. “Just pretend to drink during the toasts and no one will care about anything else.”

“A Nord mead hall,” Aranea said, shaking her head. “Wonders will never cease – wait, is that young Athis?”

“Aranea Ienith!” the Dunmer warrior laughed, emerging from the courtyard. “You're not joining, are you? I don't think we take mages, muthsera. Not even if Azura commanded it.”

“Oh, I'm just passing through with the Dragonborn – Athis, gods, it must have been decades since you showed up at the Shrine wanting guidance, how've you been?”

The two Dunmer settled into a corner, chatting merrily away, and Elisif realised Erandur was glaring at Athis, gritting his teeth.

“Don't tell me you're jealous,” Elisif sighed.

“No,” Erandur said, unconvincingly. “I'm sure she can spend time chatting with an old friend if she wants. Just because he's young and handsome...”

“I swear I need to get you both drunk and leave you in a bedroom together,” Elisif said wearily. “Erandur, ask her out. Seriously. I am sure Mara wouldn't mind.”

“It's not that simple,” Erandur sighed, but his eyes trailed after Aranea. Giving up, Elisif headed for the dorms. Some people were beyond help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was feasting and stories, and Aela's no doubt edited tale of the taking of the Sanctuary thrilled them all, although when Aela said they'd handed Astrid over to someone she'd wronged for justice and refused to give any other details, Elisif could guess who'd been the one to kill her.

Then there was the tale of Ria's Rescue, and while Kodlak frowned a little at getting thieves in to help, nevertheless he was glad to see Ria free again with a minimum of bloodshed, apart from that one guard who'd clearly deserved it. Then came Elisif's story, only a little edited in that she said a Greybeard had told her of Dragonrend but not that said Greybeard wasn't actually human, of the finding of the Jagged Crown and the Elder Scroll.

“Azura?” Kodlak said guardedly, eyes narrowed at Aranea. She stared back, unfazed.

“The Mother of the Dunmer people means you no harm, Nord,” Aranea said tersely and Athis did actually get up at that point.

“Harbinger, I can't in all honour let a law-abiding priestess of the Twilight Lady be harassed or ill-treated.”

“Kodlak, she's helped me,” Elisif sighed. “She helped get Ria free by making sure Farkas and Vilkas were in the right place to meet Brynjolf and his friends, and I wouldn't have known about the Crown or how to find the Scroll without her.”

“We did help cleanse her Star,” Vilkas confessed. “Harbinger, we didn't know what else to do, we're not jailbreakers!”

“I should hope not,” Kodlak growled. But he did relent and incline his head at Aranea. “The offer of hospitality still stands, Madam Ienith. Just don't start performing any Daedric rites while you're here.”

“I think I can manage that,” Aranea promised and Athis settled down, looking much relieved at not having to fight his Harbinger over this. Erandur had remained quiet throughout, fingers clutching at the table while he glared at Athis. Elisif really needed to do something about these two, she could see this. Well, she'd be on the road with Erandur and Aranea in the morning, and Argis of course. Maybe she could arrange for them to have a bit of alone time, let them talk things over. Maybe.

The stories continued and the celebrating went on late into the night. The only down part was Elisif admitting Njada had died, and if Elisif hadn't actually killed her, they'd been on opposite sides. Jorrvaskr went quiet to hear it and at length Kodlak raised a tankard to her name.

“To Njada,” he announced. “True to her principles if nothing else and a fighter to the last. At least she died with honour. May her soul find peace in Sovngarde.”

That they could all agree on and Elisif joined the toast. Njada at least had believed she was doing the right thing, even if she'd disagreed with Elisif. Elisif wasn't entirely sure the same could be said for Ulfric. But these were thoughts for another time.

At length, Elisif made her way down to the sleeping quarters. Erandur had already turned in, pointedly turning his back on Aranea and Athis who were having a whispered conversation in Dunmeri while seated on the beds opposite. Aela had gone to her own room, Vilkas to his and Elisif wasn't entirely sure she'd not glimpsed Ria with him. Argis was behind her, impassive – at least until Farkas caught up and slapped his back like an old friend.

“Hey there. Argis. Sleeping in the quarters?”

“Where else would I sleep?” Argis growled. He'd been quiet all evening, smiling at the interesting bits, but otherwise not contributing much. An introvert clearly... but something about Farkas had got to him, and something about the irritability reminded Elisif of someone.

“Can join me if you like,” Farkas said cheerfully. “Not had any company for a while, and you're very easy on the eye. You want to share my bed, door's wide open.”

“Farkas!” Elisif gasped, not quite able to believe she was hearing this. Not only was Argis her housecarl, wasn't there supposed to be a courtship process first? Flowers or dinner or something? Had a man propositioned her like that, Elisif was fairly certain she'd stab him or breathe fire or something. Well, she would these days anyway. Argis was glaring at Farkas in such a way as to suggest one of those two things might be about to happen to him as well.

“It's all right, I didn't mean nothing by it,” Farkas said quickly. “Just – no harm in asking, right? You don't need to worry, I'd never hassle a man who wasn't interested. Just wanted to make sure you knew I was. You change your mind, come find me. G'night, Elisif, sleep well.”

With that, Farkas was gone, making his way to his own bed, leaving Elisif blushing and Argis really not sure what to make of it.

“I'm so sorry,” Elisif gasped. “I had no idea – well, I knew he liked men, but I didn't know... I'm so sorry.”

“Ah, don't trouble yourself, Brenhina,” Argis said wearily. “Kinda nice to be asked, it doesn't happen often. At least he's not being an arse about it.” Argis realised a second too late what he'd said and actually blushed. “Um. I probably shouldn't swear in front of the High Queen, should I? Sorry.”

“It's all right,” Elisif said, stifling a giggle. The poor man looked so embarrassed. “Listen, I'm going to turn in. I don't think anyone's going to sneak into Jorrvaskr and kill me, so you get some rest. Tomorrow we've got a bit of a journey and I've got to write some letters in the morning too, but tonight you do what you want.”

“I think that's mostly gonna be sleeping,” Argis said, collapsing on a nearby bed. “Thanks though, Brenhina.”

“You really are half-Reachman, aren't you?” Elisif said quietly, watching curiously. He didn't look like a Breton – certainly wasn't built like one. All the same, some of his speech patterns were definitely similar to Madanach's. Brenhina she'd learnt was the Forsworn word for queen.

“That I am,” Argis said sleepily. “Not something it was ever really safe to talk about... but things are changing out there. They got a Reachman Jarl now, you know.”

“They... what?” Elisif sat up on hearing that. “Since when???”

“Since someone let the High Queen of Skyrim get arrested without a trial and got deposed by the Legion,” Argis said, grinning. “Only person of any seniority left in the city was old Nepos the Nose so they put him in charge. Pretty good, huh?”

“Goodness,” Elisif whispered, her head in a whirl. Nepos the Nose... who'd been next on her list after visiting Thonar, suspected of giving out kill orders to Forsworn agents in the city. And he was Jarl. “Isn't he one of...?”

“Us? Yeah, he trained me in the arts of spying and that. It's hysterical, it really is.” Argis seemed highly amused by the whole thing. “Good on him.”

“But do the Legion know?” she whispered. “I mean General Tullius wouldn't... and Rikke never would, surely?”

“Dunno, but they did,” Argis grinned. “Boss went nuts when he heard, apparently. Luckily for us all he saw sense and calmed down and ordered an armistice. Said he was going to do that anyway, but honestly it's a lot easier to persuade the rest of them to calm down when one of our own's in charge.”

Elisif could imagine and it did make it a lot easier to possibly get the Forsworn their land back. She'd have to see what happened. Goodness, the Legion really had been worried, it seemed. She'd not thought General Tullius worried about anything, but she guessed the legitimate ruler disappearing and last being seen fleeing with the King of the Forsworn would worry anyone. She really should have checked in sooner. Never mind. She'd write in the morning, maybe send Ria or someone off to Solitude with a note.

Settling into the bed next to Aranea's, Elisif pulled her armour off and dived under the covers. The Throat of the World tomorrow, and after learning Dragonrend, it was time the High Queen returned to her people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was about half an hour later Farkas heard the knock on his door. He'd stripped down to his loincloth and was about to go to bed when he heard the sound. Grinning to himself, he pulled on a tunic and went to open it.

Sure enough Argis was standing there, armour off and just wearing a simple wool tunic himself, glaring at Farkas.

“Just so you know, this isn't a marriage proposal or anything,” Argis growled. “I don't normally go for men.”

Farkas grinned. He'd heard that line before. There were an awful lot of men out there who didn't normally go for men but couldn't quite resist, or they got curious or horny or bored or... Farkas didn't greatly care. If he got a shag out of it, great. If it led to anything more, even better, but if not, well, he'd live.

“Sure you don't,” Farkas said, opening the door and beckoning him in. “You were just bored, right? Couldn't sleep?”

Argis came in, firmly shutting the door behind him.

“Listen up, Nord, and listen good. I've been assigned as bodyguard, housecarl, whatever, to a very pretty lady, but not only do I not think she's interested, someone else is interested in her and that someone else is someone I don't want to upset. So seeing as you're here and apparently think I'm easy on the eye and you're really not shy about speaking up, could you possibly get your hands on my cock and get me off and we can all get on with our lives?”

“You say that like you're not one of us,” Farkas said, confused. Argis looked pretty Nordic to him.

“Long story,” Argis growled. “Ma had a fling with a Reachman, she died in the Markarth Incident, Da's people got me to a Forsworn camp, I grew up there until I moved back to Markarth in my teens. You done or can we get to it now?”

“Not quite,” said Farkas, by now intrigued. He motioned for Argis to sit down while he rummaged behind the bar for some bottles of ale. “All right, if you're gonna stick around, I don't mind. But you're not getting your hands on me just like that. Here. Drink with me first.”

“Nords,” Argis said, shaking his head as he hauled himself on to a bar stool. “Knew this was a bad idea, but all right. I will drink some ale with you and then can we rut like sabre cats in heat?”

“Yes,” said Farkas, feeling his cock twitch at the mere thought of pinning Argis to the bed and frotting against him. “But first, can I ask you something?”

Argis looked vaguely pained but nodded. “What is it?”

“How'd you get the scars?” Farkas motioned at Argis' blind eye and scarred cheek.

“The... scars?” Argis said, looking confused. “Why'd you want to know?”

“All the best scars have stories. Been thinking about yours all evening, Half-Nord.” Farkas poured himself a drink and leaned forward, grinning at Argis. Now that was true enough, it wasn't often a broody, battle-scarred warrior showed up in Jorrvaskr exuding strength and fierceness like Argis did and Farkas wanted to know more. “I wanted to know what got the better of you.”

“Who said it got the better of me?” Argis smirked and Farkas knew right there he'd won him over.

“So tell me,” Farkas murmured, grinning as he leaned closer, and Argis obliged.

“All right. Among the Reachmen, you get your adulthood by doing two things. You have sex with someone and you kill something. Start a life and end a life, or well, potentially anyway. It's symbolic, see. Saying you're willing to start doing grown-up things.”

“Right,” said Farkas, although he didn't entirely understand it, but he'd killed an awful lot of things and shagged an awful lot of things in his forty years, so who was he to judge. “So you went out to kill something.”

“Yeah. Normally kids just sacrifice an animal the hunters have caught for them, and then it's open season on getting them laid. But the Nords had wiped the camp out before I was ready. I was living in Markarth by then with a friend of Da's looking after me, but I still wanted to do the rites the old way. Wanted to impress him.”

“What, the friend?” Farkas asked. Argis shook his head.

“No, Da. He's, well, tough, even by Forsworn standards. Most kids just do a sacrifice and that's it, but he was a runaway city boy when he was a kid and he was sick of the others in the tribe thinking he was soft and pushing him around. So he went out and hunted an elk down, killed it with just a hunting knife and brought the carcass back, throwing the head at the camp chief's feet and announcing he'd done the rite of death, he'd be in his tent if anyone fancied helping with the other one. I'm not sure he was even sixteen at the time.”

Farkas made a mental note to find out exactly which camp this man lived on, if he was still alive, and avoid any jobs involving it. Not only was killing Argis's father not likely to impress Argis, said father sounded dangerous.

“And did anyone help?” Farkas asked, already guessing the answer to this one.

“About three different women turned up apparently. He wouldn't tell me any more than that, saying it was personal. But it did the job, and he was a man from that day onwards. I wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

“You went out and hunted an elk?” Farkas asked, but deer did not leave scars like that. Argis nodded.

“Tried to. Found one too, only I wasn't the only one tracking it. A sabre cat had the same idea. We both cornered it at the same time, stopped, looked at each other, and then it decided I'd make an easier target. Bastard clawed my face but I had the last laugh. I bashed it with a shield and caved its skull in with my axe. Not sure how I got to Markarth, but I did and I'd killed something. Worked though, no one ever saw me as a boy again.”

“Did you have women lining up as well?” Farkas had to ask. Argis grinned, nodding.

“Oh yeah. Half the city wanted to fuss over me and tell me what a brave young man I was. Ladies love scars.”

“So do I,” Farkas whispered, leaning forward and crushing Argis's lips with his own. Argis gasped, reaching out for Farkas's shoulders and for a moment Farkas wasn't sure if Argis wanted him to continue or was going to push him away. Then he felt Argis's lips open and the other man's arms around his shoulders and Argis was kissing him back. Farkas broke off, staring back at him and feeling rather pleased with himself to see Argis's face flushed and mouth hanging open.

“That was... um... where's your bed?” Argis gasped.

“Behind you,” Farkas growled, emerging from behind the bar and pulling Argis to him for another kiss, feeling Argis hard up against him, and while he might not normally have gone for men, Argis the Bulwark was clearly going for Farkas and that pleased him greatly.

Farkas pushed Argis back on to the bed and crawled on top of him, slowing down the pace as he helped strip Argis off before removing his own clothes, one battle-scarred warrior admiring another. He stretched out on top of him, kissing him rather more gently this time.

“Anyone ever tell you you're really fucking hot?” Farkas growled, nibbling at Argis's ear. Argis held on to him, mumbling incoherently. Farkas grinned and reached down to get his hands on Argis properly. This was going to be a good night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Argis wasn't in his bed when Elisif woke up. He wasn't upstairs either, and a quick chat with Aranea revealed he'd slipped out about half an hour after lights out. Farkas wasn't anywhere to be seen either.

So it was when both men finally made their separate appearances, Elisif finally sealed the letters for General Tullius and Falk Firebeard, passed them to Ria for delivery to Dragonsreach that afternoon to go in the Legion's next dispatch, and grinned up at her new housecarl.

“Took him up on it, did you?” she asked. Argis's impassive expression didn't shift but there was the faintest hint of a smile there.

“Yeah. And before you ask... it was all right.”

Farkas, on the other side of Jorrvaskr, glanced up from breakfast and grinned at Argis, raising a tankard. A faint shade of red crossed Argis's cheeks but he nodded quietly back. Well, at least someone knew a thing or two about how to handle their love life. More than the two Dunmer mages seemed to. Erandur was still glaring every time Aranea went anywhere near Athis. A good thing they were leaving today really.

“So where to,” Argis asked once they were on the open road. Elisif pointed up at High Hrothgar's silhouette, high up on the Throat's western shoulder.

“We're going up to the very top of that mountain. Argis, Aranea, when we get there, you're going to see wonders, and you have to promise not to tell another living soul. It would be very bad if you told anyone about what's up there.”

Aranea stared up at the clouds, tilted her head and smiled. “You know, I think I saw a vision of it once. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone.”

“Sworn to serve, High Queen,” Argis promised, although he was frowning up at High Hrothgar. “So we're going up the Throat. Spiritual heart of Nord-dom. Huh. Never thought I'd be going there. My Da's going to have a fit when he hears this. Not that I'll tell him secret stuff, but meeting Greybeards – he'll never get over this.”

“Your father's not fond of Nords?” Aranea said, pondering this. “But he must have got a bit friendly with one to have you.”

“He's Forsworn to the core,” Argis agreed. “But Ma saved his life and he made an exception for her. She died years ago, but I've still got him. Sort of.”

Elisif guessed a Forsworn father probably wouldn't be able to have a Nord son visit him very often, even if Argis had proved his loyalty to their cause. Maybe she could talk to Madanach, make inquiries, see if she could build bridges somehow. Although if she could get Madanach the Reach, the problem might solve itself.

But before that, she had a Shout to learn and she wasn't going to learn it down here. Sighing, she set off for Ivarstead. She had a long way to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a mistake. Huge mistake. Colossal mistake. She'd sensed it since arriving and being told by Paarthurnax that Alduin would sense the Scroll and come himself. So she'd read it quickly, seen the Tongues of old fight him and she'd shivered deep in her bones as she saw Alduin in his prime, tearing Gormlaith apart like she was a training dummy. Gormlaith was more than three times the warrior Elisif was.

Alduin was going to kill her. Alduin was going to kill her, destroy the world, and Torygg would never be avenged, Skyrim never healed, the Reach never free, Erandur and Aranea never happy together, Cicero and Eola, Delphine and Brynjolf, both couples ended before they really got off the ground. Argis never getting to see if Farkas could make him happy.

Elisif never even thought to regret no happy ending for herself. It was the disappointing her friends that hurt the most. She'd already come to terms with her own future looking bleak.

Then the vision was over but she'd known Dragonrend, hearing the words and needing no dragon soul to teach her the meaning of mortality. She'd seen the evidence of life's fleeting finality for herself when Ulfric had killed her husband.

And then Alduin had turned up and now she was staring certain death in the face as the World-Eater arrived, vicious red eyes glaring down at her as she reached for her swords.

“Dovahkiin,” Alduin growled. “So you have learnt it. It did not save the Tongues. It will not save you.”

Elisif clutched Dragonbane, weapons at the ready. Maybe it hadn't helped poor Gormlaith. Maybe she'd still die regardless. But she would die fighting. When she got to Sovngarde, at least she wanted to be able to say to Torygg that she tried.

“That's not what will save me,” Elisif said through gritted teeth. “JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

Dragonrend hit Dragon-God and the battle was on.

The sky broke, rocks fell, Aranea's magic flashed into the sky, Erandur sent fire flying at Alduin, Paarthurnax whirled above them, and Argis's arrows did not miss often. But Alduin was a tough fight and Elisif could only Shout every minute or so, and Dragonrend didn't always hit him. But it hit often enough. Alduin would have to land and then she'd be able to strike, Argis at her side while the Dunmer sent spells flying in, and Dragonbane bit deep into Alduin's scaly hide.

It felt like hours but at long last, Elisif realised that Alduin was bleeding, wings torn and scales dented, breathing heavily and slouching away from her.

“Dovahkiin,” he growled. “You have grown strong.”

“I will not grow weaker,” Elisif gasped, dragon blood fired up by combat and fuelling her bravado.

“No,” Alduin agreed. “But I can regain my strength. Sovngarde awaits, little dovah. I shall feed on your kinsmen and return the stronger for it. And then... then we shall see who is stronger.”

With the last of his strength, Alduin took to the air before Elisif could strike again, flying off into the distance. Elisif sheathed her weapons, feeling her blood chill as she processed his parting words.

Paarthurnax came in to land on the Word Wall and Elisif turned to him, hoping Alduin hadn't said what she thought he had.

“Tell me it isn't true,” Elisif gasped. “He's not gone to Sovngarde, has he? He's not going to feed on the souls of the dead there.”

“He's going to feed on the sillesejoor there, yes,” Paarthurnax confirmed, tilting his head at the distress on Elisif's face. “Yolaazov, I know this troubles you, but...”

“Of course it troubles me!” Elisif cried. “My husband is in Sovngarde! Alduin can't eat him, he can't!”

Tears in her eyes, and then Erandur was on one side of her and Argis's solid arms on the other, both holding her up, and she looked up to see Argis looking as terrified as she felt. Half-Nord maybe... but even a half-Nord could never be indifferent to Sovngarde.

“My mother's in Sovngarde,” Argis said quietly. “Dragonborn... High Queen... you have to stop him, you have to.”

“I will,” Elisif said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I will stop Alduin, I don't care what it takes.” She looked up to Paarthurnax, hoping beyond hope he'd have answers.

“Then listen well, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax said, leaning closer. “This is how to find your way to Sovngarde... without having to die.”

Notes:

And now let the fun begin... Next time, we see how Season Unending plays out in a world where the last thing the Dragonborn's going to want to do is negotiate with Ulfric.

Chapter 26

Summary:

Elisif can't trap a dragon on her own, and her allies all have prices for their aid. With her husband's soul in the balance, Elisif doesn't have time to waste... but can she really pay the ultimate price to save the world?

Notes:

Things definitely building now, as Elisif starts seeking aid from her allies and we start moving into dragon trap territory. We also find out just who took the contract out on her!

It had been a long journey back to Whiterun. Erandur and Aranea had been sent away once they reached the city, told to go back to Delphine and tell her of the plan, get Aranea inducted into the Blades, make sure at least someone knew what they were planning.

She'd kept Argis with her. Forsworn agent he might be, but she knew his fears for his mother were genuine. He could be relied on with this.

So it was two Akaviri clad warriors strode into Dragonsreach, ignoring the guards completely as Elisif made her way to where Balgruuf had brushed Proventus away, getting to his feet and actually leaving the throne, coming to meet her halfway, heedless of Irileth calling out to him.

“Elisif! You're alive! And...” Balgruuf was gazing at her, amazed but pleased and stunned by how different she looked. “Look at you, you look like a true warrior! Is that – by the gods, is that the Jagged Crown??”

“I am a true warrior!” Elisif said, feeling a little irked that Balgruuf still didn't seem to get his head around this concept. “And yes, it's the Jagged Crown. My sources told me Ulfric had located it and was sending men to retrieve it. So I went there and got it first. I know a crown doesn't make a queen, but it's really good armour!”

“It suits you,” Balgruuf said, approving. “You know, when Torygg died and the Empire first proposed you as the next High Queen, I wasn't at all sure it was a good idea. You were young, inexperienced, not raised to it like Torygg was, never really interested in ruling and at the funeral you looked like you were half-dead yourself.”

“I was,” Elisif whispered, remembering offering sacrifices to the Eight as if in a trance, even starting to go to the empty alcove that had once held Talos's shrine before Falk gently nudged her on to the next. Almost a serious error there, and yet it still rankled a bit she couldn't make a Talos offering. Maybe she didn't really worship him herself, but Torygg had. She didn't really remember a lot else from the funeral, just staring at the coffin and willing Torygg to get out of it, tell her it had all been a horrible mistake. It had taken months to finally start waking up again. It had taken dragons returning and her own blood demanding she join the fight.

“But now look at you!” Balgruuf was continuing. “Killing dragons, fighting Stormcloaks in person, leading troops, having the Dark Brotherhood killed, even getting your crown out from under Ulfric's nose! You look like a true Nord warrior and a true Queen. Elisif, it'll be my honour to serve you... once we've got Ulfric taken care of, of course.”

Always the sticking point, that. Elisif couldn't be Queen with a rival out there. But she could still command her supporter Jarls, right? She hoped so anyway.

“We've got the dragons to deal with first,” Elisif said. “They're far more of a threat than Ulfric – even if he did take power, he'd at least want to rule Skyrim, not destroy it. The dragons just want to watch the world burn. Balgruuf, we need to stop them for good... and I'm going to need your help.”

“Say the word, Elisif,” Balgruuf promised. “Just tell me what you need.”

Elisif took a deep breath, glancing at Argis for reassurance and turned back to Balgruuf hopefully.

“We need to borrow the dragon trap in your palace. Alduin's gone to Sovngarde to feed on the souls of the dead, I need to find out where the portal he used is and follow him. For that... I need to trap a dragon in your palace and interrogate it.”

Balgruuf laughed, scratching his head. “Sorry, Elisif, my hearing must be going. For a second there, I thought you just asked me if you could trap a dragon in my palace.”

“That's right!” said Elisif, grin fixed in place, guessing what the reaction to this was going to be but hoping he might agree anyway. “It's the only way to stop Alduin!”

“Out of the question!” Balgruuf roared. “You want me to put my palace, my people at risk, because of some story Alduin's come back...”

“He has come back!” Elisif cried. “I've seen him, I've fought him! Please, you have to help, it'll be a lot more than Whiterun at stake otherwise!”

“I have to do no such thing!” Balgruuf snapped, folding his arms and staring down at her. “I am Jarl of this city, Elisif! And you may be High Queen in waiting, but you have not yet been mooted, nor can you be while Ulfric is still out there! What do you think he'd do if he found out about this? Do you think he'd sit idle while a dragon was burning down my city and slaughtering my people? No! I'm sorry, Elisif, but this plan is insane.”

It definitely was, Elisif had no doubts about that, but it was also the only plan she had. However, Balgruuf was also right that she couldn't order him to do it, not without the Moot. Not while Ulfric was still out there.

“But if Ulfric was gone, if the war had stopped,” Elisif said softly. “Would you do it then?”

Balgruuf stopped, saw she was serious and sighed. “By the gods, Elisif... you're not going to give up on this, are you?”

Elisif shook her head. Balgruuf looked away, shaking his head and then shrugged.

“All right. Fine, if Alduin really is back and you think it's the only way... Take care of Ulfric for me. Either overthrow him or use whatever means you can, but bring the war to an end or at least a temporary peace, and then once that's done, I'll be honoured to help you with your mad dragon trapping scheme.”

It was all Elisif needed to hear.

“Thank you!” she gasped, giving the surprised Jarl of Whiterun a hug and then stepping back, feeling a little self-conscious. “I'll sort Ulfric out, don't you worry. He's had it coming for a long time. I think I'm ready to face him now.”

That changed Balgruuf's mind in a hurry. “Wait, you're what? Elisif, you can't challenge him one on one, it'll be suicide!”

“Not one on one,” Elisif said, considering her options. Not many, but she did have contacts. “Let me talk to General Tullius. About time I went back to Solitude anyway. Don't worry, Balgruuf. Just let me handle it.”

“Do you know what you're doing?” Argis asked once they were out on the steps of Dragonsreach.

“Not as such,” Elisif admitted. “But once I go to General Tullius and tell him how important this is, he'll have to help, right? I mean, this isn't just a country any more, this is the whole world and all our Nord war dead! We need to take the war to Ulfric and quickly.”

“No objections here,” Argis grinned. “But you really think General Tullius will authorise all out invasion of Windhelm for you? He's never seemed like the reckless type.”

No, he never had, and it worried Elisif. But maybe Rikke might help talk him round.

“What choice do I have?” Elisif said softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They'd stayed at Jorrvaskr that night, Argis getting to see Farkas again and say goodbye, and Elisif's tale of her fight against Alduin entertained them all. She purposely did not mention he'd gone to Sovngarde to feed on the souls of the dead. If they didn't know that piece of lore, Elisif wasn't going to panic anyone by enlightening them.

She also explained the dragon trapping scheme, admitting it was a bit of a long shot and she needed to sort Ulfric out before Balgruuf said yes, but Jorrvaskr had been unanimous in agreeing they'd love to help – after all, how often did someone trap a dragon in your city?

All well and good, but Elisif had to trap the beast first. Which brought her to Solitude, Argis in tow.

The city looked much as she'd left it, but something about the atmosphere had changed. The guards on the gate started to give her the usual spiel about seeing Rikke if she was here to join the Legion, then one recognised her, stared and promptly saluted, while the other gasped and whispered “My Jarl!” in absolute awe.

“Thank you,” Elisif said calmly as the gates swung open. “No, don't announce me, word will get round soon enough.”

“You seriously are Jarl, aren't you?” Argis whispered as Elisif walked in, head held high.

“I seriously am,” Elisif said quietly, the Jagged Crown making it near impossible to move with anything other than her neck straight and head raised.

People turned to look at the two heavily-armoured warriors who'd just walked in. As in Whiterun, there was whispering, but unlike in Whiterun, no one was stopping her, although a few surely recognised their Jarl.

But the guards stood to attention, saluting her as she passed, and the Legion guards at Castle Dour did likewise, and as she walked into General Tullius's strategy room, everyone fell silent, staring in shock, eyes all turning to Tullius to see how he'd react.

“Elisif. You're...”

“Alive,” Rikke breathed, looking delighted to see her again. “Jarl Elisif, I thought we'd seen the last of you.” Rikke strode forward, making her way round the table and clapped hands on Elisif's shoulders. “Are you all right? We heard you'd ended up in Cidhna Mine and disappeared when the Forsworn broke out!”

“Legate,” Tullius said sharply. “I'll handle this. Elisif.”

“Of course,” Rikke said, stepping smoothly back and letting Tullius approach. He had his arms folded, glaring at her.

“Do you mind telling me where in the blazes you've been?”

Once, Elisif would have been scared and fearful like a little girl being told off by her father. Not any more. She had faced assassins and Forsworn and Kings in Rags and Companions and Stormcloaks and Falmer and Dwemer automatons and last but not least Alduin himself. She had survived all that and she was not going to be talked down to by Legion soldiers in her own city.

“Serving my country, General,” Elisif said coldly. “I had to leave Solitude due to a threat to my own safety, and I've since been travelling Skyrim dealing with that threat and many others.”

“Is that – Jarl Elisif, is that all you have to say?” Tullius snapped. “You disappear the night of Elenwen's party, there was an attempt on your life, then you're leading troops at Whiterun-”

“I'm the rightful High Queen, I'm allowed to do that!”

“It's true, sir, Nords respect a leader who's got proven military experience and she did actually fight,” Rikke put in. “It's likely swayed most of Whiterun to back her, and I've got evidence her presence was instrumental in persuading the Companions to aid in the defence of the city. We gained considerably from her being there.”

“Hmm,” Tullius grunted. “And Markarth? We followed rumours of a sighting there and heard you'd been abducted by the Forsworn after the Silver-Bloods threw you in jail! Elisif, I had to unseat a Jarl for you and put a Reachman who is most likely a Forsworn agent himself in charge.”

“I know, I heard,” Elisif said, pointedly not looking at Argis, who was probably grinning. “And it is true, I did get arrested and I did escape with the Forsworn. But they didn't take me prisoner, Madanach let me go!”

“You expect me to believe that murdering traitor just let you go,” Tullius said suspiciously. “What did he want in return, I might ask?”

Never you mind, General. “I told him I was learning the Thu'um so I could use it to kill Ulfric,” Elisif replied. “He liked that idea and said he wasn't going to stand in my way, so he brought his jailbreak plans forward and let me go. I've not seen him since.”

“I hope not, he is not a friend to Skyrim or the Empire,” Tullius growled. “But if he's not holding you captive, I suppose I can let the Forsworn be. The Stormcloaks are a more pressing threat right now.”

“Not as pressing as the dragons,” Elisif said, steering the conversation to where she actually wanted it to go. “General, they're going to wipe out all of Skyrim if we don't do something.”

“I wasn't sent here to fight dragons, Elisif,” Tullius said guardedly. “Although they are getting to be a problem. What exactly did you have in mind? I don't have many troops to spare, but it's possible I could spare men to help deal with the worst-hit areas – if we control them obviously.”

“Thank you, but I don't need dragon hunters,” Elisif said, steeling herself. “I need you to take the war to Windhelm. Jarl Balgruuf's promised to lend me support with the dragons but he can't do that with the war on! We need to deal with Ulfric quickly, please, if we take Windhelm, take him down, the rebellion will fall apart, especially if I'm there to lead the troops, General please!”

“No!” Tullius snapped, staring at her as if she'd gone mad. “Are you out of your mind? I don't have the manpower for a full-frontal assault on Windhelm, any ships I send have to pass through Stormcloak waters, any troops have to pass Fort Dunstad, and there's Forts Amol and Kastav and the entire Rift waiting to take us from behind. Even if Ulfric dies, that doesn't mean his cause will, and I'm not having valuable Legion troops trapped in Windhelm while the rest of the Stormcloak army starts moving to take it back – I'm especially not having the High Queen among them! No, Elisif, what you're asking is impossible.”

“But General, it's what the Empire sent you here to do!” Elisif cried. “Now you're telling me Ulfric's unstoppable?”

“I did not say that!” Tullius snapped. For a moment, General and Dragonborn faced off across the room from each other, military reality versus the idealism of youth. Alas for Elisif, idealism had never won this battle yet.

“Look,” Tullius sighed. “I was sent here to win this war and that's what I intend to do. But you need to let me do this my way, Elisif. I can't just order the Legion to sweep across Eastmarch and strike Ulfric down. If it was that easy, don't you think I'd have done it by now? The cost in lives and coin would be astronomical and we run the risk of wiping ourselves out and leaving ourselves wide open for Ulfric. I know you want revenge, but we need to take our time and do this properly to have any hope of-”

“We don't have time!” Elisif cried. “Alduin the World-Eater's in Sovngarde feeding on the souls of the dead and every battle, every skirmish, sends more people to him! We need to strike now!”

“Elisif-” Tullius began, but it was Rikke who'd stepped forward, staring at Elisif in horror.

“Alduin the World-Eater? Say it isn't true. Sir, we can't-”

“Legate!” Tullius snapped. “I can't authorise a costly and suicidal assault on Windhelm on the basis of an old Nord legend.”

“But my husband's in Sovngarde!” Elisif cried, doing her best not to let the tears show, trying not to think of Torygg lying bleeding in Alduin's maw. “General, Legate, please...”

“General, there must be something,” Rikke said desperately. “Nords fight and die with courage and honour knowing that Sovngarde awaits, you can't expect me to send men to their deaths knowing all that awaits is Alduin.”

“Legate!” Tullius snapped. “I expect you to follow orders, and the Legion is home to more than just Nords. We'll fight this war, but I'm not throwing lives away. Elisif, if you can find a way to stop Ulfric that does not involve tearing the Legion apart, either by persuading him to agree to a ceasefire long enough for you to do what you have to, or if you think you can raise your own forces and lay siege to Windhelm yourself, then fine. But do not expect my army to be at your disposal. I swore my oath of allegiance to the Emperor, not the High Queen of Skyrim. And you aren't High Queen yet.”

No, nor would she be at this rate. She'd be dead, Skyrim would be in flames, everyone going to Sovngarde to find only death waiting there too. And the bloody Legion were no use at all.

“Fine, if you won't help, I'll do it myself!” Elisif snapped, turning and leaving without waiting for a dismissal, Argis falling into step behind her.

It was only when she got out of Castle Dour that she let the tears start to fall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He said no. He said no. He said no.

Tullius had said no. The Legion had said no. The army she'd been relying on, however subconsciously, to win the war for her and solve all her problems had said no. The power relations laid bare for all to see – the Empire held the power here, they had the troops, they had the army, and she couldn't command any of them. She was a queen – no, not even that yet – with no army and no real power. She could Shout a man across a room and breathe fire, she'd fought a dragon god and lived, but she couldn't get the Legion to help.

It was so unfair. She was so close, but the goal seemed as far away as ever. What was she supposed to do, go to Windhelm on her own, challenge Ulfric, either beat him and get killed by his guards, or die at his hands, and go to Sovngarde that way?

It would be an awful lot quicker, no fussing about with a portal or dragon trap.

No, certainly not, Skyrim needs you to be queen!

As if, the Empire would find someone else to be Jarl of Solitude, put down the Stormcloaks and then the Moot would choose someone. She hoped it was Balgruuf.

What about the Blades, Delphine might be able to help?

Possibly she might, but this was a tough one, and Elisif wasn't sure sending Cicero in to stab Ulfric in secret was the way to go, in fact now she thought about it, the more she wanted to do the deed herself.

Or organise a peace conference, Tullius said he might consider it.

Absolutely not, the last thing Elisif wanted to do was sit across a table from that murderer Ulfric. She'd rather die.

Madanach wants you to get his kingdom back, you can't do that if you're dead.

Yes, well, Madanach wouldn't have anywhere left to rule if the dragons destroyed the world, would he? There was a Reachman on the Mournful Throne loyal to Madanach, it was the closest the Forsworn had got in years. She'd kill Ulfric for him, avenge his daughter, he'd have to be content with that.

Dying is permanent, you could never come back, are you quite sure about this??

Elisif thought about it, staring out at Solitude, eyes falling on the Blue Palace where she'd been so happy once, safe and loved in Torygg's arms. It was all she'd ever really wanted, someone to love her, a husband, children. Wealth had been nice, but she didn't need it, and she'd never really wanted power.

If she went to Sovngarde, she'd see Torygg again and once she'd killed Alduin she need never leave him.

That decided her.

“High Queen. Elisif. Are you all right?”

That was Argis, catching up with her, one hand resting awkwardly on her back, flinching as she turned round and nearly took his eye out with the Jagged Crown's teeth.

“Sorry,” Elisif said apologetically, stepping back and trying to adjust the crown a little. “I – I'm not sure. I don't think so. Not really.”

“Understandable,” Argis nodded. “But you kinda had to expect that, right? And you've got a back up plan, right? Right?”

Sacrificing myself to save the world. But she couldn't tell that to Argis, not yet.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “Let's get inside. Want to see the Blue Palace?”

“You don't have a plan, do you?” Argis said, and the alarm in his voice was breaking her heart. “Si – Aedra help us.”

“I've got a plan!” Elisif snapped. “It's just I don't want to talk about it out here – look, let's get inside. I want a night in my own palace if nothing else.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You can't do this to me! I'm a damn Thane!”

Elisif stopped, hearing Erikur's furious voice echo around the Blue Palace. What? They were arresting Erikur? Whatever for? She made her way closer to see what the fuss was.

Sure enough, Erikur was being manhandled down the steps by a number of Haafingar guards, Melaran protesting without much luck, Bryling sitting back in her chair and looking pleased, and Falk Firebeard supervising the whole thing with a face like thunder.

“Not any more!” Falk roared. “Thanes do not betray their Jarl, Erikur!”

“You're not Jarl!” Erikur shouted back.

“I'll do what Elisif would have wanted to the best of my ability, Erikur,” Falk said bitterly. “Maybe I'm not authorised to sign death warrants, but I can certainly make sure you stay in a cell until Jarl Elisif arrives or there's a new Jarl. And that won't be you, Erikur, you can be sure of that!”

“No. It won't,” Elisif said, stepping into the light. She was sure Falk wouldn't have an innocent man arrested, but Erikur was still one of her Thanes at the end of the day. She couldn't see him arrested without knowing what he'd done. “Falk, what's happening?”

Everyone stopped dead, all staring at her as if she'd come back from the dead, eyes flicking to the Crown, and that did please her. She was Jarl after all, about time they acted like it.

“Elisif,” and there was Falk hurrying down the stairs, racing over to her and then Elisif found herself swept into a bear hug. “You're alive. Thank the Eight. After you disappeared, we all feared the worst... thank the gods you're all right.”

“I'm fine,” Elisif whispered. “I – well, my people – got rid of the Dark Brotherhood, I'm safe from them now. You don't need to worry.”

Falk hugged her again silently. It was some moments before he let her go.

“You're my Jarl. Of course I worry.”

Guilt stabbed at Elisif's heart. Falk had been nothing other than loyal, decent, hardworking, kind, the perfect steward in fact. And here she was preparing to leave him with Solitude for good, after weeks away, after just disappearing.

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, before nodding at a nervous Erikur. “Why are you arresting him? He's a Thane, I find it hard to believe he was out there murdering people.”

“No, he had his friends in the Dark Brotherhood to do that for him,” Falk said viciously. “Here, read this, the last page with writing on it has the information you want.”

He handed her a book with a black leather cover and a red hand embossed on the front and Elisif could feel her blood starting to chill as she realised what it was. The Dark Brotherhood's ledger, a record of their contracts.

“Where did you get this,” Elisif whispered.

“A red-haired Nord man in black armour and a purple-eyed Dunmer woman in some weird grey getup delivered it to me about two nights ago,” Falk said. “They said I'd find it of interest. Was taken from their Sanctuary after it was destroyed. Elisif, do you know anything about that, because everyone is saying it was you...”

“Not in person, but I know who was responsible,” Elisif said, guessing who the man was. “I had some good friends of mine take care of it, sounds like they brought evidence to you.” Steeling herself, she flipped the ledger open and scanned down it, recognising the names of some of the assassins sent out on jobs. Gabriella, Veezara, Arnbjorn, and Astrid's signature at the bottom of each page.

“It's genuine,” she said quietly. “I recognise the names of the assassins. What, don't look so shocked, I have my sources.” She quickly turned to the back page, knowing in her heart what she'd find there... and sure enough, there it was. One contract on the Jarl of Solitude, price ten thousand septims, payable from Erikur Thane of Solitude, five thousand already paid, the rest on completion of the job.

“You utter BASTARD!” Elisif shouted, flinging the ledger at him. “This court has given you everything – power, respect, a title – and how do you repay us?? With this? Why, Erikur? I know you're not the most honourable, but I thought you were at least a bit better than this!”

“We needed a Jarl, Elisif!” Erikur snapped. “Not some idiot girl who when she actually bothers doing any ruling and isn't either moping after her dead husband or off playing dragon hunter is sitting there giving orders without any real clue what she's actually ordering! Solitude needs someone competent, someone who understands how the world really works, someone with a head for business.”

“Solitude has her,” Elisif said softly. “And I was not playing, Erikur. They say I got given my sword to rid the world of corruption – well, that's not strictly true, I actually got it to rid the world of undead. But parasites and traitors, I can deal with those as well.”

Something in her vaguely recalled needing to sign off the death warrant before an execution happened, but that part of her brain was currently being overridden by howling, shrieking dragon blood. Erikur barely had time to protest before Elisif had impaled him on Dawnbreaker, then yanked the sword out, watching as her former Thane breathed his last.

“Get him to the Hall of the Dead,” Elisif said, wiping the blade clean and resheathing it, trying to work up some shred of guilt over having just killed a man – not an innocent one, certainly not, but she'd just killed someone she knew. Not an enemy soldier, not a beast or Falmer, but a man she'd seen in court every day, dead at her hands. And her dragon blood was rejoicing.

Maybe it was best she sacrifice herself. Die a hero rather than live to see herself turn into a monster.

“Elisif, are you all right?” And that was Falk, fussing again as if she needed it.

“Fine,” Elisif said, her voice devoid of emotion. “I'm fine. He's not the first person I've killed. He won't be the last.”

“I know,” said Falk, rubbing her back. “But all the same, it's not easy. Er, my Jarl, you need to sign the death warrant, we'll all say you did it before he died.”

Elisif nodded, signed the warrant, and turned to head for her room. Argis made to follow her... until Falk barred his way.

“Hey. Are you with her? Because unauthorised individuals are not allowed in the Jarl's quarters.”

“Falk, leave it, he's my housecarl. Jordis's replacement,” Elisif said quietly, exhaustion starting to set in. “He can come into my quarters, although if you could sort out a room for him to actually sleep in, I'd appreciate it. We're staying here tonight. Heading out tomorrow though.”

“But you only just got back!” Falk protested. “You can't be fleeing the Dark Brotherhood now!”

“I know, but it's important!” Elisif sighed, frustrated. “I have to stop the dragons or... or we're all doomed. You've been taking care of things well enough without me all this time.”

“I'm not a Jarl, Elisif,” Falk said. “Every day I get people coming here wanting to know when you're coming back, or if the latest rumour's true. Elisif, they said the Forsworn took you prisoner!”

“Well, clearly they haven't or I wouldn't be here now,” Elisif said wearily. “Falk, listen, I know it's difficult running this Hold on your own, but please believe me, I need to do this.”

“I do,” Falk said, giving in and letting her go. “I just wish you weren't constantly in the firing line, that's all.”

“So do I,” Elisif said, finally managing a smile. “But I'm glad it is me having to do it. I wouldn't wish this on anyone else.”

Would anyone else be willing to sacrifice their own life to save the world? Elisif really didn't think anyone else would.

“I'm High Queen after all, Falk. Might as well be me. That's what kings and queens do, isn't it? Sacrifice themselves for their country?”

“The good ones do,” Falk said, sounding proud of her, so proud and it was breaking her heart, it really was. She could never tell him her plans, that she knew. But she could at least make sure Solitude was taken care of.

“If anything happens to me, you're the next Jarl,” Elisif said, hands on his shoulders, staring him in the eye. “I'll set it in writing before I go, witnesses and everything, make sure the General knows. Erikur's dead, you can marry Bryling at last, I don't mind at all.”

Falk stared back at her, speechless, then he bowed his head.

“I – I don't know what to say. It's not an honour I ever wanted or deserved, you know that... but if you think it's for the best, I accept.” He looked up then, shrewd look in his eyes. “You are coming back, aren't you?”

“I will do my best,” Elisif promised, hoping he didn't see through her smile. “But I'm going into danger and if I die without heirs... Falk, I can't leave the Jarldom in the air. I can't leave Solitude without a leader. You don't have to contest the Crown, I'm happy for Balgruuf to be High King if you don't want the job. He's loyal to the Empire and he's a good man, I don't think the General will object.”

“The capital moving to Whiterun,” Falk said, nodding and seeming to approve. “Unexpected but not without its advantages. It's a centre of trade, in the cultural heart of the country, and Balgruuf would be a good King... but that's only if you die without heirs. You're not going to die any time soon, I hope.” He was staring firmly at her, as if daring her to disagree.

“Of course not,” Elisif laughed brightly, a little too brightly. “But let's get those documents signed anyway, right?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Much later, a will signed, sealed and witnessed that in the event of her death, the Jarldom was to be Falk's, Elisif finally closeted herself in her bedroom, collapsing on her bed, still in her Blades armour with the Jagged Crown cradled in her arms. Not the most comfortable of outfits but she couldn't face getting changed at the moment. Couldn't face being vulnerable. Now she was alone, the reality of it hit her. She was out of options. She'd have to face Ulfric down and fight him, and she wasn't entirely sure she'd win. Even if she killed him, his men probably wouldn't let her go free. She'd likely be killed herself in revenge.

Torygg. I get to see Torygg again.

It'll hurt.

So did losing him.

I don't want to die!

I don't care if I live or not.

“Elisif?”

Argis, and what was he doing here? He had his own room.

“What?” she said, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.

“Came to see if you were all right,” Argis said, sounding a little awkward. He was standing at the end of the bed, also fully armoured still. Looked like there were two of them on edge.

“I'm fine. But thank you,” Elisif said, forcing herself to smile. “Did you need anything, Argis?”

“Mind if I sit?” Argis asked. Elisif motioned at a chair and he wasted no time in sitting down, something clearly on his mind.

“What's up?” Elisif asked, wondering what he was thinking. Argis had always given the usual housecarl impression of the passive protector but when he'd talked about his previous life, something else had shown through – a man smarter than he let on, far more complicated than he let on, and more of a Reachman than a Nord in a lot of respects (although he had all the Nord willingness to charge into foes screaming and waving a weapon about, as Elisif had seen for herself on the road). He definitely had a mind of his own and opinions, even if he didn't talk about them much.

“What are you planning?” Argis said, his voice brusque and tone sharper than one would expect from a housecarl. “I mean, Tullius said no but you're not going to give up, are you?”

“Of course I'm not giving up!” Elisif sighed. “Alduin's in Sovngarde feeding on Nord dead, I promised I would go to Sovngarde after him and fight him, and I will! I've just had to rethink how, that's all.”

“And?” Argis said quietly, looking rather shrewd, reminding her a little of Madanach if he did but know it. “Got any thoughts on that, High Queen? You said it'd be dangerous... and you didn't look any too sure when Falk wanted to know if you were actually coming back.”

I'm not. Except Elisif didn't want to admit it out loud, because that would make it horribly, terrifyingly real.

“Do you think Sovngarde's nice?” Elisif said softly. “Peaceful, I mean. Pretty. Because a hall full of warriors all drinking mead doesn't sound it.”

“You're asking me?” Argis snorted. Then he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it's probably nice. Ma said it was. Said there'd be endless fields and woods to hunt in whenever you liked. Not sure if she knew any more than either of us, but I could live with hunting.”

“I could live with woods to go walking in,” Elisif said quietly. Romantic walks and picnics with Torygg for the rest of her afterlife – she could definitely cope with that. Took her mind off the dying part.

“Except you wouldn't be alive, that's kinda the point...” Argis had looked up, staring right at her, eyes accusing. “Elisif. Lady Queen. Tell me that isn't the plan.”

Damn him for realising, and weren't housecarls supposed to serve without question?

“I don't want to talk about it,” Elisif said, lying back on the bed and determinedly looking the other way.

“You're going to challenge Ulfric or do something else dangerous, and get yourself killed in battle so you can go there and fight Alduin in the afterlife – your afterlife! Old gods' sake, that's it, isn't it? You're actually planning to die!” Argis seemed outraged and betrayed by the very idea.

“And why is that a problem?” Elisif hissed, wishing he'd keep his voice down. “Look, I don't have any kin or children – Ulfric saw to that. I don't have any real power, the Legion see to that. Falk could be as good a Jarl as me, probably better. I'm Dragonborn, yes, but if I do this, the world won't need a Dragonborn, not once Alduin's dead. I don't have time to wait for Tullius to defeat Ulfric, not with Torygg in danger! Come on, Argis, you know what's at stake, your mother's there! I have to do this. Please, Argis, please don't make this harder than it needs to be.”

Argis was shaking his head, despairing... but not shocked. Almost as if he'd suspected it might come to this.

“You really think this is a good idea. You're really ready to die.”

Elisif honestly wasn't sure. On the one hand, defeat Alduin and spend eternity in Torygg's arms. On the other... she was twenty three years old.

“I don't know,” Elisif whispered, trying to think of Torygg and realising to her horror some of the details of his face were hazy. “But I get to be with Torygg again afterwards. So that's good, right?”

She smiled her brightest smile at Argis, marred only slightly by the tears she realised were rolling down her cheeks. Argis was staring back in horrified pity. Oh gods, her housecarl felt sorry for her?

“Don't,” she said, hastily trying to dry her eyes. “Don't feel sorry for me!”

“Don't tell me what not to feel,” Argis said quietly, voice not devoid of sympathy. “As a matter of fact, I think you're brave. Really brave. But I'm also worried about you. But it's also not my place to argue. So, if you're set on this, I won't. Just tell me this. What happens to the Reach?”

“The Reach? What about it – wait a second, I'm going to die and you're worried about Madanach's agenda?” Elisif sat up, self-pity fading as anger took over. “Argis, if Alduin wins, there won't be a Reach left for him to rule over!”

“You promised him his land back, Elisif,” Argis said quietly. “He's very optimistic you'll deliver. Can't do that if you're dead.”

“He's got one of his men on the Mournful Throne, you're not telling me the King in Rags can't work with that,” Elisif snapped. “Argis, I'm sorry, I know the Reach is important to you, but this is the whole world at stake! And your mother's soul's in the firing line, don't forget that.”

“I haven't!” Argis cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “I – oh I don't know. I'm not a politician or a leader, I leave all that to – well, to others. But Madanach's not going to be happy.”

“He's been a miserable bastard for years by all accounts, why change that now?” Elisif couldn't help but say, and that did make Argis laugh.

“True enough, but he's been positively cheerful for the last few weeks since he got out. I think that might be down to you.” Argis was still giving her an oddly calculating look and he definitely reminded her of said miserable bastard now.

“He'll live, I'm sure,” Elisif said, not quite able to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, I'm sure he will,” Argis admitted. “But if you're going to break the big promise, at least keep the little one, right? You promised him if you were going to do anything stupid, you'd come see him first to say goodbye.”

Yes she had - why Madanach had told Argis that, she couldn't even begin to imagine, although she was beginning to realise Argis was far deeper in Madanach's confidence than any mere agent should be.

“You think I should visit him first, talk to him.”

Argis nodded. “Yeah. Tell him in person why he's not getting his throne back. I know where he is, I can take you there.”

Take her to Madanach. Truth be told, she was in two minds. On the one hand, he'd likely be terribly unhappy with her. On the other, it'd be nice to say goodbye. But on the third...

“Argis, the Reach is the other end of Skyrim from Windhelm, it's miles out of my way. Do we have time?”

Argis did lean forward at that, smiling at her.

“Lady Queen, what if I said I could help with that?”

“Help how? You don't have a horse, and last I checked, you can't fly and can't do magic.” Elisif looked at him curiously, seeing a knowing grin that really didn't suit him on his face, and then he produced a small silver necklace with what looked like a small soul gem attached to it.

“What is that?” Elisif said nervously. It looked enchanted, in fact it looked like witchcraft of some sort.

“A little present from the King. For use in emergencies. One-time only charm that lets the wearer and anyone they're touching disappear and reappear somewhere else. In this case, it's blood-linked, only works for me and will take me straight to where my bloodkin are. They'll be where Madanach is. Did you want to give it a go tomorrow? Takes you straight to the King in seconds and then once you've spoken to him, we can get moving for Windhelm.”

“That's... possible?” Elisif said, staring at it. “I... Aedra help me, Argis, what sort of magic created that thing, and can the Forsworn really do that at will??”

“Not exactly but one of the Matriarchs has been researching it. It's a bit experimental but she assures me it'll work.” Argis put it away, looking altogether too proud of what was almost certainly the product of dangerous dark magic. On the other hand, she had promised Madanach and it would save her time.

“I really don't like this, but I suppose we don't have much choice,” Elisif sighed. “All right, but we leave Solitude first, get out of sight where no one can see us. And it had better work!”

“It will,” Argis promised. “Matriarch Keirine wouldn't hand over anything she wasn't sure worked properly.”

That did not reassure Elisif in the slightest. Submitting herself to dangerous Forsworn magics just to go reassure Madanach – or not reassure him, as the case may be.

Nothing about this appealed in the slightest, but at least it prolonged the end.

Notes:

Of course it was Erikur. Sleazy, ambitious, actually intended to be Elisif's replacement in a quest that got cut from the game, and easy prey when Elenwen starts dripping poison into his ear...

And next chapter, things start coming together as Elisif finds out just what her various allies have been plotting without her.

Chapter 27

Summary:

Elisif leaves Solitude, feeling like she's going to her own funeral... only to find out her allies have been busy and the corner she thought she was backed into has a hidden exit. However, there's more than one cloud on the horizon and it's not just Ulfric she needs to worry about.

Notes:

Hello! I am back. I put this story on hiatus for a bit to focus on another one, but kept writing anyway. So we've got several chapters at once that will take us up to the Start of the Finale. As they are fairly light-hearted and mostly involve various characters sorting their love lives out (or not), I'm posting them all in one go so as not to drag things out and have people get bored waiting for the action.

The next day saw Elisif leaving early – although not so early the townsfolk didn't see her leave. She'd already said an emotional goodbye to Falk, and it appeared someone in her court had gossiped, because as one, the citizens of Solitude stopped what they were doing and stood up to watch as she passed.

“Elisif!”

“Jarl Elisif!”

“High Queen!”

“Dragonborn!”

“You tell 'em, High Queen! You put those dragons down once and for all!”

Small crowd of people – bards, guards, beggars, market traders, a few Legion types – all staring at her, all smiling, all proud. All there to see their Dragonborn Jarl off.

“Thank you!” Elisif cried, raising her voice to be heard as they all stood around expectantly, waiting for something.

“I think they want a speech,” Argis murmured.

“A speech??” Elisif hissed back. “I didn't write anything!”

“Well, just make something up then, Da does it all the time!”

“Your father makes a lot of speeches, does he?” Elisif muttered, fairly certain the Forsworn weren't big on public speaking.

“When he has to,” Argis shrugged. “Go on, say something.”

Elisif shook herself down and stepped forward to speak. What could she say, really? But these were her last words to the people of Solitude – her people, no matter what happened in the war – and she had to at least say goodbye.

“My fellow citizens, people of Solitude!” Elisif cried, suddenly very aware of how quiet everyone was. “I know I've not been here much these past few weeks. I wish it could have been otherwise but events forced my hand.” A bit of an untruth that, secretly she'd rather enjoyed the responsibility off her shoulders for a bit. There were cheers anyway, and a few cries of 'down with the Dark Brotherhood!' Elisif smiled and carried on.

“Events have forced my hand again, my friends. The dragon attacks have been getting worse, and while I've had victories and faced dangers you can barely imagine, I need to put an end to it once and for all. People of Solitude, I need to ask your patience once again while I go off to make the world safe for my people, and indeed all people, whether they call me Queen or not. Stormcloaks, Imperials – what does it matter, the dragons don't care whose colours you fly! So I need to go, to make this world safer. And... and I might not come back.” Elisif felt her stride faltering as the untruth bit at her, the guilt taunting her – but she couldn't tell them. She couldn't take their hope away. “So if the worst happens and I fall defending you all, I have left instructions Falk Firebeard is to be the next Jarl. He's a good man and a fair one and I have every confidence he will lead this Hold as well as I have. Whether he seeks the Moot's nomination as High King is his choice and I have told him he's at liberty to say no.”

Silence and a few worried faces. She couldn't blame them. This city had seen so much blood and death lately. Losing another Jarl so soon would be a major blow, especially their beloved Dragonborn Queen, and Elisif began to wonder if she could really do this – give her life for Skyrim, go to Sovngarde, save the world but sacrifice herself. Could she really let them down like this?

Letting Alduin win would be the true betrayal. So she steeled herself and decided to try for a happy ending.

“Don't mourn me long if the worst happens,” she cried, trying to smile. “I'll be in Sovngarde with my husband, don't worry about me. You take care of yourselves... and each other... and Solitude!”

“For Solitude!” one of the guards shouted back and then the entire city was shouting it back. For Solitude and Queen Elisif.

Elisif smiled and waved and finally got out of the city, Argis carefully positioning himself between Elisif and the cheering crowd, and she was rather glad of it. Argis's protection felt a lot different to when Falk or Bolgeir shielded her. With Bolgeir, it always felt like he was guarding a precious jewel or valuable ornament. With Argis it felt more like having a Shield-Brother at her back, someone warding potential threats away but also knowing she wasn't going to break.

She hoped he was right.

So they left Solitude behind them, making their way towards Dragon Bridge – and then Elisif turned right, not left, and led them up to Meridia's Statue. Nothing from the Daedra this time, just the statue in the early morning sunlight. An appropriate place to try out some frankly frightening dark magic.

“I'm really not sure about this,” Elisif said as Argis fished about for the teleportation amulet.

“We don't have to do this,” Argis said, glancing up as he fished the thing out, pulling his gauntlet off and holding it up in his bare hand. “We can always walk.”

Elisif really didn't fancy it, even if it did postpone the prospect of admitting to Madanach that he wasn't getting his throne back. But best to get these things over with.

“Let's do it,” Elisif sighed, holding her hand out. Argis linked his arm with hers and held up the amulet, before crushing it in his hand, the gemstone shattering as blood dripped from his palm and a black mist rose out, a cloud slowly rising and starting to form a shapeless void before them.

“Agar y agarma, tabion tolas bar!” Argis called out, the void shifting into a portal that was blurry but seemed to show some sort of Forsworn camp but before Elisif could focus on it, Argis had picked Elisif up and leapt forward.

Cold air, darkness, shades seeming to grasp at her, and Elisif clung onto Argis, screaming. Not right, not natural, absolutely nothing good about this but she couldn't do anything to stop it, just keep clinging on to Argis and hope they didn't die.

Light and warmth and she was finally back on Nirn, clinging on to Argis, staring around and blinking at where she'd ended up.

Argis was marching her forward, over a sigil painted on the ground and past a boundary marked with soul gems in cages and more bloody goat's heads, and then he was finally steadying her and Elisif could look about her.

It was the biggest Forsworn camp she'd ever seen in her life, tents, goat's heads, actual goats bleating at her, Spriggan heads, hanging nets with Spriggan taproots in them, bowls containing things best not looked at, lots and lots of Forsworn warriors all looking up and frowning at her, and then one figure in particular glided forward, silver hair falling about her shoulders and feathers rustling in the breeze, and Elisif promptly screamed.

The silver-eyed Hagraven before her actually pouted, and Elisif shrank back, tightening her grip on Argis's arm.

“Where are we?” Elisif whispered. The Hag at Karthspire had looked frightening enough, and that had been dead by the time Elisif got to it. This one was alive and positively radiated power, seeming far more intelligent and human than Elisif had believed Hagravens to be.

“You're in Witchmist Redoubt, child,” the Hag purred, smiling at her, revealing rows of jagged pointy teeth. “Argis bion, did you not tell her where you were bringing her?”

“Matriarch,” Argis said, lowering his eyes. “This is Elisif Brenhina. Here to see Madanach. I... didn't tell her exactly where he was, only that I'd take her to his camp. She wanted to talk to him. Is he around?”

“Of course he is,” the Hag said, rolling her eyes and reminding Elisif very strongly of Madanach, but surely not... “And I told you, you don't have to call me Matriarch. Keirine will do, bion. But you now...” She turned to Elisif, gazing at her in pleased wonder, reaching out, claws trailing through the air almost but not quite touching her face and Elisif couldn't quit stop herself flinching away.

“Yes, I can see why he likes you,” Keirine murmured. “Strong, beautiful, young... you are young, aren't you? How old are you, child?”

“Twenty three,” said Elisif, marshalling her courage and facing this creature head on. “And stop calling me child.”

Keirine lowered her claws, cackling in delight. “Yes, of course, you certainly aren't one any more, are you? Slayer of dragons, the Widow Queen wanting revenge, no, a child you certainly are not. And if you can stand up to me, you'll have no problem dealing with my brother. Even if you are young enough to be his daughter, in fact I think Eola's actually older than you.”

“Your brother...” Elisif started to say, but it was obvious once you looked at her, they had the same hair, eyes, cheekbones, even if Keirine's features were sharper and clearly not human any more. Madanach had a Hagraven sister. Well of course he did, Elisif didn't even feel surprised at this point. “You're Madanach's sister.”

Keirine smiled and nodded. “Yes. His twin in fact. I daresay he never mentioned me, of course he never did.” She rolled her eyes and gestured for Elisif to follow her. “Madanach is really quite bad at handling his family life. As you're no doubt going to find out for yourself, Brenhina. Come on, if you came all this way to see him, I'll take you to him.” Keirine swept off without another word, the watching Forsworn warriors who'd been regarding Elisif with suspicion all melting away as their Matriarch swept past.

“I just spoke to a Hagraven,” Elisif said faintly. “In the middle of a Forsworn camp – Argis, I'm on a Forsworn camp. And – and no one's trying to kill me.”

“No,” Argis said, letting out a relieved sigh. “No, no one is. As long as you don't do anything stupid, you'll be just fine. Word has been getting out about you, Lady Queen. Elisif ap Davrha, they're calling you, born of the Dragon. They seem to think you're going to save the Reach. I don't know if they entirely trust you yet, but you're not going to be harmed.”

Up until they find out I'm not in fact going to do any such thing, oh gods they'll kill me.

“Argis,” Elisif whispered, clutching his arm. “Argis, if this goes wrong... please get me out of here. I don't want to die at their hands. I don't want to be soul trapped or reanimated!”

“They won't do that,” Argis said quietly. “Come on.”

Easy for him to say. There were soul gems in cages everywhere, all glowing, all sending off energy beams into the sky, all converging on a central point – a soul gem mounted on top of a central command tent. Not just any soul gem either. Sweet Aedra, was that Azura's Star? But how in the world had the Forsworn got hold of that, that had been Vilkas's...

“ARGIS!”

Farkas got up from where he was sitting by the camp's central fire, rushing over and launching himself at Argis, pulling the other man into an embrace, and sitting by the fire were Vilkas, Ria, Aela, Brynjolf, a dark haired Nord that Elisif didn't recognise, Aranea and Erandur, all drinking and chatting and raising drinks to her when they saw her.

“What is this?” Elisif whispered, slowly coming to the realisation that something was not right about this particular Forsworn camp. “How – what are you all doing here?”

“Lass!” Brynjolf laughed, getting to his feet and waving a bottle at her, looking none too steady on his feet. “You made it! About time, this whole camp's getting antsy. Now you're here, the party can get started in earnest.”

“Party?” Elisif said, staring daggers at Brynjolf. “I'm not here for a bloody party, I've got dragons to kill!”

“Taken care of!” Ria laughed, arms around Aela and Vilkas. “We had three of them all roosting near here, attacking every other night. Not any more though, they're staying dead this time!”

“No thanks to you, Dragonborn, where were you?” Vilkas said, a tad reproachfully. “Shouldn't killing them be your job?”

“Oh Vilkas, come on, she wasn't to know this place was here,” Aela said. “We had the situation well in hand. Karliah and I, and Cicero while he was here, were shooting them down with no trouble.”

“Don't forget the magic,” Aranea pointed out. “You have me, Erandur, Kaie, Eola before she took off with Cicero, several Matriarchs, and several hundred Forsworn. Oh, and Himself of course. Never seen a human quite that good with fireballs before.”

“He's a Daedra-worshipping heathen, they all are,” said Erandur, shuddering a little, and Elisif was glad to see at least someone else was a bit unnerved by it all. “But he's talented, I will give him that, and he was at least respectful of Lady Mara when I broached the subject.”

Keirine had already moved off towards the central tent, presumably to find her brother, and Argis was still cuddling Farkas, looking rather pleased to see the man for someone who allegedly had just wanted to get laid. So Elisif took a seat next to Brynjolf, hoping for answers.

“Not that I'm not pleased to see you all, but why are you all here?” Elisif said, confused. “This isn't Karthspire.” No, she'd have recognised the mountains – and the mountains surrounding this camp didn't look like the Druadachs. Far icier and one range looking almost like the Anthors in the Pale but surely not. The actual camp seemed located on a plain with a river snaking through it, not somewhere Elisif recognised, and there seemed to be a lot of pine trees around. Maybe this was in the north of the Reach near the Haafingar border, Madanach had said his camp would be there. Except why would Delphine send all the Blades up there?

Silence, all eyes falling on Brynjolf, who cleared his throat, and Elisif hadn't really ever seen him nervous before. She narrowed her eyes, fairly certain she wasn't going to like this.

“Do you know, that is a lovely crown you have there, lass,” Brynjolf said, stroking the dragon teeth, although he hastily stopped that when he saw Elisif actually start to growl at him. “Probably worth a fortune, eh? Don't worry, I wouldn't steal it – it'd be a nightmare to fence and dismantled it's just dragon teeth and steel. The teeth might be worth a bit, but not as much as the thing all together...”

“Stop changing the subject,” Elisif growled. “Brynjolf, what are you all doing on a Forsworn camp in the middle of nowhere? Especially you four!”

“Aela wanted to borrow Azura's Star,” Vilkas shrugged, indicating it. “When she told us what for, we were intrigued enough to volunteer our services.”

“What is it for?” Elisif asked, wondering why the camp needed a protective soul gem shield around it.

“Some sort of massive scale illusion magic,” Aela replied. “From the outside, you can't even tell the camp is here. It's impressive. Too impressive. Frankly, I'm glad we're on their side this time.”

“This isn't an ordinary Forsworn camp, is it?” Elisif said, looking around for Argis. He was sitting next to Erandur having his hand seen to but he did glance up on hearing Elisif.

“Not exactly, Brenhina,” Argis said, looking a bit sheepish. “Um, look, I'm just the housecarl, you want to talk to the King. He's in the tent.”

“Right,” said Elisif, steeling herself. “I'm going to go talk to him. I'll be back soon.” Something was niggling at her mind, something missing, something wrong. Time to get a few answers off Madanach. Someone wasn't telling her everything.

The command tent was one of the bigger ones around, a huge mammoth skull mounted over the entrance and inside several chests, a couple of cupboards, an actual bookshelf, more decorative skulls and Spriggan heads, a drum in the corner and in the middle, a big table with maps all over it, and Madanach himself standing over it, having an animated discussion with Delphine in her Blades gear, Keirine and a Dunmer woman in grey leather and with unusual purple eyes.

“It's definitely true, Madanach, none of them have so much as stirred for days. It's clearly as Erandur and Aranea told us, Elisif defeated Alduin and he's gone to Sovngarde,” Delphine was explaining. “And if he's in Sovngarde, he can't raise dead dragons here.”

“That's something,” Madanach said grudgingly, not looking up from the map. “Gives us a bit of respite at least – I was expecting to lose people to the Nords. Hadn't counted on three dragons roosting round here. I tell you, Delphine, I've never really fought away from home before. Can't tell what the land's feeling, not really.”

“No, and it turns out Reach-magic doesn't work as well outside the Reach,” Keirine added. “Delphine, we need to move and move soon, we don't have the resources to stay here forever. Close on a thousand Forsworn here and food's running low, soul gems are running low – you may not think it important but with no soul gems, we don't have the illusion shield and if we don't have the illusion shield, the Nords will realise we're here and we lose the element of surprise.”

Outside the Reach? What? But if they weren't in the Reach... where were they?

“Delphine, what's going on?” Elisif asked. “Where is this place? I just got here by some weird teleport thing...”

All four of them looked up and Elisif saw Madanach's eyes widen as he looked her over, Crown and all... and Delphine began to grin.

“And there she is. About time you showed up, Dragonborn. We were worried we'd have to start without you.”

“Start what?” Elisif asked, making her way over to look at the plans. They weren't in the Reach, so where were they, where else was there a plain surrounded by mountains? It wasn't the tundra of Whiterun, Elisif knew what that looked like, but she'd thought the mountains looked a little like the Anthors... and then she realised Skyrim's only other plain was the volcanic Aalto. She'd never seen it before but the more she thought about it, the more she realised how much sense it made... except when it didn't. “Wait, are we in Eastmarch??”

“We're in Eastmarch,” Madanach confirmed, recovering himself and breaking out into a smile. “And you are a sight for sore eyes, come here, Brenhina.” He made his way round the table to face her, clad in Forsworn gear, Cidhna Mine's grime gone, skin and hair scrubbed clean, stubble shaved off, the King of the Forsworn looking very much the part as he placed his hands on her shoulders, looking her up and down and seeming very pleased to see her.

He would likely not be pleased for much longer.

“Madanach,” Elisif said, feeling a little nervous around him. The smiling face and the charming letters hid a very dangerous man, she knew that, and their alliance wasn't so firmly cemented he'd automatically forgive her anything. “Hello. I came to find you.”

“Of course you did,” he smirked at her. “Did you miss me?”

Ah yes. Making her want to slap him, she'd wondered how long it'd be before that happened. She restrained herself to just narrowing her eyes.

“No, but I made you some promises and I needed to keep one,” Elisif said, glaring. “You don't really deserve it, but Argis seemed to think you should know.”

“Argis!” Madanach's face lit up even more. “He's here? Of course he is, Aela said he'd found you. How is he? Doing well? Being a good bodyguard?”

“Yes, apart from the unnatural teleportation talisman you gave him,” Elisif said. “Do I want to know how they work and can you really all travel anywhere?”

Chuckle from Madanach as he glanced at Keirine.

“We wish, cariad,” he laughed. “No, it requires a lot of planning to set one of those up.”

“It's not the opening the portal at the point of departure that's the problem,” Keirine added. “It's controlling the landing and making sure you don't appear in a cliff-face or impaled on a tree or something. Special landing points have to be set up and kept constantly clear, like the one you arrived on. So it's a quick way of getting home, but not terribly practical for going anywhere else. Also requires a charm or a lot of skill to be able to do. That said, this whole venture is letting us test an awful lot of experimental magic. Even if it fails, we'll have learnt all sorts. We might even be able to set up a fixed teleportation network for anyone to use one day.”

“We might!” Madanach said gleefully. “Whereabouts in Solitude's good to build one? Means I can come and visit you more often. I've heard it's a lovely city – certainly looks it from a distance.”

“Absolutely not!” Elisif cried, scandalised. “You aren't setting up a teleportal in my city! Gods know what might decide to travel down it.”

Identical pouts on both Madanach and Keirine's faces, a slow shake of the head from the Dunmer and Elisif had the feeling Delphine was trying not to laugh.

“But how will you come and visit me in Markarth when I'm King?” Madanach said, looking most put out. “I was hoping to see lots of you! That's hardly going to happen when you're nearly two days journey away. I can't make the trip as often as I'd like these days, you know.”

“You're not going to be!” Elisif cried. “I – I mean, I can't... Madanach, I'm sorry, I can't help you get your land back.”

Silence. Madanach's smile had faded and he was just staring at her, quiet for now but giving the definite impression he might go for his axe at any moment.

“I see. Keirine. Karliah. Delphine. Leave us. Speak to no one of this.”

Keirine shook her head wearily but stalked out, feathers rustling faintly. Karliah, the Dunmer presumably, hesitated then followed. Only Delphine stayed, not moving an inch. Madanach glared at her as she shrugged, moving closer to Elisif.

“I don't answer to you, Madanach,” Delphine said calmly. Madanach narrowed his eyes before turning back to Elisif.

“Do you mind telling me why.”

“I have to save the world,” Elisif said, clenching her fists as she plucked her courage up. Madanach was less powerful than Alduin, surely. “I'm sorry, Madanach, but the dragons have to be dealt with first or you won't have a Reach to rule over. I know Delphine's probably told you I need to trap a dragon so I can find out how Alduin gets to Sovngarde, but the only place I can do that is the Jarl of Whiterun's palace, and he said no!”

“I thought he might,” Delphine said. “What was his price? He must know dealing with the dragons is important – did you want me to talk to him? I know Balgruuf, he'll listen to me.”

“It won't make a difference, not with the war still on,” Elisif said miserably. “Delphine, he won't help until Ulfric's dealt with! So I went to General Tullius to get his help, and he said no too! Says it'd be too costly in lives and coin to take Windhelm direct and I need to wait! Need to wait?? My husband's in Sovngarde, I can't just abandon him.”

Faint shadow flickering across Madanach's face as she said the word husband, but it was soon gone. Neither he or Delphine had reacted, just waiting for her to finish.

“So you came to me,” Madanach said. “Are you after my help?”

“What – oh! No, no, I'm not asking you to abandon your entire rebellion for me,” Elisif said, caught a little off-balance. “No, I... if I can't follow Alduin to Sovngarde by portal then I've only got one way left to get there. I was going to go to Windhelm and challenge Ulfric, and probably die trying because even if I won they'd never let me leave the city alive, and get to Sovngarde that way... only that means I can't help you because I won't be coming back, but Argis thought I should at least say goodbye...”

She'd had to look away as she said all this, seeing his entire demeanour growing stonier and colder as she spoke, and as her voice trailed off it occurred to her that if Madanach killed her right now, it would at least save her the bother of fighting Ulfric.

When he did speak, it was in a low growl that could have chilled lava, and even Elisif's inner dragon whimpered a little to hear it. Just one word, but not one you argued with.

“No.”

“What?” Elisif whispered, finally daring to look up into silver eyes filled with rage.

“I said no!” Madanach growled. “You do not get to leave me like that, Elisif! You aren't getting yourself killed!” He'd stepped forward, raising his hands and then his palms were cupping her face, eyes boring in to hers, and she wasn't entirely sure what was going on, only that he was furious, absolutely furious, but not attacking her either and Delphine wasn't doing a thing, just staring at them both.

“I don't have a choice!” Elisif cried. “I don't have an army!”

Grunt from Madanach that could mean anything and then he was lifting the Jagged Crown off her head, placing it gently on the table before patting her shoulder.

“Turn around. Walk to the tent entrance. Tell me what you see.”

Elisif shot a glance at Delphine, who just nodded towards the entrance, faintest hint of a smile on her face. As if she knew something Elisif didn't.

“Don't worry, Dragonborn. I've got your back.”

With seemingly little choice in the matter, Elisif did as asked, walking to the tent entrance and staring out at the camp, tents stretching into the distance, soul gems perched on top of them and around the perimeter, magical shield hiding and protecting it, Forsworn warriors wandering around, the sound of singing and laughing, her Blades sitting around the fire, Argis calling excitedly to Karliah asking if she recognised him and Karliah stopping dead and crying out “Little Argis??? Shadows preserve me, look at you, you're all grown up! And who's this? Argis, don't tell me you've got a...”

“Karliah, this is Farkas, Farkas, this is Karliah, she's the one got me out of Markarth when the Stormcloak Shouted the gates in. Fancy an ale?”

“I would love one,” Karliah laughed, Farkas happily moving to one side and sandwiching her in between them as he passed her a mead bottle, Honningbrew from the look of it, although where the Forsworn had found a large consignment of Honningbrew's best from was anyone's guess.

“Well?” Madanach murmured into her ear, standing right behind her. “What do you see?”

“My Blades,” Elisif whispered, feeling tears in her eyes. Her companions and friends, comrades, protectors, allies, and she was abandoning them all.

“What else?” Madanach murmured, hands curling around her upper arms and did he really need to stand so close to her?

“Tents. Soul gems. At least three Hagravens, and why on earth I didn't kill you in Cidhna Mine, I don't know, because frankly I'm not sure you're a lot better than the dragons. Lots of Forsworn warriors. Skulls, Spriggan heads, goats' heads, an entire deer's head, neck and shoulders on a pair of mammoth tusks – Madanach, what is it with you people, can't you decorate your camps with nice things for a change?”

Soft chuckle from Madanach.

“I'm sorry, cariad, shall we go for flowers and pink ribbons instead, really put the fear of Sithis into people?”

“I can breathe fire, you know!” Elisif informed him, glaring over her shoulder at him, wondering why the insufferable man was smiling.

“You'll have to demonstrate later,” Madanach grinned. His voice softened as he looked back out at the camp. “Take a step back. Look at the whole thing. What do we have out there?”

Good question. What did they have, taken in its entirety? A Forsworn camp. A big one. Away from home, waiting for something, some sign to move, camped in hiding out in Eastmarch. Eastmarch... Ulfric's own Hold. Why had Madanach moved out to Eastmarch? This must be half the entire Forsworn out here. Half the entire Forsworn...

“An army,” Elisif whispered, pieces slowly slotting together. “You're laying siege to Windhelm. Except Ulfric doesn't know it yet.”

“Oh you are smart!” Madanach breathed, approving. “Yes, High Queen, we are laying siege to Windhelm. Except due to our smaller numbers and limited resources, we're going about it a little differently.”

“How long have you been planning all this?” Elisif whispered, trying to think how much time it would take to plan an operation this size. Even with the troops already there and just needing moving, it wasn't an overnight job. “Wait, have you been planning this since the jailbreak?”

“In a way.” Delphine was approaching, standing a few feet away, definitely grinning now. “And don't blame him, an awful lot of this was my idea. Not organising the Forsworn, no, but the idea of taking Windhelm, all the setting up needed to get it from an idea to a working operation in a matter of weeks, a lot of that was me.”

“What?” Elisif gasped, wondering how – why? - the Blades had got together and planned all this without her. “When were you going to tell me?”

“We thought you needed to concentrate on the dragons,” Delphine said, shrugging. “We needed to get everything ready first, but there was no need for you to be involved with that. We just need you for the actual uprising so it doesn't look quite as much like a horde of barbarians descending on an unsuspecting city and terrorising it into submission.”

“You're going to need more than an illusion shield to make it look like anything else,” Elisif whispered, recalling tales of Forsworn barbarism Torygg had told her and dreading the idea of what Madanach's people might do to the city.

More laughter from Madanach. “I really do like her, Delphine,” he said, grinning. “Elisif, cariad, don't worry. I've already made it very clear to the troops we are not here to pillage the place. We're taking it over, disposing of Ulfric and then we're claiming it for our own. For that, I will want it mostly intact so that when the Empire show up and want to know what in the Void's happening, I can trade it in for the Reach and they'll be impressed with what a good boy I've been.”

“You're insane,” Elisif gasped, turning to Delphine in the hope of some sanity coming from her. “Delphine, he's gone mad, that can't possibly work!”

“He's a little crazy but sometimes that's what you need,” said Delphine crisply. “He's also very bright and perceptive and it was him who told me he was worried about you. He seemed to think you missed Torygg so much, you secretly wanted to go to Sovngarde and join him and might decide to throw your life away in some misguided act of heroism.”

Raised eyebrow and a knowing look from Delphine, and Elisif felt herself blushing as she realised she'd been planning to do that very thing – not because she necessarily wanted to, but because she'd felt trapped in a corner.

Except the walls she'd been backed into had turned out to have a secret door in them. Slowly she finally met Madanach's eyes and saw him smiling gently at her.

“Well, machara, what do you say?” Madanach said softly, thumb gently running over her cheekbone. “Take the city with us, avenge your husband, bring the war to a grinding halt then go back to Balgruuf with Ulfric's severed head in hand and tell him you've sorted the Stormcloak problem out, and go to Sovngarde without dying, hmm?”

Elisif really wasn't sure what was wrong with her, because she was going to cry, she could feel the tears welling up, and honestly, it was all just so unexpected. Argis must have known when he brought her here, had to have been sent to keep an eye on her and bring her along when all was ready, and even though she could have hit him for keeping this secret, she was still touched. Maybe Madanach was mostly doing this for his own reasons, and gods knew what Delphine's motives were, but it meant she didn't have to die. She had a chance at surviving all this. Part of her felt like she was betraying Torygg for not wanting to join him yet, and it wasn't that at all, she missed him so much and always would... but for the first time in a long time, she realised she didn't want to die.

“Elisif?” Madanach was saying, sounding a bit guilty. “Elisif, cariad, don't cry, please.” He was wiping a tear away from her cheek, looking a bit horrified and Elisif guessed he didn't deal with crying women very often.

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered. “I just... you'd really go to all this trouble for me?”

“Oh believe me, my people and I are always ready to terrorise some Nords, don't worry about that,” Madanach laughed. “But if it stops you killing yourself, then that's a good thing indeed. Come on, you're one of the few Nords I've actually got time for, you can't die. I'd miss you.”

Elisif didn't think she'd ever see the King of the Forsworn pouting at her, or indeed anyone. But it did bring a smile to her face.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much!” She hugged him, hearing him gasp then put his arms around her, whispering she was quite welcome.

“Did you two want some time alone?” Delphine was looking very amused at the pair of them, and for some reason, Elisif found herself blushing. She let Madanach go, putting some space between the two of them.

“So this uprising then,” Elisif said firmly, deciding the time had definitely come to start doing the queenly thing and finding out what exactly her allies had been up to without her. “What have you planned and where do I fit in?”

“Come this way,” Madanach replied, indicating the table. “You're a vitally important part of the plan.”

Elisif didn't doubt it, although by this point she was getting a little sick of people making plans without her. Still, if it helped her keep her promises and save Skyrim, she'd go along with it. Just as long as she knew what was involved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much later, when the sun had gone down and plans had been made and the camp were retiring to bed, Brynjolf found Delphine brooding quietly in their shared tent.

“Fancy a drink, lass?” Brynjolf asked, waving a bottle of Black-Briar mead at her. Tricky to get with the Rift occupied by Stormcloaks and the Forsworn being unwilling to sneak out there, but Brynjolf had his methods.

“No. But thank you,” Delphine said. Out of her armour now, lying in the furs in her underwear, brooding as she stared at the tent roof. Brynjolf couldn't say he was fond of the outdoor life, and Delphine hadn't had to camp out anywhere for years, but the camp wasn't quite as uncomfortable as Brynjolf had expected.

He settled down next to her on the furs.

“Still thinking about it, lass? Your little dragon problem?”

“What else?” Delphine sighed.

Ah yes. This. Ever since Erandur had arrived with word that Elisif had learned a Shout that made Alduin vulnerable but now needed to get after him to Sovngarde by means of a dragon trap, Delphine had started looking into assisting. Balgruuf was obviously never going to agree with Stormcloaks camped on his eastern border, but the Windhelm operation with the Forsworn should help with that. There was just the little matter of luring a dragon in the first place, and that job she'd given to Esbern to research. He'd found something for her too – but it had been the unexpected discovery he'd made alongside it that had been the problem. The discovery there was a dragon on top of the Throat of the World and that Elisif couldn't not have known about it.

“You're still going to make her kill him?” Brynjolf said, resting his head on one hand. “You honestly think she'll agree to it?”

Silence. Then a shrug.

“I doubt it. From what Aranea was willing to admit to, the Greybeard who told Elisif about Dragonrend and the Elder Scroll, in other words this Paarthurnax, is considered by Elisif to be a dear friend. She's not going to like the idea.”

“That's a problem,” Brynjolf said softly. “So assuming she's not going to murder one of her friends for you, is letting this one go an option? He's been up there for centuries not doing any harm.”

“That's not the point!” Delphine sighed. “He was Alduin's right hand once, he slaughtered humans in the thousands. Even if he betrayed Alduin and isn't just biding his time, how can we trust him? He's a dragon, they're all bloodthirsty monsters by their very nature. It's only a matter of time before his real self surfaces... and he's immortal.”

“So what are you going to do?” Brynjolf asked, genuinely a bit concerned to know where this was going. He wasn't intending to interfere, but a conflict in the Blades benefited no one.

“I don't know,” Delphine sighed. “I really don't. My oath as a Blade requires me to protect Tamriel, the Dragon blood and humanity from threats, and to rid Tamriel of dragons. I can't do that if there's one still hiding on the Throat of the World, and normally I'd insist Elisif do her job or forfeit Blades assistance.”

“But?” Brynjolf asked, sensing complications.

“But she's not just a Dragonborn, she's High Queen, a Jarl!” Delphine said, gesturing at the tent entrance and the Forsworn camp beyond. “More than that, she's got a lot of allies. Principally the one whose camp we're in, and whose army we're working with.”

“Now that's a problem,” Brynjolf said knowingly. “Lass, I hope you're not going to have a big falling-out with the lovely Elisif while we're surrounded by Forsworn. Because Madanach's a very dangerous man and it appears he's got quite the soft spot for our lass Elisif. I imagine Elisif would be very upset if you gave her an ultimatum over Paarthurnax, and if Elisif was upset... well, I imagine a certain warlord with access to all sorts of dark magical arts and an army full of fanatics would not be pleased about that.”

“Don't remind me,” Delphine groaned, closing her eyes. “Talos help me, Bryn, you should have seen them earlier. He's besotted with her. It'd be funny if he weren't a highly-strung madman. As it is, he's in love, she's oblivious, but she seems to enjoy his company. He was making her tea earlier. Apparently she's not had a decent cup since leaving Wayrest, she always felt it was a bit unpatriotic for a Jarl to be seen drinking a Breton beverage but she's missed it.”

Bretons and their tea, and apparently the Reachmen felt the same. No daytime social occasion was complete without a cup of boiling water with plant leaves dipped in it, usually mountain flowers, sometimes the juice from juniper or snowberries, and in High Rock, adding moon sugar was very common. Not so much among the Reachmen though – apparently Skooma addiction had been rife thanks to former Cidhna Mine inmates, and the Matriarchs had taken a hardline on having anything moon sugar based available to the general Forsworn population these days. Keirine kept Witchmist's moon sugar supply under tight control and even Brynjolf didn't fancy robbing it. He had limits and stealing from a Hag that could warp time and space was one of them.

“So you're not going to do anything just yet then,” he said, steering the conversation back to Elisif. Delphine shook her head.

“Not yet. Not until this is all over and things are a bit less delicate. Let's sort the war and Alduin out and see where we all go from there.”

A good plan in Brynjolf's mind. He slipped under the furs and reached for her, drawing her into his arms, knowing that the one thing that could settle Delphine's paranoid, brilliant mind down was a good orgasm. He'd got every intention of providing one.

Notes:

Notes on the Rhanic:

Agar y agarma - blood of my blood

Tabion tolas bar - your son's coming home

Bion - boy, or son

Machara(i) - my friend(s)

Chapter 28

Summary:

Now Elisif's finally aware of the Windhelm operation, the preparations can get under way. But Eastmarch has suffered without a Dragonborn and the guilt is getting to Elisif. It's not however getting to her as much as a certain warlord, and when Elisif realises what everyone else has known for some time, things are set to get interesting.

Notes:

Promised you several chapters at once, here's the next!

With the Dragonborn finally there, preparations began hotting up. The actual uprising was being plotted out in meticulous detail, armour and weapons were being improved and enchanted, rigorous training was taking place all day, every day, potions were being stocked up on, and the teleportal was going off every hour bringing in more supplies and troops from the Reach. While teleporting into Windhelm wasn't going to happen due mostly to not being able to set up a safe landing point inside the city, it was coming into its own with regards to handling Madanach's supply lines.

Elisif meanwhile had been marched round to the dragon corpses near the camp to ensure they definitely didn't return. First the one up on Bonestrewn Crest, and the bonus of a Word Wall that gave her the ability to breathe frost.

Elisif stood over the dragon corpse, hoping this worked, because Madanach, Argis, Farkas, Aela, Borkul the Beast, Kaie and about ten Forsworn were all watching this and Elisif had a feeling the Forsworn contingent would find it hilarious if nothing happened – then they'd probably kill her.

Fortunately, it all worked as it always did. The dragon started to burn, light started to blaze up from it and then the familiar rushing sensation as the world faded away and she wasn't Elisif, wasn't a woman, she was Dovah and she was fire and frost and all things in between, and then she'd read the word on the Word Wall and she could breathe frost.

She turned round to see silence, even Madanach with the smile wiped off his face for once, and that pleased Elisif rather a lot.

“Want a demonstration?” she rasped, voice sounding harsher and more dangerous as it always did right after a soul-taking.

“I think we just had one,” Madanach said faintly. “Mother of Sithis, you really are part-dragon, aren't you?”

Awe on the faces of Madanach's guards, even Borkul looking nervous, and Kaie with her mouth open. Argis had reached out for Farkas, who was patting him on the back, and never mind their just -having-a-bit-of-fun relationship status, Argis was definitely clinging a bit more than he needed to.

“So they tell me,” Elisif said, feeling a little awkward at all the attention as the dragon blood calmed down a bit. “It just happens. Anyway, that one won't be coming back.”

“I hope not,” said Madanach, still looking a bit nervous but definitely impressed, no doubt about that. “Let's just say I'm glad you're on our side.”

He'd offered his arm and she'd taken it, allowing him to escort her back to the camp and to the next dragon, this one lying dead on the camp's south-east border. By this point word had got around about her having reduced one to bones just by staring at it, with the scales and bones as proof, and half the camp followed her to watch.

Again the soul-taking and this time it powered the Thu'um Karliah had given her, retrieved from some ruin in Winterhold Karliah had had to infiltrate for some reason, and Elisif realised she could Shout a weapon from someone's hand before they attacked. A dangerous skill but a useful one.

This time she turned round to see several proud Blades all watching and a massed troop of Forsworn all staring with expressions ranging from horror to awe to outright adoration. Madanach just grinned and turned to face them.

“You see, macharai? Now do you see why we're here, now do you see why I let outsiders into this camp? No one else can do what she just did, no one! And I am assured she has brought down living dragons and served them the same. Her fight with the Dragon-King, a fight she won, is why these dragons haven't come back, and her fight with the Stormcloak is why we've come all the way out here! She's going to win that fight too, and we are going to help her do it, and then, tegmai, we are claiming our land back and if they will not give us the Reach, we will take theirs in keteen! What do you say, Rhanteg??”

“FOR THE FORSWORN!” someone shouted at the back. “ALL HAIL THE DRAGONBORN!”

“ALL HAIL MADANACH! ALL HAIL THE AP DAVRHA!”

“Oh my goodness,” Elisif whispered as the camp took up the refrain. “They're going to be horribly disappointed if this doesn't work.”

“If this doesn't work, an awful lot of us, you and me included, are probably going to die,” Madanach murmured in her ear. “You focus on Ulfric and the dragons, let me worry about the Forsworn. Deal?”

“Deal,” Elisif whispered, trailing after him as he started ushering everyone back into camp before the Stormcloaks turned up to see what all the fuss was about.

Then there'd been the last of them, the one that had risen from the dragon mound near Kynesgrove and whose corpse was still lying in the ruins of the village, and that had been the hardest to bear. Homes, tents, the village inn, all shattered and burnt, all the little things that had made up a community scattered around. No bodies but there were charred circles around with silhouettes in them where someone had fallen to dragon fire.

Elisif put a hand to her mouth, tears in her eyes as she stared at the remains of what had been an innocent town once. She'd heard a dragon had destroyed Kynesgrove but seeing the reality was a horrible shock.

“Were there any survivors?” she whispered, surveying the scene.

“A few,” Vilkas said quietly, patting her on the shoulder. A good portion of the Blades had turned up for this one, as if they knew this one would be hard. Aela was here too, and Ria and Erandur, and Argis and Farkas of course. “The innkeeper Iddra and one of the miners, a man called Roggi. They escaped to Windhelm. Iddra helps out at the Candlehearth now, and Roggi spends most days in there drinking to forget.”

And it all happened because of her, because she wasn't there to protect them. She was their Dragonborn and Queen and she should have been there fighting to keep them safe. But she'd not been able to do a thing because this was Ulfric's territory and it hadn't been safe for her. Another crime at Ulfric's door, but at least half the blame was hers for not being brave enough to come out here anyway.

Elisif stayed long enough to take the dragon's soul and activate the second word of Slow Time before turning and running back to camp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Delphine who came to find her. Elisif was sitting alone under a pine tree, or as alone as one ever got on a Forsworn camp. There were guards in the treetops, and that little hut deep in the woods that the Hags seemed to be using as their own little gathering place. Once Elisif would have felt uneasy and revolted at the very sight of it, but it seemed she was getting used to it. The Reachfolk were as they were, and whatever they were, it was still better than the site of what was left of Kynesgrove.

“There you are,” Delphine said softly. “They told me you'd just got back from Kynesgrove. Are you all right? Not an easy sight to see, I know. If it's any consolation, it was worse before the Forsworn got here. Madanach had his people deal with the bodies. Very little revolts a Forsworn, it turns out.”

That didn't surprise Elisif at all.

“They're my people, Delphine,” Elisif said softly. “The Nords, I mean. They're my people, those villagers were my people and they didn't deserve to die, not like that! But they did, because I wasn't there to save them.”

“You can't be everywhere, Elisif,” Delphine said gently, putting an arm round her. “You're just one person. Even if you are the Dragon-Queen.”

“I don't think they see it that way,” Elisif said quietly. “But thank you.” Didn't assuage the guilt much, but the concern was nice. Delphine didn't show her real feelings often but that didn't mean they weren't there.

“Oh hey, talking of guilt and regrets. Got something I wanted to show you. Bryn found it in the Thalmor Embassy and was all for auctioning it off to the highest bidder, but I talked him out of it. I thought you might find it of interest, here.”

Delphine passed an official-looking dossier over to Elisif, who recognised the Thalmor crest on the front. She recognised the name too.

“Ulfric's got a Thalmor file!” Elisif gasped, stunned. Well, she supposed the Thalmor had files on most of the great and good of Skyrim, probably including her but to actually have one in her hands and on her husband's murderer... Elisif wasn't sure if she wanted to read it or not. A political fire rune, was what this was. She didn't know if it would damn him or humanise him but she had to know. So she opened it and read.

Asset, if an uncooperative one. Captured... made to believe he'd betrayed the Empire, allowed to escape... Markarth Incident being ideal for the Thalmor's purposes... Thalmor interests best served by the war proceeding in an indecisive fashion for as long as possible...

Elisif slammed the dossier shut, stunned.

“Mother of Talos,” Elisif whispered. “What... is this real? Ulfric Stormcloak, secret Thalmor agent?”

“Not an agent,” Delphine said. “But an asset. Even if he's not presently co-operating, he's playing right into their hands. I imagine most of this was written before you turned up – Talos knows what their file on you says. Utter liability, most like.”

Quite probably, and it slowly began to dawn on Elisif just who exactly might have been dripping poison into Erikur's ear, encouraging him to think Solitude needed a new Jarl, a more cynical and worldly Jarl, one who wasn't an unpredictable Dragonborn that half of Skyrim was willing to follow. Sounded exactly like something Elenwen might try, and to think Elisif had felt guilty over robbing that Embassy (or helping anyway).

“The Thalmor are bastards,” Elisif said fervently, starting to feel actually sorry for Ulfric. Maybe he'd killed her husband, but it sounded like he had his own issues. She couldn't let him win, of course. But it was just possible she might be able to eventually forgive him. Sort of. She'd give him a chance to redeem himself anyway. Madanach might not be too pleased at the lost opportunity for blood, but Elisif suspected Ulfric would never back down, not now. All the same – she'd give him the chance to surrender.

“Has Madanach seen this?” Elisif asked, wondering what the King in Rags would make of it all. He'd be unlikely to forgive Ulfric in a hurry, but he'd surely be interested.

“He's seen it,” Delphine confirmed, humourless grin on her face. “He was cackling away right up until he got to the line about the Markarth Incident. Then the ranting started. About how those elven bastards had screwed him over and sold him down the river. Turns out Thalmor agents met with him a couple of years before the war, not long after he'd unified the Forsworn. They told him war was coming and that when it did, the Empire would turn its resources to Cyrodiil and he could have a chance to take the Reach over. They also told him a victorious Dominion would smile on a friendly state that had never fought them and that didn't worship Talos. So Madanach laughed and drank with them and bitched about Talos with them and started preparing for an uprising, and a few years later, when the Imperial City fell and half of Skyrim marched south to retake it, he saw his chance. Way he tells it, he took the Reach, sat back to enjoy a great victory and waited for the fall of the Empire. He didn't expect the Empire to take Cyrodiil back and agree terms. A bit of a shock but he's always been an opportunist. Started making overtures to the Empire to be recognised as a legitimate kingdom, and the Thalmor decided he was a loose end who needed dealing with. Hence the Markarth Incident.”

It sounded all too plausible. Once Elisif would have had trouble believing the Thalmor were that duplicitous, but these days she had no problem believing it. One of her own Thanes had tried to kill her, she'd ended up in prison in a city nominally loyal to her, and the Legion very clearly just saw her as some sort of pawn, a figurehead of legitimacy and respect for Nord traditions to cover Imperial self-interest. No wonder Ulfric still had support, she was starting to wonder if remaining in the Empire was the best course of action herself. But no. She'd given General Tullius her support, and if the Thalmor thought Ulfric was an asset then she was opposing him. The Empire it was then. Madanach would be pleased with that at any rate – he was lukewarm about the Empire but practical enough to realise it was his best bet at long-term security for his future kingdom.

It really was coming to something when the ones she trusted most were paranoid fugitives from the Thalmor, dangerous heathen warlord battlemages who had Hagravens running their army, lunatic jester assassins, at least one out and out thief, her half-Reachman housecarl, several werewolves and a pair of Dunmer mystics who were mostly normal but occasionally had... lapses.

“Maybe I should go and talk to him,” Elisif whispered. “I don't know if he'll want to talk about it, but he might.”

“He might,” Delphine said quietly. “He brooded for hours after reading it. It was a bit worrying, really. I only gave it to him because I thought he might appreciate the irony. Didn't think that one line would get to him quite so much, although it certainly cemented his loyalty so that's something. Your charms are considerable but they won't hold him forever.”

Nice of Delphine to say so – wait. Hold who forever? Madanach?? He might well think her pretty but that wasn't why he was doing all this. Was it?

“Madanach doesn't fancy me,” Elisif said, trying her best to laugh it off. “I mean, he's probably noticed I'm pretty but there's no way he'd seriously want a Nord in his bed... Delphine, stop looking at me like that, he really doesn't... I mean, he can't... He just wants his land back and thinks I can get it!”

“Of course he does, you're his prized asset, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want you,” Delphine said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, you must have noticed how often he seeks your company out, not to mention the gifts. Four Words of Power and a housecarl? Those aren't gifts you send someone on a whim – Elisif?”

Elisif barely heard her, heart beating faster as her skin went cold, mind going blank as she slotted the pieces together. Letters complimenting her and drawing her in as a confidant, even flirting a little in that last one – offering to whisk her off to a Forsworn camp for unimaginable torments? Good gods, that interpretation hadn't even occurred to her. All the gifts, sending Argis to look after her, Argis calling her Brenhina – Queen. Not High Queen of Skyrim or even Dragon-Queen, but Queen of the Reach, Madanach's consort. The barely-controlled rage at the idea of her sacrificing herself – of course Madanach hid terror behind anger.

Madanach wanted her and he struck Elisif as the persistent type. He'd keep on trying until he felt ready to make his move, and it could be soon. Elisif had no idea how to react – Madanach, seriously?? The King of the Forsworn wanting her – he was old enough to be her father, fifty-nine, wasn't he? His youngest daughter older than her. There was no way she could say yes, she was still grieving Torygg, she had a husband in Sovngarde waiting for her! How was she supposed to face him again having had someone like Madanach touch her?

“I need to talk to him,” Elisif gasped, getting up and running back to camp. She had to say something, stop this insanity before it got out of hand.

Delphine pocketed the dossier, pondering the nature of unintended consequences. She'd not exactly intended to tell Elisif about Madanach's little crush... but honestly, about time she knew. Everyone else in the camp did. Who knows, it might even work out for them both. But in the more likely scenario that Elisif rejected him and relations cooled... Delphine could definitely work with a Dragonborn less beholden to the King in Rags.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madanach turned out to be in the command tent, nothing unusual there... apart from the heated argument he seemed to be having with her housecarl.

“Look, I'll follow you to the Void and back, you know that, but you don't get to tell me what to do! Not in this!”

“The Void I don't, this is my camp, let me remind you! And if your duty to the Reach needs you to pledge a tie to someone else, you might have to!”

Madanach was standing there in his Forsworn gear, arms folded as he stared Argis down. Argis was pacing, clearly annoyed.

“I'm hardly bound to him! I just like him, that's all. It's simple. Uncomplicated. Enjoyable. We tell stories of our warrior pasts, get wasted together and then we...”

“Spare me the details!” Madanach snapped, looking faintly nauseated. “I don't need to know what you and him get up to in that tent of yours. Bad enough neither of you are skilled enough at magic to hide the sounds.”

“I can't help that!” Argis cried. “Honestly, I didn't think... does it bother you that much, seeing me with a...?”

“With a Nord? Yes, it does!” Madanach seethed. “You're one of us, Argis! Couldn't you have found a nice Reach girl? Or boy, I suppose...”

“Oh that's rich, coming from you. You fancy a Nord and I end up as the bloody courtship gift but when I see one I like, I'm a traitor to my blood?”

Madanach had gone very still and Elisif almost felt her heart stop. Madanach just wasn't a man you talked back to like that, and that he and Argis had let things get that far, that personal, in the first place, was a bit of a shock. Argis seemed to realise it too, because he was turning back to Madanach, starting to apologise, and Madanach was just shaking his head, expression unreadable... until he saw her standing there. Then silver eyes widened and for a split second, Elisif wondered if he'd been afraid.

He would be when she was done. Argis had just confirmed all her fears.

“Courtship gift?” she said softly. “You mean the letters, the words of power, sending Argis... you're trying to get me in bed??”

“It's not like that,” Madanach said quickly, faint blush staining his cheeks.

“Could have fooled me,” Argis muttered. Madanach glared at him, narrowing his eyes – he might be afraid of her, but clearly didn't fear Argis.

“No?” Elisif shouted. “What is it like, Madanach?? Delphine seems to think you'd like to be all over me and Argis just said you're trying to court me! Is that why you're doing all this, you're hoping I'll be so grateful I'll let you do what you like with me?”

“I want my kingdom back!” Madanach snapped, all attention on her now, and if he was nervous, he wasn't showing it. “But after that, I'm going to need to run it in peace and it'd be nice to have friendly relations with the kingdom next door, not to mention someone to share it with! I was going to ask you to marry me after all this is settled!”

“I've already got a husband!” Elisif cried, hazy memory of Torygg's face in her mind as she felt tears come to her eyes. “He's waiting for me in Sovngarde!”

“Your husband's dead, Elisif!” Madanach shouted back, finally losing his temper. “And you are not, you're not going to Sovngarde permanently for decades, gods willing, you're a queen, you'll need heirs, you'll need another husband!”

“I don't want another husband, I want Torygg back!” Elisif howled, even as she struggled to recall the details of his face, and her own body, her fierce dragon blood, whispered how long it had been since anyone had touched her, why not someone else who understood the power of fire and frost?

Because Torygg would never forgive me if I took Madanach to my bed.

She looked up at Madanach, seeing guilt and sorrow and sympathy there, and she could feel her heart breaking again. All she wanted, all she'd ever wanted, was someone to take care of her and love her and raise children with her. Instead she'd ended up with this.

Turning and running, she fled the tent, not able to cope with this any more, not Madanach, not the war, any of it.

Madanach watched her go, tempted to run after her but it seemed undignified at his age, not to mention it'd probably make things worse.

“Are you all right?” Argis said quietly, coming to stand at his shoulder, one hand rubbing his back, quarrel forgotten.

“I will be,” Madanach said quietly. “I'm worried about her though. I didn't want her to know until after all this, when she'd had more time to grieve. You don't get over something like that happening to you, not so soon.”

“No, you never do,” Argis said quietly, probably remembering seeing his mother die. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Madanach said, one bright side occurring to him. “She said she wanted Torygg back, that she was still grieving, which is certainly true... but she said nothing about not wanting me. I don't think I'll give up hope just yet.”

“That sounds more like you,” Argis said, grinning and heading out. “Should I go after her, do you think?”

“Yes – no, actually. Find Erandur, send him after her. Man gives sensible advice and is a good listener. Or Aranea, she's got her head screwed on the right way. And if you see Keirine or Kaie, tell them to come find me. Oh, and Argis.”

“Yeah?” Argis asked, something in Madanach's tone sounding a little less commanding than usual.

“About Farkas,” Madanach said hesitantly.

“What about him?” Argis said, slight note of danger coming back into his voice, and for all his usual impassive and quiet demeanour, there was a hidden wildness to Argis that not many people ever really saw – unless he killed them, of course.

“If he makes you happy, go be with him. I suppose he's not so bad for a Nord. Knows when to shut up, doesn't care about politics, better than the halfwit Eola landed me with. Just make sure he knows that if he breaks your heart, I break his neck.”

That did make Argis laugh. “Sure thing. Thanks, I'll be sure to tell him.”

Madanach smiled wistfully as he watched Argis go, feeling rather proud of the warrior he'd raised. Nord blood notwithstanding, Argis was one of the best he had. When it had occurred to him Elisif could do with a new housecarl after losing her first one, Argis had been the first and only choice to look after her for him.

Sadly for him, replacing the husband wasn't going to be quite so easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif didn't know how long she'd been in her tent, lying down on the straw pile and quietly wishing it would all go away. Honestly, here she was, capable of taking on dragons and facing down Alduin himself and one off-hand remark, one realisation, had just thrown her completely.

How dare he want her. How dare he find her attractive? How dare he tell her he was thinking of proposing? She was already married! Even if Torygg was dead...

You're Queen. You'll need heirs, need a husband, you want children anyway, don't you?

Well, yes, but she wasn't even Queen yet and she could wait a few years before getting married again. To someone she barely knew, for political reasons, with no love involved, just loveless, meaningless sex until she got pregnant and then they could lead separate lives. He could have mistresses if he wanted, she wouldn't care.

She had a feeling Madanach wasn't the separate lives and mistresses type. She also had a feeling he wouldn't forgive her if that was how they ended up. Worst of all, he'd been sending gifts, flirting with her, building her up to his people as a hero out of legend who'd save them so that they'd overlook her Nord blood when he made her his queen, not just High Queen. Despite feeling quite free to disapprove of Argis taking a Nord into his bed, and that really rankled. Bloody hypocritical bastard. He had absolutely no right, none at all.

“Elisif?”

Soft Dunmer tones of Karliah, who Elisif had been introduced to only the other day. Strange eyes for a Dunmer, but really pretty and seemingly a very sweet and gentle person. A former colleague of Brynjolf's, so a thief then, but Elisif found it hard to hold it against her. Ria had spoken very highly of her for rescuing her from Windhelm, Argis claimed she'd saved his life twenty years ago in Markarth, and everyone seemed to like her. Even Delphine had seemed to approve.

“In here,” Elisif called, and Karliah pushed the tent door open, coming to sit next to her, and behind her was Erandur, dear sweet Erandur who had no inappropriate designs on her whatsoever, bless the man.

“How are you doing?” Karliah asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground, looking sympathetic. “Argis told me what happened. Bit of a shock, eh?”

“A bit,” Elisif said, sitting up, feeling exhausted. “I mean, looking back I'm not actually surprised... but I don't need this right now, you know? I have to face Ulfric tomorrow. I don't need to worry about Madanach having a crush on me!”

“You don't feel the same, I take it,” Erandur said, completely unsurprised and by Kynareth did everyone in this camp but her know??

“You knew as well,” Elisif said, mortified. Erandur nodded sympathetically.

“Afraid so, although in my case, I did get a personal confession off the man. He heard I was a priest of Mara and sought my advice.”

“But half the camp does know as well, Kaie's been going on about it non-stop to anyone who'll listen,” Karliah said sheepishly.

“Let me guess, she hates me for being a stepmother I don't even want to be?” Elisif sighed.

“Not exactly, she just thinks her father's making a fool of himself and is having a, what did she call it, gearcheim y canolan. A crisis brought on by realising you are no longer young, I think it means,” Karliah said.

“Don't worry about her, she's just looking out for her kin. More annoyed with him than you, I think,” said Erandur, looking far calmer than the situation really merited in Elisif's view. “No one's actually expecting you to reciprocate, don't worry. No one other than him and even he's not exactly expecting it, just hoping.”

“You don't reciprocate, do you?” Karliah said shrewdly, and it occurred to Elisif a master thief like Karliah hadn't got where she was by not being able to read people.

“I don't... I can't!” Elisif cried. “I'm still in love with Torygg! I always will be. Part of me is always going to love him and miss him and I can't... look, I know I need heirs, I know I need to marry again eventually after all this, I know. But I was hoping for just some arranged political match, where we don't love each other and just come together to have kids and just lead separate lives once it's done. Then I can just love my children and mourn Torygg in peace, and he'll forgive me for being unfaithful because he knew I had to do right by Skyrim. And Madanach will never be content to settle for that, he'd be there, all the time, or insisting I come to Markarth. He'd be trying to seduce me, trying to get under my skin, trying to make me love him back...” Elisif had her hands over her face, fingers twining into her hair. No, absolutely not, it would be an unmitigated disaster for them both.

A moment's silence from them both then Erandur spoke.

“That sounds awfully lonely, Elisif.”

“What would you know, you're celibate!” Elisif snapped, tetchy all of a sudden. “And making a complete hash of the whole Aranea business, I might add. And weren't you the one who said falling in love was a mistake?”

“It got my lover killed because we were both too distracted to notice Mercer,” Karliah said, sounding a little tetchy herself. “Which you don't have to worry about because you know who your enemies are.”

Tell that to Erikur. “Not the point,” Elisif sighed. “Oh hang it all, it just wouldn't work. I'm too young for him and damaged goods besides. He can do better than me – what??”

Erandur was shaking his head with a grin and Karliah was actually giggling.

“Don't tell him that when you turn him down,” Karliah laughed. “He'll just give you a list of all the reasons he is also damaged goods and completely unsuitable for anyone then declare that's why you're made for each other.”

“Don't, he'd do exactly that,” Elisif moaned, seeing it all too clearly. “Damn it, why can't things just be simple?? And why are we all so terrible at handling our lives?”

“Well, if we were all good at love all the time, we wouldn't need Lady Mara to guide us, would we,” Erandur said knowingly, deliberately ignoring the eye-rolling from Karliah. Change of subject needed.

“So how's Argis?” Elisif asked Karliah, feeling a bit guilty for not checking in him. “Last I saw, he was arguing with Madanach over his choice of partner, like it's any of Madanach's business.”

Karliah hesitated, looking a bit guilty over something, and when she did speak, it was rather slowly, as if she were choosing her words very carefully.

“That one is complicated and always going to be,” Karliah said softly. “But last I saw they were sorting it out. I can't say Madanach approves, but he told Argis he wasn't going to object so long as Farkas didn't break his heart. I don't think you need worry.”

All the same, Elisif did. Who else did Argis have? No siblings she knew of, his mother dead, just a Forsworn father who presumably must be on this camp somewhere for the blood charm to have worked. Elisif wondered if Argis had even seen the man – he'd not gone far from the command area, Madanach's central compound. Was he one of the High Command perhaps? A Cidhna Mine inmate – yes, that would make sense if Argis had been a guard acting as secret Forsworn liaison, but which one? Not Odvan or Duach, both younger than Argis. Uraccen maybe, but he didn't really look anything like Argis and was a little too young – forty-nine compared to Argis's thirty-five. Braig – he'd talked about his daughter but never mentioned a son, right sort of age though so maybe. The only other option was Madanach himself but surely not, he'd never fancy a Nord... oh. Oh!

Oh sweet gods. Madanach hadn't just sent any old half-Nord Forsworn agent to guard her. He'd sent his own son, a son presumably no one knew about for obvious reasons. Hadn't Argis said his father occasionally gave speeches? Hadn't she thought Argis looked familiar, sensed hidden depths of cunning to the man, hadn't he reminded her of Madanach on occasion? Keirine had told him to use her first name – she must have known he was her nephew. And of course, hadn't he said his blood would be where the King was? Because Madanach was his bloody father.

No wonder that argument had got so personal. That hadn't been a king arguing with a subordinate, that had been a father arguing with his son. No one else would have spoken to Madanach like that, and he'd have killed anyone not his close kin who'd tried.

Complicated indeed. She'd have to talk to Argis about it. Maybe in the morning.

“What time is it?” she asked. The light seemed to be fading so must be sunset or near enough.

“Twilight,” Erandur answered. “Aranea's probably doing her Evening Invocation to Azura right now.”

For someone who claimed he was called to celibacy, he was doing a terrible job of not noticing Aranea's daily routine.

“We should go,” Elisif sighed. “I suppose I have to talk to Madanach and see if we still have an alliance.”

“You still do,” Karliah soothed as she helped Elisif up. “You are allowed to say no, he'll understand. He's not completely unreasonable.”

“Just mostly then,” Elisif said, holding the tent flap open for the two Dunmer as they all emerged into the early evening. Time to face down the Reach-King. Again. She really wasn't looking forward to this.

Notes:

Notes on the Rhanic :

Rhanteg - Reachfolk

Tegmai - my people

Gearcheim y canolan - midlife crisis

Chapter 29

Summary:

It's the night before the battle and the Forsworn philosophy is to eat, drink and be merry. But merriment's proving hard to find for the various Blades as the ghosts of their past haunt them all. And it's not just on the Aalto that introspection is rife. In the Palace of the Kings, Ulfric is feeling fate closing in.

Notes:

Last one before the big battle! I had fun with this one. Long but worth it. Half the camp is having heart to hearts, it seems.

Do I need to warn for the aftermath of man-on-man action? Or drunkenness and discussion of addiction? Probably not, but there you go, it's in here. As is Argis/Farkas, Erandur/Aranea Ienith, and probably eventual Madanach/Elisif, but not yet.

Elisif found the King in Rags standing by the fire, Forsworn staff in his hands, talking to a surprised Argis. Farkas was hovering nervously at Argis's shoulder, shooting glances at Madanach.

“You're giving me this?” Argis said, sounding a little incredulous.

“Yes,” said Madanach firmly. “Yours. As a gift for all the years of loyal service, and also a way for me to preserve my sanity and avoid murdering your man here.”

Farkas's eyes widened a little but he didn't say anything. Argis frowned but accepted the staff. It looked like no magical staff Elisif had ever seen – a length of wood hacked straight off the nearest tree, with knots still visible, bound with leather and some sort of crystal bound at the top, with feathers hanging off it. There was a definite aura of Hagraven about it.

“What's it do?” Argis asked, looking vaguely suspicious. “Is it one of the Destruction ones?”

“No,” Madanach said, starting to grin. “Try it and find out.”

Argis gave it an experimental wave, aiming it at the fire. A soft hiss, a purple glow around the fire and it went silent, the crackling disappearing although the flames were still very much there. Argis looked, stared, then burst out laughing.

“You've given me a Muffle staff!” Argis laughed. “You were dead serious about the noise, weren't you?”

“Completely, I was ready to tear my ears off,” Madanach admitted. “Yes, I know I've got my own tent, but I've not seen the night sky for two decades, I don't want to spend my evenings hiding in a tent. Now. You have your staff, it's fully charged, but I've got a bag full of soul gems for the recharges – little ones Keirine didn't need for the shield mostly, and by this time tomorrow, one way or another we won't need the shield any more anyway. So, Argis, as long as your fellow over there is properly polite and respectful and treats you well...” Here, Madanach broke off to glare at Farkas, who shuffled behind him. Took a lot to make a big Nord warrior like Farkas look nervous but Madanach managed it. That and spiders. Farkas hated spiders.

“Thanks,” Argis said quietly, clutching the staff and looking a little embarrassed. “I mean, erm...”

“Just go and have a good time,” Madanach said, his voice gruff as he looked away, staring at the ground. “You're only young once.”

“I will. Thank you,” Argis said, still stumbling over the words... but his feet didn't stumble as he put an arm round Farkas and led him off. Madanach breathed a deep sigh before glancing up and seeing Elisif standing there, and his hopeful expression vanished.

“Elisif.”

“Madanach,” Elisif said, composing herself. “We need to talk.”

Four words that never heralded any good for anyone and Madanach muttered under his breath as he rolled his eyes before nodding at the others.

“Thought you might,” he sighed. “All right, the rest of you get out of here. I need to talk to the Dragon-Queen.”

The various Forsworn and Blades hanging around headed off, although judging from the sound of drumming and laughing and singing emanating from the rest of the camp, this wasn't likely to be a chore for any of them. Witchmist Redoubt was clearly gearing up for a party.

Karliah whispered a soft 'good luck' before melting into the shadows, and Erandur patted her shoulder before disappearing as well. Maybe he'd run into Aranea. Elisif secretly hoped so.

Of course this meant she was now alone with Madanach, who'd settled himself down on one of the logs and reached for a hip flask of what Elisif was fairly certain was not mead.

“Want a drink?” Madanach asked carelessly as he waved it in her general direction. Elisif politely declined, helping herself to a bottle from the stack of Honningbrew lying around. Pleasantly warm from being close to the fire but not too close and the natural warmth of the Aalto plain also helped.

Madanach took a deep swig from his flask, staring at the flames and pointedly neither looking at nor touching her.

“You came here to turn me down, didn't you?” he said quietly, voice oddly flat. “Of course you did, I'm over twice your age, you're young and beautiful and could have anyone, whereas I'm a Skooma-addicted ex-felon who needs to cast illusions on his eyes in the sunlight because otherwise he can barely see, and who still doesn't like wide open spaces.”

“With dragons around that's probably for the best,” Elisif said, then it occurred to her he might not think so. Then it occurred to her what else he'd said. “Wait, you're not a Skooma addict.”

He did look at her then, shaking his head and looking rather patronising. “I spent twenty years inside getting wasted on the stuff from lack of anything better to do. What do you think I am? Only reason I'm not tearing the camp apart trying to find some is because Keirine has me on these potions. They keep the cravings away somehow, stop the shakes. Thing is, they also make it impossible for me to have anything moon sugar based without getting sick. Told her I didn't need them, I was fine on my own, but there were these Khajiit caravaneers who travel the road every week or so, and I might have given orders to some of the younger soldiers to flag them down and get me some... I wasn't going to drink it!” he protested, looking suitably ashamed of himself and so he should, honestly.

“That's not the point,” Elisif said rather pointedly. “You don't need to use it as currency any more, you're not in prison!”

Slow shake of the head and a knowing smile. “Charama, I will always have part of me in that prison. It is never going to leave me, not until I die. Every day I wake up and it takes me a good ten minutes to remember there's a world out there. Look at me, I'm damaged and broken and time might heal me but I don't know how much time I've got even if I don't end up with my head on a spike. And that prospect isn't so very unlikely.”

“It won't happen,” Elisif said fervently. “I won't let them execute you, I'm going to give you a pardon, tell General Tullius this was all my fault.”

“Very kind of you, although I don't think he'll listen,” Madanach said, turning morosely back to the fire and taking another swig of his hip flask.

“He'll have to, I'm High Queen, I decide matters of local law enforcement, not him,” Elisif snapped. “And you're my friend and ally who's raised an entire army for me. Of course he's not allowed to hurt you.”

“And if he ignores you and has me sent to the block anyway?” Madanach asked casually.

“I Shout them all down and we flee into the hills,” Elisif said, the mead making her a bit reckless but sod it, she was about bloody tired of the Empire telling her what to do. She was almost wondering if Ulfric had the right idea, but he'd killed her husband and she didn't think she could ever forgive him that.

Madanach was staring at her, eyebrows raised, and then he turned back to the fire, chuckling to himself.

“By the old gods, you've got to stop saying things like that, you'll make me blush,” he said, but he looked pleased. “You're meant to be killing Ulfric and claiming Skyrim for the Empire, not embracing his cause for your own.”

“I know,” Elisif said, recalling what lay ahead of her tomorrow and shuddering. More mead needed, definitely. “And – and don't worry, I don't plan to stab you in the back or betray you, even if you do have Hagravens wandering openly about the place, and gods know how those portals work, or what other dark arts you have going on where I can't see them. Point is, you helped me. And you've kept your word. Falk told me how quiet the Reach has been lately. Thank you.”

“Don't thank me, it's quiet because they're all out here,” Madanach said gruffly. “Good thing Nepos is the Jarl out there now, if anyone sent any mercenaries to one of our camps, they'd find it practically deserted.”

“I can imagine,” Elisif said quietly, looking out at the many smaller fires and magelights lighting up the camp, hearing laughing and splashing around in the hot springs as the Forsworn enjoyed themselves. “It wasn't quite this raucous the last few nights. Don't they know the battle's tomorrow?”

“Of course they do, that's why they're enjoying themselves,” Madanach said wearily. “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you might get killed. Not many won't have found themselves someone. Well, not the Hags or Briarhearts, obviously, and not Karliah either, it's understood she doesn't do that sort of thing. But everyone else.”

“Including you?” Elisif felt obliged to ask. Madanach shook his head.

“I've lived my life, Elisif. If I die tomorrow, I die knowing what love was, what sex was, what getting completely off my face was. Doesn't matter if I'm alone tonight. Besides, the only one in the camp I really wanted doesn't feel the same. It's all right. You don't have to. I'm still helping you take Windhelm. I just... you're one of the best things to happen to me in a long time and I guess I got carried away. You'll forgive an old man's foolishness, right?”

“There's nothing to forgive,” Elisif said softly, feeling sorry for him... and even a little regretful. Nice wasn't the word to use for him, but she had a feeling he might be quite a sensitive and caring lover... in private anyway.

She just wasn't ready for anyone but Torygg.

“If it's any consolation, it's flattering to be asked,” Elisif added, trying to comfort him a little. “But I'm not really looking for another lover. I suppose I'll need a husband eventually, but I was hoping to just marry for politics, have the children and then not see much of him. Easier that way. Someone who doesn't love me won't get upset when I can't love them back.”

“Because of Torygg.” Madanach's voice was low and husky as he stared into the fire, silver eyes narrowing and Elisif felt a little afraid of him then. Easy to forget he was quite at ease with killing people, and in that moment, Elisif was reminded.

“Because of Torygg,” Elisif said, reminding herself she was a Dragonborn and not scared of ordinary humans. “He was my husband, Madanach! And I loved him and he loved me. I'll always love him. I miss him so much...” And she did miss him, she really did, but the thought of him wasn't bringing tears to her eyes like it used to. It occurred to her she missed Torygg very much... but not Solitude, or being married to the High King and always having to sit quietly and take a back seat. She wondered how he'd have dealt with her being Dragonborn, and whether he'd have given her his blessing and some guards and let her get on with it, or been superprotective and refused to let her out of his sight. Then it occurred to her if he'd still been alive, there might not have been a war... and maybe no dragons. She certainly wouldn't be sitting out on the Aalto under the stars in a Forsworn camp having a quiet conversation with the King in Rags.

Torygg would be appalled to see what she'd inadvertently brought about.

“Your life didn't stop just because his did,” Madanach said quietly. “The dance goes on, with or without you, might as well join it.”

Easy for him to say. Not so easy for her, trying to make her way in a Torygg-less life, hoping she'd see him again one day... and fearing he'd no longer love who she was now. She was already feeling a bit nervous about how he'd take the whole alliance-with-the-Forsworn thing.

She didn't feel like answering him and they fell silent, both staring into the fire and drinking their drinks, neither feeling like moving although Elisif wondered if it was doing either any good to stay. Then she recalled what else she'd wanted to talk about.

“I know about Argis,” she said, and that did get a reaction.

“You know what exactly?” Madanach snapped, glaring at her.

“He's yours, isn't he?” Elisif asked, seeing it in his eyes as they widened and his face went pale. “You're his fath-”

“Ssh!” Madanach hissed. “You think I want the entire camp knowing?? Kaie doesn't even know! Keirine does, but she knows everything. Yes, all right, you're right, I had a... well, a fling with a young Nord girl once. Didn't go anywhere but nine years later, I'm taking Markarth and what do I find but my old lover and an eight-year-old son looking too much like me for comfort. I've never really been able to care for him as I'd like, what with being married and then in prison all these years, but I was able to send Karliah to get him and his mother to safety. She was too late to rescue Inga but she brought me my son. I raised him on a camp in secret, took care of him until they captured me, then he ended up with Nepos being trained as one of our agents. And he's been that ever since, we've kept his parentage quiet for his own protection. So don't you go telling anyone! Honestly, who told you, was it Karliah or Keirine?”

“Neither, I worked it out,” Elisif said, feeling rather pleased at being right and at the same time feeling rather sorry for Argis. It sounded like he'd had a rough life. No wonder he'd not seen much of his father, and it seemed his sisters didn't know he was even kin. “I can't believe you sent your own son to be my bodyguard, don't you know how dangerous it's been? We faced Alduin the World-Eater!”

“I know but who else could I trust?” Madanach shrugged. “And please, don't remind me about the Alduin thing, Argis has already told me, as have your two Dunmer friends, it sounds terrifying. But he seems to be in one piece, even if he is picking up unsuitable partners.”

“Farkas isn't unsuitable, he's an absolute sweetheart!” Elisif protested. “I think they're cute together.”

“And you call me crazy,” Madanach muttered, but he was smiling a little. “Still, nice to see the boy happy. He deserves it, life hasn't been kind. If I end up with my head on a spike, at least he'll have someone to look after him.”

“You're not going to get executed,” Elisif told him. “And when this is all done and you're Reach-King, you can finally tell Kaie and Eola and everyone else he's yours and then he'll have a family again.”

“I will, will I?” Madanach asked, eyebrow raised. Then he shrugged and nodded. “I'll think about it. Got a battle to fight first. But you're right, once I'm pardoned and safe, I can tell the girls, I suppose. Mireen's dead, I don't have to worry about her any more. Might tell Eola when she gets back from Dawnstar. She never got on with her mother anyway, she won't care I cheated on her once.”

Ah yes, Eola's mysterious venture in Dawnstar. No one was willing to talk about it, or why Cicero and Eola had gone there, only that Madanach wanted the place watching and it turned out Cicero knew a little hideaway up there. So off they'd gone and most of the camp seemed of the opinion that they didn't much care about anything other than how peaceful it was without Cicero there.

Elisif had a feeling she didn't want to know and wouldn't approve when she found out, but she had other priorities. Such as fighting Ulfric the next day. Victory or Sovngarde, and the thought of either terrified her. She just hoped it was quick if she did die.

More mead, was the answer to that one. So she drank more mead, and Madanach drank more of whatever potent moonshine he was on, and above them the aurora blazed and the moons rose and set as the fire burned down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Argis collapsed back on the straw pile while Farkas cleaned them both up, stars in his eyes and feeling dazed.

I'm not into men. Not really. I prefer women. This isn't going anywhere, it's just a bit of fun.

Apart from the way Farkas looked at him, and kept performing little acts of kindness such as getting him mead and cooking for him, and massaging tired muscles at the end of the day, and then Argis had had to reciprocate out of guilt, and one thing had led to another and...

And now Argis couldn't get the man out of his head. Couldn't stop thinking about Farkas's hands on his body, rough kisses, being pinned down and fucked and by the gods he'd not felt so alive in a long time. Aroused and horny and apparently feeling strongly enough to challenge his father over the whole thing.

And his father had caved. Madanach, the Lord of the Reach, King in Rags, fierce warrior, charismatic ruler, highly skilled battlemage, had just given in. Because Argis had lost his temper. There'd even been a peace offering.

And the offer to burn Farkas's face off if he ever dared hurt him, but Argis had expected that.

Farkas finished clearing up, left the leather cloth he'd used to one side and snuggled in to Argis, resting his head on his chest and wrapping an arm around him.

“You OK?” Farkas said quietly. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Argis murmured, stroking Farkas's hair and pulling him closer. “No, you never do. Thanks. I'm glad you're here.”

“Me too,” Farkas said, giving him a squeeze. “I missed you. Was worried you'd get eaten by a dragon or something. Or that you'd fall in love with Elisif and forget all about me.”

“Not likely,” Argis laughed, kissing the top of Farkas's head, post-sex comedown relaxing him and lowering his inhibitions like nothing else. Truth be told, Elisif was stunningly pretty, there was no denying that, and Argis did fancy her, had done from the start. But his father was interested and even if Elisif didn't feel the same, there was no way Argis could go for her. That, and he'd travelled with her on the road now. Carrying her things. Listening to her go on about all her many insecurities, and about Torygg, and if she was doing the right thing by siding with the Empire, and what Torygg would think about her siding with the Forsworn (not a lot, apparently). Dealing with Elisif's menstrual cycle, which had mostly involved passing leather cloths to her and discreetly turning a blind eye while the change-over happened, and then passing the pain relief potions over and putting up with the renewed moping over not having a husband any more and not being pregnant.

All told, while Argis still thought Elisif was very pretty, he was no longer sure he actually wanted her in his bed. Farkas was a lot less complicated. Farkas's needs were very simple – feed him, provide a regular supply of mead and then fuck the living daylights out of him. Argis liked that. He could cope with that. And he could definitely cope with Farkas's gentle caretaking. It was very nice indeed to be looked after.

“Is he really all right with it?” Farkas whispered. “You know... us?”

No need to ask who he was talking about there.

“I think so,” Argis sighed. “I mean, I don't think he exactly approves, but he's just being protective. At least he's stopped growling at you now.”

“Yeah,” Farkas said, relieved. “Yeah, that was a bit scary. Don't expect to be kissing someone and then have the King of the Forsworn bearing down on you with lightning in his hands.”

Precisely, and what with being thirty-five and male, Argis had thought he'd escaped that particular experience. Apparently not – Madanach was as overprotective of his son as he was of his daughters, when men were involved anyway.

“Still can't believe he's your father,” Farkas said, shaking his head. After the whole lightning and growling incident, Argis had had to take Farkas aside and quietly explain precisely why Madanach had gone crazier than usual, and admit that the boy who'd attained manhood by throwing an elk carcass at his clan chief's feet and announcing he'd be in his tent awaiting any woman who fancied finishing the initiation off had gone on to be King. Farkas had taken the news rather well considering.

“He is,” Argis said apologetically. “But you can't tell anyone, right? Not even Vilkas. No one can know. It isn't... it isn't safe.”

“I'd look after you, you know,” Farkas said quietly. “You'll always be safe at Jorrvaskr.”

“Not me,” Argis whispered, holding Farkas closer. “Him. Both of us. I – Farkas, just trust me on this.”

“All right,” Farkas said. Then he hesitated, before speaking again. “That's gotta be tough though. Having your pa still alive but not being able to call him that.”

“I'm used to it,” Argis said, but it had been a lot easier when his father was in prison and Argis only got to see him every so often on delivery runs, with no one else around to see them. Here on a Forsworn camp, with eyes everywhere and Kaie oblivious but Keirine seeming to know all too well, it was harder than ever to act like his father was just his king, not his kin. And Madanach wasn't doing all that well at hiding it either.

And if he dies in the battle tomorrow, or gets caught and executed, no one will even know I'm grieving.

Maybe that was for the best. It certainly made it less likely anyone would come after him. But damned if the thought didn't terrify him.

Argis held on to Farkas tighter, glad someone at least knew, someone who wasn't part of the whole Forsworn clusterfuck, someone he could just go to and forget about it all, someone who understood. It wasn't the same as having his father back, as having sisters who knew they were his sisters... but tonight, it would help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erandur swore he'd not walked this way deliberately. He'd just gone for a walk in the evening, taking a tour of the camp, having been assured his elven blood would protect him from any possible incidents, and so it had proved. The worst he'd had to deal with was a few drunken Forsworn women cheerfully offering a few lessons in love but they'd accepted his polite refusals with good grace. Mostly it was just squealing and exclamations of 'real elf! He's a real elf!' and 'can we see the ears??' from both men and women, and lots of giggling and whispering. Reachfolk apparently saw elven features as signs of great beauty when they cropped up among their number, so when a real elf turned up... Karliah had a similar reaction, but they were all a bit more used to her. Erandur could only wonder what sort of reception Aranea was getting.

He didn't have to wonder long. She was sitting up on one of the ridges, dressed in Forsworn gear, head bare and surrounded by a gaggle of young Forsworn, all listening eagerly to the teachings of Azura. At least some of them were. Some of them were clearly just there to stare at Aranea's chest, and not just the men either.

“And I think that's enough for today,” Aranea concluded, smiling as she saw him approach. “Now if you'll excuse me, my good friend Erandur's here. About time we caught up.”

The group dispersed, wishing her a good evening, and Erandur had to shiver a little at the way they all seemed to call her Matriarch.

“They know you're not a Hagraven, don't they?” Erandur said, shuddering at the thought of Aranea becoming one of those things. Why any sane woman would do that was a mystery to him.

“Of course, but they don't really have any other titles for a female priestess,” Aranea said, smiling as she indicated for him to sit down next to her. “Well, there's Shaman and Healer, but those are a bit specific. But they are all very interested in Lady Azura's wisdom, and absolutely no one's said anything uncomplimentary or called me a grey-skin, so I'm inclined to let them give me any title they like. I think I need to visit more camps, Keirine's already invited me to hers.”

Keirine gave Erandur the creeps and practically reeked of Daedra worship, but as she was Madanach's sister and in charge of all the Forsworn's magical capability, there wasn't a lot he could do about it. All the same, he'd pointedly refused to discuss any of Vaermina's rites with her. Mara only knew what she might do with the Dreamstride ritual. Those portals were dangerous enough.

“You'd never become... one of them, would you?” he had to ask. The thought of Aranea's face narrowing and the skin tightening, and teeth turning to fangs, and feathers sprouting and claws on her feet and toes horrified him.

“Me?” Aranea laughed. “No, it's not for me, I don't think. But all the same, they're not as bad as you think.”

That really wasn't saying a lot.

“They don't actually eat children then,” Erandur said. Aranea shook her head.

“No. Only the stillborn ones, I think. Or possibly the unwanted ones.” She noticed the horrified look on Erandur's face and changed the subject. “So how's Elisif doing? I heard that she finally found out Madanach's after her. Didn't go so well, I heard.”

“She's still grieving Torygg,” Erandur said, also relieved to get off the topic of Hagravens. “She's not ready for another lover, won't be for a while. I told him that when I first got here. She loved her husband, saw him brutally killed in front of her, it's not something you just move on from. But he seems to think she'll get over it eventually and if he just makes sure he's there, she'll choose him. I told him it didn't work like that, but he's a very stubborn man.”

“He is,” Aranea said calmly, faint smile on her face. “But that doesn't mean he's wrong. I saw them together in one of Azura's visions. On their wedding day. Lying in an expensive bed somewhere, her nestled asleep in his arms while he just holds her and smiles at her. Him with tears in his eyes as he holds their first child. I don't know if it'll ever happen, the visions are sometimes just what might be, not what will be. But they were happy together. Has Elisif actually said she's not interested? Because Madanach's not an idiot, in fact he's usually extremely perceptive.”

“She said it would never work, that she'd like to be able to go to Torygg in the afterlife not having been unfaithful. That she's after a loveless marriage just to get heirs,” Erandur sighed. “And there's no way Madanach would ever let her have that if she married him, he'd be constantly trying to seduce her. She's right about that at least. But as for the rest – I know she's still grieving, but marrying while intending for there to be no love... It's an affront to Mara. I can't tell her that to her face, I know she's still hurting. But it is, Aranea. Mara has her own ways and her own wisdom, it's not for us to fight it. She knows what's best for us. I wish Elisif could just see that and open her heart to the possibility of loving again. As it is, all I can do is pray she'll be healed enough one day to see it.”

“She will,” Aranea said, smiling at some secret knowledge, some vision she'd seen most like. “You really believe it, don't you? That Mara knows better than we do what's good for us. That we shouldn't fight love.”

“Ye-es,” Erandur said, not liking that look in her eyes. “Aranea, where is this going – mmph!”

She'd leaned forward, taken his head in her hands and kissed him. Erandur reached out blindly, trying to push her away, only for his hand to wind up on her breast. He leapt back like she'd shocked him.

“Don't,” Erandur rasped, wiping his mouth. “I didn't mean-!”

“No?” Aranea said, frowning. “You think Mara knows best for everyone except you? That people shouldn't fight love, apart from you?”

“Aranea...” Erandur said, starting to panic. “Aranea, stop it, we can't...”

“Why not?” Aranea demanded, red eyes flashing with anger. “I love you, Erandur, and I'm tired of hiding it. I missed you. I saw visions of you and wished I could go after you, but my faith in Azura held me back. Except now she's let me go and I don't have to hold back any more. I just don't understand why you still are!”

“I'm old enough to be your father!” Erandur cried. Aranea just shrugged.

“Madanach is old enough to be Elisif's father, that's not stopped him,” she pointed out.

“That's because he's a heathen old reprobate,” Erandur sighed. “I'm meant to be better than that. I'm meant to be atoning!”

“You've spent years, decades, atoning,” Aranea cried. “Haven't you done enough? Isn't Mara the forgiving type? The benevolent and loving type? Hasn't she forgiven you yet?”

“Of course she has, but it's not enough!” Erandur said, wondering why Aranea couldn't see it. Mara loved everyone, even the unworthy, but that didn't mean he wasn't still unworthy.

“Why not,” Aranea said quietly. “Are you saying Mara's wrong?”

“No!” Erandur cried. Damn her, why did she have to do this to him, interrupting his lonely penance, bringing love back into his life after so long, the first one to touch him intimately, the only one, Aranea Ienith who'd taken in and counselled even a Vaermina cultist who'd left his friends to die... and who still thought he was worth something. The sad thing was, he adored her still. It wasn't just lust, never really had been. She'd sent him towards Mara, and Erandur had gone willingly, needing love and forgiveness in his life... but he'd never really felt forgiven. Mara might have forgiven him but he'd yet to forgive himself. Mara couldn't be wrong, of course, but maybe he'd not entirely understood her will.

“Then why are you still fighting your feelings?” Aranea whispered, stroking his cheek, and Erandur could feel his cock hardening and his heart pounding, and he felt himself blushing. They needed to stop this, he needed to stop this, but it had been so long and he'd been so lonely and...

“You can't love me,” he whispered.

“Can't I,” Aranea said gently. “Why not.”

“Why would you?” Erandur whispered, decades of pain and shame and guilt threatening to overwhelm him. He didn't deserve Aranea – he didn't deserve to be happy. Not after all he'd done.

“You should perhaps be asking Mara that question,” Aranea said, tracing her fingers over his lips. “She's the goddess of love after all.”

Perhaps he should, but he wasn't sure he'd get any kind of answer. He mostly just wanted to know why. Why Lady Mara would allow him to have feelings for someone when he manifestly didn't deserve them.

“Please,” Erandur pleaded. “Stop pushing me. I can't give you what you want. What you need. What you deserve.”

“What do I deserve?” Aranea asked quietly. “You tell me if you know me so well.”

“To be happy,” Erandur said, unable to meet her eyes, staring at out at the tents and the torchlight and the sight of the Forsworn dancing in between them, singing and laughing with happy couples chasing each other. A happiness he didn't deserve and would likely never have again. “With someone who can love you like you should be.”

“Can't that be you?” Aranea asked, despairing.

“I can't,” Erandur whispered, feeling his throat tighten as it all threatened to overwhelm him – her, the sounds of the camp, all of it. He could sense that something was wrong somehow, but damned if he knew what or how to fix it.

“Erandur,” Aranea whispered, reaching out to him, and he could take no more. Not daring to look back, Erandur fled for the safety of his tent, where he could be alone and meditate on Lady Mara's Divine Benevolence in peace.

Leaving Aranea Ienith behind him, cursing quietly and wishing Lady Azura was still sending visions. Erandur who had been Casimir was a very frustrating man. How ironic – he'd not wanted to go when she sent him away all those years ago. But Azura had sent visions of him serving Mara, sent visions to them both, and in the end, Aranea had feared Vaermina's nightmares and Azura's visions were going to drive him mad. So she'd sent him away for his own sake.

Now here he was, back in her life but still damaged, healed from the nightmares and the visions long gone, but still haunted. A devotee of the goddess of love afraid to experience his own goddess's blessings. How deeply ironic.

Silence from Azura, and praying to Mara hadn't helped either. All Aranea could do was let him go and hope he'd realise for himself what he needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I should go back to my tent. It's getting late.”

“Don't let me stop you.”

“Right. I'll be going then.”

Madanach took another sip of his jenever and counted quietly to five, having seen the pile of mead bottles that had been building up next to the Dragon-Queen and wondered if dragon blood actually gave you resistance to alcohol.

Apparently not, because Elisif got to her feet, swayed rather unsteadily, staggered a few steps off to her left, got about three feet then sank to her knees.

“Madanach?”

He was fairly certain Dragonborns weren't supposed to sound that plaintive.

“What?” he called back, repressing a smirk.

“Which tent's mine? I – I don't remember... they all look the same.”

Sithis help him. And here he was thinking his days of dealing with drunks were mostly behind him.

“It's that way,” he said, pointing in the vague direction of the one he'd assigned Elisif. Easy enough to find, none of the others had a dragon skull mounted on the roof.

Silence. Then...

“It's too dark! They keep moving... Madanach, please help me!”

He could see he wasn't getting out of this one.

“Fine, I shall escort you back to your bed, and then I am leaving you there and returning to my maudlin self-pitying.”

“... OK.” Confusion in her voice and clearly she was at that stage of drunkenness where complicated phrases were a bit beyond her. Madanach got to his feet, and then he belatedly recalled how jenever worked. It got you drunk from the feet up. You could drink lots of it and feel fine... until you tried to get up.

He got up, staggered round the log, felt the world spin and then he was face down in the grass, just about managing to break his fall with his hands.

Ah. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all. Yes, moving was a terrible idea, he should just stay here on the ground until the world stopped moving and it all went away.

“Mad'nach? Mad'nach, why are you on the ground?” Elisif had crawled over, poking at him, looking concerned and a bit annoyed. “You were going to help me find my tent!”

“Well, I changed my mind,” Madanach growled. “Gonna stay here instead. Can't you find your own way home?”

“It's your camp!” Elisif snapped. “An' I'm a girl, you can't let pretty girls go home drunk on their own. It's no' right.”

Madanach glared, seeing her point but also feeling there was something rather unfair about this situation.

“Wha', so jus' because I'mma man, I gotta take care o' you when yer drunk?”

“Yes!” Elisif said firmly, folding her arms, seeming pleased. “Is the shiv-walrus thing to do.”

“That'sh notta word.”

“It so ish! Means yourra good person who helpsh people, anna brave an' noble warrior.”

Madanach was fairly certain he wasn't one of those any more. In fact...

“Ishn't that supposed to be your job?”

That got her, and while Elisif clearly wasn't entirely convinced of his reasoning, her drunken brain was having trouble working out why she shouldn't be. Time to push his point.

“In fact, I'm an old man, you're a young and strong warrior, you should be helping me home.” Madanach held out an arm expectantly. “Maybe I need a big, strong Nord warrior to look after me, hmm?”

“You hate Nords,” Elisif said, utterly bewildered by now.

“Don't hate 'em all,” Madanach shrugged. “Don't hate you. It was jusht the Shilver-Bloods really, but they're all dead. An' Ulfric an' his lot, an we're gonna kill them tomorrow. Don't care about the rest of them. Aela'sh all right and Vilkash ish tol'rable and Farkash is OK as long as he makes my Argiz happy and doesna break his heart, and Brynjolf's fine ash long as he keepsh his hands to himself, and... an' Inga was nice.” Wistful look came into his eyes as he remembered Inga, staring at him as he was lying on the ground, injured and dying, sole survivor of a skirmish. Inga had been out hunting, found him and her healing potions had saved his life. First and only Nord to ever be nice to him (until Elisif anyway), she'd nursed him back to health and apparently fallen in love with him. Hadn't done her any favours, although he'd almost thought about staying, leaving the Reachmen behind him. He'd only been a young man – talented warrior, brilliant young mage, engaged to the chief's daughter but only a minor player back then. He could easily have left it all behind... but he had a feeling Mireen would find him eventually. So he'd said goodbye and gone home, not knowing he'd left her pregnant.

That poor innocent woman had not deserved him, although he could never regret bringing Argis into the world.

“Do you miss her?” Elisif said quietly, kneeling next to him and putting his arm around her shoulders. Madanach let her pull him up, snuggling in next to her and nodding.

“She was nice. A good person. Not like me. Don't think it would have lasted. But I did care. Do care. Fuck it. El'zif, when you get to Shovn – Sovin – the afterlife, you give her a hug from me and tell her I'm shorry.”

Elisif bit her lip, looking at him with inexpressibly sad eyes before cuddling him, and that was nice, that was very nice, even if her armour was hard and cold. But the incredibly beautiful Dragonborn was cuddling him and that was never to be turned down. He slid arms around her waist and nestled up against her as she helped him up.

“You're nice too,” he murmured, breathing into her ear. “You remin' me of her a bit. Same caring nature. 'Xcept you're stronger somehow. More outgoing. She'd back down to avoid a fight. Don't think you would.”

“I can breathe fire, you know.” Note of warning there, and Madanach chuckled, taking the hint and shutting up, focusing on keeping his balance instead. A job made much easier with an Elisif to hold on to, and by Sithis, this was nice, staggering back through camp with a beautiful woman who was going to save him and his kingdom and the world at his side. Not in love with him, how could she be? But she was here and Madanach would make the most of it while he had her.

“Where are we going?” Elisif whispered, and Madanach pointed up ahead to a big tent with some dead animal bones mounted on top of it.

“That one.”

Elisif squinted at it then glared at him.

“That's your tent. Not mine!”

“I know. Yoursh is over there.” Madanach waved vaguely at the one with the dragon skull silhouetted in the aurora. “But mine has healin' potions. So we go there, we drink potionsh an' then unless you've changed your mind about me, you can go back to your own bed and leave me to my lonely mishery.”

Elisif tutted but did steer him back to his tent. Bigger than most Forsworn tents but not too big, enough room for a straw pile and furs and a chair and desk, and a storage chest. Mostly Madanach's mind was focused on the bedding and the chance to finally close his eyes and get some sleep.

Elisif let him go and he staggered to the bed, collapsing on it, about ready to sleep. But first, ensuring the hangover didn't kill him tomorrow.

“In that chest,” Madanach said, waving vaguely at it. “Couple of red potions, one pale, one dark. Anna green one – not that one, yeah, that's it. Give them to me.”

Madanach dosed himself up on the frankly vile concoctions his sister and her friends liked to knock up, but he did have to admit they worked. Done, he lay back on the straw, feeling the effects kicking in.

“Needed that,” he murmured, feeling the drunken haze start to abate. “Thanks, Elisif – Elisif?”

She was kneeling by the bed, staring into space, tears rolling down her cheeks. Madanach felt cold terror prickling down his spine. He hated it when people cried in front of him, he could cope with it in children, but in his adult loved ones it always worried him. Particularly when he didn't know what had caused it.

“Elisif?” he said nervously, propping himself up and reaching out to her. “Elisif, why are you crying? Don't cry, they'll all think I did it.”

“I'm a bad person!” Elisif sobbed. “I'm a terrible terrible person who doesn't deserve to be queen or happy or anything!”

Ah yes. The self-loathing stage of drunkenness. He held out a hand to her and she went to him, curling up in his arms and not resisting as he lay back down and held her to his chest.

“Why are you a bad person?” he asked, secretly rather liking the way she was cuddling up to him like this. A bit too trusting of her and he could wish she was smiling rather than crying, but it was still probably the closest he'd ever get.

“I killed someone!” she sobbed.

“I... see,” Madanach said, rubbing her back and hoping she could feel it through the armour. “But Elisif, cariad, you've killed lots of people since you became Dragonborn, hmm? You've fought Stormcloaks and necromancery types, you sent Cicero after the Dark Brotherhood and I don't think he was going back for tea and cake and a friendly little chat with Astrid. You certainly had no problem authorising Thonar's death.”

“They were strangers,” Elisif whispered. “Or they deserved it. Markarth's a better place without Thonar, the world's a better place without Malkoran and those other cultists and necromancers, the Dark Brotherhood were hunting me, and the Stormcloaks started it. I had no choice.”

“You chose to kill someone,” Madanach said, surprised. Now that was a change, Elisif had never struck him as the type to enjoy killing for its own sake. It was a duty she was always reluctant to carry out. He wondered what had changed. “Who was it?”

“Erikur,” Elisif said softly. “He was one of my Thanes. Well, it was Istlod who first Thaned him, I just inherited him. And I killed him in my own palace.”

“I see,” Madanach murmured, still stroking her hair. “What did he do? I can't see you randomly walking up to a man and stabbing him, still less them just letting you walk away after, even if you are Jarl.”

“It was him who took the contract out on me,” Elisif whispered. “His name was in the Brotherhood's ledger, Brynjolf and Karliah delivered it to Falk. They'd just arrested him when I got there. When I saw his name in the ledger, I just... I just lost it, Madanach. I shouted at him, not with the Thu'um, and just shoved Dawnbreaker through his chest. I killed him, Madanach! He was my Thane... and I killed him.”

She was crying quietly again and while Madanach did at least know why now, he still wasn't sure he understood.

“Of course you did,” he murmured into her hair. “If someone had tried to have me killed, I'd have done the same. You didn't do anything wrong!”

“Not the point!” Elisif sobbed. “Maybe he was guilty, probably we'd have executed him anyway, but it didn't need to be me! I could have signed the warrant and let the guards handle it! But I didn't...”

“No,” Madanach whispered to her, pulling her closer. “No, you didn't. You took care of it personally. Always the best way.”

“You would say that, you've killed loads of people,” Elisif whispered. Disapproving and yet here she was, nestled on top of him, apparently quite comfortable and not looking to move any time soon.

“Then why are you confessing to me,” Madanach murmured back, toying with a strand of her hair. “Talk to Erandur, he can do the absolution and forgiving thing. Me, I'm an old warlord who'd do exactly the same and barely think about it later. Why me?”

“Because I'm turning into a monster,” Elisif whispered, shivering all over and clinging to him. “I'm scared I'll go too far. If I go too far... only you can stop me.”

“What are you talking about?” Madanach sighed, baffled. “You're not turning into a monster and I'm sure others could stop you if you were.”

“Not like you,” Elisif whispered, finally looking up and she looked terrified. “You're the one with the army, you're the one who knows how to unseat corrupt Nord rulers, you're not blinded by the whole Dragonborn legend. You've got Cicero as a son-in-law. You can do it, I think you're the only one. And if even you think I've gone too far...”

“Even me?” Madanach said, feeling slightly offended but not enough to really care about. “I'm hurt.”

“You know what I mean,” Elisif whispered. “Well, will you? Stop me?”

“Stop you? Elisif, I don't think it's ever going to be necessary in my lifetime,” Madanach laughed... and then he realised she was serious. Which begged the question, could he do it? Stop her if her dragon blood took over and she started doing more harm than good.

He didn't think he could kill her. Not Elisif, soft and warm and pretty and gentle and presently clinging on to him. But he might be able to make other arrangements... if he had to.

“If I need to, I'll do it,” he promised. “You just go out there and do your thing. In the mean time, I've got your back.”

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek, and Madanach couldn't stop himself gasping and by Sithis, she had to stop doing that. Especially as she was right there, nose barely touching his, eyes fluttering closed and whispering his name... and he definitely wanted to, no doubt about that. But he could also smell the mead on her breath, and maybe she was drunk and emotional and lonely but she wasn't using him to get her fix.

“You need to leave,” Madanach growled, rolling over on to his side and neatly lowering her to the ground. Elisif sat up, looking a bit dazed but nodding.

“And drink these,” he said, softening his voice a little. “They'll help with your head.”

Elisif nodded and drank the potions he gave her, staggering unsteadily to her feet.

“I should go,” she said, sounding very uncertain.

“Yes, you should,” Madanach said, relieved to hear it because if Elisif ever did end up in his bed, he'd like for her to be sober when it happened. “Go on, go get some sleep. Your tent's the one on the left when you leave, with the dragon skull on it.”

“Right,” Elisif said, still looking a bit vacant. “Right, I'll do that. Goodnight, Mad'nach.”

“Goodnight,” Madanach said quietly, watching her go and mentally kicking himself for the conscience he seemed to be developing lately. She'd been right there for the taking, even starting to initiate things... and he'd sent her away.

Never mind. It was something. And wasn't he quite capable of playing the long game?

She wouldn't grieve forever. She'd win this coming battle and be stronger because of it, and when she finally realised that the one she'd asked to rein her in was best placed to do that from beside her... he'd be there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late night in Windhelm and Ulfric Stormcloak was sitting in one of the upper rooms in the Palace of the Kings, mead in hand, staring out of the window, into the night, at Windhelm's streets and beyond the walls, the darkness that was the Aalto plain. The night sky blazed with aurora light and starlight and moonlight, but the ground was all darkness. There was a metaphor in that, he was sure.

“Not going to bed yet, Ulfric?”

Galmar. Fussing over him like a mother hen. As always. As it had been since he went off to fight in the Great War. After escaping the Thalmor. During the conquest of Markarth, his attempt to prove he was a mighty warrior despite the humiliation of being captured, his attempt to prove he was better than those witch-elves. Throughout his Jarldom. Galmar had been there throughout, the older brother Ulfric had never had.

“Not yet,” Ulfric said quietly. “I'm watching the Aalto.”

“There's nothing out there, Ulfric,” Galmar sighed. “It's pitch black out there. Go to bed, you'll strain your eyes.”

“In a moment,” Ulfric said, still frowning. “Galmar. The report from those scouts. That the dragons predating on travellers have gone.”

“Aye,” Galmar said quietly. “The one at Kynesgrove stayed dead for over a week, and that other one that was roosting near the Dwemer ruins was seen lying dead near Mistwatch for the same amount of time. No sign of that one near Bonestrewn Crest either.”

A good sign, that the dragons had stopped rising from the dead. But that they'd died in the first place... his men hadn't killed them. Not that he'd heard of, and killing a dragon was the sort of thing that men (and women) bragged of in barrack rooms and taverns for days after.

“Yes, but this latest report, Galmar. That the corpses have vanished entirely, but the dragons aren't flying anywhere. What do you make of it?”

Galmar just shrugged. “What of it, Ulfric. They're gone and they're not slaughtering our people and burning our Hold. We've got Imperials to fight, who cares about a few missing dragon corpses.”

“Dragons don't just vanish,” Ulfric said, brooding. No one was moving one of those creatures in a hurry, nor could anyone carve it to pieces easily. It was a puzzle, and Ulfric had never been fond of those.

He wondered if Elisif would know the answer. A Dragonborn could take a dragon's soul. Why not move the body too? Even if it did sound perilously close to necromancy.

She was out there somewhere, he was sure of it. Probably nearer to Windhelm than he was happy with. He didn't think it was coincidence the dragons had vanished all at once like this. And there were other reports too. A stray goat turning up at Hollyfrost Farm, clearly tame but not belonging to anyone nearby. Then the following night it had vanished again, and the snow melted in a neat path leading south along the road until the snowline was the only thing to mark its passing. Scouts and patrols were disappearing, and while Ulfric knew there was an Imperial presence somewhere in the Velothi foothills, the disappearances were increasing of late. He'd had hardly any news out of Riften recently, and nothing from Darkwater Crossing. For all he knew there could be an army camped out on the Aalto – not that he could see anything on the plain, but the Imperials were cunning.

And then there was the Great Soul Gem Shortage. A small thing, a seeming curiosity, of more concern to wizards and mages than true Nords, but Wuunferth had been furious at his entire supply going missing, and his Stone of Barenziah too, and enquiries had revealed everyone else who owned any had had theirs stolen too. Valuable items left largely untouched for the most part, but the soul gems? Gone. Didn't matter what size or if they were filled or not, they all vanished regardless.

Ulfric was damn near positive this was Elisif's doing somehow, but damned if he could work out why. Wuunferth had been no help whatsoever, merely saying that perhaps someone wanted to enchant an entire army's weapons, either that or set up soul gem traps to guard somewhere. Apparently mages liked to prime the things so they'd automatically cast Destruction spells at intruders, which was a possibility, but who would want so many? And guarding what?

He'd sent runners to the College of Winterhold to ask their opinion, but as with the scouts to the south, they'd disappeared. He'd sent couriers on board ship, but the East Empire's ships all seemed to fall victim to the Blood Horkers whenever one of his men travelled with them, and when he'd tried one of Shatter-Shield's, the courier had sheepishly come back having had the letters stolen from him.

Someone was sabotaging his communications. Someone had stolen every soul gem in the city for magical purposes as yet unknown. Someone had dealt with the dragons.

Just as someone had got to his crown first despite Galmar swearing no one else could have known it was there, and someone had escaped from both Cidhna Mine, which Thonar had always said was an unbreakable fortress that no one got out of, and then from the Forsworn who couldn't possibly have let the beautiful young Queen of the Nords go voluntarily.

She'd even wiped out the Dark Brotherhood, and that story had had tankards raised in her name in his own city. Quietly, but they'd been raised.

Ulfric was beginning to wonder if he was going mad.

“Galmar,” he said quietly. “Do you think we're doing the right thing? By Skyrim, I mean. With the war.”

“What are you talking about?” Galmar scoffed, then he realised his Jarl was serious. “By the Nine, Ulfric, of course we're doing the right thing. Those witch-elves would have us grovelling at their feet and thanking them for the pleasure if we let them! We need to prove true Nords won't stand to be pushed around! The Empire's weak, Ulfric. We'll bring the whole rotten edifice crashing down and then we'll take the fight to the Dominion. Of course we're doing the right thing.”

Ulfric thought of the dreams, of Elenwen, of Markarth, of the wildman they called Madanach, eyes hollow and broken when they'd finally hauled the usurping, Jarl-killing bastard out of that filthy redoubt and off to prison. Of Torygg dying as Ulfric's sword skewered him, looking confused and personally betrayed as the light died out of his eyes, and Elisif screaming like some wild animal, all sanity and reason gone. Of Elisif the Dragonborn calling him a murderer and backing away like he was some sort of monster.

Of Ralof confessing Elisif had turned up where she couldn't possibly have known they'd be and taken the Jagged Crown, contemptuously telling Ralof to tell Ulfric she'd be coming for him, and Ulfric hadn't slept properly since. Ralof had been shaking from terror, whispering that he hadn't known she'd been that skilled. Or that queenly, he'd clearly been thinking but not dared to say, and for the first time since Ulfric had met Ralof, he'd seen something other than adoration in the man's eyes. He'd seen doubt.

And ever since then, he'd felt it himself. Doubt. Worry. Fear. That maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.

“Do you think she'd be a good queen?” Ulfric asked quietly. Now Galmar was looking at him as if he really had gone insane.

“Are you joking, she's not even twenty four years old. The girl knows nothing about leadership, nothing. So she's killed a few dragons with help. So she's got Kodlak Whitemane wrapped round her finger. So she got lucky and got away from the Forsworn. Her luck will run out, Ulfric.”

Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't. But as Ulfric finally left the window and retired to bed, he couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom closing in on him and the horrible sense that maybe his already had.

Notes:

And that's the setup. Next update will involve the Battle of Windhelm as the Dragonborn moves in for the kill. Dragons do not like rivals.

Chapter 30

Summary:

Elisif finally enters Windhelm to challenge Ulfric. It's a fight no one involved will ever forget... and in the aftermath, Windhelm will never be the same again.

Notes:

Hello all! I felt the need to take a hiatus from this fic because I had another nearing the end which needed finishing. But I have written something for this fic at last! It's the fight against Ulfric. Are you ready?

It's a bit violent, this one...

Late afternoon in Windhelm, and the populace was going about its business, unaware of the storm about to break. Just a few Breton sailors emerging off one of the ships and taking some shore leave, and one of them stopped to talk to little Sofie, bought a flower off her and told her quietly to get off the streets, giving her ten septims to run and hide and say nothing to anyone. And Niranye closing her stall early and going home, citing illness, which raised a few eyebrows but still didn't alert anyone. Then Aval Atheron did the same, and the guards in the Grey Quarter noted the streets being empty of Dunmer, which started worrying a few people.

And then the small group of warriors turned up at the gate, three Companions, one Imperial in armour no one had seen since before the war and not often then, and a one-eyed Nord in the same. And leading them, in the same striking gear, was a young woman wearing a helm made of dragons.

Even the Windhelm gate guards knew to stop them at this point.

“What's your business in the city?” one growled.

“I'm here to see the Jarl,” the young woman said imperiously. “I have business with him.” She produced some genuine Stormcloak courier seals and messages and waved them at the guard... and the guards sighed and let her through, looking wary.

Citizens stopped as she walked through, watching the little group make their way to the Palace of the Kings. There were whispers, and some were old enough to remember the Blades, and others had heard the Companions had sided with the Empire during the Battle of Whiterun, and others saw a beautiful redhaired Nord with a glowing golden sword and a shield hiding under cloth and recalled tales of the Dragonborn having a golden sword, and Adonato Leotelli recognised the Jagged Crown and promptly locked himself in his tavern room, stating that he'd get the story off the winner.

And so Elisif the Dragonborn walked into the Stormcloak city and made her way to Ulfric's palace, a hush falling over Windhelm as she did.

The palace guards were a bit brighter than the gate guards and they'd heard about the failed quest to take the Jagged Crown... and who'd taken it instead.

“I'm here to see Ulfric,” Elisif said, staring down the guards who'd barred her way. “Let me in please.”

The guards exchanged looks.

“We should be arresting you right now,” one snapped. Nervous looks among Elisif's honour guard, especially from Ria, but Elisif remained calm.

“I've done no wrong in this city,” Elisif said, still staring them down. “You have no right to detain me. I merely want an audience with the Jarl of Windhelm. I have a grievance to put before him.”

“What manner of grievance?” the other guard, a woman, asked.

“He killed my husband,” Elisif snapped, drawing herself up to her full height and ripping the cloth off her shield, the Wolf's Head of Solitude on display for all to see. “And he's plunged Skyrim into a bloody civil war, leading to the deaths of thousands of our fellow Nords. And he declares himself High King, as if being able to kill makes you a good ruler. I will have a reckoning.”

A sensible people would have arrested her on the spot... but Nords weren't always sensible, and they knew what would make a good story.

“She has a right to challenge him, Arnwulf,” the woman said, shrugging. “And it'd be better for the two of them to fight it out one on one. Stop anyone else dying in the war.”

“Deprive them of Sovngarde, you mean,” Arnwulf muttered. But he did nod. “Aye, Birna, I suppose you have a point. It would make a good story, win or lose. It'd be a battle to remember. That's if he didn't slaughter her.”

“I kill dragons,” Elisif warned him. “I'm not afraid of Ulfric.”

“Perhaps you should be,” Arnwulf snapped. “Listen, Jarl Elisif. I don't know about the stories, they all sound a bit unlikely. But I'll give you one chance to turn around and leave. I'm a man of honour, I'll let you leave the city unharmed if you back down now.”

“No,” Elisif snapped, holding her ground. “I am Elisif Dragonborn, Jarl of Solitude and true High Queen and I will have my day with Ulfric.”

Arnwulf and Birna exchanged looks then shrugged and nodded.

“All right,” Birna sighed. “You can have your challenge. We'll see you in Sovngarde, Jarl.”

“One day,” Elisif said quietly, but she nodded in acknowledgement of two fellow Nords brave enough to get in a Dragonborn's way. “Divines bless you.” She deliberately didn't state a number.

And so the palace gates opened and the little group of six made their way into Ulfric's courtroom.

The man himself was sitting on his throne, talking to Galmar, and they both looked up as she walked in. Ulfric's steward, Jorleif, took one look and fled into the kitchens.

“Ulfric!” Elisif shouted, voice echoing off the walls as she strode down the central hall. “You owe me, Ulfric! Come and face me like a true Nord!”

Ulfric's eyes never left her, eyes narrowing and his expression – well, who knew how he was really feeling. But if he was afraid, he was hiding it well.

“So you finally got up the courage to face me directly,” Ulfric said. “Well done, I'm impressed. But only the very brave or very foolish approach a Jarl without summons, Elisif. Which are you?”

“I'm another Jarl,” Elisif said, gritting her teeth. “And I'm challenging you for the rulership of all Skyrim.”

“You?” Galmar barked. “Rule Skyrim? You'd hand us all over to the Empire and their witch-elf puppetmasters!”

Elisif shut her eyes and remembered that dossier, that Ulfric was being manipulated by the Thalmor, that they'd hoped for this war and that the only way was a quick victory for either side. Even if it wasn't hers (but it had to be, it had to be, Madanach was counting on her, Alduin wasn't dead yet, Skyrim needed her as its queen, only a united Empire could keep the Thalmor at bay).

Never mind that she'd had to barter an entire Hold away to get this far.

She was working on some way of saying that, but Ulfric interrupted.

“Galmar. That's enough.”

“Ulfric, you can't be thinking of taking her seriously?” Galmar cried. “She's just a girl!”

“She's a woman who's killed dragons and escaped the Witchmen and defeated my troops at Whiterun and outlived the Brotherhood contract on her,” Ulfric said, descending the stairs of his throne and coming to face her direct. “She even stole my crown from under my nose. I'd be a fool not to take her seriously, don't you think?”

“Ulfric, we can apprehend them all, we outnumber them,” Galmar began but Ulfric shook his head.

“No. Four Companions, including one who escaped from our own cells. I don't know who the other one is, but he's a competent warrior or he wouldn't be here. And she has the power of dragons. We'd lose a lot of good men and women, Galmar. And besides, I did kill her husband, however fairly. She's owed weregild. So, Elisif. What would you have of me?”

Negotiations. Here she was, challenging him before his own throne, and he was opening negotiations?? As if she could be bought off. It had gone a little beyond weregild at this point.

“Your immediate and unconditional surrender, your relinquishing any and all pretensions to being High King, the standing down of all Stormcloak troops, and handing your city and your Jarldom over to me to assign to whoever I see fit,” Elisif said tersely. He was never going to say yes but it had to be worth a shot.

“That's a heavy demand,” Ulfric said, raising an eyebrow. “A high price for one man's life.”

“That man was High King of Skyrim!” Elisif shouted. “And it's not just his life, is it? It's the lives of everyone who's died in this war. Men and women who might have gone on to live long and happy lives with their families, traders, innkeepers, farmers, bards! All dead because of your greed and ambition!”

That had got him. That had really got to him. He looked insulted... and furious. Right or wrong, the accusation was a blow to his pride.

“And what of the ones the Thalmor take, hmm?” Ulfric growled. “Should I let the elves prey on my kinfolk, killing and torturing them just for worshipping Talos? Should I let all my comrades who died in the Great War have died in vain? At least the ones that die for me die honourably and get to go to Sovngarde. There are worse fates.”

It was tempting to bring the Reachmen into it, or indeed the Thalmor. But he'd brought up Sovngarde, and the thought of Torygg there, fleeing Alduin's wrath, or maybe he'd already been eaten (no no please no) gave her courage to stand up to Ulfric.

“Alduin is in Sovngarde!” Elisif snarled. “He escaped there after fighting me, and he's there right now, feeding on the souls of all the men and women your war sent there, and if I don't stop the war, he'll keep doing it. That's where all the fighting is sending people, Ulfric. They're not swilling mead in Sovngarde, they're fleeing for their lives from Alduin! And I can't stop him until I've stopped the war, so yes, you can either surrender now or I will take you down by force! I will do whatever it takes to stop Alduin, because I don't care who's High King or Queen or whether we stay with the Empire. I am doing this to save us all from the dragons. So are you with me or not?”

“With you?” Ulfric glared. “You're demanding nothing less than total dominion as your price for saving humanity, so don't lecture me on greed. Here, these are my terms. You swear fealty to me as High King, and I will let you remain Jarl of Solitude. You persuade your supporting Jarls to do the same or resign. Then we tell the Empire and the Thalmor to leave, and you can do what you need to to kill Alduin. No one else has to die, no more bloodshed. Oh, and I want that Reachman off the Mournful Throne. I don't need outsiders running Holds of Skyrim. Galmar can take over.”

Galmar had raised eyebrows but not objected and the entire room had gone quiet. It... was a semi-reasonable offer. A defeat, yes, but it would give her what she needed and she got to stay Jarl. And would an independent Skyrim be so bad? Divines knew the Thalmor were liked by nobody.

But she couldn't see Balgruuf going without a fight, and she looked at Galmar and saw a seasoned warrior who'd have no qualms slaughtering the Forsworn and executing Madanach, oh Divines, Madanach would be killed and if he did get away he'd never forgive her, and she saw Argis looking at her in horror.

And then Ulfric made it very easy indeed for her to say no.

“Come Elisif, hand over your crown, I promise you and yours won't be harmed,” Ulfric sighed, holding his hand out.

Hand over... the crown. The Jagged Crown. Her Jagged Crown, her beautiful pointy dangerous crown that she'd earned on her own. Hand it over and see it on Ulfric's brow.

Elisif the woman might have seen reason and given in. But a Dovah would die before its rightful property was taken from it.

“Never!” Elisif growled, drawing Dawnbreaker.

“Now that's more like it,” Aela said, approving, and Argis looked nothing short of relieved, hand going to Dragonbane, which Elisif had lent him for the occasion. Ulfric was shaking his head.

“A pity. I'd hoped you'd see reason. Never mind. Very well, I accept your challenge. Fight me one on one and the victor takes over Skyrim. Should you lose, I'll see your remains laid to rest with honour, and your guards allowed to leave. I'm not worried about the dragons, if you lose, you'll be in Sovngarde yourself to deal with the problem.”

“Ulfric, you can't be serious!” Galmar protested, appalled at his Jarl risking himself like this. “And if you lose, what then? You'll be in a Sovngarde being ravaged by Alduin, that's if she's telling the truth.”

“Oh, I believe her,” Ulfric said, drawing his sword. “But I'm not afraid. Besides, it'll make a better story. Come on then, Dragonborn. Fight me.”

He was bigger than her. Stronger than her, and his sword was an ebony one with some sort of leeching enchantment on it. But he had no shield and no magic and wasn't dual-wielding either. So Elisif raised her shield and struck.

Daedric fire struck ebony and the two faced off, High King versus High Queen, and while one was a strong and experienced swordsman, the other was heavily armoured and had a shield and was better at using it than she'd thought. Ulfric dealt her a few glancing blows, but her armour held up when her shield didn't catch them. Elisif didn't hit him often, but when she did, it counted, drawing blood.

Except Dawnbreaker's fire burned but also cauterised and he wasn't bleeding out, and that ebony sword leeched strength out of her even if blood wasn't drawn – and her armour was getting dented and wouldn't last forever.

“Still a chance to yield,” Ulfric told her. Elisif shook her head, gasping for breath.

“No,” Elisif snapped. “Victory or Sovngarde! KRII!”

Purple light engulfed him and he staggered back, but Ulfric soon rallied and struck back, a heavy series of blows that Elisif only just caught on her shield, sending her staggering backwards.

“I note the power of dragons isn't helping you,” Ulfric laughed. “Now if you really could bite my head off, you might stand a chance.”

Elisif wanted to snap back a witty retort but the fact was her stamina was drained, she was tiring out and all the fine equipment couldn't make up for a lifetime of training. He was better than she was. That was the plain and simple truth.

Kyne help me. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, a thunderbolt or something? But nothing happened and Ulfric raised his sword again.

“FUS RO DAH!” he roared, the same Shout that had sent Torygg flying and Elisif cried out as she heard it, cowering behind her shield as the memory flashed across her mind, as clear as if it was yesterday.

It didn't send her flying. She staggered back, but she was off-balance and couldn't stop herself collapsing to the floor, hands out to break her fall as Dawnbreaker slipped from her grasp.

“Last chance, Elisif. Yield or perish,” Ulfric said, preparing to strike her down. Elisif looked up at him, wondering if this was how Torygg had felt when Ulfric had killed him. But then she remembered Torygg had never been given the chance to yield. She supposed she should be flattered. But damned if she was giving in – and her Thu'um had recharged.

“No.” And then because his face was right there and she was never getting a better shot than this. “YOL!”

Dragonfire hit Ulfric square in the face, sending him reeling, screaming in agony. Gasps of horror from those watching, even some of her own people. But not Argis who was shouting 'yes! Get him! Kill him!'

Elisif wasn't about to let her housecarl down. She grabbed Dawnbreaker, and as Ulfric fell to his knees, blindly groping for his sword, Elisif took a deep breath and stabbed it down. Justice. Revenge. Ulfric dying the same way Torygg had – sort of.

Elisif stared down at the body in front of her. Burnt, bleeding, face barely recognisable, oh gods, she'd done that, she had, just killed someone and it never got any easier. Especially Ulfric, gods Ulfric, she'd just killed Ulfric, the strong, charismatic Jarl of Windhelm who everyone was afraid of and she'd. Just. Killed him.

So lost in her reverie was she that she didn't even notice two things – first, the sound of fighting outside, clearly audible now the hall had gone silent... and secondly, Galmar Stone-Fist drawing his battleaxe and charging her down, screaming in rage.

He'd have taken her down too. Except Argis had seen it and while he wasn't close enough to strike Galmar down, he was near enough to save Elisif.

Elisif crashed to the ground as the axe swung down, Argis's bulk at speed able to knock down even a Dragonborn. Which meant the swing intended to kill Elisif smacked into Argis's side instead, carving into his armour and sending blood flying.

“Argis!” Elisif cried, tears in her eyes as she felt Argis lying still on top of her, too still and she couldn't have lost another housecarl already, she just couldn't... but he was still breathing. Just very very slowly.

“Argis, no, Argis, don't you die on me, your da needs you,” Elisif whispered and Healing Hands flared from her hand but would it be enough.

On the other side of the room, Elisif wasn't the only one panicking. Farkas had howled Argis's name out and had just dropped to his knees, and his armour was going black... black?

She didn't see any more, Vilkas, Aela and Ria were forming a protective ring around him, weapons drawn as Galmar was shouting to kill them all, every last Imperial traitor, and as his soldiers drew their blades, Galmar raised his axe again, rage and grief in his eyes as he prepared to finish her off.

The doors to the palace flung open, screaming and magic clearly audible now, and a spear of ice sailed down the length of the hall, striking Galmar right in the chest and sending him flying.

Alas, it hadn't killed him, but it had bought her some respite. Not for long though - he was staggering to his feet, in pain but still fighting.

“Come on,” she whispered, feeling her magicka run out. “Come on, Argis, just hold on.”

“FOR THE REACH!” Madanach howled as the Forsworn tore in, Delphine and Kaie at his side, and Galmar looked up, utterly bewildered.

“What in Oblivion are the Forsworn doing here?” he bellowed... then he looked down at her.

“You treacherous bitch, you cut a deal with them, didn't you?” Galmar whispered. “By the Nine, girl, what have you done??”

“What I had to,” Elisif gasped, cradling Argis in her arms and knowing they'd done it, Galmar could kill her if he liked but the city was theirs and Madanach could work with being Jarl of Windhelm and his oldest friend in charge of the Reach, Elisif was sure.

And then Galmar screamed as a werewolf sprang forward and tore into him, claws ripping him to pieces, flinging him to one side like a doll before leaping on him and savaging the Stone-Fist to death.

Elisif felt vaguely nauseated to see it, but honestly if you swung an axe into a werewolf's lover in front of him, there wasn't any other way it was going to end. Argis was barely holding on and he looked horribly pale. Farkas, having finished with Galmar, bounded over and stared down at Argis, whining. Elisif gave Argis another jolt of healing magic, and it'd keep him alive but she was no healer, she really wasn't.

“I'm trying, Farkas,” she gasped. “But I'm not a mage!”

Lightning flashed out, narrowly missing Farkas, and Madanach was there, lightning crackling at his hands, glaring viciously at Farkas.

“Stay away from her,” Madanach growled. “You leave her alone or you fight me!”

Farkas whined even more, actually crouching and shielding himself with his hands and Madanach turned to Elisif, confused.

“It's not seriously that scared of me, is it?”

“That's Farkas!” Elisif cried. “He's on our side! Don't hurt him!”

Madanach's expression hardened.

“My son is going out with a werewolf?? Does he know?”

“I don't know,” Elisif gasped, tears in her eyes as she felt Argis dying in her arms. “Galmar hit him with an axe, he's hurt!”

Madanach's eyes fell on the man in her arms, and his whole expression changed, heartbreak and horror all in one and he raced to her side, dropping to his knees and taking Argis's head in his hands.

“Argis no,” he whispered, sounding on the verge of tears, but Madanach was ever the master of self-control and he did not cry. He just turned to Farkas, who'd drawn nearer, nudging at Argis with his nose and whining even more.

“All right, Farkas, leave him with me,” Madanach told him. “There are still Stormcloaks standing and fighting, which means I need you out there taking care of that, you hear me? Make sure no one gets near us to finish the job.”

Farkas nodded once and bounded off, plunging into the melee that raged all around them. Leaving her with Argis, who Madanach was taking off her hands.

“I tried healing him,” Elisif whispered. “But I'm not a mage, my magicka kept running out and... Madanach, I'm sorry, he got hurt saving me!”

“It's fine,” Madanach said quietly, although it clearly was not fine, he looked devastated... but also very determined. “Leave him to me, and watch my back.”

Then healing magic flared from Madanach's hands, Heal Other powering into Argis, and Madanach able to cast again and again, his magicka pool over three times the size of hers... and from the way he was targeting the spell, he'd done this before. So Elisif retrieved her sword and shield and stood over them both, Shouting at any Stormcloak who came close, skirmishing with a few who were keen to avenge Ulfric... but not many were brave enough to face a Dragonborn. And then she realised that the fighting had stopped, and the only living Stormcloaks were on their knees, surrendering. They'd won.

“Da!” Kaie shouted, sprinting across the hall, delighted. “Da, we did it, we won, we won, Elisif, Elisif, we won, old gods, you killed him, didn't you, you killed the Stormcloak!”

Elisif found herself hugged by Kaie, an unexpected experience considering Kaie had treated her with barely concealed disdain ever since she'd first met her. But it seemed she'd been forgiven.

“I did, that's him over there,” Elisif said faintly, pointing at the body but certain she didn't want to ever look at it again. “I – I breathed fire over him then stabbed him with Dawnbreaker.”

As expected from a seasoned Forsworn warrior, Kaie took one look at the smoking remains of the once-mighty Stormcloak leader, shrieked with delight and squeezed Elisif harder.

“Thank you!” she gasped. “Thank you, you've no idea...” She hugged Elisif again before letting her go and running to do the same to her father... at least until she saw him cradling Argis.

“Da? Is that Argis – is he all right?” Kaie whispered, dropping to her knees alongside him.

“I think so,” Madanach said quietly. “He's not bleeding any more. I think he'll be all right. You should find your aunt, get her in here, she'll be able to say for sure.”

“OK,” Kaie whispered, fingers stroking Argis's hair. “Poor man. I hope he makes it. Does he have any kin – Da?”

Actual tears rolling down Madanach's face and then Argis's eyes opened, staring blearily up and slowly realising his father was looking down at him.

“Da?” Argis whispered, not fully aware of where he was and too exhausted to remember it was supposed to be secret. Madanach didn't seem to care.

“Yeah,” Madanach whispered, taking his son's hand in his. “Yeah, it's me, I'm right here. You just hang in there, I'm getting you to a healer.”

Kaie had not missed any of this and was staring at Madanach, stunned.

“What did he just call you??” Kaie demanded, and when Madanach finally raised his eyes, there was guilt there but also a fierce, defiant pride.

“He's mine,” Madanach said roughly. “His mother was a Nord who died in the Markarth Incident – but eleven years before that, I knew her briefly, before I married your mother.”

“Not long before!” Kaie gasped, doing the maths and realising Argis was close enough in age to her deceased oldest sister to mean Madanach had been playing away while betrothed to Mireen. “All this time, and you never said, he never said!”

“I'm sorry, daughter,” Madanach said softly. “It wasn't safe. Between the Nords and your mother... I'm so sorry. But he's your brother, Kaie.”

Kaie lowered her eyes and stared down at Argis, who was trying to focus and failing.

“Hey,” Argis whispered. “Did we win? Did Elisif make it? Farkas?”

“Yes,” Kaie whispered, tears in her eyes. “You lying son of a bitch. You told me you were gay! Well, I suppose you might be... oh my god, I kissed you!”

“Um,” was all Argis said, as Madanach's eyes widened and Kaie looked mortified, blushing furiously and running off, presumably to find Keirine or one of the healers, and in the end it was Erandur who was first on the scene, congratulating Madanach on a healing job well done, and then Farkas was there too, having changed back and been handed his armour back by Vilkas while Aela and Ria shielded him.

“Argis,” Farkas whispered, shaking all over as he knelt by his lover. “Argis, it's me.”

“Farkas? You OK?” Argis breathed, hazy eyes staring at Farkas. “You don't look so good...”

To everyone's surprise, Madanach passed Argis over to Farkas and got up, leaving them to it and making his way over to where Elisif was waiting, having not known whether to go over or not, but glad her housecarl was all right.

“Is he going to be OK?” she asked, worried. Madanach nodded.

“I think so. He's out of the woods, I think. Erandur knows his business, I'm sure he'll be fine once he's rested. What about you, are you...?”

Elisif nodded, although she wasn't, not by a long shot, she kept remembering the way Ulfric had screamed as fire had hit his face and the smell of burnt flesh and her own sword plunging down this time and oh gods she'd have nightmares about this forever, she just knew.

“Not all right,” Madanach was saying, gloved hand wiping away the tear rolling down her cheek and then he was holding her, rubbing her back as she sobbed all over him, sobbing out grief for Torygg, shame over avenging him the same way he'd died, and just relief, sheer relief that it was over. Except it wasn't, was it? Still the Empire to wrangle and Alduin to kill, and on top of that a battered and bleeding city to deal with and she couldn't cope with this, she just couldn't.

“Is she all right?” Delphine, arriving from whatever she'd been doing.

“No. Poor thing's exhausted, look.” Madanach was stroking her hair, making little soothing noises. “It's all right, Elisif, I'm here, I've got you, you did so well.”

“You should have seen her, she was so brave!” And that was Ria, apparently still full of adrenaline. “He had her on her knees and then she was like YOL! Then he was clutching his face and that was when she killed him. Elisif's the best!”

“Ria,” and that was Vilkas. “Ria, calm down, she's injured herself – Madanach, she's bleeding, we need a healer – ARANEA!”

Elisif heard Madanach cursing, then chimes of Restoration magic, which felt nice, it really did, and she could just go to sleep now. So Elisif closed her eyes, hearing Madanach shouting her name and then she knew nothing more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Elisif finally woke up, she was tucked up in a large, very comfortable double bed in a bedroom even bigger than her room back at the Blue Palace. She was fairly certain she'd never been in here but something about the furnishing, the stonework, it looked familiar. Looked like... Windhelm, and then she remembered everything.

She'd killed Ulfric. Not pleasantly either (as if there was a pleasant way to kill someone) but with fire to the face and then a deathblow – a mercy really, even the Forsworn might have had trouble healing those burns.

And here she was, in a bedroom so huge that it must be his, surely, and oh god Ulfric had slept in this bed last night. She hoped they'd changed the sheets.

They'd certainly changed her. Her armour and weapons were all arrayed neatly to the side, and she was in a night-shift. Not a mark on her. She didn't have time to wonder about this for long though.

“Hello pretty Dragonborn!”

Cicero pounced out of nowhere, landing on the bed, crawling to lie alongside her, grinning up at her. He was dressed in tight-fitting black and red leather armour, but the jester hat on his head and a strange curved dagger at his waist, and he seemed in a particularly cheerful mood.

“Hello Cicero,” Elisif said faintly, always a little uneasy around Cicero no matter how friendly he was. On the other hand it was a lot easier to feel better about herself knowing that no matter how many terrible things she had to do, how many people she had to kill, Cicero would always be many thousands of miles further down that road.

“Hey Elisif,” and that was Eola emerging, the usual mysterious little smile on her face that always gave Elisif the shivers. Elisif began to feel a little nervous, but thank the Eight, Ria was here too, and Ria might be a little bloodthirsty but she was sane and generally honourable.

“Hello!” Ria said, coming to sit on her right while Eola snuggled up to Cicero on her left. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Elisif said. “And a little tired – what happened? Last thing I remember is passing out in the Hall...”

“Yeah, you keeled over in Madanach's arms,” Ria said, grinning. “Never seen him look so worried. Good thing Aranea was there, she reckoned it was mostly nervous exhaustion and mild blood loss. Your armour took the worst of it, but don't worry, it's been fixed and so have you. Aranea just said you needed to rest. She left me here to keep an eye on you.”

Which explained Ria's presence but where Cicero and Eola had come from was anyone's guess.

“OK... so what are you two doing here? I don't remember seeing you anywhere...” Elisif said, vaguely recalling Madanach and Delphine sending them off on a secret mission somewhere.

“We just got back,” Eola told her. “Got in about an hour ago to find no Stormcloaks anywhere and the Forsworn guarding the gates and hauling bodies away. Looks like it all went to plan!”

“They say you breathed fire and blew his head off!” Cicero breathed, looking enthralled. “Can you teach Cicero how to breathe fire? Cicero wants to learn how to breathe fire!”

“I don't think it works like that,” Elisif said nervously. “I mean, I learnt how from... from a dragon, but you'd need to learn the hard way. Constant practice and meditation, I'm afraid.”

Cicero's shoulders drooped, Cicero scowling and looking a bit sulky, but Eola patted him on the shoulder and Ria smiled at him.

“Never mind, Cicero, we'll try and learn it together,” Ria told him. “We just need to keep practising shouting Yol and meditating on fire and maybe one of us will learn.”

Elisif hoped to Stendarr it wasn't Cicero and she could see even Eola looking a bit nervous about the prospect of a fire-breathing Cicero.

“So where've you been all this time?” Elisif asked quickly, changing the subject. Eola seized on it gladly.

“Dawnstar!” Eola said. “Cicero has this place to stay near the town, it's a bit basic but very romantic. Then we got the message it was all kicking off down here, so we did what we had to and came back.”

“It was very exciting!” giggled Cicero. “We had to run nearly all the way, and then past this fort full of Stormcloaks. Pretty Eola flung a few fireballs at them and let an Atronach draw their fire. They didn't see sly Cicero at all!”

“But why were you in Dawnstar in the first place?” Elisif asked, still confused. Cicero's sly grin and knowing giggle did not reassure her.

“Same reason you were in Windhelm, my dearest,” Eola purred. “We were assassinating a Jarl, weren't we, Cicero?”

“Stabbed him!” Cicero squealed. “And his housecarl! And Eola killed that Stormcloak officer they had living there. And then we killed lots and lots of guards while running away.”

“Stabbed a... oh gods. You killed Skald the Elder.” Elisif hadn't seen that coming. And they'd been there on Madanach and Delphine's orders. No wonder no one had wanted to talk about it.

“Yes! YES!” Cicero cackled, beaming up at her. “So pretty Elisif doesn't need to worry about the Pale any more, because Skald the Elder is dead and the only likely replacement is Brina Merilis who will surely back the Empire and invite General Tullius in to take the Hold. Isn't it marvellous?”

It was fairly horrifying if Elisif was honest, those two up against an old man who, whatever his faults, deserved better than being slaughtered by Cicero. Probably for the best she'd never known. As it was, it probably meant fewer casualties than if the Legion had had to take the town, which was something.

“It's lovely, Cicero,” Elisif sighed. “Well done. What's going on out in Windhelm? How long was I out for?” Daylight was streaming in through the roof windows so she'd clearly been asleep all night.

“You slept all night, it's morning now,” Ria said. “Madanach's out there, holding court. I think so far he's mostly been organising the infirmary, taking inventory and cleaning the place up. He's got Vilkas and Aela in the city helping reassure the townsfolk. Farkas is in with Argis. Aranea says he's going to be fine. Is he really Madanach's son?”

Well, that was something. Elisif nodded.

“He is. Except, well, not legitimately which is why no one knew who he was. Sorry, Eola. I only found out a few days ago.”

“Ah, that's all right,” Eola sighed. “I've been away from the Reach for so long, it's a wonder I've any family left to come home to. All the same, it's not every day you come home to find out you've got a new brother. And a new brother-in-law too from the look of it. Not that I mind. Farkas is a sweetie, isn't he?”

“He is, he is!” Cicero cooed. “Cicero likes Farkas!”

Well, that was something, Eola approving of her new kin. She wondered what Argis and Farkas made of Eola and Cicero. She'd have to ask, but that would mean getting up. A trial, especially with the room being so cold, but she needed to be visible, she supposed. Reassure the people of Windhelm this was no hostile takeover but their true High Queen restoring order. She pulled herself out of bed, wincing in the cold as Eola hauled Cicero away and Ria went to help with her armour.

“You know, you really shouldn't be getting up,” Eola commented. “You look very pale, are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine,” Elisif said. “But I need to find out what state the city's in. Oh gods, all the townsfolk, they must be terrified, Mara I hope none of them died...” First the invasion and then waking up to find the Forsworn running their city. Yes, Elisif really needed to get out there.

Eola hauled Cicero off, giving him a sharp smack on the backside when he was a little too slow in moving, at which Cicero promptly shrieked, delighted, before giving Eola a sly grin and scampering out. Eola waved goodbye to Elisif and the door closed behind her.

“He doesn't get any better, does he?” Elisif sighed. Ria shook her head, helping her get her cuirass on.

“No... but all the same, I like him. He's a sweet little guy. I wonder if he'd make a good Companion. Maybe I should introduce him to Kodlak.”

Elisif couldn't even imagine what Kodlak might make of Cicero. But she had other things to worry about. Such as a city waking up to find itself run by the Forsworn.

Notes:

Next chapter will be a bit calmer, hopefully. It's the morning after and Windhelm waking up to realise the Forsworn are running their city, and Madanach and Elisif realising just what sort of state Ulfric's left the place in.

Chapter 31

Summary:

It's the morning after the battle and some problems were expected - the clean-up, tending to the wounded, taking inventory, sorting out the guard rota and dealing with outraged townsfolk demanding to know what's happened to their city. However, Madanach never expected to find himself dealing with not one but two traumatic child protection cases on his first day in office.

Notes:

Taking a breather during this one - it's mostly dealing with the aftermath of the last one. That said, the last scene is basically this timeline's Innocence Lost and could potentially be distressing if the sight of hungry, exhausted troubled kids who are at the end of their resources bothers you. It bothered Madanach after all.

Elisif stopped in to see Argis briefly, relieved to see he was all right, and very pleased to see him awake and happy and holding hands with Farkas, who'd spent the whole night alongside him from the sounds of it. Farkas had kissed Argis's hand and gazed adoringly at him for most of the time she was there, and from the way Argis had kept glancing bashfully at Farkas, the affection was clearly mutual. Argis had asked if it was true about Farkas turning into a werewolf to rip Galmar apart, and Elisif had confirmed this and also added Farkas had nearly been zapped by Madanach's lightning spells, but fortunately Elisif had stopped him. It was also fortunate that Madanach seemed mostly fine with the beast blood, albeit that could just be because he had other problems right now.

“I'm sure it is,” Argis had said wryly. “Well, Farkas told me the whole thing before the battle anyway, and Farkas and Vilkas both want a cure. So if Da's got a problem, he can talk to Keirine, see about finding one.”

Well, if anyone knew about obscure and not entirely natural magics, it'd be the Forsworn. She made her goodbyes and made her way to the main hall, wondering what she'd be facing.

Raised voices, and most of them seemed Nordic.

“Where's Jarl Ulfric?” The speaker turned out to be a middle-aged Nord man with a bald head, full beard and brown hair, and fine merchant's clothing. “What have you done with our Jarl?”

“You can't just march into a city, slaughter the guard and take over!” another man, blonde, in his thirties and wearing a farmer's tunic, cried. “Who are you anyway?”

“Some sort of criminal, I'll be bound!” a woman snapped. She was grey-haired and Imperial rather than a Nord. “All these people walking around in furs and using unnatural magics – it's not right! I saw three of them in the market less than an hour ago standing around some sort of fire rune! What were they up to, hmm? Hmm? You tell me that!”

“Trying to keep warm?” Madanach said wearily. He was dressed in the winter version of Forsworn armour, fur covering virtually everything apart from hands and head, and a fire rune glowing on the wall where Ulfric's bear banner had been once. He didn't look like he'd slept well, and the small mob was clearly not helping his mood.

“Trying to keep... you think this is some sort of joke?” the woman cried. “What have you done to our city??”

“So far, bury your dead, clear it up and keep the peace,” Madanach growled. “Madam, my intentions are actually honourable... but don't push your luck. I am Jarl of this city now, and I will be the one enforcing the law.”

“Law?” the man in fine robes scoffed. “By what law are you ruler? You're not even a Nord!”

“By the only law that matters,” Madanach growled, rising and folding his arms, staying on the pedestal the throne sat on so as to hide the fact he was shorter than the men confronting him. “I am the one with the army.”

“Might doesn't make right.”

Elisif, watching from the shadows, looked to see who the speaker was, and saw a fifty-something Nord warrior, bald, bearded, armoured, and flanked by two Forsworn, Borkul the Beast and Delphine, clearly having been escorted in specifically... but not a prisoner.

“Brunwulf?” the farmer asked, puzzled. “Why the escort?”

“I could ask the same thing,” Brunwulf growled. “You come into this city, kill guards who are just doing their jobs and at least one citizen, kill the Jarl and declare yourself ruler, and yet when I try to protect my city and my people, instead of sending me to Sovngarde, you felled me personally with a paralysis spell and had your man here haul me back to my house and keep me there under arrest. Why.”

Madanach had sat back down again, smiling. Brunwulf actually interested him, it seemed.

“Now that's the most interesting question I've been asked yet,” Madanach purred. “Most of them are demanding to know what I've done, or what will happen to them and their families. Not you, oh no. You want to know what I'm planning. Delphine was right about you. You're bright.”

Delphine grinned, nodding back at Madanach in acknowledgement of the compliment. Madanach turned to Brunwulf, still with that same intrigued grin on his face.

“Oh yes, Brunwulf Free-Winter, I've heard about you. Veteran of the Great War, counted a hero by most of the city and yet you've been heard to say you're no hero, just an old soldier who didn't want to die, and that there's no glory in war.” Madanach sat back, growing sombre. “We have that in common, Sirrah Brunwulf. There's precious little glory in all this. War's just a way to claim power for your leader, we've always understood that in the Reach. We've seen Talos-worshippers claiming to be fighting in the name of honour butcher our land often enough. I'm not a hero either, sirrah. Just an ageing warrior who didn't want to die in prison.”

Brunwulf was staring back at Madanach, heedless of the whispers going around and the Imperial woman tugging at his sleeve and demanding to know who he was.

“You're Madanach himself, aren't you,” Brunwulf said softly. “Divines have mercy. Well, I can see why you'd want revenge on Ulfric. I was there, you know. He talked me into joining his militia, and I went. So did Thorbjorn here. What I saw...” Brunwulf shook his head. “The things he ordered us to do... no man of conscience could have carried out. He said you were all Daedra worshippers, witches. I saw magic yes, but I also saw a people fighting to survive after the three month siege we'd subjected them to. One of his men ordered me to kill a Nord woman and her child. She was just trying to defend her home. I refused and walked away. I don't know what happened but...” Brunwulf stared up at Madanach, still haunted. “I have never felt easy about war since. Don't ask me to back it now.”

“I won't,” Madanach said, and he seemed to be struggling with his own ghosts. “My troops killed guards and any others who fought us and did not surrender last night, but we've not had to kill anyone since. I'm not here for revenge or to start a war, I'm here to finish one. You want to know why I spared you in particular. Because I'd heard you were well-respected in this city and fair to non-Nords. We'll see how true that is... but I'm not your enemy and so I won't treat you as such.”

“You're not my friend either,” Brunwulf pointed out, but some of the hostility had gone. Everyone else had gone quiet, watching this exchange nervously. Brunwulf clearly did have authority in this city. No wonder Delphine had identified him as a man worth sparing.

“No,” Madanach said, settling back into the throne that had once been Ulfric's. “I'm your Jarl.”

“Jarl?” Brunwulf scoffed. “You do not understand Nords if you think you can just walk in and declare yourself Jarl. Even with an army and with Companions of Jorrvaskr trying to tell us you're not here to murder us all. A Jarl is Jarl because his or her Hold recognises them as best placed to lead. It cannot be imposed from above.”

An excellent point, and Elisif was a bit worried as to how Madanach was going to answer that one. He could cite the backing of the true High Queen... but she was no Eastmarcher and High Kings and Queens rarely appointed Jarls unless there was no heir of the previous Jarl... and they almost never appointed outsiders. Was this actually going to work?

“We recognise him as Jarl.”

Elisif could have sighed with relief to see a small contingent of Dunmer and Argonians walk in – former slaves and slave-owners united in resistance to Nordic abuses.

“Suvaris, what is this?” one of the Nords demanded, Thorbjorn, was it? “What are you doing here?”

“Accepting the inevitable,” Suvaris said calmly, indicating Madanach, who was grinning. “Ulfric is dead, his regime is in tatters, it will take weeks if not months for the rest of the Stormcloak army to regroup and lay siege to Windhelm, by which point the Empire will have taken advantage and dealt with them. The war is done, and if Jarl Madanach here is going to be in charge of the city, it's easier for all of us if we co-operate. My Jarl, we all of us here have been talking and decided that Windhelm has needed a regime change for a long time. We're happy to have you in charge of our city, sir.”

The others around her all nodded enthusiastically, much to the horror of the Nords present.

“This is a setup,” Thorbjorn stormed. “You people are all in his pockets! He's paid you to say this!”

“If you paid us more, we might have said no to him,” one of the Argonian men growled. “As it is, we didn't need a lot of convincing to turn against Ulfric. Madanach for Jarl!”

Madanach was leaning back in his throne, smirking at this point, basking as the others took up the refrain and acknowledging their singing of his praises.

“I'd say that's a good portion of the city all in favour of my rule,” Madanach purred. “Don't fear, Brunwulf, it wasn't personal power that drove me to come here. Even in the Reach, it came to my ears that Ulfric's injustices weren't limited to my people. And so, in response to Dunmer and Argonian cries, I've come to liberate Windhelm and so it has proved. You can't deny I'm completely unwelcome.”

Thorbjorn looked outraged, as did the Imperial woman next to him. But Brunwulf nodded his head, acknowledging the truth of this.

“It is true,” Brunwulf sighed. “Ulfric has been sowing the seeds of hate for years, and so he has been rewarded. I cannot say I approve of this, but if you rule justly and don't persecute the Nords in turn, then I'll accept you as Jarl.”

“He's not even a Nord!” Thorbjorn cried, and then Brunwulf turned on him.

“Skyrim is home to more than just Nords and if Ulfric had bothered to consider that, he might still be Jarl!” Brunwulf snapped, and that did shut Thorbjorn up. But the farmer next to him nodded and spoke up.

“If Brunwulf thinks it a good idea, then I will accept it. Clan Cruel-Sea will offer you no opposition,” he said. Then the woman stepped forward, still scowling at Madanach.

“You'd better do a good job,” was all she said. “Fine, if everyone else is in agreement. I suppose I don't have a choice.”

“Thank you, Madam,” Madanach said, raising an eyebrow. “I'm touched by your appreciation. What's your name?”

“Viola Giordano,” she snapped. “I'll have you know I'm a pillar of Windhelm's community. Why, I've lived here for years and I know everyone who's anyone in this city!”

“Then I'll be sure to remember you when I need to know something,” Madanach remarked. “Now, if we're all done arguing, I do have a city to run – yes?”

Two golden-robed priests had made their way to the front, a man and a woman, both Nords. There was only one temple in Windhelm they could possibly represent.

“Jarl,” the woman said, dropping a bow. “We're from the Temple of Talos, Lortheim and I. We wanted to know your opinion on the worship of Talos.”

Silence as every single Forsworn present had turned as one to the priestess, hands going to weapons, and while Delphine was suddenly looking very nervous, Madanach was gritting his teeth, face an icy mask.

“What about it,” Madanach growled.

“Are you closing the Temple? Arresting worshippers?” Lortheim put in. “They say you hate Talos and all he stands for!”

And they'd be right... but Madanach was too much the politician to let his instincts take over, and Delphine was staring him down as if to remind him who'd got him this far.

“I despise Talos,” Madanach growled. “Were this the Reach, you can be quite sure your Temple would be closed and your shrines cast down. But it's not... and as yet, I've not had to sign any treaty banning Talos-worship. So you can keep your temple open... for now. I hear the merest hint of Talos-worship being used as a cover for sedition and I may change my mind.”

It was far more generous than Elisif had ever expected Madanach to be, but then again, he'd promised her he'd rule fairly. Clearly he kept his promises to her if no one else, and she knew he respected Delphine.

“Jarl,” the priestess said quietly, stepping back with her husband, accepting the verdict. It was as good as she could expect. And then Brunwulf was stepping forward again.

“I had one more question. They say Jarl Elisif herself was here, challenging Ulfric. They say she killed him, not your folk. What did you do with her, Madanach? Are you holding her prisoner? Or do all Nords look the same to you and she's lying in the Hall of the Dead alongside her rival?”

Elisif shuddered at the thought. Send her remains back to Solitude and lay her to rest alongside Torygg, but never bury her next to Ulfric.

“I'd never mistake her for Ulfric,” Madanach laughed. “She's alive and no prisoner of mine, don't worry. In fact -”

“I'm right here,” Elisif said, deciding this was her cue to enter. “And I'm no prisoner. I came to Windhelm to challenge Ulfric, yes, but I didn't expect him and his people to just hand the city over. I knew they'd fight me, so seeing as the Empire weren't able to help, I called on my other allies.”

The hall had gone quiet, and Madanach had got to his feet, making his way down the steps and approaching her with arms held out and a smile on his face, ridiculously pleased to see her.

“Elisif cariad, you're awake!” Madanach laughed, and Elisif gasped as he drew her into his arms, kissing her on the cheek and ushering her forward, protective arm around her shoulders as he motioned her towards the throne. “High Queen, take your throne, you earned it.”

“I'm not High Queen yet!” Elisif protested, coming to a halt at the foot of the steps. “We need the Moot for that! I'm just a Jarl.”

“Oh, just a Jarl, she says,” Madanach laughed, amused. “Cariad, who else is the Moot going to vote for? You can breathe fire, for gods' sake.”

“That doesn't make a good Queen,” Elisif sighed, but she could see the eyes of the room on her and she could hear the whispers. Elisif... High Queen... Dragonborn. She could see the awe in their eyes, even Thorbjorn looking impressed.

“It doesn't?” Madanach said, feigning surprise. “Well, you've still got my vote. Windhelm, allow me to present the true High Queen of Skyrim, Elisif Dragonborn, Jarl of Solitude.”

They weren't cheering, in fact they looked terrified. Dear gods, was her reputation that fearsome?

“Citizens of Windhelm,” Elisif began, feeling a bit nervous herself. “Er... hello.” Oh very queenly. She could kick herself, but Madanach's hand was still gently rubbing her upper back and it gave her strength. “Don't be afraid. I mean you no harm. I was here for Ulfric... but Ulfric's gone. Now I just want peace for Skyrim. Maybe the Legion said it wasn't possible to overthrow Ulfric yet, but I wasn't about to stand by and let the war drag on, let my countrymen and women die needlessly. Maybe Madanach is not the ally I would have seen myself acquiring but he's proven his worth and I have full faith that he'll run this city as capably and justly as I would. Maybe more so.”

“Don't, you're embarrassing me,” she heard Madanach chuckle. Elisif smiled and carried on. He'd do a good job, she knew. Well. She hoped so anyway, but he'd let the Temple of Talos stay open despite his personal opinion, and had been well on the way to winning the city over before she'd emerged. She had a feeling he'd manage.

“As for why I moved now, instead of waiting for the Legion to make their move, know that it was not just personal vengeance that motivated me. Skyrim has bigger problems than a petty power struggle. You all know the dragons have returned, the Harbingers of the End Times. It is worse than you know. Alduin himself has returned... and he's in Sovngarde. Every battle we fight, every Nord killed, goes to feed his appetite, and I cannot go after him while war rages here. So that's why I took Windhelm. To bring the war caused by Ulfric's ambition to a close with as few deaths as possible... and that's why I'm leaving Madanach in charge while I go to Sovngarde myself to fight Alduin. And I swear by the Divines, by Akatosh himself, that I will rid the world of Alduin or die trying.”

A deathly hush had descended over the room and the Nords in particular looked horrified. As well they should be. Everyone had heard legends of Alduin.

“You're not serious,” Brunwulf said quietly. Elisif lowered her head and nodded

“Would I tell you all this if it wasn't true,” Elisif said. Of course not, no responsible leader said this to an audience of Nords if they didn't believe it to be true. The entire Palace had gone quiet.

“But you have a plan,” Brunwulf said, looking shrewd. Well at least she could reassure him on that score.

“Yes. It means I'll need to leave for Whiterun soon, but I have a plan,” Elisif said. “Please, I know you must be frightened and I know this is a lot to take on trust, but I ask you to trust in me, as Dragonborn if not High Queen. I will not let Alduin triumph. Will you trust me, Windhelm?”

Silence, and then Brunwulf nodded.

“Aye. If you think this is for the best. Dragons don't care what colours we fly. But if Madanach plays falsely, may the blood be on your hands.”

“He'll behave,” Elisif said, turning to see how Madanach was taking this and that wounded innocence on his face was fooling no one. “If I come back and find out he's betrayed my trust, I'll kill him myself.”

Madanach actually pouted, and he needed to stop doing that, he was nearly sixty, a grown man and a hardened warlord, he had no right to look quite that pathetic. But she'd take it as agreement.

The group dispersed and everyone headed home. Elisif felt about ready to collapse with relief and it was only now she realised how much she was shaking.

She took the Jagged Crown off and sat down on the steps before she fell down. Madanach came to sit alongside her and Delphine settled down on her other side.

“We did it,” Elisif whispered. “I mean, we killed Ulfric and took the city and they're all mostly fine with it! It worked!”

“It worked,” Delphine said, looking relieved. “I honestly wasn't sure it would.”

“You weren't sure?” Madanach snapped. “You told me we had every chance of making it work!”

“Every chance of screwing it up too,” Delphine replied. “These things are never certain, you know that. Just be glad you're Jarl officially.”

Madanach did seem to find that amusing. “Jarl of Windhelm, me! Don't suppose anyone ever saw that coming. Still can't believe it myself. You think General Tullius will be as reasonable?”

“He'd better be,” Elisif snapped, still remembering Tullius's refusal to help her do this. A refusal that had nearly been the end of her. “I am High Queen, not him, or I will be anyway. A High Queen or King can nominate a Jarl of any Hold if it's left without a suitable Heir, and the Empire needs ratification from me to exercise that on my behalf. If I sign a declaration and full pardon for you in return for your assistance, General Tullius can't overrule me. Not unless he really does want a rebellion on his hands.”

“I'll have some escape plans ready just in case,” Madanach said, growing sombre. “So I suppose now Ulfric's dead, you'll be needing to go and sort the dragons out. Don't suppose you'll be hanging around.”

There wasn't really any reason to delay now she'd taken Windhelm, in fact the thought of Torygg up in Sovngarde with Alduin chasing him down made her all the more keen to get out there and fight.

“I probably shouldn't hang around, should I?” Elisif sighed. “I should leave as soon as I can.”

“Leave in the morning, it'll give us all time to rest and recover and to work out who's going with you,” Delphine said, and Elisif could see the dark circles under her eyes and wondered if anyone had had any sleep last night. “Oh, talking of which, Esbern asked me to give this to you. We found it in the Blades library. New Thu'um for you. It's the name of a dragon. The one you're going to try and trap at Dragonsreach.”

Elisif stared down at the parchment, three Dovah letters staring up at her and the meanings below. OD-AH-VIING. Winged Snow Hunter. Odahviing.

“I can just Shout its name and it'll come?” Elisif asked, surprised – but hadn't Paarthurnax been able to Shout hers?

“That's right,” Delphine confirmed. “He's not obliged to come but Esbern seems to think he will. Odahviing is Alduin's right hand, he'll want to test his Thu'um against the first one to defeat Alduin in centuries.”

And that was her. Elisif felt a little intimidated by the thought of a mighty dragon seeing her that way. She certainly didn't. But at least she wouldn't be alone. She was sure some of the Companions at least would want to be involved, and she had a feeling Cicero would definitely want to be.

“All right, I'll leave tomorrow,” Elisif agreed. “And I'll make sure you've got a seal of approval in writing before I go, don't worry.”

“Glad to hear it,” Madanach said, although his smile did not entirely mask the worry in his eyes. They'd reached the point of no return now. “All the same, don't take too long. It'll go a lot smoother when the Empire turn up if you're here. All right, I suppose I'd better get on with setting the court up – Kaie's interrogating that steward Jorleif to find out where all the records are and Keirine's wrangling the court mage, I should probably go see what they're up to – Karliah? What's up?”

Madanach's voice died as Karliah stepped forward, small figure clutching a big basket of flowers at her side. A little Nord girl in a ragged and dirty dress, and she looked terrified.

“We found her wandering the streets when we took the Grey Quarter,” Karliah said, ushering the girl forward. “Your people weren't sure what to do with her and we can't keep her in the cells with the Stormcloak prisoners. Her name's Sofie. She says she's eight years old and sells flowers.”

Sofie was a dark-haired Nord child, blue eyes staring at the three of them and Elisif repressed the urge to just run forward and cuddle her. She looked like she needed it, and good heavens, if the girl had seen the Forsworn fighting, no wonder she was scared.

“Hello Sofie,” Elisif said, slowly getting up and making her way over, kneeling in front of her. “My name's Elisif. Are you all right?”

Sofie nodded silently although Elisif had a feeling she wasn't, not at all. Time to get this little one back to her family, whoever they were. Wherever they were. If Madanach's people hadn't killed them in the battle, that is.

“Where do you live, sweetie? Your parents are probably worried about you,” Elisif said gently, and that only seemed to make Sofie look sadder.

“Mama died when I was little. I don't remember her,” Sofie said softly. “Papa was a soldier for the Stormcloaks. He went away to fight when the war broke out... and he never came back.” Sofie fell silent, tear rolling down her cheek. “So I sell flowers. It's not much but at least I can eat. Mr. Rendar at the Cornerclub makes food for me, and Shahvee on the docks lets me sleep in the Assemblage. I was trying to get back there when – when the soldiers attacked. They were killing all the guards and I was so scared they'd hurt me too but Karliah found me and hid me until it all stopped. She'd said she was going to take me to the Jarl and find me somewhere safe to stay properly. Are you the Jarl now? I don't know what happened to Jarl Ulfric.”

I happened to Jarl Ulfric. But Elisif could hardly tell a little girl that. At least they'd hauled the bodies out and cleaned up the blood in here.

“She's not Jarl, I am,” and that was Madanach, kneeling next to her, and to Elisif's surprise, he sounded unusually gentle. “Hello cariad. I'm Jarl Madanach. What's all this about you living on the streets in my city, hmm?”

“I...” Sofie whispered, going pale. “Er... I don't... I've got people looking after me and I've got money, look! I sell flowers! I've got a job! So you don't have to send me to the orphanage! Would you like to buy a flower, sir?”

“How much?” Madanach asked, beckoning Borkul over and taking a coin purse off him. “Two septims each? A bargain. Here's thirty septims, I'll take them all.” He took the basket off Sofie and handed her the coins, to Sofie's amazement.

“But I only had ten flowers!” Sofie whispered. “It's too much!”

“Course it isn't,” Madanach said gruffly. “I owe you twenty septims for the flowers and ten septims for the privilege of feeding you and giving you somewhere to stay, of course.”

“But that's not how it works!” Sofie protested, confused. Madanach folded his arms and glared at her.

“Now look here, young lady, I am Jarl of this city and more years your elder than I care to think about. So if I say I'm paying you for the privilege of feeding and housing you, then that's what's going to happen, all right?”

Elisif stifled a giggle as Sofie stared at him and nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes sir,” Sofie whispered. “But... why are you Jarl? I thought Ulfric Stormcloak was Jarl...”

An awkward moment, and Elisif truly had no idea how to explain all this to a small child. Fortunately, Madanach was a father of four daughters and well used to explaining complicated political situations to little girls.

“He died,” Madanach explained. “He died bravely, fighting off a terrifying dragon. But as he didn't have any heirs, someone else has to run the city now, and it's going to be me.”

“Oh,” Sofie said quietly. “Are – are there going to be any more soldiers killing people?”

“No cariad, at least I hope not,” Madanach said quietly. “Those soldiers were mine and they obey me. I didn't really want to kill anyone, but Ulfric was a bad man who started a war and killed Elisif here's husband, so I had no choice but to send my army in. Now we've done what we needed to and hopefully no one else will need to die.”

Sofie nodded, seeming to accept this, and Madanach was smiling encouragingly as he patted her shoulder.

“What happens now?” Sofie said softly, looking nervously up at Madanach.

“Now?” Madanach said. “Now I've got a city to run, and you need to go and have a bath and have lunch and clean clothes and a rest in a nice soft bed. How does that sound, hmm?”

“OK!” Sofie gasped, looking delighted at the thought of food and a bath and a bed. “Can I have my basket back afterwards? I'll need it to gather flowers in tomorrow...”

“To gather... cariad, you aren't going to be selling flowers any more,” Madanach said, amused... or at least he was until Sofie's face fell and she looked like she was about to cry.

“No, no, I need to, I need a job or they'll send me away, please don't send me to the orphanage, please, I'll do anything, please!” Sofie cried, looking terrified at the prospect of this orphanage.

“Is there an orphanage in the city?” Elisif asked. She didn't think there was but perhaps Ulfric had set one up.

“No,” Delphine said, watching from a distance. “Only orphanage in the whole of Skyrim is Honorhall down in Riften, but it's behind enemy lines. I'm not risking anyone sneaking a little girl out there.”

“That's it, Honorhall!” Sofie cried. “Please don't send me to Honorhall, please!”

Madanach put an arm around her, gently pulling the sobbing child into his arms, soothing her as best he could and gently telling her it was all right, she could stay at the Palace as long as she liked, he wouldn't send her to Honorhall Orphanage.

“Promise?” Sofie whispered, clinging on to his fur and bone armour.

“Promise,” Madanach told her, and Sofie promptly cuddled him as if he was the answer to her prayers, whispering her thanks over and over again. Madanach cuddled her back, looking up at Karliah, eyes hard.

“Tell me more about Honorhall,” he said quietly. Karliah's knowledge might be old, but she'd lived in Riften once after all.

“It's not a nice place,” Karliah said, shivering. “We used to recruit from it. Maven funded the place so we could never do anything about it, and it was a good source of people but the woman who runs it, Grelod... she's an evil old crone. She's horrible to those kids.”

“They sent Aventus there after his mama died,” Sofie said quietly, still clinging to Madanach. “But Grelod was horrible to him, so he ran away and came back. He went back to live in his old house and he's been there ever since. They say he's doing the Black Sacrament, to try and get Grelod killed. That's why I have to sell flowers, so I don't get sent there.”

Madanach had gone very still as she'd spoken, staring up at Elisif and Delphine and Karliah in astonishment.

“The Black Sacrament, are you serious?” Madanach demanded. “There's a boy with no parents performing the Black Sacrament, everyone knows about it, and no one's done a damn thing? Borkul, I want Kaie and Cicero in here right now, and Jorleif as well. I want a damn explanation.”

This was done and Kaie emerged from the war room, Ulfric's ex-steward behind her looking rather nervous, and not long after Cicero emerged in his motley, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Cicero was sleeping, Reach-King,” Cicero pouted. “Cicero was tired!”

“I know, and I'm sorry, but you'll find this interesting,” Madanach said. “Jorleif. It's come to my attention that there's an orphan boy in this city performing the Black Sacrament, trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood, and that everyone knew and no one's done a damn thing! Is this true?”

“Oh. That,” Jorleif said, before belatedly realising perhaps Madanach took these things rather more seriously than his predecessor. “I mean, yes Jarl, that's what they're saying. Aventus Aretino's mother died in the summer, so we sent him to the orphanage. But they say he ran away and came home... and they say he's doing the Sacrament too, but it's just tales. Even if not, we've had no time to deal with it, what with the war. Boy ran away, the orphanage won't take him back.”

“I'm not sending him back,” Madanach growled, getting to his feet. “But I am dealing with it. Kaie, this is Sofie, her parents died and she was living on the streets. Can you find her a bath and some food and clean clothes and somewhere to sleep?”

“Sure!” said Kaie, before something occurred to her. “Oh. We didn't kill her parents last night, did we?”

“No, they've been dead for a while, we think,” Madanach told her. Kaie brightened up at this.

“Oh good, that's a relief,” she said, before recalling that perhaps wasn't the most sensitive response. “Er... I'm sorry for your loss, little one?” Kaie smiled hopefully at Sofie, who at least wasn't looking too intimidated by a fur-clad barbarian warrior woman with facepaint and a shaved head. Madanach rolled his eyes and continued the introductions.

“Sofie, this is my daughter, Kaie. She's going to look after you for now, and you can stay here as a ward of court until we can find someone to adopt you.”

To everyone's surprise, Sofie looked disappointed.

“Can't you adopt me?” she whispered. Madanach's eyes widened and he glanced up at Elisif, clearly shocked by this. But Sofie was clutching at his furs, staring up at him, clearly sincere.

Madanach looked a bit panicked and Elisif wasn't sure what to tell him. For all she loved children, she'd not been around that many in her life.

“Cicero could adopt her?” Cicero cooed, and that did distract Madanach, and everyone else.

“No!” half the room said in unison, including Elisif who couldn't imagine Cicero left in sole charge of a child. Cicero's shoulders slumped and he scowled, kicking his feet sulkily.

“Cicero likes children,” Cicero muttered. “Cicero is never allowed to talk to any. It is not fair.”

Madanach ignored him and turned back to Sofie, patting her on the back.

“You barely know me, cariad,” Madanach told her gently. “I might be a bad man for all you know. And I'm a bit old to be taking care of children. Also there's a chance I might have to leave in a hurry, and that'd be dangerous for you. But you can stay here for now. We can talk in a few weeks if you still feel the same, hmm?”

Sofie nodded, hugged Madanach and left with Kaie. Madanach beckoned to Karliah and Cicero.

“You two with me, you as well Borkul. We've got another one to rescue.”

“Do you need me to come?” Elisif asked. Children trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood and no one caring – what sort of city was this??

“No, it's fine,” Madanach sighed. “Not sure what we're going to find, best if you're out of it. I'll tell you all about it after.”

“All right,” Elisif whispered as Madanach gathered a small party of guards and swept out. Something like this going on in Ulfric's city and no one had seemed to notice or care. Elisif felt rather better about having had to kill him. Clearly he'd been too focused on his own ambition and greed to care about his own citizens. A new Jarl would be better for everyone and Elisif already felt rather proud of Madanach for taking his new role seriously. He was going to do a fine job, she knew, and probably a good job as King of the Reach if all went well too.

If the sight of Madanach being kind and fatherly to a little girl in distress had stirred softer emotions in Elisif herself, she kept it to herself and pushed the thoughts away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Aretino house wasn't hard to find, especially when Idesa Sadri was seen talking to Grimvar Cruel-Sea outside it (Madanach had had extensive reports from Delphine on all the city's residents and had gone to great lengths to memorise their names and relationships).

“So I'll ask him out to play. He lives right there,” Grimvar said, heading for the house door.

“Grimvar, wait!” Idesa cried, and then both elf and boy went quiet on seeing a group of Forsworn soldiers, one heavily-armoured Orc, a Dunmer in grey leather, a jester skipping along behind them, and at their head, the new Jarl himself.

“Oh wow, who's that?” Grimvar breathed. “He looks fierce!”

“That's the new Jarl,” Idesa said, placing a hand on his shoulder and leading him away. “Don't bother him!”

Too late. Madanach had seen them both and quietly cursed at the thought of yet another child being involved. At least this one had a family he could be sent home to.

“Is this the Aretino Residence?” Madanach asked, addressing Idesa. The Dunmer nodded, not letting Grimvar go for a second.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Sir, be careful, they say...”

“I know what they're saying, it was reported to me this morning. I'm doing what a Jarl should be doing and investigating,” Madanach said wearily. “I really don't need any civilians interfering, could the pair of you go home?”

Idesa nodded and tried to haul Grimvar away, but the boy was tenacious.

“Sir, is is true? Is Aventus Aretino really in there performing the Black Sacrament?” Grimvar asked. The boy seemed enthralled... but there was a core of worry there too. They'd probably been friends once from the look of it.

“They say he might be,” Madanach said gruffly. “I'm going in there myself to find out the truth. Boy, you should go home. This isn't going to be something children should see.”

“But he's a child,” Grimvar pointed out. Madanach could only nod.

“I know. That's why I have to intervene.”

“Are you gonna arrest him? Is he in trouble?” Yes, definitely a former playmate, Grimvar looked really worried.

“He might be in trouble... but not with me,” Madanach said quietly. “I'll be taking him back to the Palace but he's not facing criminal charges. He's what, ten? He needs help, not prison.”

Grimvar nodded, seeming to accept this.

“Thanks, sir,” Grimvar said quietly. “None of the guards ever seemed to care before. You're different. Jarl Ulfric hardly ever left his palace.”

Which was one of the many reasons Jarl Ulfric no longer had a palace, or indeed a face once Elisif had finished with him. But Madanach elected not to tell Grimvar any of that, just smiling and thanking the boy and telling him to be sure to mention that to his parents, he had a feeling they still weren't sure about him. And so Idesa led the boy away, and Madanach stationed guards around, two pairs of warriors blocking each direction of the passage to stop anyone else wandering by, two more standing outside the door, while Karliah had the lock open in seconds.

“Thanks,” Madanach said quietly, dreading what he was going to find but knowing he couldn't delegate this one. “You can wait here, Karliah. Might need you after, but no need for you to come with me.”

Karliah nodded and stepped back, and Madanach beckoned to Borkul and Cicero, hardened killers both who were no strangers to blood, and Cicero in particular was virtually immune to revulsion. He'd been practically buzzing ever since finding out someone had been trying to summon the Brotherhood, insisting he must speak with the poor supplicant, answer the prayer that Mother could not. Madanach had only been able to quiet him by saying of course they should, but this was his city and he was doing the Speaking, not Cicero.

So here they were, Madanach making his way upstairs in a house that was being used to pray to Sithis.

From the reek of rotting flesh, Aventus had been at this a while.

“Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear.” The speaker was young, male... and utterly exhausted.

Deep breath from the boy. “So... tired...” Madanach felt his heart go out to the boy, remembering another young boy who'd been tired and terrified and believing himself orphaned – twenty five years ago now, but Madanach had never forgotten Karliah bringing Argis to him and quietly telling him Inga hadn't made it. Madanach had held the poor boy in his arms, knowing this was his son if Inga hadn't lied (and of course she hadn't, she'd not even wanted him near Argis at first) and vowing he'd do everything to make sure his boy was cared for. A promise he'd never quite been able to keep, not after getting arrested... but at least Argis had been loved. What did Aventus have? He didn't have a Reach-King father with an army to come and get him.

But he had Madanach as his Jarl, and Madanach did know a thing or two about children. He'd do his best to help this boy. He just hoped it would be enough.

Forsworn boots quiet on the floorboards as Madanach made his way in, passing through the house, reading and angrily discarding a letter from Jorleif callously committing the boy to an orphanage, and moving into the small side room that had probably once been Aventus's bedroom. Devoid of furniture now though.

In the middle of the room, kneeling in a circle of candles and relentlessly driving a dagger into a gruesome pile of bones and flesh, was a small, skinny Imperial boy, dressed in filthy red and black clothes that had once been quite nice. Naalia Aretino had clearly taken good care of her boy before she died. Next to him, Madanach heard Cicero whimper. The little jester was actually quivering. Best to interfere before Cicero lost it completely.

“Aventus,” Madanach began, not sure what to say but anything was worth doing to stop... this.

Aventus gasped, dagger slipping from his hands as he turned, amazed to see Madanach standing there, dressed in Forsworn-style bone and fur gear and looking nothing like a Jarl. Maybe he didn't even know about the takeover yet.

“You – you came! You came at last!” Aventus cried, and for the second time that day, Madanach wondered if he was about to have another crying orphan launching themselves at him. Mercifully, it didn't happen.

“Who were you expecting?” Madanach asked, deliberately keeping his voice calm and level, and something in his Reachman tones seemed to have a soothing effect on the boy.

“An assassin! From the Dark Brotherhood!” Aventus explained, looking surprised he'd even ask. “I've been doing the ritual over and over, with the body and the – the things. But now you're here and you can accept my contract!”

Contract?? What? Oh good gods, no, Madanach was trying to turn over a new leaf, impress Elisif and persuade the Empire he was a good man and a fair and just ruler who truly deserved to run the Reach, not go back to running assassination rings! He did not need children thinking he was really some sort of hardened murderer. Even if he was exactly that, and Borkul and Cicero were no better, worse if anything.

What he definitely did not need was Cicero interfering, but sadly for him, that was exactly what he got.

“The Aretino boy has prayed to Mother and Mother answers,” Cicero purred, gliding out from behind Madanach and dropping to his knees in front of the boy. “Oh yes, Cicero knows your name, little one. But do you have a name for Cicero? Who are you giving to Sithis, boy.”

Madanach could cheerfully throttle Cicero at this point, heartbroken daughter be damned. But he restrained himself, and a hand on Cicero's shoulder restrained the little jester as well.

“Cicero,” Madanach growled. “We agreed you would be allowed to come on this one on condition you observed only and said nothing.”

Cicero scowled up at Madanach, but said nothing, indicating for Madanach to Speak then, if he did not wish loyal and faithful Cicero the Last True Child of the Night Mother to do it for him. Aventus however answered Cicero anyway.

“Grelod the Kind. She's the headmistress of Honorhall Orphanage in Riften,” Aventus said, scowling at her memory. “Except she's not kind. She's horrible, to all of us! So I ran away, and came home, and performed the Black Sacrament! And now you're here and you can accept my contract!”

Madanach had never seen a child look so enthusiastic about anything in quite some time, all bloodlust and excitement... and underneath it all, a forlorn desperate hope that someone, anyone, even a murderous assassin, might rescue him from the pit his life had descended into.

It was the same desperate pleading he'd seen in Argis's eyes all those years ago, even before Madanach had told him he was his father. Eyes that had stared into the Void and back, pleading for the Reach-King to save him, help him, tell him everything was going to be all right.

Madanach hadn't been able to stop himself then either.

“It will be done,” Madanach promised. “Cicero here is one of my best, he'll take care of it personally, won't you, Cicero?”

Cicero gasped and slowly turned to look up at Madanach as if his birthday and New Life had come at once.

“Cicero shall see the old crone bleed!” Cicero breathed, before getting up and preparing to run off, only quick action from Madanach stopping him fleeing to gather his things.

“Not right now!” Madanach growled. “She's not going anywhere, we can take a day or two to plan things, sit down!”

Cicero giggled, blushing a little but apparently quite happy now that the Sacrament had been answered and Mother's will was being done.

“Of course, of course!” he giggled. “Foolish Cicero! Yes, yes, Cicero will be good and quiet and await more detailed instructions once sweet Madanach has had time to plan it all. There is no rush, is there?”

Good, the little fool was compliant at least. That was something. Now to sort the boy out.

“You will hurry, won't you?” Aventus said, faltering a little. “Only I'm getting kind of lonely here...”

“Well, maybe we can help with that as well,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “See, there's the matter of payment.”

“Payment! Right!” Aventus said brightly. “I've got this family heirloom, it should fetch you a nice price.”

The silver plate might fetch one hundred septims maximum, but given the condition it was in, Madanach had a feeling no shopkeeper would give more than thirty for it.

“Keep it,” Madanach told him. “It's something else I need from you. You see, due to an unlikely set of coincidences and happenstance, I've, er, managed to end up as Jarl of this city.”

Aventus's eyes widened in awe. “No way!” he breathed. “They put a Dark Brotherhood assassin in charge?? What happened to Jarl Ulfric – oh.” Aventus saw the slightly embarrassed grin on Madanach's face and saw Cicero giggling and Borkul smirking and worked that out for himself. “Well, don't you worry, sir, I won't tell anyone. I think that's awesome!”

“That's very sweet of you,” Madanach purred. “But see here, half the city knows you're in here performing the Sacrament, and the only way I could get in here unnoticed was by telling everyone I was intervening for your own safety to stop you. So while you know and I know there's a contract, what I need from you in return is to pretend there isn't. To not want to talk about it. To not say who you wanted killed. To say the rite never worked. Do that for me, and I'll make sure Grelod dies.”

“You got it, sir,” Aventus promised. “I won't tell a soul.”

“Good, good,” Madanach said, relieved this had gone so well. “And there's one more thing. I'm not sending you back to that orphanage, don't worry. But you can hardly stay here either. Get your things, you're coming back to the Palace with me. I'll look after you until we can work out what to do with you long-term. There's another little girl there too, Sofie. She's got no one to look after either, so I've taken her in. How does that sound?”

“The Palace?” Aventus whispered. “Really? Are you serious? I mean, you'd really let me live there?”

“Of course,” Madanach said, holding out a hand to the boy. “Come with me, we'll get you fed, clothed, cleaned and rested. Don't worry. I'll take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Aventus whispered, taking his hand and staring up at him as if he was the answer to his prayers. Madanach smiled at the boy but inwardly, he worried. Re-integrating a boy known to have performed the Sacrament back into society was going to be a challenge, to put it mildly. Windhelm would probably shun the lad from this day forth, as it had since his return.

But the Forsworn weren't so squeamish and Madanach had nothing but respect for a boy who'd reacted to injustice by running away and trying to save his fellows. He'd take care of young Aventus and damn the rest of the world's opinions.

Notes:

Next chapter is back to the main quest as Elisif leaves for Whiterun, where she gets the lovely task of breaking the news to Balgruuf that he is no longer neighbours with a fanatical and dangerous warlord - well, not the one he was worried about anyway.

Chapter 32

Summary:

With the war sorted out, it's time for Elisif to return to her Dragonslaying role and take the fight to Alduin. But first, she has to persuade Balgruuf that Ulfric's replacement Jarl isn't a worse prospect.

Notes:

I HAVE WRITTEN LOADS OF THIS FIC! And so I should probably post some of it, eh?

And so day one of the new regime came and went, and the world didn't end. Windhelm gossiped and fussed, and the new regime wasn't universally beloved. But no one was actually murdering anyone or performing necromancy on the streets, so people were on edge but not rioting. It was probably for the best that Rolff Stone-Fist and Angrenor Once-Honoured had been killed in the battle, the only civilian casualties. Some believed this was not coincidence.

Madanach had already repealed laws forbidding Argonians from entering the city, and guard patrols were as frequent in the Grey Quarter as in the market. Shops opened by noon and the blood and bodies had been removed with commendable swiftness.

The Aventus Aretino incident had tongues wagging, and the sight of Forsworn removing a box full of remains and returning them to Helgird at the Hall of the Dead had people whispering about what the boy had been up to, and how sad it was he'd turned to dark magic, and maybe that was why the new Jarl had taken him into the palace, to use him in some ritual or other.

And everyone whispered about the Dragonborn, the High Queen for sure now Ulfric was dead, how she was living at the palace and friends with the new Jarl, officially signing a pardon for all offences he or his people had committed and declaring Madanach as Jarl of Eastmarch. And Alduin's name was whispered, how the World-Eater lived and was in Sovngarde, feeding on their war dead. And some said if the Dragonborn was so powerful, why hadn't she killed him already?

But Windhelm did nothing other than whisper, and Madanach had plenty of Forsworn to police the city. He'd sent the more fanatical ones off to deal with the Stormcloak stronghold at Fort Amol, and there was a party off to Fort Kastav as well, all making use of Stormcloak documents and intelligence that had proven very interesting indeed.

All in all, the operation had gone as well as it could have. And so Elisif had spent the day resting and the night sleeping and in the morning gathered a small group of volunteers willing to help trap a dragon.

Cicero. Eola. Aela. Ria. Farkas didn't want to leave Argis, who was doing well but not quite entirely recovered yet, and Vilkas didn't want to leave Madanach on his own in charge of a Nord city. Sapphire and Brynjolf were serving as eyes and ears in the city for Delphine, and Aranea and Erandur were needed to help with the wounded. But Karliah was along for the ride, and the more top archers along the better.

And so the little group were assembling at the gates of Windhelm, saying their goodbyes.

“Now you be sure and say goodbye to the High Queen,” Madanach was telling his new fosterlings. “She's going off to trap a dragon and save the world so say goodbye and wish her luck.”

“Goodbye, Jarl Elisif,” both children chorused.

“You go tell those dragons,” Aventus added, having been very impressed indeed to find the Dragonborn was here, right here, and had lots of fascinating stories (although Brynjolf actually told them better, if Aventus was honest). “You kill 'em all!”

“Take care and don't get hurt!” Sofie said, looking worried for her and giving Elisif a hug. “You're too pretty to die!”

“I don't think Alduin will agree, but thank you,” Elisif said, giving the girl a cuddle and wondering if she could adopt her... but no. Best not to. Sofie couldn't gain a new parent only to lose her so soon.

Then goodbyes to Vilkas, and Farkas, and then Argis, now up and about but still aching.

“You take care, High Queen,” Argis said sternly. “No doing anything stupid just because I'm not there to save you. Skyrim needs you alive.”

“I'll try,” Elisif promised, feeling comforted by the bear hug Argis gave her. It was like having an older brother looking out for her, who loved her and cared for her but didn't want anything more from her. She could do with that in her life. If only she could keep him as housecarl once she went back to Solitude, and the thought of being back in Solitude all on her own with all her new friends going back to their own lives depressed her no end.

She couldn't think about that. She had a lot more to do before going back to Solitude happened. Next was Delphine, folding her arms and looking a little uneasy.

“Well, Dragonborn, we went to a lot of trouble to make Ulfric not a problem any more. Hope you can make this all worth it,” Delphine told her firmly.

“I'll try,” Elisif promised. “Thank you. For everything. I'm not sure I'd have got this far without you.”

“Maybe not, but you're the one who brought me Cicero and the Forsworn and the Companions,” Delphine replied, actually smiling for once. “Not sure any of us would have got anywhere without you. People like you, you know. They meet you and suddenly they're willing to turn their back on their own agenda to help you out. It's a powerful gift. Use it well.”

Pure luck as far as Elisif was concerned, and she was fairly certain Madanach's own agenda was never far from his mind. But she thanked Delphine anyway... and couldn't help but notice Delphine seeming a little... off.

“Something wrong?” Elisif asked. Delphine shook her head, although Elisif had a feeling she wasn't telling her everything.

“Oh! No, no, just the worries of a paranoid ex-spy,” Delphine said, not sounding at all like her usual self and that did set alarm bells ringing. “Listen, we can talk more when you get back, right? You go kill Alduin and don't worry about anything else.”

A statement guaranteed to make Elisif wonder, but she didn't have much time to ponder it. Madanach had disentangled himself from Cicero and finished saying goodbye to Eola and had turned his attention to her.

They'd not really spent a lot of time alone together since that night at Witchmist Redoubt. Elisif had a feeling that was intentional on his part. He'd been friendly since... but keeping her at bay definitely, and that stung a little. Not that Elisif blamed him, rejection couldn't have been easy and she was sorry, she really was. But she wasn't ready for anyone new, and definitely not someone as dangerous as Madanach. Just being around him made her dragon blood start hissing and seething, and it wasn't because her inner dragon hated him either. No, it was for the best she kept him at arm's length. She was Torygg's widow, not free to love anyone else or even have mindless sex with them, and having Madanach around, knowing he had feelings... well, she couldn't not know about it now, and it was unsettling her. Definitely time she got out of Windhelm for a bit. This constant dance of being aware of him, wanting his attention, not getting it or not getting the sort of attention she wanted, not sure what sort of attention she did want but wanting something and all the while her inner dragon growling that he was strong, dangerous, he could summon fire and frost too, they should claim him... no. It had to stop. She needed to get away from him for a bit and go fight Alduin, then come back and negotiate with Tullius over Madanach maybe getting the Reach, and then he could be King and she need never see him again. And that would be the best thing for everyone. Right? Right.

Except those icy blue eyes of his had a way of threatening to undo all her resolve.

“Well, Dragon-Queen, I hope you know what you're doing,” Madanach said gruffly. “This little venture sounds risky to me, but if it's required to prevent the apocalypse, I suppose I have to go along with it, don't I? Just don't die. I need you back here afterwards to tell the Empire I'm a reformed citizen so they don't execute me.”

The mere thought broke her heart. But she'd signed off his pardon and an official declaration that he was Jarl, and he'd sworn an oath of undying loyalty to her as High Queen in return, and sitting in Ulfric's throne while he'd sworn to accept her as liege, offer no false counsel but always support her rule, be her ally in the sunlight and her shelter when the rains came, to protect her from her foes and show hospitality to her friends had brought up all sorts of feelings she'd been trying to suppress. She still wasn't sure if it had been a good idea, but he was an ally and a friend and she would protect him.

“I signed off your pardon!” Elisif sighed. “You've got three copies of all the paperwork back in your palace. But don't worry, I'll be back as soon as I can. And speaking of which...” She held out her hand expectantly. She'd not let him get away with not making a few promises of his own.

“What – oh. That,” Madanach sighed. “Fine, fine, here is your declaration. A solemn promise from me not to attack Whiterun or any other Imperial holdings or send troops west of Valtheim Keep. Hopefully it will persuade your friend Balgruuf of my intentions.” He handed over a scroll sealed with the seal of Windhelm, but also with Madanach's personal rune-seal glimmering on it. Elisif wasn't sure it would entirely be sufficient but hopefully it would help.

“Thank you,” Elisif said, glad to see he was making an effort and repaying her trust in him. Maybe he still had his own agenda, but all the same, knowing he deserved her trust was comforting. “I know you're doing this mostly to hopefully get the Reach back, but I couldn't have done this without your help. Thank you for making it so I didn't have to die.”

“You're welcome,” Madanach said gruffly, staring at his feet and looking embarrassed. “Just keep on not dying, all right? I'd miss you.”

“I'd miss you too,” Elisif replied, torn at the emotions she was feeling right now but also knowing it was true. She needed to leave, but she'd also miss him. She'd enjoyed being able to rest, first in Witchmist Redoubt, now in Windhelm itself, knowing someone else was in charge and Madanach was protecting her. Now she was heading out on her own again, all the responsibility on her shoulders... and it scared her.

“Take care, all right?” she whispered, reaching out and hugging him, and after the briefest of hesitation, he had his arms around her, holding her to him. Elisif clung on to him, wishing she didn't have to go... but wasn't this proof positive of why? It felt too nice, being held like this. Too reassuring, and if she gave in to it... no, this was madness. So she just kissed his cheek instead and let him go. She had Torygg waiting in Sovngarde, and she couldn't spend the rest of her life being cuddled by Madanach. Stepping away, she rejoined the rest of her party.

“You take care of this city, Madanach!” Elisif said, raising her voice for all the onlookers to hear. “Or I'll be back riding a dragon and having it eat you!”

Smirk on Madanach's face and he was looking desperately like he was trying not to laugh, which was safer, a lot safer, wanting to smack him was a lot safer than wanting to kiss him to see what it was like... except her inner dragon seemed to quite like the idea of wrestling him to the ground, pinning him down and biting him as well, which wouldn't end well for anyone.

“I'll be good,” Madanach promised. “You go and save the world, High Queen.”

Elisif nodded, waved and set out for Whiterun, keen to get out of this city before her inner dragon had any more ideas about molesting her Jarls. Time to go back to the real world... and break the news to Balgruuf the civil war was the least of his worries now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not even out of Eastmarch yet, and Elisif was convinced the rest of the party were insane.

Cicero obviously, the little maniac was constantly humming and cackling and singing to himself. But Eola wasn't a lot better, laughing at Cicero's jokes as she trekked alongside him in the Stormcloak uniform that had once belonged to Galmar Stone-Fist.

“The bear suits me, don't you think?” Eola purred at Ria and Cicero.

“You look lovely, sweetling!” Cicero cooed. “Especially now they have got all the blood out of it.”

“Your dad's not upset seeing you in a Stormcloak uniform?” Ria asked, wondering if it was really the best choice of attire for a Forsworn princess. Eola just shrugged.

“Not really. It's a long tradition in the Reach to hunt down your prey, skin it, eat it and wear its pelt, or take some other little trophy,” Eola shrugged. “I'm just following tradition, Da understands that.”

“Yeah but that only applies to animals, right?” Ria said, looking a bit nervous. “Right?”

The briefest of hesitation, with both Cicero and Eola looking a bit worried, and then Eola laughed.

“Of course, sweetie. I would never skin a human and make clothes out of their skin.”

“The skin is not really thick enough, it tears so easily,” Cicero explained, before Eola smacked him.

“Wasn't a lot of skin left intact after Farkas finished with him,” Aela added, eyes scouring the road ahead, but she sounded amused.

“I wish I was a werewolf,” Ria said, envious. “I'd love to be able to fight like that.”

“So would Cicero,” Cicero sighed. “Savage Cicero, rampaging through the stre- er, across the tundra, ripping the prey apart and wallowing in the blood! Could I be a werewolf, Aela? Pleeeasssse?”

“Jorrvaskr does need more werewolves,” Aela sighed. “Vilkas, Farkas and the old man all want a cure, it'll be just me left. You'd have to be a full Companion though, Cicero. That means Kodlak's got to let you in, and you've got to live with honour and not stab innocent people.”

Cicero squealed, promising no one would ever find him doing any unlawful stabbing, which even Elisif knew by this point was not in any way the same thing as him not murdering anyone, but she supposed it was a start. Maybe being in Jorrvaskr would reform him a bit, or maybe Kodlak would see sense and say no.

Karliah was walking alongside Elisif, quiet so far, but she was having a quiet conversation with a very tame raven that had appeared not long after leaving Windhelm and that was currently sitting on the Dunmer's shoulder.

“Where'd the raven come from?” Elisif asked, keen to get off the topic of blood, stabbing and werewolves.

“She followed us from Windhelm,” Karliah said calmly. “She seems friendly, so I'm being friendly to her. They're sacred to – they're sacred,” Karliah finished, and Elisif guessed it wasn't one of the Aedra they were sacred to. One of the three Reclamations? But everyone knew Dunmer worshipped those. Or was it an old god of the Reach? Elisif had been able to learn a few of their gods (old elven ones apparently - Anu/Auriel, Sithis, Yffre, Magnus – then Dibella and Hircine added on for good measure, and a certain amount of reverence for Azura too) but she was certain the list she'd compiled so far was not exhaustive.

Perhaps it was best not to ask. But that raven certainly seemed to like Karliah, and then she realised it was watching her, head tilted and looking very purposefully at her.

“Hello?” Elisif whispered, feeling a bit silly talking to a bird, but from the way it squawked at her then took off, wheeling around her and coming to perch on Elisif's right shoulder, it seemed to understand. It was heavier than it looked too. “Er. Hello Raven?”

The bird cawed gently, nudging at her ear, much to Karliah's amusement.

“She likes you,” Karliah told her, grinning. Elisif wasn't sure if she wanted the attention or not. But the bird didn't go far, remaining close by for most of the journey, and seeming inordinately fond of Elisif.

Seeing as it was the only member of the party not talking about killing things, Elisif found she rather liked its company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whiterun seemed quiet in the late afternoon as Elisif made her way into the city, her friends at her side. There was a brief debate about whether to rest at Jorrvaskr overnight or go straight to Dragonsreach, but Elisif thought of Torygg hiding from Alduin in terror and opted to see Balgruuf right away.

The Jarl of Whiterun got to his feet to welcome her, smiling but surprised to see her there after her last visit.

“Elisif,” Balgruuf said, inclining his head politely. “Welcome back. I hadn't thought to see you again so soon. What can I do for you? I hope you're still not trying to persuade me to back your mad dragon trapping scheme. I've not heard anything about the Legion making a move on Windhelm.”

“No,” Elisif said, wondering how to broach this topic. It had seemed like such a good idea, leaving Madanach in charge. Except now she was starting to wonder if Jarl Balgruuf might not have preferred Ulfric to having the Forsworn as his neighbours. “No you wouldn't. I mean... look, I still want to go ahead with trapping a dragon.”

“Which means getting rid of Ulfric,” Balgruuf said, narrowing his eyes. “Elisif, I've heard nothing about him surrendering to the Empire, or the Legion taking his city. Until that happens...”

And here was the difficult bit. Elisif had a feeling this wasn't going to go well.

“About that...” Elisif began, but she was interrupted by the sound of someone running up the stairs along the full length of the hall, clearly in a hurry.

“My Jarl!” the new arrival, a Nord woman, cried. She was young, around Elisif's age, clad in steel armour and armed with a sword and shield, blue eyes and dark hair and really quite pretty. Clearly one of Balgruuf's soldiers but a cut above most guards. A housecarl perhaps?

“Lydia?” Balgruuf said, surprised. “You're back already? That scouting mission was supposed to last another two weeks.”

“I know, but you need to hear this,” Lydia gasped. “We just got word in... came as soon as I could.”

Ah. Trust Balgruuf to have a few of his own people watching the border. Elisif gritted her teeth for this one, exchanging nervous glances with Aela and Karliah who'd both come for moral support. Eola was sitting in the entrance hall still, keeping Cicero amused and entertained, with a little help from Ria.

“Easy, Lydia. Catch your breath. Word of what? Is it the Stormcloaks? Is Ulfric preparing to attack again?” Lydia must really be one of Balgruuf's most trusted soldiers, because Balgruuf actually had a hand on her shoulder while Lydia stood bent over with her hands on her knees, clearly not having stopped running since she left wherever she'd been posted.

Lydia shook her head, finally catching her breath.

“No,” she gasped. “No, it's not that... sir, it's the Forsworn!”

Elisif instinctively reached out and took Karliah's hand in her left, Aela's in her right. This had been a terrible idea. What had she been thinking??

“The Forsworn??” Balgruuf cried, exchanging horrified, if baffled, looks with Irileth, who'd made her way over immediately on seeing Lydia arrive. “What about them? Are they attacking my holdings now as well as the Reach's? Divines save us, have they attacked Rorikstead?”

“No,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “No, they've taken the city...” She stopped, coughing again and taking a moment to compose herself.

“They've taken Markarth??” Irileth cried, horrified. “I thought there was a Reachman in charge over there now?” Both she and Balgruuf looked appalled and Elisif didn't blame them. The Reach was one of the Empire's key backers, for the Forsworn to wipe out an ally like that would have been catastrophic.

Lydia shook her head and straightened up, seeming not quite able to believe this herself.

“No, ma'am. Not Markarth. My lord, they've taken Windhelm!”

“Windhelm?” Balgruuf cried. “Why in the name of T- the Eight would the Forsworn have gone all the way out there...” Balgruuf's voice died off as he put two and two together – Elisif arrested in Markarth and disappearing in the Forsworn jailbreak, believed to be their prisoner. Elisif then turning up safe and sound and not saying much on how she'd got away. Elisif needing Ulfric out of the way in a hurry to trap a dragon. And now the Forsworn had just taken Windhelm over.

“You knew, didn't you?” Balgruuf said quietly, and Elisif couldn't tell if he was angry or disappointed. Perhaps both. Elisif nodded.

“Yes. I knew. I was there.” It took all Elisif's courage to face Balgruuf but she managed it. Even if she did want to run away and hide and never mind the dragons. High Queen, you're High Queen, you're his liege, not his daughter!

“You were there?” Irileth said, surprised. “And they didn't take you prisoner or worse? That doesn't sound like them.”

“You were never their prisoner, were you,” Balgruuf said, face a mask. “You made a deal with them. In Cidhna Mine.”

Elisif nodded, her courage on the verge of deserting her... but she held his gaze like a Dovah should.

“He said he'd help me escape if I helped the Forsworn cause. I said I would if he stopped murdering innocent people, and when he found out I was trying to avenge my husband, he was very interested and said he'd help.”

“He?” Balgruuf said quietly, dangerously, even though Elisif had a feeling he knew exactly who she meant.

“Madanach,” Elisif finally admitted, feeling the tension drain out of her to be replaced with her inner Dovah singing in exhilaration as his name left her lips. “The new Jarl of Windhelm.”

She squeezed Aela and Karliah's hands and let them go, watching as the blood drained out of Balgruuf's face.

“You made Madanach the King in Rags Jarl of Windhelm?” Balgruuf roared. “Are you insane? The man's a psychopath! Do you know how many people the Forsworn have killed over the past two decades?? And you gave him a whole city of Nords to play with?!”

“Windhelm is home to more than just Nords!” Elisif snapped, not sure where this anger was coming from, but Madanach was one of her people and Balgruuf had no right to speak to her like that, none at all. “Windhelm's Dunmer and Argonian residents hated Ulfric and they welcomed him in with open arms. And even some of the Nords were won round. Brunwulf Free-Winter and the Cruel-Sea clan have decided to recognise him as Jarl, which means that's a majority of Windhelm's citizens in favour. He ruled the Reach before, he knows what he's doing!”

“I'm sure he does!” Balgruuf snapped. “Do you? Do you honestly have any idea who you've just put in charge? When he double-crosses you...”

“He is not going to double-cross me,” Elisif hissed, feeling her dragon blood starting to rise again. How dare one of her own Jarls talk back to her like this? “He made promises, and so did I! I told him if he screwed me over, I'd kill him like I did Ulfric!”

That did shut Balgruuf up, and even Irileth looked impressed. Elisif glanced at Karliah and Aela, getting a smile off Karliah and a nod from Aela who'd turned back to Balgruuf as if to say see?

“You killed Ulfric?” Balgruuf whispered. “What, by yourself?”

“Yes,” Elisif growled, really getting very tired indeed of people thinking she couldn't do these things. “I breathed fire right in his face and killed him, and now the treacherous bastard is dead and in Sovngarde fleeing from Alduin. Which he deserves, but those who died alongside him didn't. So if you don't mind, I'd like to get on with trapping a dragon so I can get rid of Alduin and stop him killing us all!”

Dragonsreach had gone very quiet, Balgruuf staring back at her in shock and Irileth looking amazed, and Balgruuf's steward over on the far side of the room looking very nervous, and Lydia gazing at her as if she was Kynareth herself.

“Oh my goodness, that's really Jarl Elisif, isn't it?” Lydia breathed. “The Dragonborn! I've heard so much about you, High Queen.”

“Yes, Lydia, that's Jarl Elisif,” Balgruuf intervened before the hero-worship got out of hand. “And she's come here to trap a dragon so she can defeat Alduin. Which I did promise I'd help with if she made sure Ulfric was no longer a problem. Well, she's done that. You are sure Madanach will behave, won't you?”

“He promised me he would,” Elisif told him, handing over Madanach's written promise not to invade. “Even put it in writing and sealed it. You can believe it. Forsworn respect the written word and those rune-seals they use are practically sacred. Madanach would never put his to something he knew was false.”

Balgruuf took it and read it, eyebrows raised. “I didn't even know those heathens knew how to write,” Balgruuf admitted, looking impressed. Elisif rolled her eyes but said nothing. Balgruuf pocketed the note, nodding.

“Farengar might be interested in that rune-seal,” Balgruuf said thoughtfully. “But more so in the prospect of a dragon to examine. Elisif, we've had the trap checked and rechecked, the thing works. It's ready when you are. All we need is to get a dragon here somehow. You've not neglected that part of the plan, have you now?”

He was looking shrewdly at her as if to wonder just how exactly this was going to work, and truth be told, she wasn't sure either. But she had a Thu'um, a mage, a Companion and three archers, one of whom was an ex-assassin with a gift for taunting and teasing. It would be enough. She hoped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A hush had fallen over Dragonsreach as the dragon trapping party gathered on the Dragonsreach porch. Balgruuf had exchanged fine robes for steel plate armour, Irileth had swapped the usual steel weapons she carried for ebony, and Lydia had also volunteered to help out, armed to the teeth with enchanted gear borrowed from the armoury.

Elisif had spent the night at Jorrvaskr, having eventually been persuaded that this would go better if they'd all had the chance to sleep, and Aela and Ria had joined her. Karliah had slipped off to the Bannered Mare though, as had Cicero and Eola who'd heard about the lack of double beds at Jorrvaskr and decided they'd rather try the inn.

Elisif had seen the tame raven again too, settling itself into the eaves of Jorrvaskr and spending the night there. At least she thought it was the same one. Hard to tell with birds. But Kodlak hadn't seemed to know about a raven regularly visiting, so she guessed it could well be the one that followed them to Whiterun.

Now it was the morning after and they were all gathered on Dragonsreach porch, ready to fight, and Eola's Stormcloak outfit only drew a few raised eyebrows.

“I took it off a dead one,” Eola explained cheerfully, which seemed to satisfy Balgruuf and Irileth. Alas, when Cicero (truthfully) used the same reasoning with regards to his Shrouded Armour, neither Jarl nor housecarl looked reassured, but Elisif persuaded them he was on their side.

And now they were gathered, Cicero, Eola, Karliah, Ria and Aela fanning out behind Elisif, bows and magic at the ready, Lydia and Irileth with weapons drawn, and Balgruuf looking expectantly at her, all waiting for her to do her thing.

“Well, Elisif, we're here,” Balgruuf told her. “Time to summon this dragon. You, er, do know how to summon a dragon, don't you?”

Now that was the easy part.

“OD-AH-VIING!”

For a few minutes, nothing. Dragonsreach held its breath, waiting. Then it came – wingbeats on the wind, then a shadow and a roar, and one of the guards was gone, sent screaming into the ether. Then Odahviing was back for a second run.

“DOVAHKIIN! HERE I AM!” Odahviing roared, before spewing fire at Cicero. The little jester-assassin shrieked and leapt aside, casting mage armour – Eola must have taught him the spell. Then he raised his bow, as did Karliah, Aela, Balgruuf, most of the guards, and then battle was on.

It was not an easy fight nor a swift one. Odahviing would land, attack, then fly off again, evading both arrows and magical attacks. Sometimes he'd even land on the roof.

But even dragons get tired and eventually Odahviing landed on the porch, seeking out Elisif specifically.

“There you are, little Dovah,” Odahviing growled as he advanced on her. “Come, let us see whose Thu'um is stronger!”

Elisif only just got her shield up in time to keep the fire off her. It was all she could do not to answer with fire of her own and spring into battle... but she recalled the trap waiting and decided this was as good a chance as any of luring the dragon into it. Dragonbane in one hand and Shield of Solitude raised, she backed off as Odahviing advanced, not needing to fake her nerves. Would this work? Would he realise? Would he rip her apart like he'd done three of Balgruuf's guards already?

Odahviing did no such thing. As he passed under the trap, the guards released it and a wooden beam crashed down, stunning the dragon as it hit him, and iron catches snapped shut under his neck. Odahviing howled and thrashed but it was no good. He'd been caught.

“GOT HIM!” Cicero squealed, emerging from the shadows and capering about, seeming fascinated to be this close to a real live dragon. “Look, pretty Elisif, look, isn't he handsome?”

“He's lovely,” Elisif said, sheathing her sword and approaching their prisoner. He'd howled as the trap had closed in, but now he was caught, he was strangely quiet. “Let's see what he has to say for himself, shall we?”

Odahviing looked up as she approached, and while dragon faces were hard to read, she had a feeling he was impressed.

“Dovahkiin,” he growled. “Zu'u bonaar. Horvutah med kodaav.” He saw the blank expression on Elisif's face and actually chuckled. “Ah. You do not have the dragon speech. Krosis. You have caught me, Dovahkiin. You went to a lot of trouble to put me in this... humiliating position. I salute your cunning, if not your honour.”

What a dragon would know of honour was beyond Elisif, but she didn't greatly care what he thought of her. She just wanted information.

“Just be thankful I want you alive,” Elisif said firmly. “I'm after Alduin. Where is he hiding and how do I find him?”

“Rinik vazah,” Odahviing said, nodding as if to approve. “An apt phrase. Alduin bovul – hides. He grows weak. One reason I came at your call was to test your Thu'um for myself. I wanted to see if you were truly as strong as they say. I had heard other tales that you were weak, a puppet, unworthy to bear the name of Dovah.” Odahviing lowered his head in seeming apology. “Unslaad krosis, Dovahkiin – innumerable pardons. You are worthy to bear it. But whether you can challenge Alduin and keep the name... that remains to be seen.”

“I will challenge him or die trying, I promise you,” Elisif said, grimacing to learn that even amongst the dragons, she was being spoken of as just a figurehead. But Odahviing clearly had been convinced otherwise... and she would prove the same to the others if she had to. “But first I need to find him. So where is he?”

“Krosis,” Odahviing grunted. “I digress. I will tell you. Many of us have begun to discuss amongst ourselves whether Alduin was truly the strongest of us. Only among ourselves of course. Mu ni meyye. None are yet ready to openly defy him. But if someone were to defeat him... that would be another story. I will tell you where he has gone, of course. Alduin needs to prove his strength before I offer him any more loyalty. But first... Dovahkiin, Yolaazov, if that red-haired joor mey does not stop making those stupid noises and ruffling my scales, I will eat him.”

Cicero stopped mid-coo, whimpered and hastily backed off from where he'd been stroking Odahviing's scales, scampering back to hide behind Eola.

“He won't do it again,” Elisif said, staring pointedly at Cicero, who had gone bright pink and was giggling as he peeped out at her and Odahviing, and trust him to have a dragon fascination, honestly. At least it wasn't him with the dragon blood. That possibility didn't really bear thinking about. “Now, this portal. I know he's gone to Sovngarde. How do I find him?”

“What you seek is in Skuldafn,” Odahviing told her. “It is an ancient fane, high in the eastern mountains. Find it, travel through it, it will take you too to Sovngarde where he feeds on the sillesejoor. I warn you though, all his remaining strength is gathered there.”

“I'm not afraid,” Elisif said quietly. “If I die, I go to Sovngarde anyway. In death or in life, I'll find him.”

“You are brave,” Odahviing noted. “I like that. Your su'um is strong, as it should be in a Dovah. You will be a worthy opponent for Alduin if nothing else. Now I have told you what you want to know, you will release me?”

It was a tempting thought, but Elisif had a feeling he wasn't telling her everything and high up in the eastern mountains could mean anywhere. And if the sole path started in the Rift? Getting there could take weeks.

“Not yet,” Elisif said. “When I've found the place and defeated Alduin, then I'll release you.” She turned to go, and then Odahviing called her, sounding slightly... panicked?

“Yolaazov, wait.”

Elisif stopped and turned around. What else did he have to say? More precise directions, perhaps?

“There is one thing about Skuldafn I may have... neglected to mention.”

She knew it. Knew the scaly son of a bitch had been lying.

“Spit it out, Odahviing,” Elisif said, tapping her foot. “What haven't you told me.”

“Only this,” Odahviing said, and if dragons could grin, he would be. “You may have the Thu'um of a Dovah but without the wings of one, you will never reach Skuldafn. It can only be reached by air. Of course, I could fly you there... but not while trapped like this.”

Gods dammit. “You mean I can only defeat Alduin if I let you go and trust you'll actually take me to Skuldafn and not to my death,” Elisif sighed.

“Precisely. Orin brit ro,” Odahviing purred. “You will not let me go until Alduin is defeated... which you cannot do without letting me go. But don't worry. Zu'u ni tahrodiis. I will take you there. Alduin has proven himself unworthy. I go my own way now.”

“Elisif, don't trust him,” Aela said, glaring at the dragon. “He could be saying absolutely anything to get you to let him go.”

“It's true, information gained under... duress... is not terribly reliable,” Eola added. “Even if it is fun obtaining it.”

Elisif didn't want to know. But as for trusting Odahviing, how many other options did she have?

“Karliah, what do you think?” Elisif asked. Karliah must be fairly good at reading people, Elisif knew that, but whether that applied to dragons too was another thing entirely.

“I don't think you have a lot of choice,” Karliah admitted. “But I don't think he'd have admitted he no longer respected Alduin if he didn't mean it at least a bit. I think he'll do what he promised but no more. Be careful, Elisif.”

“I don't need any more than that,” Elisif said grimly, checking her gear over. “Just as long as Odahviing knows if he flies me into danger, I'll use Dragonrend on him and shove Dragonbane through his skull when we land.”

“Skuldafn is dangerous,” Odahviing laughed. “But you are the one who insists on going there. Zu'u ni sav hin nol hin.”

Elisif didn't know what that meant, but presumably something along the lines of it being her fault if what she asked for killed her. Well then, let it be her fault.

“Turn him loose!” she called to Balgruuf.

“What? Are you out of your mind?” Balgruuf cried. “We went to all this trouble to capture him and now you want to let him go??”

“He gave me his word, Balgruuf,” Elisif snapped back. “And now he's going to help me. Which he can't do until you let him go!”

Balgruuf sighed, not happy but not seeing any real choice in the matter. He waved to the guards to loose the trap, and Odahviing sighed as the bar lifted up and the clasps let him go.

“Much better.” He turned round with more grace than Elisif had expected from a land-bound dragon and made his way to the porch, pausing as he waited for her.

“Come, Yolaazov. Are you ready to see Keizaal as only the dov can?”

Not really, not by a long shot. But if this was the only way...

“Take care, Elisif,” Ria said quietly, coming to give her a goodbye hug. “You be sure to come home and tell us all about it! It sounds like such an adventure. I wish I was Dragonborn, you know.”

“I think you'd think otherwise once you'd had a taste of it,” Elisif said as she hugged her back. “You say goodbye to Kodlak for me, won't you?”

Ria said she would, and then Aela was there, telling Elisif to fight well, and then Cicero squealing about how exciting it all was and he wished he was going. Then Karliah wishing her well, and telling her to run if outnumbered, not to stay and fight them all, just focus on the mission, and there was something to that, Elisif supposed. And finally Eola. Eola who always unsettled Elisif a bit but had always been unfailingly kind to her... and who had Madanach's smile.

“Hey Brenhina,” Eola said, smiling that very smile back at her right now. “You take care now, hmm? My da would be heartbroken if anything happened to you.”

“I already told him I wasn't interested,” Elisif said, although the idea of dying and never seeing him again did make her feel a bit sad. She'd seen him sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, and he'd always look so lonely, wistfully watching the younger ones have fun and clearly wishing he could still do that. But when he'd talked to her, the loneliness had seemed to evaporate and he'd seemed cheerful. Optimistic. Hopeful and energetic. Alive in a way that made her smile when he wasn't driving her up the wall, and it was a world away from the embittered cynic she'd first met. She had a feeling that if she died he'd either go back to that or fall apart completely, and neither prospect appealed.

“He'd still be heartbroken,” Eola said, smile fading a little. “I know you're probably never going to marry him like he'd like, but try not to die, hey? You've got to come back and be High Queen when you've killed Alduin, don't forget!”

How could she? The mere thought filled her with dread – going back to Solitude and having to deal with Falk, Sybille, Tullius, everyone talking over her and ignoring her and going back to having no real power at all. Back to being a figurehead queen.

But before that, Alduin awaited. She owed Madanach a world to be Reach-King in if nothing else, all her friends a world in which to be happy.

“I'll try not to die,” she told Eola, giving her a hug. “Will you go back to Windhelm for me and tell Madanach it worked? And... and tell him I'll be back when I can, and that I'm very fond of him, I just can't...”

“I understand,” Eola said, hugging her back. “Go on, go off and kill things. Go be a hero.”

Elisif nodded and let her go, before turning to Balgruuf, who'd been watching and looking rather awkward.

“Well, I'd better get going,” she told him. “Sovngarde awaits and all that. I'll be back soon, I hope?”

“I hope so too,” Balgruuf said sombrely. He glanced around at the assorted Blades all looking on. “You really have been building quite the alliance, haven't you? Companions, Dunmer, Imperials, Reachwoman mages, the damn Forsworn, who haven't you got backing you?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Elisif admitted, and by and large it hadn't been intentional, any of it, just Elisif taking her chances where she found them. That it had worked out in her favour was a small miracle, but her luck couldn't last forever. “Listen, Balgruuf, if I don't come back... I already left the Jarldom to Falk. But I don't think he wants to be High King as well, so if he doesn't... I'd like for you to take over. I don't know about Siddgeir and Idgrod, but if you agree to give the Reach independence with Madanach as King, I think he and Nepos will vote for you.”

“You do, do you?” Balgruuf said sceptically. “Dear gods, is that what you had to promise him? Elisif, that's not going to go down well with Nords.”

“No, but given the previous rulership was prone to letting innocent people getting thrown in prison without trial, he can hardly do any worse, and I've told him he'll need to sign up with the Empire as a loyal province,” Elisif said wearily. “Honour it on those terms and you'll find him more reasonable than you think.”

Balgruuf grunted then shrugged. “What's losing a Hold to losing a Divine. We'll survive. But me as High King? You really think that'd be for the best?”

“If I don't come back, I can't think of anyone better,” Elisif said, and Balgruuf actually smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, and then it was his turn to hug her, patting her on the back. “But you're going to come back, aren't you? Skyrim will follow you anywhere, because you're a beautiful young Dragonborn hero. I'm not so sure what they'd think of me.”

“They'd follow you,” Elisif said confidently as she let him go. Balgruuf was a capable leader from a long line of them, if it all went wrong, Skyrim would be in good hands, she was sure. And then all that was left was to leave. So she clambered on board Odahviing and, settling herself just behind his head, held tight to his horns. As she did so, a raven fluttered down from Dragonsreach's eaves, wings fluttering and settling in her lap, looking rather purposefully out at the sky, and there was no doubt about it, this was definitely the same bird that had followed her from Windhelm.

“What exactly are you?” Elisif said quietly, eyeing it suspiciously. She'd heard ravens were bright but surely not quite this purposeful. This was Madanach's doing, she just knew it.

The raven just cawed and started preening itself, and Elisif gave up arguing. As long as it behaved itself, she'd put up with a passenger.

Odahviing took off, wheeling north then east under the midday sun, the Velothi mountains in the distance, and as Balgruuf called out to her for Kyne to protect her while she was in her realm, and Cicero could be heard squealing “kill well, Dragonborn! Kill lots of things!”, Elisif held on tight and let the dragon carry her away.

Notes:

And there you go! Sovngarde awaits! Everything is really fitting together now, I'm so excited.

Notes on the Dovah, although most of it was in game:

Zu'u bonaar. Horvutah med kodaav = I'm trapped. Caught like a bear in a trap.

Rinik vazah = a true phrase

Mu ni meyye = we're not fools

Joor mey = idiot human

Orin brit ro = perfectly beautiful balance

Zu'u ni tahrodiis = I'm no traitor

Zu'u ni sav hin nol hin = I cannot save you from you.

Chapter 33

Summary:

And this one's the big one. Skuldafn first... and then Alduin. Enjoy!

Krif voth ahkrin = fight with courage

Notes:

Elisif's on her way... but Skuldafn's tough and she may have bitten off more than she can chew. It's a good thing her allies aren't the type to just let her go to risk her life on her own... and once she gets to Sovngarde, the definition of ally changes dramatically.

Odahviing finally landed, after a flight that been dizzyingly fast, the wind whistling through Elisif's hair as Skyrim whirled below her, the Rift's lakes and rivers gleaming in the sunlight. Her raven friend had seemed to enjoy itself (herself?) too, cawing as they flew, eyes shut but head lifted and clearly having a good time.

So it was Elisif felt rather reluctant as she slid off Odahviing, the raven fluttering up to perch on top of a stone monolith and put its feathers back in order. She'd liked flying. Now she was back on solid ground, and the ruin lying in wait over the bridge did not look inviting.

“This is as far as I can take you,” Odahviing said, glancing over at Skuldafn itself, where a torrent of magic was pouring from the roof, rising into the sky. The portal, Elisif presumed. “Krif voth ahkrin, Yolaazov. I will await your return... or Alduin's.”

Elisif whispered goodbye and then Odahviing was gone, disappearing into the west, leaving her alone. Steeling herself, Elisif whispered a prayer to Kyne and ran over the bridge.

It proved to be as bad as she'd feared, worse in fact. Archers fired at her, Draugr both, and she'd had no problem sprinting round to dispatch one then returning to deal with the second – only to be met with two Draugr Scourges running to fight her... and then the dragon landed.

Breathing fire sent the Draugr staggering back, but not for long, and then Elisif found herself hiding behind her shield, having to fend off the dragon's fire breath, and blows from the two Draugr, crying out in pain as their swords drew blood, and she sank to her knees, realising she'd seriously misjudged her capabilities. She should have brought Cicero after all. Sovngarde awaited, but not the route to it she'd hoped for.

And then there was the fluttering of wings, her raven friend wheeling overhead, wheeling round the Draugr and expertly darting in to peck at the eyes of first one, then the other, and then it was coming into land, feathers fluttering in Elisif's peripheral vision as it suddenly seemed to grow in size... and then twin fireballs sent both Draugr reeling as Keirine was there, casting mage armour as the dragon turned on her.

It turned out even a Hagraven could look nervous, but she didn't falter. She crossed her arms over and drew her claws against her own flesh, flinging her arms out and letting her blood fall to the ground.

“Agar y agarma, Brencailleachta calwad cavairta!” she cried out, harsh Hag tones sounding authoritative enough to give even a Dovah pause. “Teg y tegma, agarta ansio tolad!”

Where her blood dropped to the stone, two portals shimmered into being, and from them Elisif heard two voices, one male, one female and both familiar.

“Agar y agarvia, cuvachtvi'an te!” Two shapes sprang through the portal, one Nord warrior in full Blades armour with an ebony battleaxe in his hands who went straight for the dragon, and the other a mage who Elisif had seen only a few hours ago, clad in Stormcloak gear but definitely not one of them.

Argis and Eola, and the two of them were tearing into her opponents, Eola smacking fireballs into the Draugr while Argis dodged around the dragon with surprising agility for a man who'd been bleeding out in her arms not two days ago.

“What...?” Elisif whispered, feeling a bit dazed as Keirine helped her up and casting a healing spell on her.

“I knew you'd have problems,” Keirine sighed. “My brother's optimism is boundless, but sometimes his feelings can blind him to someone's shortcomings. So I followed, with Argis and Eola on standby in case I needed to call them, and here we are. Now, my nephew's healing is only just done and my niece can hardly be expected to fight two Draugr on her own, so about you go and help with the dragon and I'll sort the undead out with Eola, hmm?”

“Right,” Elisif gasped, unsheathing Dragonbane and running to help Argis out, while Keirine sent thunderbolts flying at the two Scourges.

With four of them, the battle was very soon over, which left Elisif taking the soul while Argis shouldered the bits of dragon, and Eola and Keirine healing everyone, and then four of them standing around, one in particular looking rather awkward.

“Um. Thank you,” Elisif said meekly. “I didn't think there'd be that many.”

“Odahviing said all Alduin's remaining strength is here, you were expecting a walk by the lake?” Eola said sternly. “Honestly, Elisif, I told you to not die!”

“Sorry,” Elisif whispered, but Argis was there, patting her on the back and reassuring her.

“Hey, if I'd been fit earlier, I'd have been here too,” Argis said gently. “As it is, took a day or two for the potions to work properly, but I'm here now. I got your back, High Queen. And so has my sister, even if she does nag.”

“Me? Nag? I hardly ever nag!” Eola said innocently. “I just point out the error of people's ways when it's justified. And you shouldn't be here alone, Elisif. It's dangerous.”

“Which is why I summoned the pair of you,” Keirine noted, sweeping forward. “I can hardly let the best thing to happen to the Reach in years wander off and die, can I? You're the first thing in years to make my brother smile other than Skooma, you are staying alive, and these two are going to help make sure that happens. Aren't you?”

“Yes, Matriarch,” Argis said quickly, old habits dying hard.

“Absolutely, Auntie, we won't let any harm come to her,” Eola promised.

“Good,” Keirine purred. “Now let us hurry, we must get through this place quickly and get you two home before Madanach realises I've abducted you both.”

“He doesn't know you're here?” Elisif gasped as she followed after Keirine. The Hagraven shook her head.

“No, not in the slightest. But no one tells a Matriarch what to do, not even a king, and as Eola and Argis are his beloved youngest and his illegitimate child respectively, he can hardly argue he needs them more than you do. It's not like I've stolen his heir away, is it now?”

Elisif was just rather glad she could truthfully claim no knowledge of this whatsoever when Madanach did find out, but right now, she had bigger problems ahead. Such as the dragon waiting in the courtyard ahead, and the Draugr lining the walls.

Fortunately, with a Matriarch of the Forsworn, a fully trained housecarl and a very talented witch at her side, she had ways of dealing with them.

~~~~~~~~~~~

After the initial battle, the inside of the temple proved to be less of an issue than Elisif had thought, and not a lot worse than the ruins back in Skyrim itself. Certainly the four of them were having no problems, and watching Keirine send fireballs straight into the oil traps to blow the Draugr up before they even got near them was rather satisfying.

“Reminds me of clearing out Hag's End,” Keirine sighed happily. “I was only young back then of course, just Ascended and still wanting to prove myself. Clearing out and settling an entire ruin with just a few warriors to help me was my way of making a mark. I think it worked.”

Elisif wondered what a young Hagraven would actually look like, before deciding she'd really rather not know. Focus, she told herself. Draugr to deal with first.

And so they fought on, finding a puzzle door, then a Word Wall, and then out into the early evening sun where two Deathlords and a Scourge set upon them.

Elisif Shouted one off the roof and then it was time for the others to die. Then Shouting a third Deathlord into the ether, and finally a Dragon Priest was waiting, presiding over the portal itself. A half-injured, slow-moving Dragon Priest that fell easily to Keirine and Eola's lightning spells.

“Want to keep the mask, Auntie?” Eola asked, passing the ebony mask to her.

“You keep it, dear,” Keirine told her as they all came to look at the portal. Alduin's gateway to Sovngarde, and Elisif had finally found it. No turning back now.

“So I suppose I'd better go through it then,” Elisif sighed, feeling her knees turn to water at the thought. She stepped forward and turned to look at the three of them. “I don't think it'll let you through. Fairly certain Hagravens aren't allowed in Sovngarde.”

“I'm certain they're not,” Keirine laughed. “No, don't worry, I need to see these two safe back to Windhelm anyway.”

“Fairly certain they're not letting me in the door either,” Eola said, smiling but the expression looked a little fragile. “I'm not exactly in with the Aedra, if you know what I mean.”

Daedra-worshipper. Elisif had long suspected but never quite felt able to ask if it was true. She still didn't want to know which one.

“You don't worship the Daedra as well, do you?” she asked Argis, who just laughed.

“I'm not one for gods of any kind,” Argis admitted. “They leave me alone, I leave them alone. I'm just a warrior, Brenhina.”

Just a warrior. But a good one, even recovering from an injury. Brave, strong, loyal, looking for all intents and purposes like a true Nord...

“Argis,” Elisif said, a wild idea coming to her, but one that just might work. “Did you want to come with me? To Sovngarde?”

Argis's eyes widened.

“What, me? Are you serious?”

“Sure!” Elisif said, smiling hopefully at him. “I mean, you're a Nord, they might let you in too, right? And your mother's there, you wanted to know if she was OK, didn't you?”

“Yeah, I did,” Argis admitted. “And Da did say I was to guard you with my life, so he can't complain... Matriarch – I mean, Auntie, I can go, right?”

“Don't let me stop you, cariad,” Keirine said with a smirk.

“Yeah, we'll wrangle Da for you, tell him you and Elisif both had a true Nord moment and we couldn't stop you,” Eola grinned, waving them off. Argis promptly gave first Eola a hug, then Keirine, than sprinted up the steps to Elisif's side, taking her hand in his.

“Ready when you are, Dovahkiin,” Argis said, and while he was still sporting his usual housecarl demeanour, Elisif could see childlike excitement hiding under the surface and she guessed his Nord heritage wasn't as forgotten as he claimed. It just hadn't had any kind of outlet since he was ten years old.

“Let's do it,” Elisif whispered, and arms round each other, they leapt into the portal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strange purple light and a high cold wind buffeted them as they fell and Elisif clung on to Argis, sure she was screaming and so was he. Then the ground smacked into them, and Elisif opened her eyes.

It looked just like Skyrim, a mountain valley spread out before her and a hall of some sort on the other side. But the valley was filled with mist and Elisif could hear a dragon on the breeze. Alduin was here.

“Argis?” Elisif whispered, shaking her housecarl's shoulder. “Argis, get up!”

Argis groaned and pulled himself to his feet, leaning on her as he staggered up.

“We here? This it?” He looked around, eyes widening. “Oh wow! Look at it, it's pretty!”

“Isn't it?” Elisif whispered back. “And I think that's Shor's Hall in the distance!”

“Oh...” Argis whispered, and Elisif immediately felt contrite on seeing a tear roll down his cheek. “I mean... it's really real! Everything Ma told me... after she died, after Nords killed her, I just wanted to forget all of it. Hated the whole idea of dying honourably in battle because it hadn't been honourable, it had been horrible, I just wanted my Ma back. But it's real, and she's here...” Argis turned back to her, smile on his face, and Elisif couldn't help but return it. She'd been right to bring him here.

“She'll be in Shor's Hall, I'm sure,” Elisif told him. “She's been here twenty-five years, she's had all that time to get there, and I don't think they'd have left the Hall with Alduin around.”

“We'd better get out there then,” Argis said, indicating for her to lead the way. So Elisif readied her shield and ran into the mist.

The clouds were densely packed and even Elisif's Clear Skies Shout didn't clear the way for long. So they stumbled through the mist, not sure where they were going but sure Shor's Hall had to be round here somewhere.

And through the mist they'd run into lost souls, Nords in both Imperial and Stormcloak gear, casualties of the war but the war forgotten in the face of this peril. In the distance, Alduin roared and breathed fire and occasionally a scream meant yet another dead soul had been destroyed. Elisif felt her throat tighten at each one.

Then up ahead she heard not crying or sobbing, but voices. One voice in particular stood out. A human male voice that she knew she'd never forget.

“STAND TOGETHER, MY KINSFOLK! STAND TOGETHER AND KEEP YOUR WEAPONS RAISED! STAND WITH ME AND DO NOT FEAR THE MISTS! WE ARE NORDS, TRUE NORDS ALL OF US, AND WE WILL WIN THIS DAY! SO KEEP UP YOUR COURAGE AND YOUR HONOUR AND WE WILL WIN THROUGH TO SHOR'S HALL, ALL OF US! WE WERE NOT COWARDS IN LIFE, WE WILL NOT HAVE IT BE SAID THAT WE WERE ANY LESS IN DEATH! AND IF THE WORLD-EATER CLAIMS ANY OF US TODAY, WE WHO SURVIVE WILL REMEMBER YOUR NAMES AND SING THEM FOREVER IN SHOR'S HALL, THAT YOUR SACRIFICE WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN!”

Howls of approval, and as Elisif ventured forward, she could see quite the crowd of Nords up ahead, men and women both, all clad in a variety of armour. Imperials. City guards. Stormcloaks – lots of Stormcloaks. And at their head, flanked by two Nords in Stormcloak officer gear, one man and one woman, was the one rallying them all.

Ulfric bloody Stormcloak. Even in death she couldn't get rid of him. But she had to admit he was doing a good job of rallying terrified lost souls and giving them hope.

Maybe he wasn't completely beyond redemption, even if Argis was cursing under his breath and going for his battleaxe.

Then a shadow flew overhead and Alduin landed on the path up ahead, visible through the mists and staring balefully right at Ulfric.

And Ulfric Stormcloak, whatever his flaws, had never been a coward.

“SCATTER!” he yelled. “HE CANNOT HUNT US ALL!”

And the group behind him, as one, scattered, fleeing in all directions, only the two flanking him remaining there, and Elisif recognised them now. Stone-Fist and Stonearm, neither willing to give an inch.

Ulfric had his axe raised, poised to defend himself, and Greybeard-trained he might be but he was no Dovahkiin.

Elisif had no such problem... and she could kill him here.

“ALDUIN!” she cried, raising her shield and drawing Dragonbane. “FACE ME OR RUN, MONSTER! IN SOVNGARDE YOU CAN DIE, WORM!”

Alduin turned and stared at her, eyes unblinking, saying nothing as she ran into view... and then he was taking off, disappearing into the mists.

“He ran away,” Elisif whispered, shocked... then outraged. “He ran away! Did you see that, Argis? The fetcher flew off!!”

“Scaly bugger's scared of you, Elisif,” Argis grinned. “As well he should be.”

“RALLY BACK TO ME!” Ulfric roared, sheathing his axe. Slowly the little crowd regathered, with a few new members as some of the fleeing souls returned with comrades they'd run into. Ulfric ignored them and made his way over to her.

“About time you showed up, Dragonborn,” Ulfric growled. “We did not give our lives for our country to have to deal with this in the afterlife.”

“Well I'm very sorry it took so long but I had a city to set to rights and then had to head out to Whiterun to trap a dragon and find out how to get here without dying!” Elisif snapped back, about done with Ulfric's crap for one lifetime. At least he couldn't hurt her here.

“Yes, about that,” Ulfric said, folding his arms, unforgiving eyes boring into hers. “Is it true, what Galmar tells me? Did you seriously make a deal with the Forsworn?”

No sense denying it now.

“Yes,” Elisif said, staring right back at him. “Because Balgruuf wouldn't let me trap a dragon in his palace with you lurking on his borders, and the Legion said they didn't have the men to spare. So I got Madanach to help me lead an uprising, and now he's Jarl of Windhelm.”

“He's what??” Ulfric cried, horrified. “You put that witchman on the throne of my ancestors??”

Quite a crowd had gathered by this point, and while Galmar was glaring at her, Njada had a hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh, and most of the others were just confused.

“Yes,” Elisif said, refusing to back down now in front of bloody Ulfric. “And he was doing a very good job of administering the place when I left, and do you know, once he'd occupied the palace and taken over, I don't think he's executed anybody.”

“Give him time,” Galmar grunted, leading to Argis growling at him... and Ulfric motioning for him to be quiet.

“The soul gem robberies, were the Forsworn behind that too?” Ulfric said, slowly piecing it all together.

“Yes... well, sort of. You know mages can prime soul gems to cast Destruction magic at intruders to their homes? Well, they can do the same with Illusion spells too, and Madanach needed as many as he could find to keep an entire redoubt hidden,” Elisif explained. “He'd been camped on the Aalto for weeks and no one knew.”

“What?” Galmar cried and Ulfric was just shaking his head in disbelief.

“I knew something was up,” Ulfric said softly. “I thought it was Imperial spies but the Forsworn... I wondered how you'd got away from them after they took you from Cidhna Mine, but you didn't, did you?”

“They didn't take me anywhere,” Elisif said smugly. “I told Madanach my story, what you'd done to my husband, and he decided to help me. So we came to an agreement and when he launched his jailbreak plan, I went with him. Now we're friends.”

“Friends?” Galmar scoffed. “He hates Nords! Why would he befriend you??”

“He doesn't hate all Nords, just you!” Argis shot back, but thankfully Ulfric told Galmar to be quiet just as Elisif hissed Argis's name.

“So, it was mutual personal hatred of me and a joint desire to rule,” Ulfric said thoughtfully. “I just hope you realise that with me gone, you'll need more than that to preserve an alliance.”

An image flashed through Elisif's mind of sitting down to dinner in a Dwemer-style banqueting room in Understone Keep, dressed in fine clothing and her best jewels on, holding a glass of wine and looking up to see Madanach in equally nice clothes sitting opposite her, smiling at her in the candlelight, looking pleased but also hungry as he refilled her wine glass and raised a toast, leaning forward and letting his hand brush against hers as their goblets clinked together...

“We'll manage,” Elisif said swiftly, banishing the image as soon as it came. “Right now, I need to get to Shor's Hall and find out what's going on so I can kill Alduin.”

“A worthy goal,” Ulfric nodded. “I've been trying to make my way there too, but trying to protect as many of our kinsfolk as I can took priority. But now you're here, maybe they won't suffer for much longer. Come on, let's -” He didn't have a chance to continue before a Nord woman in Orcish armour burst out of the mists.

“MAIA!” Jordis cried, pouncing on Elisif and squeezing her half to death. “You're all right, I've been so worried!”

“You were worried about me?” Elisif managed to get out, tears in her eyes as she realised Jordis was here, hadn't made it to Shor's Hall before Alduin came, oh gods, Jordis!

Jordis nodded, drying her own eyes.

“I was so worried he'd caught you!” Jordis said, with a nod towards Ulfric. “So I waited outside the Hall hoping for news and it was only when Njada turned up I realised you'd got away.”

“Crazy woman nearly killed me again when she saw me kitted out like this,” Njada said, indicating her gear. “It was only when I told her you weren't a prisoner and that you'd sent me here that she let me up.”

“She said you'd taken the Jagged Crown, sweet lady Mara, that's it, isn't it, you're wearing it!” Jordis breathed, stroking the dragon teeth and staring at her in awe. “Goodness, you really look like a queen now!”

Elisif nodded, realising she was still crying, hadn't stopped since seeing Jordis again.

“You're here,” she whispered. “Gods, you're here! Jordis, I'm so sorry, I got you killed!”

“Oh don't worry about that,” Jordis told her, wiping a tear away. “It was my job and my honour to die in your service, oh no, Elisif, my Jarl, don't you cry...”

Elisif lost it completely, sobbing in Jordis's arms as Jordis held her and soothed her, and then she felt a hand on her back and knew Argis was there too, both old and new housecarls holding her as she cried.

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't say that, it's not your fault,” Jordis whispered.

“Yeah, don't say that, I'd have done the same,” Argis said quietly, and that nearly set her off all over again. “It's in the job. We protect our charges to the death, that's what it means.”

“I don't want you to die for me,” Elisif whispered. “I don't want anyone to die for me, I don't want anyone else to die!”

“Death comes for us all,” and that was Ulfric, voice cutting in above their heads. “It is just a matter of when and how, and those who can choose theirs are fortunate. I chose mine, after all, even knowing this was waiting.” He nodded at the mists, closing in again. “Let us not linger, Dragonborn. We can all catch up in Shor's Hall after Alduin is dealt with.”

Damn him but he had a very valid point. Alduin was still out there, keeping his distance, but out there.

“All right,” she said quietly. “I think it's this way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully, Elisif turned out to be right, as the whalebone bridge loomed up in the mists. The fabled gateway to Shor's Hall and they'd found it! Exchanging excited looks with her housecarls, Elisif ran up to cross it... and too late recalled the rest of the myth.

Tsun was barring her way, well over seven foot tall and built like Argis except more so, staring down at her in polite confusion.

“No shade are you, who seeks entrance to Shor's Hall. By what right do you claim entry?”

“I really don't have time for this,” Elisif sighed. “Alduin is out there killing people! Nords who fought hard and died to get here and now they're being eaten out of existence by Alduin! So I need to get in to find out just what in Oblivion Shor's doing about it!”

“Then answer my question, living woman,” Tsun replied, implacable. “By what right does one of the living claim entry to Shor's Hall?”

“Because I'm the bloody Dragonborn!” Elisif shouted, finally losing her patience. “Here to kill Alduin, so if you could let me in, I'd very much appreciate it!”

“The Dragonborn!” Tsun breathed, finally smiling. “Long have we awaited you, Dragonborn. Yes, you have right of entry. But none may enter without having first passed the warrior's test.”

“The warrior's test?” Elisif began, but Tsun was unsheathing his battle-axe and advancing. Yelping, Elisif raised her shield and drew Dawnbreaker, trying to fend off his attacks and not doing that well at it. But she was better than she thought, light on her feet and one on one, was as good as any warrior by this point. She held him off, and Dawnbreaker's strikes left searing burns on Tsun's skin. She could feel him weakening, she knew it... and then he backed off, lowering his axe.

“Enough!” he laughed. “I deem you worthy. Enter, Dragonborn.”

Elisif could squeal but she restrained herself, just saying thank you and heading for the bridge and it was going quite well until Argis tried to follow her... and found the way barred.

“Not you,” Tsun growled. “The Dragonborn passed the test. Should you wish to follow her, you must fight me yourself. As must all of you in turn to gain entry.”

Uproar followed as about thirty Nord warriors all shouted at once. It was Ulfric whose voice finally carried over everyone else's.

“You cannot be serious, man! Alduin is out there hunting all of us and you're keeping us waiting until we all fight you one on one?? He could devour half of us in that time!”

“It is the law of Shor, Ulfric Stormcloak,” Tsun growled. “Shor has not given permission to bend it for you.”

It seemed Nord gods were as stubborn as their worshippers. Elisif sighed and turned to her housecarls.

“Argis, Jordis, stay here. Protect them as best you can – I don't think Alduin will hunt this close to Shor's Hall,” Elisif told them both.

“No probs, Elisif,” Argis nodded.

“We'll give our lives if we have to, my Jarl,” Jordis promised, sword and shield at the ready. Meanwhile Ulfric was still having at it with Tsun.

“Will you bend it for these others then?” Ulfric demanded. “My kinsmen gave their lives in my service or as my foes, they deserve better than extinction at Alduin's fangs!”

“The warrior's test,” Tsun growled. “One at a time. If you wish, Jarl Ulfric, you may go first.”

To everyone's surprise although in retrospect Elisif realised it wasn't exactly out of character either, Ulfric shook his head, sitting down cross-legged with his arms folded.

“No. I will not abandon my kinsfolk to the World-Eater's mercies. You will let us all in now or I will not move from this spot.”

“Then remain there, Ulfric. I have all the time in the world,” Tsun growled, one of the few people more immovable than Ulfric Stormcloak. Elisif would love to wait around to see who won this staring match but she didn't really have time.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” she promised Argis.

“You do that, Brenhina,” Argis replied, already scanning the skies for Alduin. Elisif nodded and leapt on to the bridge. Time to find out just what Shor was up to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Never again. Dear gods, never again, the whalebone bridge was horrific. But she was over and inside and...

It was beautiful. Gleaming and shining and impossibly attractive heroes thronging the hall. And one in particular, a man even taller than Argis, was approaching.

“Greetings, Dragonborn,” he said, smiling. “I am Ysgramor, First King of the Nords. And you... you are the next ruler if I am not mistaken. You who won victory over the Stormcloak, yes I know you. For you wear my Crown like one born to it.”

“I really wasn't,” Elisif whispered, fingering the Crown. “I'm a bard's daughter from Wayrest!”

“Aye,” Ysgramor said gently. “But our lives are what we make of them, Dragonborn. And yours is more doom-driven than most. By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the mists of Alduin, told it would be in vain until you set foot here. But now you are here... and three await your word to loose their fury on the foe.”

He indicated three warriors looking more impatient than most, and Elisif knew them from her Elder Scroll vision. Hakon, Felldir and Gormlaith. Well of course they were here... and of course they wanted revenge. But Elisif had one more question.

“I... don't suppose you've seen the ruler before me? My husband, Torygg. He died months ago...”

To her surprise and horror, Ysgramor slowly shook his head.

“No, lass. We've not seen him. Often times the newly dead take their time coming to Shor's Hall. We think he was still out there when Alduin came.”

When I sent Alduin here, oh gods no, Torygg... Elisif could feel her heart breaking at the mere thought of Torygg out there, alone and lost in the mists... or worse. Oh my husband, you are not a warrior, you're just a young man whose honour was greater than his strength! Which was strange, Elisif had never thought of Torygg like that before, she'd always looked up to him, wished she was like him, seen him as strong and capable and far more confident than she was. What was she after all? Just a bard's daughter who'd been lucky enough to marry a prince.

But that was before she'd become Dragonborn and it was only now she'd come through trials and hardships Torygg couldn't have imagined that she could look back and realise just what she was capable of surviving. For one, she'd survived the thing that killed her husband.

And if he'd died again... she'd see him avenged a second time too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back across the whalebone bridge, this time with three Nord Tongues in tow. As predicted, absolutely no one had shifted since she'd left, the entire group taking up Ulfric's refrain of 'all of us or none of us!' Even Argis, who Elisif would never have pegged as the type to do anything Ulfric said. Once the leader of a rebellion, always the leader of a rebellion, it seemed. Honestly, Ulfric was starting to remind her of Madanach at this point, and that was not a comparison either man would appreciate no matter how true it was, so she kept it to herself.

Argis was first to look up at her, seeing three Tongues run off the bridge and take up positions in front of the steps, and then Elisif emerging.

“Elisif?” Argis asked, getting up and next to him Jordis also rising, and even Ulfric looking interested at this development.

“I got help,” Elisif said quietly. “I can't clear the mists on my own, but with these three, I can do it and once that's done... we can fight him. Well. I can. You don't have to...”

“I didn't come here to make flower crowns for the Stormcloaks,” Argis said, unshouldering his axe. “Course I'm in.”

“Me too,” said Jordis gently. “I'd never abandon you, Maia.”

“You know, you don't need to call me that now,” Elisif told her. “Everyone knows who I really am, there's no point hiding.”

“I know, but it suits you,” Jordis said, blushing a little, and Elisif felt her own cheeks flaming although she could never have said why.

Then it was time to gather, three Tongues and a Dragonborn arrayed on the steps of Shor's Hall, ready to fight.

Three times Clear Skies was Shouted. Three times the mists just rolled back in after Alduin Shouted them back. But even the Firstborn's Thu'um ran out eventually and on the fourth try, the mists dissipated and did not return.

“Do you think that worked?” Elisif couldn't help but ask Felldir. Of the three Tongues, he seemed the most approachable.

“The mists aren't returning, so let us hope so,” he replied. “In the meantime, Dragonborn, ready your weapons and your Voice. If the mists are lifted, that means the World-Eater will be here soon.”

Elisif tightened her grip on Dragonbane. Now or never. Time to really prove herself.

“The rest of you don't need to be here,” she said, turning to the various shades hanging around. “Take cover under the bridge, I'll deal with this.”

The absolute wrong thing to say to Ulfric Stormcloak, it turned out.

“What?? The World-Eater comes to pay for his crimes and we're to cower like children hiding from the monster under the bed? I don't think so, Elisif. We'll fight him like true Nords! Won't we, Galmar?”

“We're with you until the end, Ulfric!” Galmar roared, and Njada likewise and then the rest of the gathered Nords.

“Well all right then!” Elisif gasped, not sure how she'd actually come to be fighting on the same side as Ulfric for once... but she appreciated the help.

And then Alduin soared over the field, and the sky exploded.

Chaos erupted as arrows flew, Nords scattered to avoid falling rocks and Alduin's fire, Elisif hadn't a clue where her housecarls had got to, but her eyes hadn't left Alduin. She still wasn't the best archer out there – she could hit most stationary targets now but a dragon in flight was beyond her.

But she could get him to land, and so she did just that.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!” The Shout hit and Alduin roared, whirling above her and then coming into land.

“SOVNGARDE BELONGS TO THE NORDS!” Njada, and that was the signal for everyone to pile in, their blows well-aimed but barely denting Alduin's scales. Alduin promptly ignored them and zeroed in on her, pushing Nords aside or occasionally flinging shades to the side with his teeth, not actually consuming them, but ensuring they wouldn't be any further threat for a while. Then Alduin was there, crawling forward, red eyes focused on her.

“Dovahkiin,” Alduin growled. “You have bothered me for the last time.”

“Oh it will be the last all right,” Elisif said grimly, raising her shield and preparing to strike, Alduin preparing to draw breath and Elisif downed a fire resistance potion and made ready to face him.

Then came a voice she'd longed to hear again but never thought she would.

“ELISIF! BY THE NINE, ELISIF!”

Torygg, by Dibella, it was Torygg, he'd survived, he was here, but by the gods, this was the worst possible moment. Elisif barely had her shield up before Alduin was spewing fire at her.

It hurt, of course it did. But her shield and armour took most of it and the fire resistance potion helped with the rest and Elisif had raised her sword and was about to charge... and then someone cannoned hard into her, shoving her to the ground.

I will absolutely murder whoever this is, Argis this had better not be you...

“You get away from her!” Torygg shouted, waving his steel sword at Alduin. “Face me not her!”

“Torygg, what...?” Elisif gasped as she hauled herself to her feet. Torygg was wearing the nobleman's robes and circlet he'd died in, he didn't know any magic, he was going to get himself killed! Again!

“What are you doing?” Elisif cried, adjusting her crown and retrieving her sword, lightning flickering up and down the blade. “You've never fought a dragon before!”

“I'm not letting him hurt you!” Torygg shouted and something in Elisif snapped. She was Dragonborn, Alduin was her kill, her victory, he'd likely get himself killed, breaking her heart all over again, stupid stubborn joor just needed to get out of the way.

So she got him out of the way.

“FUS RO DAH!”

She just caught a glimpse of the shocked betrayal in his eyes before the Shout sent him flying, and then Elisif turned back to Alduin.

“You face me,” Elisif growled. “You face me and this ends!”

“We will see whose end it is,” Alduin laughed, and then he was taking to the skies, wheeling around again... except this time he'd seen Torygg, and this time he knew he was important to the Dragonborn somehow. Torygg only just rolled out of the way of the jet of fire in time, and Alduin's attention certainly hadn't left him.

Elisif cursed under her breath and ran over to where Torygg was slowly getting up, shaking all over.

“Torygg, what were you thinking?” Elisif cried. “You need to stay out of the way, it isn't your fight!”

Torygg was just staring at her, confused. “But I was saving you...”

“I don't need saving!” Elisif cried. “I'm the bloody Dragonborn, I save other people – oh Eight help me, he's coming round again.” Without thinking she'd shoved Torygg back, feeling a little guilty about him falling to the floor again, but the grass was soft, right?

It wouldn't occur to her until much later that while Torygg was alive, she'd never have had the muscle tone to push him over, or an instinctive knowledge of where best to push. All she knew was that Alduin was coming back, breathing fire, and she was all that stood between that and Torygg. So she raised Solitude's Shield and kept Solitude's former king safe.

If she thought he'd be grateful, she was wrong.

“Dragonborn...” Torygg whispered after Alduin had flown off. “Wait, it was you who Shouted me over here??”

“Yes,” Elisif admitted, feeling a bit guilty there. “Because Alduin was going to eat you!”

Torygg glared back at her. “You had no right,” he snapped. “You can't take away a Nord's right to fight and die bravely!”

Something in Elisif's expression must have told him he'd perhaps gone a bit too far, because he was backing off nervously.

“Then do not interfere with my kills again,” Elisif said tersely, feeling the dragon blood rising and the human in her feeling no inclination to stop it this time. “For I am also a Nord... except I do not intend to die.” Truly, she had very little patience for weakling fools these days, and her Thu'um had just recharged. As Alduin hovered overhead, she loosed Dragonrend again.

When Alduin landed this time, no one dared stop her. Elisif sprinted forward, Dragonbane at the ready, throwing herself into battle as if she'd been doing it all her life. She darted past Alduin's maw, but let Dragonbane carve into his face as she passed, noting how deeply the blade bit into Dovah scales, watching with pleasure as the shock magic wracked through Alduin. Then she was slicing his wing as well, ensuring he'd be taking off with difficulty, and really this was easy, why had she ever been afraid of this? She twirled and danced, stabbing and slashing into Alduin's side and underbelly as he tried in vain to snap at her, teeth missing her every time. And then someone was hacking into his other side, and she knew that voice – voices.

“FOR SOLITUDE AND THE DRAGONBORN!”

“AR AGLAR Y RHAN!”

Jordis and Argis, loyal to the last, her housecarls coming to help and then she heard another voice.

“YOUR KIND HAS NO PLACE HERE, WORLD-EATER! SOVNGARDE BELONGS TO THE NORDS!”

Njada had joined the fight now, and then cries of 'Talos smite you!' and 'Come Alduin, face a true son of Skyrim!' alerted her to Ulfric and Galmar joining in too.

Their blows didn't seem to be striking as deeply as hers, but they kept Alduin busy long enough for Elisif to get in and finish the job. One particularly savage cut to the back of the skull and Alduin howled, orange lines starting to appear all over his body.

“NIIIIID!!! ZU'U UNSLAAD! ZU'U NIS OBLAAN!” Alduin wailed but it was too late. He dissolved into a formless black cloud, wracked with lightning and fire, thrashing and screaming as he died, then there was an explosion of light... and Alduin faded away into a black residue, and then even that was gone.

The sky above cleared and a hush descended on Sovngarde, as lost souls realised it was all over. Then the cheering broke out, Ulfric leading the chant of “All Hail the Dragonborn!” while Elisif sank to her knees, exhausted.

“Maia, you did it!” That was Jordis cuddling her, and Elisif just sank into her arms, tired and relieved and about ready for someone else to take charge. Then Argis was there too, arms round the both of them, and this having two housecarls thing was really nice if it meant being cuddled like this.

“I did it,” Elisif whispered, closing her eyes. She'd saved the world. Didn't really matter what happened next, did it? She finally let sleep claim her, exhausted. This Dragonborn's adventures were done.

Notes:

SHE DID IT! Gods be praised, Elisif did it. I am so proud of her. She's come a long way! A long way indeed, but now she is truly a warrior to be feared. It's a pity Torygg hasn't fully realised that, isn't it? )

Next chapter will be the aftermath of all this as Elisif recuperates with Sovngarde, makes new friends, gets some much needed closure on some things... and has some unexpected conflicts to deal with in others.

Alduin's dying words: NO! I'm immortal! I can't die!

Notes on the Rhanic:

Agar y agarma, Brencailleachta calwad cavairta! = Blood of my blood, your Matriarch calls for your help

Teg y tegma, agarta ansio tolad! = Kin of my kin, your blood comes here

Agar y agarvia, cuvachtvi'an te! = Blood of our blood, our power to you

Ar aglar y Rhan = For the glory of the Reach!

Chapter 34

Summary:

Alduin is dead, and Elisif is recovering in Sovngarde with her loyal housecarls to help her. But after every battle comes the inevitable peace talks, and Elisif has to literally lay her ghosts to rest, as her former husband and former enemy both demand her attention for very different reasons. Meanwhile, she's not the only one with connections there, as Argis deals with his own past.

Notes:

Sorry about the massive hiatus, I had some mad idea I could get the entire thing finished and not post again until it was done. Then belatedly realised that was a terrible idea. So here is a bit of an update, may even stretch to two chapters.

I note a few of you did not like the Elisif/Torygg interactions - although that was outweighed by the readers who thought it was spot on. This is developed more in this chapter, but honestly, I'm not sure what else I could have done with them. Their entire marriage is built on Torygg the Heir to the Throne/High King and Elisif as his consort who is to play little role in the actual wielding of power - that much is obvious from canon and the fact Elisif in game leaves most of the governing to her steward and really doesn't seem to know what she's doing - because no one ever told her. She was never supposed to be Jarl, she was meant to have kids and raise those, and Torygg was supposed to live to a ripe old age. Then suddenly, he's dead and she's Jarl. That's the canon. And with that background, having them meet again under these circumstances, with Elisif having changed dramatically - learnt to Shout, developed physical strength and conditioning from running all round Skyrim in heavy armour, learnt how to fight and is now better at it than he ever was in life, fought in battles, survived assassins, survived prison and negotiating with the Forsworn, been dungeon-running including a Dwemer ruin - there's just no way they can simply go back to what they were. Torygg can't impress her just by being him any more, and she can't hide who she is now and go back to being an adoring wife. It is sad, but people do change and grow apart, albeit not usually quite like this.

Also there is the little matter of him being dead, and her not being - she has to go back and be Queen and get married eventually and have heirs, and for that to work, she needs to move on from Torygg. That will be dramatically easier if she can see him as he is, not forever bathed in rose-tinted memories. Even if she wasn't going to have an LI in this story, or if I gave her a different LI, I think I'd still have ended up writing them this way.

Anyway, that's all I have to say on that, the chapter should do the rest of the talking. For what it's worth, I do feel a bit bad for Torygg, especially being Shouted across Sovngarde and having Elisif snap at him, but he was about to get eaten by Alduin, Elisif didn't want to see him brutally killed again, and having a calm and reasoned discussion while Alduin the World-Eater is soaring overhead raining rocks and fire down around them just wasn't going to happen. Doesn't happen in the first half of the chapter either, hem hem. But I did do a little redrafting and made Torygg a bit less of an arse... just rather hurt and confused.

When Elisif woke up, she was in the comfiest bed she'd ever been in, in a beautiful white and gold room with a Kynareth shrine in the window and transparent sheer curtains around the bed, all her aches and pains a memory. She'd never felt so relaxed.

This must still be Sovngarde. Shor's Hall must have the odd bedroom somewhere.

She sat up, seeing her Blades armour and the Jagged Crown on a mannequin, with her pack at its feet and the Shield of Solitude on a wall plaque with Dawnbreaker and Dragonbane glowing behind it. Someone had brought her in here and undressed her, changing warrior's clothes for a silk shift. She had no idea who, Jordis maybe? She couldn't see either housecarl standing for strange men seeing her undressed.

“Elisif?” And she knew him, that was Torygg! She had her husband back!

“Torygg!” she gasped, delight on her face... until she saw how sombre he was looking. She recalled how she'd snapped at him while fighting Alduin and winced. Clearly he was offended.

“Is this about the Shout?” she said hesitantly. “Because I didn't mean to hurt you, I just wanted you out of the way...”

“Yes,” Torygg sighed. “I mean, no, I... Dragonborn? Really? You?”

“Of course I am, you saw me Shout, you saw me kill Alduin!” Elisif sighed. “I know it's unexpected, I don't even believe it myself sometimes but it's true!”

Torygg looked away, still grim.

“I'm not sure I do believe it,” Torygg admitted. “You're not a warrior!”

Not a warrior, and people had been saying that all along, Falk had implied it, Rikke too, Balgruuf had said it at one point, Ulfric surely had believed it although she was also sure he was convinced otherwise now. No one took her seriously, and now her own husband had joined the chorus. Even after seeing her fight Alduin and win.

“Not a warrior?” Elisif snapped. “You tried to take on the World-Eater in your court robes and you tell me I'm not a warrior? I may not be the most skilled but I turned up in my best armour and with weapons I'd earned!”

That had got to him and Torygg did at least concede that point... but he still wasn't happy.

“You're my wife!” Torygg cried. “It's my job to protect you!”

“Well, you did a terrible job of it!” Elisif shouted, all the grief and guilt and long-suppressed rage finally coming out. How dare he, how dare he die and leave her alone with Solitude and the war and the Stormcloaks and dragons and everything?? “You died, Torygg! You died, you left me alone without anyone! Where were you when I really needed you, Torygg? Where were you when Whiterun was attacked, when Ulfric killed my housecarl and took my friend prisoner and nearly caught me, when the Dark Brotherhood tried to kill me, when they threw me in Cidhna Mine with the Forsworn?? When I really needed protection, where the fuck were you, Torygg?! Nowhere, that's where! Because you were dead and I was all on my own, so don't you dare give me that crap about having to protect me! I've been doing just fine without you!”

Torygg had gone pale, staring at her throughout all this, and Elisif realised she was crying, tears rolling down her cheeks, and she hadn't meant to hurt him, she hadn't! But it had all come pouring out and she'd not really realised until now that the dragon rage that had never been far away wasn't mindless at all, or untargeted. It was all directed at Torygg for being a fucking idiot and getting himself killed.

And if Torygg had given in and apologised properly, all might have been salvageable. But Torygg hadn't known his wife as well as he'd thought, and he certainly didn't understand the Dragonborn she'd become.

“Elisif,” he whispered, staring at her in shock. “Elisif, I don't... look, I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. But I had no choice, honour was at stake, he'd challenged me! I couldn't refuse, I'd have looked weak!”

You are weak. The words came unbidden into Elisif's mind, her dragon side making its opinion known... except it had been part of her for so long now, she no longer really saw it as separate. She was as much dragon as human now – every Thu'um learned, dragon soul taken, every time she Shouted – all making her that bit less of a frightened human girl and much more akin to the mighty beasts that roamed the skies. She had a dragon's spirit, and she'd also gained the skills to back it up. She was no longer a girl afraid to be a woman... but Torygg hadn't changed a bit and he was still the boy trying to be a man.

“You could have talked him out of it,” Elisif said quietly, all sorts of options coming into her mind. “Asked him why. Agreed with him. If you'd made the decision to secede, the other Jarls would have probably backed you, and the Empire would have had to go along with it. We would have been united. But you let Ulfric kill you.”

“He had the Thu'um!” Torygg protested. Elisif actually hissed, lips curling back to reveal her teeth.

“So did Alduin, and look what happened to him!” Elisif growled. “You should have let me fight Ulfric in the first place.”

Not fair at all, back then she'd have been no better in a fight than he was... but she might have stood up to Unrelenting Force.

As it was, Torygg was staring back at her like she was a stranger.

“What happened, Elisif?” Torygg whispered. “You were never like this before! You were never this... angry! What happened to that sweet, innocent girl I fell in love with?”

“Life happened,” Elisif sighed wearily, recalling everything she'd been through. “Dragon blood happened. Ulfric, the Brotherhood, the Forsworn, the Blades, everything. I had to fight or die, and I couldn't die because Skyrim needed me.” And I needed you, but you weren't there...

Torygg was biting his lip, having the grace to look guilty at least.

“It should never have been you,” Torygg whispered. “I'm so sorry, Elisif. I tried so hard to keep you away from all that – politics, war, everything, set my entire court up so you'd never have to deal with it. But it's all right. My court will still do that for you if you let them.”

Of course they would, that was the problem... wait.

Slowly but surely the pieces clicked together. Torygg's court... working as it always had to keep her out of the politics, keep her ignorant and out of the way... and her own husband had set it up that way all along. To protect her? Or keep her looking up to him, stop her realising he perhaps wasn't as capable as he seemed. She didn't know, but she did realise one thing. The source of all her misery just lately was her own husband.

“Your court,” Elisif said quietly. “Your court?”

“Er, I mean obviously it's your court now,” Torygg began, perhaps realising he'd made a mistake. “But I know you never wanted the job, and obviously you won't want to actually get involved with all the menial details or anything, Falk can take care of everything...”

“He's following your orders,” Elisif said softly. “You told him to make sure I was never exposed to anything of importance, you were the one who made sure I was the last to know anything, that everything ran without me.”

“Well yes, obviously, you're just a bard's daughter from High Rock, what would you know about court life?” Torygg said, honestly confused. “That's the whole reason I married you, you were the only person who knew nothing about court intrigue and I wanted you to stay that way!”

“What?” Elisif whispered, feeling everything come crashing down around her as her heart shattered into pieces. “You only loved me because I didn't know anything?”

“No, it's not like that!” Torygg cried. Elisif didn't care. She thought she'd loved him more than life itself. She thought he'd felt the same. Then he'd died and her life had fallen apart... and it turned out half the damage had been because he'd set things up on purpose to leave her helpless.

“You kept me weak and ignorant on purpose!” Elisif shouted, getting out of bed and not caring that the walls were starting to shake. “You left me dependent on you and helpless when you died, and you don't seem to care that it nearly killed me! And if I hadn't been Dragonborn, I'd still be like that! Trapped and helpless and miserable and it is all... your... FAULT!”

“Elisif!” Torygg gasped, stunned. “You're my wife, what else was I supposed to do, it's my job to take care of you!”

“Get out!” Elisif cried, only wishing her swords were a bit closer to the bed. People always did what you told them when you had a sword in your hand. “Get. Out!”

“Elisif, please, calm down, what in Talos's name is wrong with you?” Torygg gasped, looking genuinely wounded. In all their marriage, he'd seen Elisif unhappy, upset, tearful... but never angry, not like this, and he had no idea what to do.

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” Elisif howled and that was when the door slammed open.

“All right, the Jarl wants you out of here,” Jordis said firmly. Torygg turned and actually looked relieved, clearly recognising her as one of his own housecarls.

“Ah, Jordis isn't it? Just the woman. Look, you have to help, Elisif's... I don't know what's wrong with her, but please help...”

“Jarl Elisif wants you out of here,” Jordis repeated firmly, eyes narrowing. “I suggest you leave before I remove you.”

“But Jordis, I'm your High King!” Torygg protested. “You're sworn to my service as a housecarl of Solitude!”

“We're not in Solitude,” Jordis pointed out. “And the Jarl and High Queen is sitting over there. I'm sworn to her... not you. Now, you were about to leave?”

“There a problem?” Argis had emerged now, lacking the golden aura everyone else had, in fact he looked reassuringly real and solid and Elisif felt safer just having him around.

Elisif drew herself up to her full height, shaking back her hair and looking as commanding and regal as possible.

“My ex-husband is bothering me,” she told Argis. “I want him removed.”

Jordis and Argis looked at each other, grinned and moved to stand either side of Torygg, hooking their arms through his.

“Wait, what? You can't do this to me, she's my wife!” Torygg cried.

“Widow,” said Jordis pointedly. “And I'd say she's turned from a grieving one to a merry one.”

“About bloody time,” Argis laughed. “Been wondering what she saw in him since I got here.”

“This is insane!” Torygg protested. “She doesn't mean it, she can't possibly! She doesn't know what she wants!”

“Sounded pretty bloody clear to me,” Argis growled as he and Jordis hauled the struggling ex-High King out and threw him into the corridor. Argis stepped out after him, Torygg shouting “now look here, this is between me and Elisif, you have no right to interfere...” only to be cut off by Argis growling “shut up” and then a forceful thud and yelp of pain as Argis flung Torygg down the corridor... but Jordis had shut the door on him by that point.

“Are you all right?” Jordis whispered as she went over to Elisif, taking her in her arms, and Elisif shook her head, finally letting anger give way to tears and grief for a marriage it seemed she'd barely understood at all... for a husband who'd not understood her and set her up to be incapable without him. The sad thing was, it might have worked out if he'd lived and if she'd had heirs. He could have done the ruling, she would have raised the babies, and when one of them was old enough they would have been ready to take over. She'd never have had to go near the reins of power.

But Torygg had died and she'd been childless and she'd found herself in the seat of power with no idea what she was doing and a court set up to keep her that way. If it weren't for the dragon blood, she might never have found a way out. As it was, she found it hard to forgive him for setting her up to be the most useless Jarl in Skyrim, even unintentionally.

Jordis sat down on the bed with her and a few moments later, Argis returned.

“She all right?”

“I don't know,” Jordis said quietly. “Not yet. But I think she will be. Our Dragonborn's tough.”

“She is that,” Argis said, voice filled with pride as he took a seat on Elisif's other side, rubbing her back. Elisif reached out and squeezed his hand, thankful he was there, that they both were.

“What did you do to Torygg?” she whispered, although she had a fair idea what had happened.

“Taught the milk-drinker a thing or two,” Argis said, grinning. “He's in the main hall nursing a bruised arse and a bruised ego. Oh, don't worry, souls in Sovngarde regenerate, he'll be pretty again by this time tomorrow.”

“Good,” whispered Elisif, although whether she was approving of Torygg getting beaten up by Argis or the consequences not being permanent, she wasn't sure. Argis just laughed and patted her back again.

“That's the spirit,” Argis said. Then he paused and when he spoke again his voice was low and uncertain.

“So, er, Jordis and I were standing guard outside and we couldn't help but hear you talking...” Argis began.

“You don't have to talk about it, not if you don't want,” Jordis said gently. “But we want you to know we're here for you. Sworn to serve... and listen if you want.”

“And if you want him beating up properly, just say the word,” Argis said cheerfully. “Always willing to give your enemies a good kicking, you know that.” He really was far too like his father sometimes, but right now Elisif was glad of it.

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered. “Both of you. I'm so glad I've got you here.”

Both housecarls tightened their grip on her.

“I promise you, when your time is over and you come here for good, I will be waiting,” Jordis swore. “Not just as your housecarl, but your friend.”

“I don't know where I'll end up, but as long as I live, I'll be there for you,” Argis promised. Loyal friends in both life and death and Elisif was going to cry again, she knew it. Honestly, all that time, all that effort trying to avenge her husband... and it had turned out to be a waste of time. Torygg in the end hadn't been worth avenging. Ulfric might even be the better man in some regards... only some, mind you. All that time wasted mourning him, all the pining, all the misery over never being able to love again – all so much wasted energy. All the anger, the rage, all the terror that she was turning into some sort of monster... and it was all anger at Torygg for dying, displaced on to whatever target was convenient. She couldn't feel the rage at all now – just honest anger at Torygg, and that set her off crying again. There was nothing wrong with her. She was as capable and confident as anyone, and also still a good person. She wasn't a danger to anyone on the right side of the law, she wasn't going to start harming innocent people, not any time soon. Not now she knew who she was really angry at. And she'd been so scared, spent so much time worrying, even ended up crying on Madanach's shoulder and begging him to make sure she didn't hurt anyone and no doubt making a complete fool of herself in the process... and it had been for nothing.

There was nothing wrong with her, nothing at all. And Elisif cried her eyes out for all the weeks and months she'd ever believed otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a long time before Elisif felt ready to leave the room. Assisted by her housecarls, she collected her things and headed back to the main hall.

Torygg was nowhere to be seen, but the rest of the Hall gave her a standing ovation, cheering her and praising her name, with many a cry of 'Long live Queen Elisif! Long live the Dragonborn!'

“Oh my goodness,” Elisif whispered. “I've not even been mooted!”

“Who else are they going to vote for?” Njada called drunkenly from where she was sitting, perched on Galmar's lap with one arm round him and one clutching her mead tankard. Galmar was too busy staring at her breasts to notice. Well, it took all sorts, Elisif supposed.

Then Ulfric was there, having got up as soon as she'd entered, and now he was standing before her. Strange, he almost seemed nervous, and then he actually bowed slightly and that was just weird.

“Elisif. High Queen. May I speak with you? Alone if possible.”

“High Queen speaks to no one unless she wants to,” Argis growled, flexing his fists and just daring Ulfric to give him a reason to deal with him as well. Elisif placed a hand on his arm.

“That's enough, Argis. I'll speak with him.” Kyne knew Ulfric wasn't the one Elisif was angry at. Not any more.

“Are you sure...?” Jordis began but Elisif just nodded.

“I'll be fine. Just keep an eye out for Torygg, let me know if he comes back. Keep him away from me.”

Ulfric raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He just followed Elisif as she led him off to a quiet corner in the smaller hall, picking up a couple of tankards and asking if she wanted some mead.

Yes. Yes she did, and as she tasted it, she realised this was really quite a nice afterlife, the mead was literally to die for.

“That hit the spot,” she whispered. Ulfric nodded, agreeing, and they sat in silence for a few moments. Very strange to be sitting here with her husband's murderer... but the gods had let him in, and given that her husband had turned out to be not who she'd thought he was, she found herself feeling rather more charitable towards Ulfric.

“So what did you want?” she asked. He must want something after all.

“It's not a matter of wanting something, more a matter of a debt owed,” Ulfric said quietly. “Elisif, death has a way of giving you a changed perspective. All the little things don't matter so much any more. Don't think I was completely unaware of your movements – I knew you were planning something. I thought it was the Imperials, I never suspected the Forsworn – did you really make Madanach the Witch-King Jarl of my city?”

“He is,” Elisif admitted, feeling a bit guilty. Not for doing it, but she did feel sorry for Ulfric. “We made friends in Cidhna Mine and when he found out I wanted revenge for Torygg, he offered to help. When the Legion wouldn't help me, I took him up on it. Someone has to look after the place while I'm here after all.”

Ulfric grimaced, sipping his mead. “I dread to think what he's done to the place. My poor citizens...”

“He's already taken in two homeless orphans and your non-Nord people love him,” Elisif said tersely. “He's not you, Ulfric. He's not gone on a bloody rampage executing anyone who doesn't agree with him.”

Silence and then Ulfric hung his head.

“Aye. He has not. I've been keeping an eye on new arrivals and while plenty of war dead arrived, and a few from the uprising, no one from Windhelm's come here since. I thought he might be soul trapping people, but I talked to some of the mages here and they say only black soul gems can be used for that. Well, we didn't have more than three in the entire city to start with, and I'm told they're rare and costly. Whatever Madanach's faults, he is not slaughtering Nords.” Here Ulfric hung his head. “There is only one person's folly that has sent so many of my kinsfolk here... and that is my own.”

Elisif wanted to comfort him, but truth was, he was right. All the same... not entirely right. She recalled the dossier Delphine had given her... and realised she had it on her.

It occurred to her the one it was about might want to see it.

“I owe you, Dragonborn,” Ulfric was saying still. “I took the one you loved from you, killed a good man and started a war that tore our homeland apart and for what? So that our kinsfolk could be eaten by Alduin? I knew as soon as you walked into my hall that doom had come upon me. Shor's bones, but I think I knew it the moment I heard you were Dragonborn and saw you at Ivarstead. I would not put it past the Imperials to appropriate one of our legends... but the Greybeards do not lie.”

“Ulfric...” Elisif said quietly. He wasn't listening.

“I didn't throw our combat, not exactly, but I didn't want to kill you either,” Ulfric sighed. “I'd been starting to have doubts for weeks, watching you be where you shouldn't be, escape what was inescapable, do the impossible and I wondered if the gods themselves were favouring you. If perhaps you were in the right. I'm still not sure. But when you told me Alduin was in Sovngarde feasting on our kin, on men and women I'd sent there one way or another... I knew where I was truly needed. Here. So I went into that fight committing myself to the gods, allowing them to pass judgement, knowing you'd be a tougher fight than Torygg. And so it proved. I am sorry, Elisif. You are right, you know. There are better ways than war. All this one did was feed the World-Eater. And the fault lies entirely on my shoulders.”

“That's not true,” Elisif whispered, producing the dossier and handing it over. “Ulfric, I... some of my people found this in the Thalmor Embassy. I... I think you should have it.”

Ulfric took it off her, eyes widening as he read the front page, cheeks flushing red and he took another long gulp of mead before flipping through it. His hands shook as he read, only more mead seeming to help and when he was done, he snapped it shut, got up, walked over to the nearest fire and tore it to pieces, letting the flames take it.

“Who else has seen that?” he said gruffly. Elisif wasn't sure. Delphine obviously, and Brynjolf. Madanach had seen it too, which meant any number of the Forsworn High Command might know. But there was something she could reassure him on.

“No one who's likely to come here,” she said truthfully. “It's not widely known, and I know you weren't helping them intentionally... I just thought you should know they've been manipulating us all for years. And... and that whatever they told you, you didn't betray your Empire.”

“Until I murdered the High King and seceded from it,” Ulfric said, face gaunt and Elisif wondered if this had been a good idea. Ulfric finished his mead and got up, holding out a hand to her.

“Thank you, Dragonborn. Thank you for telling me. It was not easy to read, but by Talos, it has lifted a weight off me. You've no reason to like or trust me, I know, but when your time comes, know you will have a friend here in me.”

“Thanks,” Elisif said quietly. “I won't forget you either. I don't know if I can call you a friend exactly... but I forgive you for Torygg. It turns out you may have done me a favour. Torygg and I... we just split up.”

“Is that so?” Ulfric did raise an eyebrow at that, and while the dossier was clearly still on his mind, he was at least able to show some interest in her and Torygg. “I wondered why your housecarl threw him halfway down the hall. May I ask why? We're all rather curious.”

“He got in the way of me killing Alduin. Said he was trying to save me,” Elisif sighed. “So I got angry with him, Shouted him out of the way for his own safety and he didn't like that. He accused me of interfering with his right to fight and die bravely. And then I found out he'd been deliberately arranging his court to keep me away from anything political, and they're still following his orders! It turns out he loved me because I was weak and soft and didn't know anything about politics, he did his best to keep me that way and now I'm not soft or weak any more... he says he doesn't understand me! I got angry with him and he implied there was something wrong with me!”

Sympathy in Ulfric's eyes and he patted her on the shoulder.

“Whatever our differences, you deserve better than that. Find someone who likes strength in his women. In the mean time, don't worry about him any further. I'll have my people keep him away from you while you're here, and after that... well, if he still respects me as you say he used to... leave him with me, I'll see if I can re-educate him.”

That did make Elisif smile, and to be able to sit and drink and talk with an old enemy... she would never have seen that coming. Was it something in the mead, making them all reasonable? Or maybe it was Sovngarde itself bringing out the truth in people. Either way, she could never for the life of her have seen it shattering her marriage... but bringing peace with her bitterest foe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ulfric had returned to Galmar and Njada, saying nothing to either but unfolding Galmar in a strangely intimate bear hug, to which Galmar had responded by patting him on the back, telling Njada that their Jarl evidently needed a bit of one on one time and was about to sweep Ulfric off when the former Jarl quietly said Njada could come too if she liked, and to Elisif's surprise, both of them put their arms around Ulfric and led him away. She might not have thought anything of it... but Ulfric's arms had gone around both their waists and it occurred to Elisif Galmar might not be the only one bedding Njada... and it was also possible Ulfric had never married because he'd had a lover alongside him all along.

I want a lover, the thought came to her. Well, she was free to now, wasn't she? Didn't have to agree to a loveless marriage of convenience. She could have whoever she wanted. If they wanted her back, of course. Shame Argis wasn't single, he was really quite cute... but also Madanach's son and too good a friend to complicate things with.

Shame Jordis could never come back to life... but she'd be here in Sovngarde and if her friendship turned into more... Elisif had never been in bed with a woman before, but it might be enjoyable. Maybe she should try it and find out.

And then there was Madanach. Too old for her. Dangerous and disreputable. Not just blood on his hands but all the way up to his elbows. Probably a necromancer, and his sister certainly was.

But he'd helped her. His kin had helped her. And he was charming and smart and not put off by the whole Dragonborn thing... He'd never be a casual lover though. Never a casual anything. He'd want a marriage. Did she really want to tie herself down with a nearly-sixty recovering Skooma addict?

Memories flashed through her mind of that night they'd gone drinking, of lying on top of him and tearfully begging him not to let her hurt anybody, and him laughing gently and promising to stop her if she got out of control, eyes gentle and kind for once and then... she couldn't remember a lot else but she'd woken up alone in her own tent, fully dressed and seeing as Blades armour was tricky to remove or put on at the best of times on your own, she had a feeling he'd done nothing other than cuddle her.

Which was also a shame. Damn it. This was ridiculous, he was too old for her, any number of people must want to bed her, she should be looking out for them.

But he'd been kind when he hadn't had to be... and he'd been genuinely concerned for her wellbeing on more than one occasion... and he was interested.

This was no good at all. Damn it but she needed to talk to someone. Someone who knew him and might be able to help.

Jordis was sitting on her own at the end of the table, quietly drinking her mead. No sign of Argis.

“Where'd Argis go?” Elisif asked.

“Over there,” Jordis said, pointing him out. He was sitting on the stairs, talking to a woman in simple hunter's furs... and given that they shared a hair colour, not to mention the way they were holding hands, it became obvious who she must be.

“Oh, he found his mother!” Elisif gasped, feeling her own discontents vanish in the wake of happiness for her housecarl. Jordis nodded, smiling.

“Yeah, she made it. She had the sense to stay inside when Alduin turned up. You should go and say hello.”

So Elisif did just that.

Argis was holding hands with her, tears rolling down his cheek as his forehead rested against hers. Inga, that was her name, wasn't it? Inga Fair-Shot. She looked to be in her thirties, probably the age she was when she died, and her blue eyes and blonde hair and the shape of her face were just like Argis's. She was really quite pretty. No wonder Madanach had liked her.

“Hello,” Elisif said, causing both mother and son to start up.

“Hey? Oh, Elisif,” Argis said, looking a little embarrassed. “Er... this is my ma. Inga. I finally tracked her down, look!”

“I saw,” Elisif said, pleased beyond all measure Argis was happy. “It's lovely to meet you, Inga.”

“Likewise, Dragonborn,” Inga whispered, flushing bright red and looking away. “I... I mean, it's an honour, milady.”

“You can just call me Elisif,” Elisif told her, sitting cross-legged on the floor to help settle her a bit. “I'm not a queen or Jarl or anything here.”

“Oh yes you are, you're a bloody hero,” Inga snapped, looking up from the floor at that. “Argis has been telling me all sorts. You're not just some soldier or hunter, you're the slayer of Alduin! Of course you're someone. I just got killed protecting my son.”

“Well, he saved me in turn, so don't think I'm not grateful for that,” Elisif said. “Your son's a very skilled warrior, you should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Inga said quietly, smiling at her son. “I'm just glad he's all right and happy and has a young man apparently!”

Argis blushed a bit and muttered something about it being early days and how Farkas might not want a proper partner, but Inga just rolled her eyes.

“Why wouldn't he want you, you're handsome and bright and kind,” Inga said, nudging him. “And you turned out quite well considering your father recruited you into the Forsworn at ten years old.”

“He didn't recruit me,” Argis sighed wearily. “He took me in and raised me. I didn't join the Forsworn until after he got sent down.”

“Got himself arrested, bloody typical Madanach, that is,” Inga snorted. “I told him it would end in tears and look what happened.”

Inga looked like she was about to start crying again, and Elisif couldn't help but move closer and sit next to her.

“It's all right,” she whispered. “He escaped. Now he's free and... and I made him Jarl and granted him a full pardon. He's running Windhelm.”

Argis pouted at her and Inga just looked stunned.

“He... what?” Inga gasped. “Madanach, Jarl of Windhelm??” She turned to her son for confirmation.

“See, now you've gone and spoiled it,” Argis sighed. “I hadn't got to that part yet! Yes Ma, Da's a Jarl and now he's acknowledged me, I'm an official noble.”

“And you pardoned him,” Inga gasped, staring at Elisif. “Despite everything, you pardoned him?”

“Official pardon from the High Queen,” Elisif promised. “Except I'm not Mooted yet, but I will be, and then it'll be properly, unarguably legal, and then I'm giving him his country back so he can be king!”

“You'd do that?” Inga whispered. “But why?”

“Because he helped me,” Elisif said, remembering how scared she'd been in Cidhna Mine and how understanding Madanach had been... and how she'd seen Witchmist Redoubt and realised she wasn't going to her death in Windhelm after all. “He was there for me when I got thrown into Cidhna Mine and helped me escape... and then he organised an uprising in Windhelm because he was worried I might do something like challenge Ulfric and get killed and he wanted me to have backup. I owe him a lot, in fact I think I owe him my life. He deserves to be happy. He's not a bad man, Inga.”

She looked into Inga's eyes and realised that of everyone in Sovngarde, Inga was the one person she didn't need to persuade of that. Inga was smiling at her, tears in her eyes.

“I know,” Inga said, taking Elisif's hand in hers. “Thank you. Thank you for believing in him too. He's not... he's not a monster. He's ruthless and cunning, but he's got principles. He was a good king in Markarth. He can be again, just please trust him.”

“I do,” Elisif replied, squeezing Inga's hand. “And I think he still has a bit of a torch for you. He think he misses you even now.”

“So do I,” Inga said quietly. “Never met anyone with quite that same mix of rough and gentle as him. I'm glad he's free and happy though – is he happy? Please tell me Mireen's dead.”

“She's dead,” Elisif told her. “I think he's content... but he's not got anyone. Well, not yet anyway. Might change once he's king. Someone might show an interest or he might have to get married.” Something must have shown in her eyes, because Inga had leaned forward, looking at her carefully, then back to Argis.

“Son, what aren't you telling me?” Inga asked shrewdly, and Elisif wondered if Madanach's assessment of her as a simple huntress from the country might not have sold her short a little.

“Da fancies her,” Argis sighed. Inga turned sharply back to Elisif, eyes wide as she dropped her hand. Then she rolled her eyes.

“Of course he does,” Inga sighed. “He has this thing for women taller than him. And you're beautiful too, Mara, of course he wants you. You're beautiful, powerful and a queen, I'm surprised he's not tried to seduce you already. Be warned, he is full of it sometimes.”

“Oh, I know that,” Elisif sighed. “And he's tried already – sent me four words of power and a new housecarl.” She nodded at Argis and Inga looked even more annoyed.

“He used our son as a courtship gift??”

“Yeah but Ma, I wouldn't be here if he hadn't,” Argis sighed. “And I don't mind being Elisif's housecarl, it's an adventure! Wouldn't have met Farkas either and he's gorgeous.”

Inga snorted, not entirely convinced by this.

“All the same, it's bloody typical, that is. Bloody Madanach, never thinks about consequences, oh no,” Inga sighed. “Have you given him an answer yet?”

“I said no,” Elisif whispered, remembering that night by the fire at Witchmist. “And he was alright with that. Been a bit distant since but OK, you know?”

Inga was still looking very carefully at her and Elisif could tell she wasn't entirely convinced.

“And you're fine with that.”

Elisif honestly didn't know. She remembered talking to him after the occupation, and sensing something was missing. He'd been keeping his distance, noncommittal where he'd once drawn her in, closed off where he never had been before... and it had upset her. It still upset her. She missed him, missed what they had, and she had no idea how to get it back.

“I don't know,” Elisif whispered, and she must have looked heartbroken because Inga was shifting nearer and pulling her in for a cuddle, putting her arms around her and making little soothing noises, and Argis was there too, looking worried and whispering her name.

“Are you OK, El?” Argis said, concerned. Elisif shook her head.

“No! I turned your father down and now everything is weird and I miss him and I just want it to be how it was and... and it isn't and I don't know how to fix it!” Elisif sobbed. “I think he wanted marriage, but it's still too soon, but I miss him!”

“El...” Argis whispered, rubbing her back, but it was Inga's quietly authoritative tones that carried the day.

“Son. This is the part where you give us a bit of privacy, hmm?” Inga said gently, and Argis nodded and slipped off to find Jordis and track down some mead.

Once they were alone, Inga kissed the top of her head and held Elisif like she was her own child.

“You poor girl,” Inga said quietly. “You poor, poor girl. He's got to you already, hasn't he? It's that smile, isn't it? He's such a gruff and suspicious bastard, but as soon as he starts to trust you, it's only a matter of time before he smiles at you and those eyes of his actually thaw, and then you realise he's handsome and then you realise he's got the nicest legs you ever saw and next thing you know you're kissing him and he's kissing you back and then you're on your back with him going down on you, and if he does that, you're lost.”

“I never noticed his legs,” Elisif whispered, but she'd seen the smile and that was eye-catching, no doubt about that, probably because it didn't happen often and was reserved for very few. But the legs – she'd never really looked at those. And as for the other...

“Is – is he good at that then? I mean, does he enjoy it?” Elisif whispered. Torygg hadn't done it that often, but when he had, Elisif had enjoyed it. She wasn't so sure Torygg always had though.

“Enjoy it? Elisif, he loves it,” Inga whispered back. “I'd had lovers before, I've had a few in Sovngarde since. But Nord men, it's all about the cock for them, getting inside you and proving their manliness that way. It gets boring after a while. Not with him though. He's... inventive. I only had three weeks of him as a lover, then we were friends while he was king but no more than that. But my goodness it was an intense three weeks. I don't think I'll ever have anyone like him again, but I've got eternity to wait for one to turn up. You don't though.”

“I don't? I mean, I don't, do I?” Elisif sighed. “If he finds someone else, or if I do...”

Inga was looking at her sadly, and then the other interpretation occurred to her.

“How old is he, Elisif?” Inga asked softly. “Is he sixty yet?”

“Next year, I think,” Elisif whispered, feeling the blood drain out of her face. “Oh gods, you think he might die!”

“Everyone does in the end,” Inga sighed. “Even him. Elisif, he won't last forever. If you want him, or even think you might, go for him and do it soon. I think if you tell him everything that happened here, everything with you and Torygg, he'll understand and not rush you. But if you want him – go and claim him. He's shutting you out because you said no and he doesn't want to upset you by pushing things or get hurt any more than he already has been, not because he doesn't care. He probably cares too much. He'll likely need persuading you mean it, but if you do mean it and you're honest with him... Elisif, you're beautiful, he won't hold out for long.”

Going home and cuddling Madanach and not letting go. She still wasn't sure if it was a good idea... but by the Eight, it didn't feel like a bad one either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, Argis and Elisif spent what felt like several days in Sovngarde. Elisif knew she should leave, but it was so peaceful here and she didn't want to take Argis away from Inga nor did she want to say goodbye to Jordis, who rarely left her side.

She didn't see much of Torygg, only in passing, and he stayed well away from her. That saddened her too. He'd been the centre of her universe and now he wasn't... and she didn't know how to feel about that. Guilty. Unhappy. Sorry. Not sorry at all. The dragon in her could feel nothing for a man who'd built his own strength on keeping her weak.

The woman in her missed him.

But days passed and they were like strangers still. Until finally she looked up from her mead to see him standing there nervously.

Jordis got to her feet at once, as did Inga, placing a warning hand on her son's arm, and across the room, Elisif could see even Ulfric getting up from where he'd been lounging back on Galmar and approaching.

“Hey. Pretty boy. Move along and don't bother the High Queen or I'll really give you something to think about,” Argis growled, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles and Elisif had no doubt he meant it.

“Argis. Leave it,” Elisif sighed, getting to her feet. “I think we do need to talk. Torygg?”

Torygg nodded, not meeting her eyes, and motioned for her to follow him to a quiet corner. Word was clearly getting around because everyone else took one look and made excuses to be elsewhere. Elisif followed him to the Hall's steps but did not sit down.

“What is it?” she asked, folding her arms. “I'm not taking you back, you have to know that.”

Torygg flinched but did not argue.

“Listen, Elisif, I've had some time to think,” Torygg sighed. “This place is good for that. You either spend all your time drinking and fighting and getting some, or you end up thinking. And I've been doing a lot of that. I don't know if I'd have done anything differently, and I still don't think I had any real option but to fight Ulfric that day. He wasn't there to negotiate, Elisif, he only had one aim in mind and that was war.”

Which was probably true, but that didn't mean it hadn't torn her apart, and it didn't change the fact he'd left her completely unprepared for life without him.

“Perhaps,” Elisif said quietly. “But you still left me, Torygg. You left me all alone, and I could forgive you but... damn it, Torygg, I didn't know anything! Not about being Jarl or High Queen and suddenly I had all these dignitaries looking at me expecting me to magically have the answers and I didn't have a clue! Because you never got me involved in any of it, you'd always change the subject. You know all the other Jarls came to your funeral, right? Even the ones who later backed Ulfric. They came to pay their respects. And if I'd known what I was doing, I might have been able to persuade them to stay with me. But I didn't and they must have taken one look and decided they'd rather have a competent ruler. Even Balgruuf didn't commit to my side until after he found out I was Dragonborn!” Elisif willed him to understand. Her anger had faded a little, but by the Eight, he'd left her a complete mess and no skills to deal with any of it!

“I know,” Torygg said guiltily. “And I'm so sorry, Elisif. I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't want you to have to deal with any of that! Because I never saw Ulfric's betrayal coming, I didn't think you'd ever have to. I didn't think you'd ever want to be involved or need to be. You certainly never asked.”

“I got brushed off and talked over whenever I tried,” Elisif said bitterly, remembering the early days of her marriage, and getting a definite sense of Istlod, Torygg and Falk shutting her out of discussions of anything important, patting her head and telling her not to worry about such things, it was all in hand. The few occasions she'd tried being a bit more insistent, she'd felt the chill in the air, the ranks closing, Istlod staring her down and Elisif slinking away feeling ashamed for even asking. She'd learnt not to bother after that.

Torygg at least had the decency to lower his eyes.

“I don't think we treated you that well, did we?” Torygg said, his voice low and quiet and definitely more submissive than she'd ever seen him. He'd never been domineering or arrogant, no, but he'd had the confident air of a man born to rule, who'd grown up knowing he'd be king one day.

He didn't look that way any more. He'd been King... and he'd screwed up, dead within six months of taking the throne. Now she was the ruler, and she'd not only avenged him and stopped the war, she'd killed a god. She even had the Crown.

“I think you treated me more like a pet than a wife,” Elisif said tersely. “Not badly... but not like you should have done. Not like you actually respected me. And now I'm a Dragonborn hero who's going to be a legend and you have to respect me and take me seriously, and you've got no idea how, have you?”

Torygg didn't answer, and Elisif could feel the tears coming back. Damn him, damn him to Oblivion, how could he ever have loved her if he didn't even see her properly?

“You're not the woman I married any more,” Torygg finally said. “And you're right, I don't know what to say to you or how to say it, because you used to hang on my every word, gazing up at me like I knew the secrets of the world and could do anything... and now you're the one saving me and killing dragon gods like you've been doing it all your life. Nothing I do is ever going to impress you again, is it?”

Elisif really was going to cry in a second. She thought of all the couples she'd seen in her travels. There'd been Cicero pirouetting up to Eola with a hand-made flower crown in his hands and cooing he'd made a pretty garland for his precious sugar princess and Eola, normally very self-contained and undemonstrative, had burst out laughing before agreeing to wear it and then cuddling Cicero and kissing him and whispering that was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her, thank you and Cicero had snuggled back and whispered that his pretty Eola clearly had been insufficiently tended to in her life and needed it making up for. Delphine and Brynjolf, and Delphine was even less romantic and demonstrative than Eola was, and while Brynjolf was no cooing and prancing Cicero, he regularly descended on Delphine, declared she was 'thinking too much, I can hear the cogs ticking from here, lass' and started snuggling her until she had no choice but to stop what she was doing and stare him down until he stopped. Or hit him with a nearby soft object, which would turn into a play-fight, which usually ended up in kissing and then Delphine shrugging and saying she supposed it could wait for half an hour... and then they'd disappear and half an hour would turn into three.

Vilkas and Ria, who appeared to have something going on, and while they didn't seem to be all over each other in public, had lots of whispered private conversations and long disappearances and then they'd be seen at dinner not saying much but just quietly holding hands. And Argis and Farkas of course, laughing and joking and swapping stories and knocking back mead like any two Nord warriors, and then one would stop and if it was Farkas he'd usually just come out and say something like 'Gods but you're really fucking sexy' whereas Argis was more likely to go quiet then say something a bit subtler like '… you're really cute when you smile'. And then they would cuddle for a bit... and then later they'd be seen in a dark corner with one shoved against the wall and both of them kissing and moaning and... yes, well, Elisif had had to go and lie down at that point, it really wasn't seemly to watch her housecarl with his boyfriend like that, but goodness it had looked intense.

Erandur and Aranea weren't a couple, not exactly, but the mutual attraction was there, a dark and desperate pulsing, love denied and resisted and turning ugly and painful, and it was horrible to watch but it was also undeniably real, a tie of love at its cruellest. And then there was Madanach. Deceptive, cynical, predatory Madanach, a hunter stalking his prey... but also a bright-eyed passionate optimist who'd never given up hope even when things had seemed hopeless, and who'd chanced everything on her. Maybe he was expecting payment for his trouble, but that payment had been political, not personal. On a personal level, he'd reacted to rejection like a grown-up and not let it hurt their alliance. And while she had a feeling he wouldn't exactly object to starstruck young women admiring and idolising him, she'd also learned from talking to Inga that what he really wanted was someone whose strength matched his own, someone who, when the doors were closed and they were alone, he could just rest in the arms of and not have to keep up the king persona any more.

She wondered if she'd ever seen Torygg without his king persona on. What she did know she'd never seen was any of her friends being anything other than who they were, and more to the point, none of them were expecting their partners to be anything other than who they were. Had Torygg ever known who she was? Had she even known the real Torygg at all? She had a horrible feeling the answer to both was no.

“You already impressed me when we first met, Torygg,” Elisif said softly. “I loved you, you didn't have to keep trying. I'd have loved you anyway. Maybe not in the same way but I'd have loved you. I still could have loved you even now, you know... but I don't think you know how to love me any more.”

“I don't,” Torygg said, barely audible, and whether he didn't know how or just didn't love her any more, it made no difference. Elisif felt her heart snap in two... but she did not cry. The Dov did not cry in front of lesser creatures. And while it hurt, she could also feel something change, some weight shift and fall from her. Over, it was over, and she was free.

“I don't even know who you are any more,” Torygg was continuing, and he looked awful, just awful, looked like he was about to cry himself. “But you were my wife once and maybe there's still something of her in there.” He did look up then, strange half-smile on her face.

“I don't know who you are, but you're definitely someone I could respect and get to like. Elisif, I screwed up, I failed you, I know that and I'm sorry. I'm not asking your forgiveness... but when your time does come and you come back here... do you think we could get to know each other properly? As friends?” Hope in his eyes and Elisif honestly wasn't sure what sort of answer to give him. But it was something she could think about.

“Maybe,” Elisif finally said. They'd been married for a good three, four years, that had to count for something, right? “So much has happened in the seven months since... well... It could be years before I come here properly and who knows what I'll have done then?”

“Founded a dynasty, sent the Dominion packing and started your own cult?” Torygg said, eyebrow raised and clearly not having given that any thought before saying it. Elisif couldn't help but laugh.

“They're not going to set up a cult to me,” Elisif giggled. Torygg did grin at that.

“Don't be too sure. I can see it now, statues of you looking terrifying in the Jagged Crown, and fighting off Alduin. St. Elisif, Our Lady of the Slain Dragons.”

Elisif felt her cheeks flush as she tried not to laugh, and this conversation was still breaking her heart... but if they could still laugh together, there might be hope. One day, after her time on Nirn was done. Perhaps.

Torygg had stopped laughing, his face falling.

“Elisif... you said it had been seven months since I died.”

“I think so,” Elisif said, scratching her head and trying to figure out the timelines. “Coming up to eight? It's been a while.”

“Oh,” Torygg said softly, looking like his heart was breaking all over again. “Elisif... the baby... you're clearly not still pregnant and I don't think you gave birth recently.”

Elisif had actually forgotten. In all the excitement, all the worry, all the trying to save the world... she'd forgotten she'd been pregnant once. It felt like she'd been punched in the gut.

“I lost the baby,” Elisif whispered. “After you died...” She couldn't say any more. Couldn't even think about it. Just the sorrow and the guilt... both for losing their child and forgetting the loss, oh gods, what sort of horrible person was she?

It wasn't your fault, her dragon blood whispered, sounding rather like Delphine. Elisif wasn't nearly so sure, and Torygg looked pretty cut up too.

“I'm sorry,” he finally said. “I'm so sorry, Elisif. Are... are you all right?”

“How can I be?” Elisif whispered. “But I've had so much else to worry about, I've not really thought about it. At least it hadn't quickened yet. I'm young, I'll have more, right?” She saw Torygg nodding, still looking heartbroken, and realised that while she might have more, he never would, not now.

“Are you alright?” Elisif asked hesitantly, not sure if she still had the right to ask. Torygg lowered his eyes, shaking his head.

“No, but I guess I deserve it,” Torygg said softly. And while Elisif wasn't sure she could entirely forgive him, she also couldn't forget she'd loved him once... and part of her still did.

Wordless, she stepped forward and held him in her arms, holding him as he cried, expressing all the grief and regret she'd already started to move on from.

You are stronger than him. Her dragon-voice again, and it was right, as it so often was. But unlike a dragon, she had every interest in protecting the weak... including her ex-husband. And so she held and comforted Torygg, and while she couldn't fix any of this (and part of her already knew it didn't want to), Torygg had been part of her life for too long, too intimately, to cut off forever.

Notes:

OK, just one chapter after all... but I can promise another update a lot sooner than the over a month this one took. Hopefully a bit happier too - that last scene made me cry. Poor Torygg.

Anyway, next chapter is Elisif's return from Sovngarde and it's back to Windhelm where we find just what's happened in her absence. It's been interesting times back in Skyrim, that's for sure...

Chapter 35

Summary:

All things must come to an end, and it's time for Elisif to leave. But she's got little time to wallow in the heartbreak of leaving Sovngarde behind. Things have moved on in her absence, and Skyrim needs its High Queen to step up and finally stop the war.

Notes:

Seeing as I have plenty more of this written, it is time for an upload. A bit of a bridging chapter this, getting Elisif back to her people and providing the first hints of what's been happening while she's been gone, so you may well get ch36 posted as well. Enjoy!

Finally the time came to leave. Everyone was gathered on the plain outside Shor's Hall, Tsun ready to Shout her home.

Jordis had hardly left her side, looking tearful to see her go. Elisif knew how she felt, Jordis was loyal, kind, capable, had been there at the start and helped her out here as selflessly as she had in life. But Elisif couldn't stay and Jordis would be here waiting when Elisif died.

“Stay safe, Maia,” Jordis whispered, despite Elisif telling her she could use her name now, she'd earned the right.

“You too, Jordis,” Elisif said, kissing her housecarl on the cheek and squeezing her tight. Next up, Torygg, who'd turned up to see her off, and she still wasn't sure what to say to him. They'd talked and talked and said everything they had to say. Nothing would change the fact that what he'd looked for in his wife just wasn't who she was any more. Nevertheless, there was still something left over, or he wouldn't be here now.

“Elisif,” he said nervously. “I guess this is it.”

Elisif nodded, not sure what to say.

“Guess it is. Until I die, but that'll be years away, I hope!”

“I hope so too,” Torygg said quietly. “I'll miss you. But don't worry about me. I mean, I'll be in Sovngarde, you know? All Nords want to come here. You just live your life and be happy. Be a better leader for Skyrim than I was.”

“You tried,” Elisif told him. Torygg just shrugged.

“Skyrim needs better than that,” he said. “You sorted out the mess I left you with. You're what our homeland needs, not me.”

Maybe. But there was something she could leave him with.

“You're in Sovngarde,” she told him. “You're a hero too. I'll make sure that's how you're remembered. Never mind everything between us. I'll make sure history remembers you as a brave man who died defending his country even when it seemed hopeless.”

Torygg looked surprised, and then he was reaching out to pull her into his arms, holding her tight, and for a few precious moments Elisif could close her eyes and it was as if none of it had ever happened. She was still his adored wife, he was still her loving husband, they were safe and happy in Solitude and everything was all right.

And then she opened her eyes and it wasn't.

“You take care, Elisif,” Torygg said roughly, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Elisif knew her own cheeks were wet too. “You go and be happy. Go be a hero. Go and be the next Tiber Septim. If we can't have each other, let me at least be able to say I was lucky enough to be loved by a legend once.”

You still are! Elisif wanted to howl. She still did love him... but she couldn't look up to him any more, and Torygg couldn't deal with that. Best to just walk away, and in the decades to come, perhaps he'd find peace here. She could but hope.

“Divines keep you,” Elisif whispered. “I don't know for sure if there's eight or nine, but I hope you find peace. I'll remember you, I swear.”

“Thank you,” Torygg said softly. “I know you don't really worship Talos, and if you're Dragonborn, you've got no reason to... but I think he believes in you. I'm sure he'd be proud – he should be at any rate. There's just one thing... you'd have made offerings to the Divines after I died, right?”

Elisif had done that very thing – to the Eight. But with the Thalmor watching, not to Talos, the Divine her husband had worshipped in secret along with his father.

“To the Eight,” Elisif admitted. “I was never able to make one to Talos.”

“I understand,” Torygg said grimly. “If it's too dangerous, I won't hold it against you, but could you do one thing for me? My father's old warhorn, it's on the desk in our bedroom. Can you take it to a shrine to Talos for me, leave it as an offering? There's plenty of them in secret corners all over Skyrim, although the one east of Whiterun has a special place in my heart.”

Elisif remembered. Torygg's mother had been a Whiterun noble, related to Balgruuf. His parents had often gone up there while courting and in the early days of their marriage. Giving the horn to Talos at that shrine would be a nice way of honouring the memory of Torygg's family, the High Kings and Queens gone before.

“I'll do it,” Elisif promised. Torygg smiled at that.

“No rush,” Torygg said, something seeming to amuse him. “Who knows, a time may come soon when Talos can be worshipped freely again.”

That time could have been now if Ulfric had won and Elisif felt an unexpected twinge of guilt at that. But who knew what might happen. Elisif stepped back, wiping the tears away and then looked up... to see Torygg backing off and Ulfric Stormcloak approaching, Galmar and Njada at his back.

“Ulfric,” Elisif said, surprised to see him. “You came to see me off?”

“Thought I should wish you well,” Ulfric said, shrugging. “Next time I see you, the world will be different. I just wanted to make sure you know to look after my country.”

Elisif thought of Sofie's terrified face as she pleaded with Madanach, and little Aventus being brought back from his house, Madanach and Karliah flanking him with Madanach's soldiers keeping everyone else at bay so people didn't stare, and how thin and filthy he'd been, and decided if that was how Ulfric ran a city, she could hardly do worse than him at leadership. She knew for sure all Solitude's children were loved.

“Skyrim doesn't belong to you, Ulfric,” Elisif told him. Ulfric smiled sadly and shrugged again.

“Perhaps not. But I belong to her. Take care of our home, Elisif.”

Elisif promised she would and while she wasn't sure about a full Nordic bear hug, she did take the hand he offered and returned the half-hug.

Then Njada.

“Good job,” Njada noted. “Guess Kodlak was right about you. Guess he's not happy with me, eh?”

Elisif was fairly certain he wasn't... but he'd also given Njada a respectful eulogy.

“He's sad it came to that,” she said softly. “He genuinely didn't want his Shield-Siblings fighting each other. But he respects you, and when his own time comes, I think he'll greet you as a friend.”

Relief in Njada's eyes but she hid it swiftly.

“Then I'll keep some mead warm for him,” she told Elisif.

Finally Inga, who'd been holding on to Argis with tears in her eyes, whispering to her son and Argis nodding back, drying his own eyes, and then Inga was turning to her.

“You take care of him,” Inga told her, her voice hoarse. “You take care of my boy.”

Elisif nodded and promised she would. “He'll always have a place at my side,” Elisif promised. “After following me here, he's earned my permanent friendship. I know he's got Farkas to look after him and his kin too... but I'll make sure he's always got a place of honour.”

Inga nodded and then leaned closer, whispering in Elisif's ear. “Take care of his father too. He is old and likely lonely, and I don't like to think about what that mine did to him. Will you look after him too?”

“I'll try,” Elisif said softly. “I don't know if he'll let me, but I'll try. Inga, he told me to say he was sorry. I think he'd have liked to be there for you but he never could.”

Inga tightened her grip on Elisif, little sob escaping her mouth.

“Stupid man,” Inga gasped. “Stupid, stubborn, sweet-hearted man. You tell him... oh Dibella, I don't know. Tell him I'm thinking of him. And wish him well. Tell him to live well and be happy and look after our son. Gods, Elisif, just look after him. If he can't be happy with me, at least let him be happy.”

Elisif had no objections to that, but whether she could be the one to make Madanach smile, she didn't know. Still, if she could get him his throne, or at least see the Reach free and him settled in a nice retirement, she'd have done her best.

He might be grateful. He might show his appreciation in... other ways. Elisif gasped as her inner dragon helpfully flashed up images of Madanach kissing her, Madanach stripping off to reveal an older man's body but one still strong from the years of fighting and physical labour and holding out his hands to welcome her in, pinning him down and rutting against him, nails digging into him as her teeth nipped at his flesh and dear gods, this had to stop. She'd thought her dragon blood was under control, that she wasn't a danger. She'd even asked Madanach to stop her hurting anyone if needed. It would be horribly ironic if he was the one she was most likely to hurt.

And then it was time to leave. Tsun had one parting gift for her, a Shout that would summon one of the three Tongues to help her if needed, and a promise to both her and Argis that they'd earned a place here regardless of how they died.

“Thank you,” Elisif said quietly. “I'd like that.”

“I'll think about it,” Argis said gruffly. Couldn't be easy for him, with a mother here but a father who'd never come to Sovngarde ever. Elisif suspected much would depend on how things went with Farkas... but she quietly hoped she'd see Argis here too one day.

And then it was time to go. Final goodbyes were said and then Elisif took Argis's hand and braced herself as Tsun Shouted them home. The last thing she saw was Jordis waving goodbye and Inga's tear-streaked face, the older Nord woman's eyes never leaving her son... and in the background, Torygg looking on, watching her go with sadness all over his face, but looking proud of her too.

Torygg, I'm sorry, I still love you! And then Sovngarde was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Elisif was aware of was the cold, smacking her in the face. After Sovngarde's permanent summer, the cold of Skyrim's winter was a shock. But there was wind and snow and rock and... dragons?

Lots of dragons. But no one attacking. Just weaving overhead or perched on rocks, and Paarthurnax perched on top of his Word Wall.

Next to her, Argis was waking up, also cursing out the cold.

“Daedra help me, couldn't he have sent us somewhere warm?” Argis grimaced, and then he saw the dragons and reached for his axe.

“Don't!” Elisif cried. “They're not attacking. They're singing...”

She hadn't known dragons could sing, but they were! Well, a chant really, and Elisif caught Alduin's name. Alduin mahlaan. Sahrot Thur qahnaaran. Mu los vomir. Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid. Thu'umii los nahlot. Elisif didn't understand it, but she could tell the sentiments. Part dirge for their fallen leader, but also a celebration of sorts. The dragons were free to go their own way. Elisif couldn't help but smile. Maybe they were brutal killers... but they were also sentient creatures and at least now they could choose to be monsters or not.

Like Cicero. Or Madanach. Free to choose their paths now, and while Elisif had a feeling Cicero would go right on stabbing given the chance, she had a feeling Madanach had longed for redemption. Rather like Ulfric. Ulfric had had to die to find his, finding a destiny in protecting his kin from Alduin. Elisif hoped everyone else could find theirs in life. She'd seen enough friends die.

At length the dragons peeled off and flew away, leaving only one remaining. An old, grey dragon perched on a Word Wall.

“Paarthurnax!” Elisif cried, racing over to him, heedless of Argis following and scratching his head, before recalling that oh, right, Paarthurnax was the good brother wasn't he?

“Yolaazov,” Paarthurnax said, lowering his head and letting Elisif embrace his nose. “Greetings. You have been some time... but I can feel it in the wuldsetiid. You have done it. Alduin is no more.”

He didn't sound very happy about it, and Elisif told him this. If dragons could shrug, Paarthurnax would have done.

“He was the Firstborn, Yolaazov. Greatest of us all once, the crowning glory of Akatosh's creation. And now he is no more. Maybe this is for the best, I know not. But I cannot celebrate, Yolaazov. He was my brother once.”

Elisif was an only child, Elisif had never had any siblings, not even had to share her father with a mother. But she'd seen her father quietly grieving and always wondered what her mother was like... and these past few weeks had given her a taste of what having a large family was like. Elisif didn't know what it was like for a true dragon, but she knew what grief felt like.

“If it's any consolation, I don't think I took his soul,” she told him. “He might come back one day.”

“Perhaps,” Paarthurnax said softly. “Even those of us who fly on the wings of time cannot see past time's end. But it is done and that is for the best. Alduin had flown far from wisdom by the end.”

Elisif couldn't disagree there.

“What will you do now?” she asked. “Are you going to stay here?” The old dragon had seemed awfully lonely and desperate to talk to someone. With Alduin gone, there was no need for him to guard the mountaintop, and he had plenty of other dragons to talk to now.

“In truth, I do not know,” Paarthurnax said thoughtfully. “I have spent so long watching for my brother, I had almost forgotten what path I was supposed to be flying. Learn well, Yolaazov. Do not spend so long perched on someone else's strunmah that you forget what it is like to fly.”

Elisif wasn't sure she'd ever known what that was like... but these past few weeks had given her a freedom she'd never known. First childhood, then caring for her father, then marriage, then bereavement... then the coming of dragon blood and the knowledge she was needed to save the world, but even then there'd been a mission. Now it was done... and all that awaited was someone else's strunmah. Her former husband's strunmah, also known as the Blue Palace, and just the thought of going back made her feel ill. But who else was there?

Leave it to Falk. Let him be Jarl, let Balgruuf be King, get Argis to tell the world you died in Sovngarde then hit the road.

It was a tempting thought. But there were still things she needed to take care of. Head back to Windhelm for one and see how everything was going there, then go to Solitude and tell Tullius that the war was done, could he sign off on Madanach as King of the Reach, or failing that, Madanach as Jarl of Windhelm? She honestly had no idea how Tullius would react to that, but he was a practical man. He'd see reason, she was sure... but she had the feeling she'd need to be present for the negotiations.

“I'll try not to,” Elisif promised. “Do you know where you're flying?”

“No, but that is half the fun,” Paarthurnax laughed. “Goraan, but I feel younger than I have in years. I will keep this place as somewhere to rest, and visit my Greybeard friends. But as for myself, I think I will try to bring my fellow Dov around to the rightness of the Way of the Voice. They may yet be persuaded of the power of my Thu'um. But willing or not, they will hear it!”

Paarthurnax took to the air, wheeling overhead, looking truly more carefree than Elisif had ever seen him. Someone else finally feeling the responsibility lifting and being able to stretch their wings.

“Fly well!” she cried out to him.

“And you, Yolaazov! Lok Thu'um!” Paarthurnax circled round the Throat and then flew east, dragon roar echoing across the sky as he faded into the horizon.

Elisif would miss him... but she had a feeling she'd see the old Dovah again. She didn't have time to dwell on Paarthurnax though. Another dragon had landed, sending snow flying and her and Argis staggering.

“Sithis' sake, who's this?” Argis cried, reaching for his axe, and the new arrival growled, head swinging to face him.

“Argis, wait!” Elisif cried. “That's Odahviing, the one who flew me to Skuldafn!”

Argis sheathed his weapon, staring at the red dragon who was still growling

“He friendly?” Argis said, not looking convinced. Elisif wasn't sure either, but she didn't think Odahviing was here to attack. If they weren't exactly friends, at least they weren't enemies... not yet. And he had said he'd watch to see who returned.

“Odahviing,” Elisif said firmly. “That's Argis and he's with me. Leave him alone.”

“If he stays his blade,” Odahviing growled, turning back to Elisif. “So, Dovahkiin. You have returned. And Alduin is dead. The proving is done and we know for sure now whose Thu'um is stronger.”

“It was my sword killed him,” Elisif said. “But he wouldn't stay still without Dragonrend.”

“Hah!” Odahviing laughed. “I can believe it. I would have liked to have seen it, it was surely a sahrot krongrah – a mighty victory.”

“She carved up his side, squealing 'this is easy!'” Argis said, grinning. Elisif had no recollection of saying any such thing, but it had felt somehow natural. Fated. Doom-driven. As if she'd had no choice but to do it. She wasn't sure it'd be relevant to her normal life, but you could never tell.

“For you, perhaps,” Odahviing said knowingly. “Yolaazov Thur, you have proved your strength twice over. Your Thu'um is stronger, Thuri.”

“Thuri,” Elisif said, frowning. “What does that mean?”

Odahviing closed his eyes and nudged at her gently.

“Leader,” he said softly. “My leader. You can Shout my name. When you have need of me, call. I will come, if I can.”

“What?” Elisif said, trying to work out if she'd heard that correctly. “You... you'd come when called? And help me?”

“Of course!” Odahviing said, surprised. “You ended the mightiest of us. You are worthy of serving, Yolaazov.”

She'd just got her own dragon. Her very own dragon! Elisif resisted the temptation to squeal... but a dragon! Wait until Madanach heard this. Or Tullius! Goodness, Falk's reaction, and suddenly Elisif didn't feel so bad about having to go back to Solitude. People would have to take her seriously with her very own dragon.

“Where will you stay when I don't call you?” Elisif asked. “Have you got a strunmah?”

“Not any more,” Odahviing sighed. “I used to live at Skuldafn but I will not be welcome there now. I was thinking of staying here. The old one, Paarthurnax, would not mind, I don't think, even if he will not shut up about the Way of the Voice.”

“Come with me,” Elisif said, feeling impulsive, reckless, and this was a terrible idea but she was Jarl of Solitude if nothing else, and the city would just have to get used to it. “There's a mountain to the north-west, by the sea. There's a statue of a woman with a beam of light shining into it, and a bridge with a dragon's head on it, and a big city with ships and a great stone arch over the river with a palace on it. That's the Blue Palace of Solitude. That's where I live. Did you want to live on the mountain nearby? I'd tell the guards to leave you alone, have them make sure no one hurt you. Maybe build you a platform on the palace roof!”

“A Dov in a city of the joor?” Odahviing said dubiously. “Thuri, is this wise?”

“It's my city,” Elisif said firmly. “I'm Jarl there. If I ordered it, they would have to let you be, although you are not allowed to eat anyone who lives there.”

“I will want assurances before I visit regularly,” Odahviing said, still dubious. “But I could make my home on the mountain nearby. Call me once you have warned the guards there that I am coming, and I will visit.”

Elisif promised she'd make all the arrangements, inwardly squealing. A dragon, a dragon, she had her own dragon!!!

They would have to take her seriously now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down the mountain, stopping briefly to tell Arngeir the good news, and then to Ivarstead for a drink and rest at the inn. After Sovngarde, even the Black-Briar's best fell short... but Elisif was glad of warmth and food.

“What news, Wilhelm?” Elisif asked, keen to find out what had happened since she'd been in Sovngarde. She'd already found out from Klimmek she'd been gone for over a week. A week?? Anything could have happened in a week!

“Nothing good,” Wilhelm said, guarded. “We've had no news out of Riften for over a week now, just smoke in the east and the sound of dragons. It's concerning. I was expecting a delivery from the meadery three days ago but nothing. My stocks are running low. I'll have to send to Honningbrew at this rate. Bassianus left for the city two days ago to find out what's going on. We've heard nothing since.”

Worrying. Elisif exchanged looks with Argis.

“Should we go?” Elisif whispered. “I know it's Stormcloak territory but something's not right.”

“For all we know, Da and Delphine are behind it,” Argis murmured back. “I know Karliah was heading back out there to scout the area... and Da sent Cicero with her too.”

“Cicero??” Elisif hissed. She'd not even thought Cicero was that close to Karliah. “Why is he... oh gods.” She had a horrible feeling there was going to be a repeat of Dawnstar. “We should really get out there...”

“El- Maia,” Argis said firmly. “He's not going there to assassinate Jarl Laila. Trust me, whatever he's up to, you do not want to be anywhere near it. You'd be better off going to Windhelm and checking Da's all right, and asking him what he knows about Riften. And speaking of Windhelm, ask your man there if he's heard anything out of Eastmarch.”

So Elisif did. Wilhelm's expression darkened.

“Bad tidings – unbelievable tidings, you might say. They say Ulfric's dead and that the entire Hold's been taken over by these savages. No news out of there for over a week either, just word from travellers that Fort Amol's in the hands of these fur-clad heathen witches. I don't even want to think of what's going on if they've taken the city as well.”

Elisif nudged Argis to be quiet and stop grimacing. It seemed Madanach was still in control of things over there, but Elisif knew the Legion would be there before long. She'd need to hurry.

Tipping Wilhelm extra for his trouble, Elisif withdrew to bed. She had a horrible feeling all was not well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They left Ivarstead early, taking the road north to Windhelm, rising through the mountain ridge that marked the Rift's northern border... and then out onto the road overlooking the Aalto plain. Elisif could see Windhelm from here, glimmering in the sunshine... as was the armour of the Legion troops camped out around the city, clearly laying siege to it. The city wasn't actually burning... but it was only a matter of time before something happened.

“Divines help us,” Elisif whispered. “I didn't know they'd get here so quickly!”

Argis said nothing, staring out at the army camped around his father's city, and Elisif saw his expression, saw the grief and terror and realised that she'd seen many emotions on Argis's face but she'd never seen him afraid before.

“Elisif,” Argis said softly. “Elisif, my da's in that city. Farkas is in that city, my sisters are in that city. Elisif, we need to do something, please, they'll execute him if you're not there, they'll kill them all...”

No. Absolutely not, she'd taken Windhelm, that city was hers, and Madanach was her Jarl, her sworn vassal, hers! General Tullius had no right to overrule her. Fear evaporated and cold, unmoving rage settled into her gut. She'd do something all right.

“Come on,” Elisif said quietly. “Let's get down there. General Tullius will listen to me, he has to.”

He never listened to you before, why would he start now? Elisif ignored the treacherous little voice whispering at the back of her mind. She'd spent too long doubting herself and her decisions and she was determined it wasn't going to happen again.

I have a dragon this time. Inside and out. He will have to listen or I will burn his camp down.

Not that Elisif wanted it to come to that, of course. But she did have options.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Queen and housecarl raced down the road as fast as their heavy armour would let them, although Argis was trained to it, and by this point, Elisif had spent so much time running around Skyrim in the stuff she barely noticed the weight. So along the ridge it was, then down the hill and alongside the plain, past the remains of the giant camp... and then just outside Kynesgrove, as the camp boundary was just visible in the distance, someone whistled sharply.

“What was that?” Elisif whispered. “Was that one of the Forsworn?” It sounded like a Forsworn signal, Elisif had heard enough of them while Witchmist Redoubt had been here.

“Yeah,” Argis said, frowning. “I think?”

Another whistle, and then a hiss from behind the stone wall.

“Elisif!”

She knew that voice. Not a Forsworn, but a friend.

“Karliah?” Elisif asked, confused. “What are you doing here?”

Karliah slipped out from the shadows, pulling her grey cowl off, shaking out her hair... and she wasn't alone either.

“Hello pretty Dragonborn!” Cicero cooed, popping out from where he'd been hiding next to Karliah. Elisif could practically feel Argis's mood drop. Argis had always been a bit on edge around the little jester.

“Cicero?” Elisif asked, glancing between the two of them. “What are... how did you both get here? Argis said Madanach sent you to Riften.”

“He did,” Karliah sighed. “Delphine wanted the word on the street, and Cicero had an errand to run.”

Cicero kicked at the ground, scowling.

“Cicero needn't have bothered,” he muttered. “Cicero got there and found the old crone was already dead. Eaten by a dragon! Hmph! Cicero was very disappointed.”

“Who was?” Elisif asked, wondering just who Cicero had been after this time. By the Eight, had Madanach actually sent Cicero to fill Aventus's contract?

“Half of Riften,” Karliah told her, purple eyes looking like they'd stared into the Void and back. “Dragons attacked, destroyed half the city. Jarl Laila's dead, her steward too, and her son Harrald, although Saerlund survived, just about. Not to mention Hemming Black-Briar, Vulwulf Snow-Shod, Grelod from the orphanage, Bolli from the fishery, Madesi, half the guard. The entire city's a wreck. It's a good thing the priests at the Temple survived, and Alessandra at the Hall of the Dead, and the alchemy store too, or I'd say disease would have killed the survivors. As it is, Maven's taken over as Jarl and moved everyone to the Ratway. I was bringing the news back to Madanach, trying to see if he'd send aid. Maven doesn't care about Talos or the war, and she's got friends all over the Empire. She'll want peace so she can rebuild.”

“I knew we should have gone there first,” Elisif whispered, barely able to breathe. That poor city... all those people. She should have been there. Should have been protecting them. As it was, she'd neglected the Rift completely and now its citizens were paying the price.

“Hey, we couldn't have done anything,” Argis said, patting her shoulder. “This is a job for the Legion. And hey look. They're right here. You tell Tullius you'll deal with Windhelm and he can get troops over to Riften to help out.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Elisif said, wondering if Tullius would do any such thing. But Argis was right. This was a job for the Legion, and as High Queen to be, she needed to be the one informing Tullius.

“Come on,” she told them both. “Come with me. I can get us into the army camp. They haven't attacked Windhelm, have they?”

Shakes of the head.

“No, it's all been quiet,” Karliah said. “I don't like it though. Feels like a fight could start any minute.”

Cicero giggled nervously, but Elisif looked into his eyes and saw that despite the laughter, he looked terrified. Cicero didn't often look scared of anything, but his girlfriend was in that city. The poor man must be on the edge of a breakdown.

“Let's go,” Elisif said gently, holding out a hand to Cicero. “Don't worry, I won't let them invade.”

Cicero went to her arms, snuggling next to her as he hooked his arm through hers.

“They mustn't, they mustn't,” he whispered. “Pretty Elisif mustn't let them kill pretty Eola and Madanach and Farkas and Delphine!”

“I won't,” Elisif promised, tightening her grip on Cicero, Karliah and Argis falling in behind her. This was her city, her strunmah lawfully taken in war. General Tullius would not attack it if she had any say in the matter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The camp guards stopped her at first, telling her she was 'interrupting Imperial business, citizen!'

Elisif soon set them right on that score.

“I'm High Queen. Here to speak with General Tullius. Let me and my comrades in, soldier,” Elisif said firmly, and while the one who'd challenged her was an Imperial, his companion was a Nord, and he clearly knew the legend of the Jagged Crown.

“That's her, idiot!” he hissed. “Queen Elisif herself!”

“What, you think so?” his friend asked, suspicious. “She could be any Nord mercenary.”

Elisif rolled her eyes.

“FEIM ZII!”

She saw the colour leaching out of the world as she went ethereal, seeing both guards staring in shock and hearing the camp go quiet as soldiers gathered to see what the noise was. Then the awed whispers started.

“The Thu'um! That was the Thu'um!”

“That's her! Jarl Elisif!”

“Dragonborn...”

“Go through, High Queen,” the Imperial breathed, no longer questioning her right to be there. “Don't let us stop you.”

Elisif nodded at them both and made her way in, head held high. Time to find out what was going on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

General Tullius was holding a meeting in his command tent, and while Elisif had expected him and Rikke, and wasn't exactly surprised to see Elenwen there either, she was surprised to see Jarl Balgruuf there with Irileth at his back, and even more surprised to see an elderly Breton with a long nose sitting quietly in the corner and drinking a steaming mug of tea.

“Nepos?” she heard Karliah whisper, and realised that the Reachman Jarl himself had turned up. Things really were serious.

The entire tent looked up, going silent to see her walk in. Was it her or did Rikke look just a little bit impressed? Nepos was looking her over as well, seeming to approve. Balgruuf seemed to have lost a weight off his shoulders just by looking at her. But Elenwen's face had looked annoyed for the briefest second before a carefully calculated blankness replaced it, and Tullius... was Tullius.

“Jarl Elisif, you have a lot of explaining to do,” Tullius snapped, straightening up and coming to circle the table to face her. “Do you mind telling me what on Nirn's going on here?”

“Well General, you refused to help me so I found a man who would,” Elisif said, shrugging. “We took Windhelm, and then his people took control of two enemy forts. We also carried out a summary execution of a Jarl who'd supported treason and insurrection and defied his Empire. General, I might ask what you're doing laying siege to a city loyal to me.”

“Loyal to – Jarl Elisif, he's a wanted criminal, guilty of murder, insurrection and treason himself!” Tullius shouted. “You can't just put him in charge of a city!”

“Too late, I already did,” Elisif snapped, folding her arms. “And I know what he did. But he helped me when no one else would, and he promised to stop attacking innocent people, and when I needed Ulfric unseating and you wouldn't do it, he offered his services. So I've taken him up on the offer and pardoned him of all previous offences. General, we led a combined assault on an enemy of Skyrim and the Empire, we were only doing what your forces were going to do anyway. Madanach's assured me he's quite willing to swear fealty to the Emperor and to vote for me in the Moot. He's fine with the White-Gold Concordat too.” This was said with a pointed look at Elenwen, who just sniffed.

“That doesn't surprise me,” Rikke muttered but she'd also noticed the annoyance on Elenwen's face and didn't look as hostile as she might have done.

“I'd be prepared to take your word for that,” Tullius said sceptically. “Only that pardon is only valid for prior offences. It won't absolve him of any future wrongdoing. I'm told you put him in charge and left the city to go and trap a dragon, is that right?”

“Yes,” Elisif admitted. “I needed to find out how to track down Alduin and kill him so dragons won't come back to life. But I've done that now so you don't have to worry...”

“Elisif,” Tullius snapped, cutting her off. “I don't care about dragons. What I do care about is that a city of innocent people is currently in the hands of a dangerous black magician, doing Divines know what in there, and that he's sealed the gates and won't talk to us, not unless we unilaterally ratify your little arrangement with him, or put him in charge of the Reach as a separate kingdom. He insists he's the lawful Jarl and the city recognises him, but Eight only know what he threatened to get them to do that.”

“He didn't threaten anyone,” Elisif cried. “The Dunmer and Argonians backed him, and a few Nords tired of war. I just ratified it. He's Jarl, and he's one of my Jarls! General Tullius, if having me as High Queen is to mean anything, you need to respect my choices! And deciding who runs each Hold falls to the High Queen or King. Not the Empire.”

“She's right,” Balgruuf spoke up, and never would Elisif have thought she'd see him defending Madanach... but perhaps Balgruuf also respected Nord traditions too much to see the High Queen ignored. “Maybe the Empire has nominated Jarls in the past,” he nodded at Nepos here, “but it's a power exercised with the High King or Queen's agreement. If Elisif vouches for him and his city accepts him, you can't overthrow him. Not if he's really willing to swear loyalty.”

“He wasn't very willing earlier,” Elenwen purred. “He saw I was there and had the gates barred. It's as if he doesn't trust us.”

“He doesn't,” Elisif admitted. “He's paranoid, suspicious, and you turned up with an army. Of course he's wary. But he trusts me. Please, General, will you let me talk to him?”

Tullius glanced at Rikke, who'd remained silent... but she nodded once. Seeming satisfied with this, Tullius turned back to Elisif.

“All right. I will take you to Windhelm itself and you can try to talk to him. It's approaching sunset, so if he lets you in, you've got tonight to talk him round. If you're not back out here with his answer by noon tomorrow, I hope he realises that'll constitute abduction of the lawful ruler of Skyrim.”

“He won't hurt me,” Elisif said quietly. “He's not like that.”

“We don't know what he's like, no one's got in or out of that city for two days,” Tullius growled. “Elisif, that pardon only covers prior offences, if he's been abusing his power, I will have no option but to execute him.”

No no no, please no. Elisif could almost feel Argis thinking the same thing, and she knew Karliah and Cicero were both close to him in different ways too. But Madanach wasn't a fool, Madanach was smart, he wouldn't betray her like that, would he?

There was only one way to find out, wasn't there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Windhelm loomed up ahead of her, Imperial troops occupying the outer farms and the stables... but the gates themselves had goats' heads on pikes welded into the stoneworks and Spriggan heads on the ramparts, and while the Empire controlled the far side of the river, Madanach clearly still held the city. Elisif had a feeling Madanach wasn't worrying too much either. Those teleportals of his were probably bringing in enough food to keep the city fed, and he could probably evacuate the entire city out to the Reach with half an hour's notice if he felt like it.

Elisif followed Tullius to the gates, Argis at her side, Karliah and Cicero flanking them both, unable to shake off Rikke's eyes boring into her back, not to mention the smirk on Elenwen's face. This was where she found out just how strong her alliance with the Forsworn was.

“MADANACH!” Tullius shouted up at the ramparts as he made his way to the front. “I know you're in there! We have the High Queen, as requested. Show yourself!”

No response, but there were guards on the ramparts, and one left, presumably to fetch Madanach. Silence, and it was a good ten minutes before they returned, with another figure... in a female headdress.

“General Tullius!” Kaie shouted back. “Are you ready to acknowledge Jarl Madanach's authority and withdraw your troops yet?”

“I'm acknowledging nothing!” Tullius snapped. “Jarl Madanach owes his allegiance to the High Queen of Skyrim and the Empire, and he'll swear loyalty to both or lose his head!”

“He's already sworn to the High Queen!” Kaie called. “And... hey! ELISIF! Welcome back!”

“Hello Kaie!” Elisif cried. “Can we come in? I promise Tullius won't execute Madanach!”

“You can, can you?” Kaie called, radiating scepticism. Elisif couldn't see her face properly but had a feeling she was frowning. Then she returned to her official princess voice again.

“The Palace of the Kings recognises the High Queen and her friends, Argis the Bulwark, Karliah Y Merilin, and Cicero Garra-Lann. They may enter. The rest of you will have to wait. Including you, Jarl Nepos.”

Nepos, who'd turned up with two Reachmen warriors at his back, wrapped in furs from head to toe and only allowed there because he'd persuaded General Tullius having someone who understood Reachfolk culture along would be beneficial, pouted up at Kaie.

“I'm very disappointed in Jarl Madanach, Brenyeen. I had hoped he'd be more hospitable to one of his fellow countrymen.”

Laughter from Kaie. “We'll see, Oncailar, we'll see. You seem to be doing well enough at the Empire's table for now!”

“It has its perks,” Nepos called, shrugging. “And the retirement package is excellent, I can heartily recommend it to Yanhun.”

“I'll pass your comments on, he'll be delighted, I'm sure,” Kaie laughed. “Now. High Queen, bring your companions to the gates and we'll let you in. The rest of you stay where you are or leave.”

“You'd better stay back,” Elisif said quietly to Tullius. “She won't hesitate to order them to fire on you if she thinks you're trying to force your way in.”

Tullius grimaced but motioned for everyone else to retreat.

“He'd better be letting Imperial observers in by tomorrow,” Tullius growled. “Doesn't matter that Windhelm was a rebel city before, he's still a dangerous marauder himself. If he's not willing to swear allegiance to the Empire, or if it becomes apparent he's been abusing his power, I will have no option but to unseat him.”

“I'll convince him,” Elisif promised. “He'll listen to me.”

“I hope so, High Queen,” Tullius said, eyes glittering coldly in the early evening half-light. “You brought this on Windhelm, if he's been massacring the citizenry, their blood is on your hands.”

Elisif nodded, knowing, hoping, Madanach wouldn't have done anything foolish. He wasn't a fool, he had to know this all hinged on him proving fitness to rule. But Madanach was also an old-fashioned Reachman warlord and had no problem authorising death. Elisif just hoped nothing had gone wrong while she'd been away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Close up, Windhelm's solid metal gates looked to actually have been fused together. Tullius had spoken literally when he'd said Madanach had sealed the gates. How hot would the fire magic have needed to be to melt metal? It beggared belief. But the smaller door wasn't welded shut, and Elisif heard a bar being lifted and the lock clicking and then it swung open. Forsworn warriors were on the other side, looking grimly at her, but they nodded and motioned for her to enter.

Inside the city looked as it always had done, but it was quiet. Forsworn were everywhere, and not many citizens around. But Nils from the inn was chopping some firewood, and the market appeared open, and Viola Giordano was watching from the distance.

Kaie was making her way down the wooden stairs that had appeared leading up to the ramparts.

“Brenhina, about time you showed up,” Kaie snapped. “The Empire's here and they're not friendly. They brought that Thalmor bitch with them, as if there's any Talos worshippers here, and they're demanding immediate and unconditional surrender and Da turning himself in.”

“But you do have an open and functioning Temple of Talos here,” Elisif pointed out. That did give Kaie pause.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Sort of. But Da's not one! And he'll close it down if he's asked. But Tullius hasn't asked, he's just demanded we hand the city over. He didn't seem to believe us when we gave him a copy of Da's pardon and your official proclamation of his appointment of Jarl. It's like he doesn't really believe you're High Queen.”

Kaie was staring frostily at her, and Elisif realised Kaie had guessed, Kaie saw what her father didn't, Kaie could tell exactly what Tullius thought of her, what they all thought of her. But Elisif was Dragonborn now and she was a long way from the woman she'd been once.

“He will believe it when I am finished with him, I assure you,” Elisif said firmly. “Now where's your father?”

“In the palace, where else-” Kaie began, but she was interrupted by the inn door flying open and a Nord warrior striding out of it.

“Kodlak??” Elisif gasped, stunned to see the Harbinger himself emerging, Ria not far behind. “What are you doing here?”

“Preventing a bloodbath,” Kodlak said, stern and commanding and a far cry from the father figure he normally appeared as. “Lass, what were you thinking??”

Tullius's disapproval Elisif could deal with, Balgruuf she could stand up to with no problem. But Kodlak Whitemane was someone Elisif adored and respected and to hear him disapproving brought tears to her eyes.

“I – I'm sorry, Balgruuf wouldn't help me with the dragons with Ulfric being here, and the Legion wouldn't help...” Elisif faltered. Kodlak was shaking his head, standing before her with his arms folded.

“You thought it was a good idea to replace one rebel warlord who murdered his way to power with another?” Kodlak sighed.

Elisif wanted to say it hadn't been like that, but honestly, now Kodlak put it that way, it sounded exactly like that. I'm sorry, she wanted to say, but it was Kaie who actually cut in.

“That is my father you're talking about, Nord. And he's Jarl of this city, like it or not. Feel free to leave if you don't like it.”

Kodlak hmphed but did not argue. As he turned back to Elisif though, Elisif saw his expression lightening, and she realised he perhaps wasn't as angry as she'd thought.

“You took an awful risk, lass... but sometimes a warrior has no choice. As it is, it looks like it paid off. I can't say I like the man and he's certainly not fond of me, but he's ruled well enough. There was only that one execution, but I can't honestly say that wasn't entirely justified, and then that whole Winterhold business, but I'm told that's all calmed down now. Maybe it's for the best Madanach had mages on hand to help contain it. Archmage Ervine certainly seems grateful anyway.”

Archmage Ervine? But the Archmage was Savos Aren, had been for years. What had happened?

“I think I need to talk to him,” Elisif said, worried.

“I think you do,” Kodlak confirmed. “Come on, he'll be pleased to see you...” Kodlak's voice trailed off as he looked at her companions for the first time, Argis being hugged by Kaie and told off for leaping through portals to the afterlife, he could have been killed, what if they'd decided to keep him?, Karliah slipping off towards the Grey Quarter... and Cicero in his Shrouded Armour, head bare, standing obediently at Elisif's back, fidgeting a bit but eyes wide and innocent and currently watching Kodlak with interest. Oh dear. He was clearly remembering that getting to be a werewolf involved impressing Kodlak and persuading him he was a good man and an honourable warrior. He had his work cut out for him.

“Who's your friend, lass?” Kodlak asked, eyes not leaving Cicero.

“Oh, er, that's... Cicero,” Elisif said, not really sure how to describe or explain Cicero. “He's... er...” Barely reformed Dark Brotherhood assassin really wasn't how she wanted to describe Cicero to Kodlak, but there was no other way to sum him up.

“A friend!” Cicero cooed. “A friend of the lovely Dragonborn, who helped poor Cicero and saved him from the Dark Brotherhood. Are you the famous Harbinger, sir? Famous and honourable Kodlak Whitemane? Cicero has heard about you! Cicero is very impressed, sir, very impressed indeed.”

“Aye, that I am,” Kodlak said, voice turning surprisingly gentle, sadness in his eyes. “You don't need to call me sir, lad, I'm not a soldier and you're not my subordinate. Just Kodlak will do. Or Harbinger, if you must. Are you a warrior yourself? You're armed at least, you must have some skills.”

“Yes. Yes!” Cicero giggled. “Cicero's killed lots of things! Cicero is very very good at removing the unneeded and unwanted from the world, Harbinger. You need have no doubt of that!”

“Do you now,” Kodlak said, appraising him carefully and seeming to like what he saw. “You know, I can believe it. But how do you decide who needs removing, Cicero?”

“Me?” Cicero said, wide-eyed. “Oh, Cicero does not trouble himself with such decisions. Cicero leaves such considerations to his betters. Cicero just receives his orders and carries them out. Cicero does not ask questions. Cicero is a professional.”

“Aye, as I thought. You're a soldier – ex-soldier perhaps,” Kodlak sighed. “In the Companions, we don't operate like that. We're men and women of honour and we don't blindly follow orders. We decide for ourselves what's right or wrong, and we turn down jobs we think are less than honourable no matter how much the client's paying. For example, just lately I have been short-handed in Jorrvaskr and had to prioritise the work, and due to certain political considerations, may have allowed certain jobs against the Forsworn to slip to the bottom of the pile. It's entirely possible the jobs may become irrelevant before long... or at least resolvable through diplomatic means, in fact Kaie here has sorted out a few of them for me already.”

“A few stolen goods and kidnap victims returned home was a small price to pay,” Kaie shrugged. “We've not got the people back home to guard them anyway.”

Not exactly evidence of reformed Forsworn, but it was something, Elisif supposed. Cicero was gazing up at Kodlak, frowning a bit but not arguing.

“Cicero would help?” Cicero volunteered. “If Kodlak has jobs that need doing and require someone willing to get their hands dirty, Cicero would be happy to help the Harbinger. Cicero is sure Kodlak knows what is honourable and what isn't, Cicero is happy to follow his lead in these matters.”

“Glad to hear it, lad,” Kodlak said gently, actually putting an arm around Cicero's shoulders and patting him on the back. “Tell me, do you have any family?”

Mournful shake of the head. “They died,” Cicero said quietly. “Cicero lost his mama very young, in the war with the Thalmor, then he found a new family after. But they died too. Cicero was all alone for so long, so very long! Cicero... Cicero misses them. Cicero misses Mama...”

Elisif watched in amazement as Kodlak pulled Cicero closer.

“Aye. I lost my own blood kin as well, and someone else dear to me in adulthood. I count myself fortunate to have found a new family in Jorrvaskr.” A pause and then Kodlak's voice sounded rough, hesitant even as he spoke the next words. “You could be part of it, Cicero. If you wanted.”

Cicero perked up, surprised.

“Really? Me? Humble Cicero? A Companion of Jorrvaskr?”

Kodlak nodded, and a smile split Cicero's face as he started giggling, then lost it completely, cackling echoing throughout Windhelm, noise bouncing off the stonework. Finally he dried his eyes, grinning up at Kodlak.

“Cicero would love to!” Cicero giggled. “Only Cicero will need to ask pretty Eola what she thinks. Cicero would not want to take a course of action she disapproves of, and Cicero will not stay in a place she is not welcome.”

“Eola?” Kodlak said, surprised. “What, Madanach's daughter?” When Cicero nodded eagerly, Kodlak actually laughed.

“By the Nine, you are brave. Of course, I've met her already. Bring her as well, she's certainly handy with a sword. I can make use of that.”

Cicero squealed and looked quite happy at that, promising he would kill lots and lots of undesirables for dear Kodlak.

Kaie and Argis had both moved closer to Elisif, watching all this in disbelief.

“Did that just happen?” Kaie whispered. “Did the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr just recruit the last Dark Brotherhood assassin to the Companions?”

Elisif nodded, wondering just how weird things had just got. “Do you think we should tell him?” she whispered.

“What and admit to Kodlak you keep a Dark Brotherhood assassin around?” Argis snorted. “Nah. Just let him head off to Jorrvaskr. He can kill lots of bandits, make himself useful and we don't have to deal with him.”

“You will when you visit Farkas,” Kaie grinned and that made Argis groan.

“Oh gods. Elisif, can I have a job in Solitude? A full-time one I can't be spared from, so Farkas has to visit me. I don't care if it's Keeper in Chief of the Privies, long as it keeps me away from Cicero.”

“I think I can do a bit better than that,” Elisif promised. “I'll have to see. I do have room for a new Thane...” If only there was a way round the property owning requirement... but there was a house for sale, and Elisif had a feeling Madanach might be able to help his son buy it. And she had promised Inga... and she had to admit, the prospect of having a friend at court made going home so much more appealing. Could she keep him as a housecarl maybe? Assign Bolgeir to Falk and instate Argis instead? Perhaps. But first, she'd need to sort out this whole mess. And that meant talking to Madanach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Palace was quieter than she'd expected, especially considering half the Blades appeared to be there. Madanach was in his throne, Borkul at his right, Delphine on his left, talking to Karliah. Brynjolf and Sapphire were sitting at the table with Eola, and Vilkas and Farkas were on the other side with Aela, and Aranea was next to Eola, sitting across from Erandur, the two elves still looking uncomfortable but rather less so than they'd been when she left.

And then there were the two children, Sofie and Aventus, both clean, rosy-cheeked, dressed in nice clothes and both the owners of an enchanted ebony dagger each, looking a lot happier and healthier than when she'd last seen them. Madanach had taken care of them well, it seemed.

“High Queen!” Sofie cried, getting up from the table and running towards her. “You're back! You're alright!” Elisif found herself being hugged to death by the excited eight year old and felt tears come to her eyes as child-grief and child-need all smacked into her at once.

“Yes sweetie, I'm back,” Elisif whispered. “Oh, look at you, you're looking so well! You were so thin and pale before, now look at you, you're looking so healthy!”

“Madanach's been looking after me,” Sofie told her. “He's been really nice!”

“He's the best,” Aventus added, turning up with a broad grin on his face. “Welcome back, Elisif, did you kill Alduin?”

“Yes!” Elisif told them both, feeling very pleased to see the awe on their faces. “Yes I did. The world's safe, I promise.”

“Yay!” Sofie cried, hugging her. “I knew you would. You're a hero, you can do anything.”

“I don't know about that,” Elisif said, hugging Sofie and why didn't she have her own little girl, she wanted her own little girl, a little baby to dote on and love.

Well. She knew why. But at least now she could face the possibility of maybe having one in the future, with a husband she loved. After all this was settled anyway.

She looked up from hugging the children to seeing Cicero cuddling Eola and Argis with Farkas, and then Madanach, currently staring down Argis with a face like thunder.

“I have been worried sick about you, young man,” he snarled. “Disappearing down a portal then I find out from your aunt that you decided to go running off to Sovngarde after the Dragonborn, as if it's not bad enough Elisif keeps risking her life doing stupidly dangerous things involving dragons. What if you'd died, hmm? I'd never have seen you again!”

“Yes, Da. Sorry, Da,” Argis said, sounding very submissive even as he held on to Farkas's hand. “I wasn't planning on going back. Not for a long time.”

“I hope not,” Madanach said firmly, but Elisif could see pain in his eyes at the thought of Argis going there at all. He was quiet for a bit and when he next spoke, his voice was a little bit softer. “Was your mother there?”

Argis nodded, and Madanach lowered his eyes, looking unusually vulnerable for him, and Elisif wanted to tell him it would be all right. But it wasn't, she had the feeling he'd genuinely cared about Inga and Inga had cared about him and they'd never see each other again and that hurt. She remembered Inga asking her to look after Madanach for her. Elisif would do her best if he let her.

“She all right?” Madanach asked gruffly. Argis nodded again.

“Yeah. She misses you, I think, but she's OK. Was pleased to see me. Says she's proud. She's glad you're out of prison and not stuck with Mireen any more.”

Madanach nodded and then held out his arms to Argis, who went into them, and Reach-King and Nord embraced.

“Well done, son,” Madanach told him, patting him on the back. “I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Argis said, voice muffled, and Elisif had a feeling one, if not both, of them was crying.

Elisif watched hesitantly as father and son embraced, and then Madanach was letting Argis go, patting him on the back and stepping away, drying his eyes and letting Argis be led off by Farkas to get some food and mead. Then it was her turn to face the wrath of the King in Rags.

“So you're back then,” Madanach growled, arms folded as silver-blue eyes glittered at her. “Done being suicidally brave and hacking dragon-gods to bits? The world's not going to end, I trust?”

“Alduin's dead,” Elisif confirmed. “The world's not going to end. I killed a dragon-god, aren't you even remotely impressed?” She'd just saved the world and Madanach didn't even look happy... and then she looked closer and saw that underneath the growling, he actually seemed scared. Or worried. Anxious about something.

He'd been worried about her, and that had a way of defusing her anger and making her smile.

“I'm impressed. Well done,” Madanach growled. “High Queen, in case you hadn't noticed, I have an entire Legion on my doorstep who seem to think I'm not a legitimate ruler and should be surrendering unconditionally. They don't seem to think your word's good enough. I can't think why General Tullius might not respect Skyrim's High Queen. I hope your word's actually worth something, Elisif.”

“It is!” Elisif protested. “I mean, it will be. Look, I will talk to him in the morning, he's given me tonight to discuss matters with you. Tullius seems to think you're a lawless marauder who's probably been slaughtering an entire city. I can't imagine why he'd think that, can you?”

Madanach's eyes had widened, lips pouting, the 'would-I-do-a-thing-like-that?' look on his face back in force.

“I've been very good, we all have!” Madanach said, sounding a little bit hurt. “We killed hardly any civilians during the take over, and we only executed one since, and that was after a thorough investigation. We've got independent witnesses and everything.” Madanach indicated Kodlak, who'd been watching all this very shrewdly.

“It's true,” Kodlak said wearily. “When the news came into Whiterun, I decided honour demanded I come and ensure a disaster didn't happen, so I returned to the city with Aela and Ria. It's been an interesting time, but nothing like I'd imagined. I thought I'd be standing up for innocent citizens against a Forsworn megalomaniac intent on ravaging the place. Instead it looks like I'm going to be standing up for said megalomaniac against the Empire's troops.”

Smirk on Madanach's face as he acknowledged Kodlak's implied approval, and while these two men were never going to be friends, it appeared they at least respected each other. Wonders would never cease.

“What's been going on?” Elisif asked, sensing a story to be told here. “Kodlak, you said there'd been an execution... and some crisis in Winterhold?”

“In a word, mages,” Kodlak sighed. “Don't look at me like that, Madanach, normal people don't do this sort of thing.”

“Normal people wouldn't have had a clue where to start dealing with it,” Madanach growled, glaring at him. “Come on, High Queen, I can see you're curious. Take a seat, have some food, grab a drink and settle in. We've got some stories for you.”

Elisif followed, definitely intrigued and very curious, if a bit worried. What exactly had been happening without her? Taking a seat at the head of the hall table, Madanach settling down across the table from her and Kodlak on her right, Elisif poured herself a drink and prepared herself. She had a feeling this was going to be interesting.

Notes:

Interesting isn't the word for it! Next chapter is story number one, aka Forsworn do Blood on the Ice.

The dragon song is from the game and can be translated as: Alduin is fallen. The mighty overlord vanquished. We are free. The Dragonborn is his dragonslayer. His (Alduin's) Thu'um is silenced.

Wuldsetiid - winds of time.

Lok Thu'um - lit. peace voice, a dragon greeting/salutation, wishing the other well.

Oncailar - uncle.

Brenyeen - princess.

Yanhun - Himself, i.e. Madanach.

Merilin - Nightingale

Garra-Lann - Laughing Dagger, Cicero's nickname amongst the Forsworn.

Chapter 36

Summary:

When the Forsworn take Windhelm, no man of honour can stand by and let innocent lives be put at risk. But once Kodlak's in Windhelm, he finds himself face to face with a Jarl who's not quite the despot he'd thought... and then a grisly discovery requires both men to put aside their differences and work together to protect Windhelm from the enemy within.

Notes:

Forsworn Do Blood On The Ice! But not all of it - it is going to spill over into two chapters, what with the first half of this one being Kodlak deciding being politically neutral only goes so far.

Kodlak had seen the fight from Jorrvaskr, watching from the Skyforge with Eorlund, then both of them staring in amazement as they'd seen the dragon flying off again, this time with a small figure on the back.

“Is that Jarl Elisif flying off on the back of a dragon?” Eorlund had asked, disbelieving. Kodlak had just nodded, not sure he trusted himself to actually speak.

“Well!” Eorlund had laughed. “Girl's got guts, I'll give her that. I'm no Empire-lover, but the girl's a true Nord after all.”

“She always was,” Kodlak said, feeling a little bit tearful as he watched the young queen fly off to her destiny, proud and worried and hopeful all at once. He wasn't exactly a fan of the Empire himself, but he was so very very proud of young Elisif.

Returning to the hall, he'd found Aela and Ria arriving, having just got back from Dragonsreach themselves... and a young woman with them in Stormcloak gear. Except hers was gleaming with enchantments, as were the Blades swords on her back, and she was no Nord. Breton, almost certainly some sort of mage... and he knew her.

The dream, always the dream, of Sovngarde awaiting, Harbingers before him being taken by Hircine, and then his turn... and the wolf held at bay by two of them, a rogue and a mage, the red-haired Imperial in black and red leather, and the Breton witch with her magic at the ready... and the wolf sent fleeing by black arrows and unholy fire.

Kodlak as a rule did not hold with magecraft, but for the dream to keep coming and for him to keep being saved from the beast blood by an Imperial man with his ex-lover's face and a Breton witch with power that probably didn't come from the Aedra, and for the woman to be real and alive and here! Such dreams came rarely, and Kodlak would take this one as a sign from the gods.

“Harbinger,” Aela was saying, coming to greet him. “I thought you should know we did it. We caught a dragon.”

“And let him go, I see,” Kodlak said, tearing his eyes away from the Breton with the knowing smile. “Was that really Elisif I saw on his back?”

“It was!” Ria gasped. “She was right there talking to a dragon like it was no big deal or anything, like it's the sort of thing she does every day, and not only does it tell her what she wants to know, she persuades him to fly her there! She was amazing, Kodlak, you should have seen it.”

“I do not doubt it, lass, it was a mighty deed,” Kodlak laughed, wishing he'd gone with them now. “But who's your friend?”

The Breton stepped forward, still that unsettling smile on her face. Blind in one eye, warpaint over the scars that covered it, an old battle wound no doubt. But was she honourable? Kodlak had no idea, but he had a feeling she just might be able to help him.

“Eola,” she said, and that cleared a few things up. That was no High Rock name, that was a Reachwoman's name. Well now. Wasn't that ironic. He wondered if she was actually Forsworn or just a spellsword who happened to hail from there.

She must have seen suspicion on his face because her smiled faded a little and her eyes hardened.

“Don't worry, I'm not here to join,” she told him. “I know you don't take mages.”

“Oh magic has its place,” Kodlak said, repressing the unease he was feeling at the sight of her. “We just don't practice it here in Jorrvaskr... but what Companions do away from here is their own business, so long as it's honourable.”

“Oh I see. So magic's fine as long as you don't have to be confronted with it and mages are prepared to hide the fact they're mages around you,” Eola said, nodding her head, scrutinising him carefully. “Of course.”

Which wasn't it, it wasn't that at all, it was just mages didn't fight fair, they'd keep moving and dodging and flinging fire and ice at you before you could get a blow in, and when you did hit them, those robes completely failed to protect them and the whole business left you feeling vaguely tainted. No true warrior had any business messing around with magic – look what it had done to him, after all.

“Your opinion of Jorrvaskr remains your own,” Kodlak said through gritted teeth. “But if you dislike the place so much, why are you travelling with two Shield-Sisters?”

“She's not – well, she was here helping Elisif,” Aela said, glaring at Eola, who didn't seem to care. “Now her boyfriend's off on some secret mission in Riften, and she's probably going back to her father in Windhelm.”

Windhelm?? Not many Reachmen in Windhelm.

“You're not from the Reach then?” he asked, frowning. Eola smirked as if at some private joke.

“Oh, I am, and my father definitely is. But recent events have led to a bit of a population movement, and now my father's living in Windhelm. It's a bit cold out there, but we're settling in.”

“Ulfric must be loving that,” Kodlak said out loud, before recalling how cagey Elisif had been about how she'd neutralised the threat from Ulfric, and it dawned on him that Elisif had neutralised the threat by killing Ulfric, and she clearly hadn't done it alone. Reachmen in Windhelm, lots of them... Elisif rumoured to be a Forsworn hostage... the Forsworn having their own grievances against the Stormcloaks... Talos help him.

“The Forsworn have taken Windhelm,” Kodlak said, seeing guilty looks on Aela and Ria's faces and smug satisfaction on Eola's. “And Elisif sanctioned this??”

“She needed Ulfric out of the way so Balgruuf would let her use his palace, and when the Legion wouldn't help...” Aela admitted. “Harbinger, Vilkas and Farkas are still there, keeping an eye on the place, Madanach's not as bad as they say, I wouldn't cross him but he's not a monster either.”

This was hardly reassuring. “Madanach himself's running the place?” Kodlak cried. “By the – by the Divines, Aela, the man's got so much blood on his hands it's a wonder they're not stained red permanently. Maybe he's biding his time now, but it's only a matter of time before something happens. Where are my things, I need to pack, we need to be on the road immediately.”

“Harbinger, you can't be serious – it's dangerous!” Aela protested, realising what he was intending. “The situation's under control, I promise.”

“Is it really,” Kodlak said, sceptical. Aela had reached out to grab his arm, panic in her eyes, and she really didn't want him to go. That she was worried was rather touching, but Kodlak knew what honour demanded, and it wasn't letting some Reachman warlord preside unchecked over innocent Nords.

“He put up with us and the twins in his camp for the best part of a week,” Ria added hopefully. “He didn't even object too much when Farkas seduced his son.”

“He did what??” Kodlak cried, and while he didn't disapprove of men being with men, and knew Farkas didn't care what gender his partners were, going for Madanach's son was just asking for trouble. “Talos help us. I'm definitely going. That city is going to need politically neutral observers keeping an eye on Madanach, and if Elisif's not going to be there to rein him in, clearly I'll have to go. Nine know what he'll do otherwise.”

“The Temple of Talos is still open,” Eola said quietly, halting Kodlak in his tracks. Slowly he turned to look at her, not sure what she'd just said, or what she meant by it anyway.

“The Temple of Talos,” Kodlak said, uncertain. “What... the one in Windhelm?”

Eola nodded, smile gone, looking deadly serious now.

“Yeah. Da hasn't had to sign the White-Gold Concordat yet, and it seemed more hassle than it was worth to shut the place down,” Eola said, shrugging. “Talos-worship's still legal under Jarl Madanach. As long as you don't start preaching in his palace – he will throw you out if you start extolling the virtues of terrible and mighty Talos in front of him.”

Da – father? Madanach the King in Rags was Eola's father. Kodlak could weep. But the same Madanach allowing Talos-worship in his city... Kodlak hadn't seen that one coming. It seemed some of his worries might be unfounded. All the same, the situation was a political tinderbox. If bloodshed was to be avoided, the city needed observers on the ground, honourable observers. Neutral observers, although Kodlak was beginning to think half of Jorrvaskr had helped out in the takeover. All the same, who else was there? The Greybeards? Hah, as if. No, Kodlak needed to get to Windhelm in person and assess things for himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things had not got off to the best start when the portal appeared before them when they were barely past the Ritual Stone, some eldritch voice shrieking down it in an unintelligible language. Eola had hissed under her breath and turned to Aela.

“I knew she'd last five minutes on her own. Listen, I need to go, but when you get to Windhelm, just tell Da I'll be back soon, and say to him this: Ta cean calwan cavairma.”

“Tah kay-an calwen cavare-mer?” Aela said, frowning as she went over the unfamiliar sounds.

“Close enough,” Eola sighed. “Look, just tell him I'm helping his Dragonborn lady friend out. He'll understand. I'll be back soon, I hope, see you!”

Eola leapt through the portal and was gone, leaving Aela looking haunted and Ria also a bit nervous.

“Lady friend?” Kodlak asked, dreading to think what that turn of phrase implied. “Aela, Elisif is twenty three, Madanach was a seasoned warrior when they arrested him twenty years ago, surely he's not so devoid of honour...”

“She's not his girlfriend,” Aela reassured him, although she didn't look too convinced. “Really.”

Kodlak sincerely hoped not, although his mood was not helped by Ria chiming in.

“But he fancies her something rotten,” Ria said, grinning. “It's the talk of the entire city. Brynjolf's running a book on when or if they'll ever hook up... er, not that any of us have placed bets or anything.” Ria had gone a bit pink, and Kodlak had a feeling that she wasn't being entirely truthful here.

“Dare I ask who Brynjolf is?” Kodlak asked.

“He's a market trader from Riften,” Aela said, and from the way she said 'market trader', Kodlak correctly guessed that was a cover for something else entirely. “He works for Elisif acquiring items and information, and managing her reputation.”

Good gods, what was happening to his Companions??

“Lass, we are plain-speaking warriors, not rogues and sycophants,” Kodlak sighed. “Does he perchance steal things, spy on people and spread rumours?”

Both Aela and Ria looked a bit embarrassed, shamefaced as they admitted yes, that was precisely what Brynjolf did.

“And Elisif knows about this?” Kodlak said, trying to work out why Elisif would keep a thief on her payroll.

Aela and Ria admitted this was also the case.

“But he broke me out of prison!” Ria added eagerly. “And we wouldn't have taken Windhelm without him! He and his friends rounded up every soul gem in the city for the illusion shield to keep Madanach's hidden camp hidden, and he's managed to keep enough money coming in to fund all of it.”

“Did you ask how?” Kodlak asked. Of course not. First the Forsworn, then the Thieves Guild, who else had Elisif thrown in her lot with? It'd be Dark Brotherhood renegades next. Or Daedra-worshippers. Or both.

Of course, the Forsworn were also rumoured to worship Daedra too, and looking at Madanach, Kodlak could believe it. They'd arrived at the city to find goats' heads and Spriggan corpses decorating the entry bridge and gates, speared on wooden spikes that had been jammed into stone somehow – had they melted it with concentrated mage fire? Kodlak could only give the poor carriage driver outside the city a sympathetic look, although the Altmer running the stables seemed happy enough, actually smiling as a couple of Forsworn, one male and one female, both leaned in closer, seeming to be hanging on his every word, although Kodlak was sure that wasn't what they really wanted to be hanging on.

Inside the city, the guard had been replaced by Forsworn warriors wearing rather more fur that Kodlak recalled them ever wearing in the Reach, but other than that, no real differences. There was the cook from the tavern collecting firewood, an Altmer on her way back from the market, a dark-haired Nord leaving the tavern just as a red-haired Dunmer entered it, all citizens seeming to be going about their business... apart from the man in black leather with a hood hiding most of his face, standing in the shadows near the gate.

“Welcome back, lasses,” he called, slow Riften drawl giving him away. Brynjolf, had to be.

“Brynjolf,” Aela nodded to him. “We're back. Thought you should know it worked. Elisif's on her way to the portal now, flew off on the back of a dragon.”

“Really?” Brynjolf said, impressed. “Well now. You are going to have to tell me the rest of that over a mead or two. That sounds like a story our little Dragonborn will need the world to hear.”

“Sure thing,” Aela laughed, before remembering she was a Companion and her Harbinger was right there. “Er, Brynjolf, this is Kodlak Whitemane. He's our Harbinger. He heard the Forsworn had taken the city and decided to come and see for himself.”

“You're the Harbinger?” Brynjolf asked, surprised, and then a slow grin appeared on his face. “Ah. I see. You don't trust Madanach not to start executing Nords. I wouldn't worry. No one's died yet. They've all been good as gold so far. You'll want to visit the Palace then. Straight up that way, through the arch, keep going. Can't miss it. Just keep a civil tongue in your head, Himself's got a bit of a temper at the best of times. Bring booze, or have either Elisif or Eola with you, he's always in a better mood with them around. Say, wasn't Eola meant to be coming back with you?”

“She leapt through some portal or other on the way back,” Ria said, biting her lip. “We're not sure where she went. But she seemed to know what she was doing?”

“She said she was helping Elisif,” Aela said. “So I'm guessing Madanach sanctioned it. Or one of his people did.”

“You're guessing,” Brynjolf said, actually hauling himself upright and looking like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or sympathise. “Shor's bones, Aela, I hope you're a bit more certain when you tell Madanach that. He's very fond of Eola, you know. She's the baby of the family and he's not seen her in two decades. He'll be very upset if anything happened to her.”

“Don't remind me,” Aela said, teeth gritted. And now here they were in the Palace of the Kings itself, bear banners gone and replaced by silver banners with a crowned red eagle on them. Too good quality to have been produced since the takeover, which meant Madanach had been planning this a while. Originally intended for Markarth? Who knew.

What he did know was that Farkas was standing at the end of the hall with a big Orc glaring at him and a furious Forsworn man with silver hair like Kodlak's own was shouting at him.

“What do you mean, he jumped into a portal??” the Forsworn, who Kodlak could only assume was Madanach himself, shouted. “Portals don't just open! We've got a very strict schedule, Keirine herself is in charge of it, there are no unauthorised portal openings in this city! She would know, believe me!”

“But that's what happened!” Farkas protested. “Argis said he fancied wearing his armour today, got his weapons to hand, just in case, he said, and then this glowing purple thing opened and he told me he had to go, duty called but he'd be back and not to worry, then he kissed me and was gone!”

Argis?? Wasn't that Elisif's housecarl's name? A housecarl with mysterious origins that Aela had recognised but been guarded about? And seen coming out of Farkas's room the morning after Farkas had got back to Jorrvaskr – dear gods, Farkas had been said to have seduced Madanach's son. Madanach's son was a Nord and Elisif's new housecarl?

“Not to worry?? Oh good gods,” Madanach cried, hands tearing at his hair. “What have I told him, what did I always tell him growing up? Never jump in a portal when you don't know what's on the other side! He knows that, all my kids know that! What possessed him...” He looked up to see them advancing, expression barely changing as it swept over Aela and Ria, but hardening as silver-blue eyes took in Kodlak.

“You're back. Who's this. And where... where's Eola? She was supposed to be coming back with you. Don't tell me she's gone to Riften with Cicero after all.”

“Not exactly,” Aela began and Madanach's hostility intensified.

“Not exactly? What do you mean not exactly? Where is she??” He saw the guilt in Aela and Ria's eyes and something in Madanach's face shifted, just for a second or two, angry king giving way to a worried father just for a brief instant.

It wasn't a lot but Kodlak wondered if maybe he'd misjudged the man.

“Where is my daughter?” Madanach said quietly, ominously, and Ria lost her nerve completely.

“She jumped through a portal too, we couldn't stop her, please don't be angry!” Ria cried. Madanach stared at her then growled, baring his teeth.

“She did what??” he roared. “Have all my children taken complete leave of their senses?? She's a mage too, surely she knows better! Didn't she say anything about where she was going?”

“Only that Elisif needed her,” Aela said, conveniently leaving out the bit where Eola had implied she was his girlfriend. “Ta cean calwan cavairma, I think she said?”

“My chosen called for her help – but Elisif didn't have a charm with her,” Madanach said, frowning. “Not unless Keirine... old gods help me. Kaie! KAIE!”

Kaie turned out to be another fur-clad Forsworn with eyes just like Madanach's and a scowl like his too.

“What??” she cried, and the lack of respect for Madanach cemented Kodlak's suspicion that this was another child of his.

“Where's your aunt?” Madanach snapped. “I need a word with her.”

“I don't know,” Kaie said, her composure shifting a little. “No one's seen her since yesterday. I was having her quarters searched and found this on her desk. Addressed to you.”

Madanach took the letter she was holding and scanned its contents, rage growing with every word.

“Very sorry... Elisif not going to survive on her own... going with her to stop her being too heroic... may summon Argis and Eola if need be... don't worry, we'll be back soon... damn her to the Void and back!!” He screwed up the paper, hurled it into the corner and sent a firebolt after it, glaring as it went up in flames before turning back to Kaie, heedless of one of his guards putting the fire out with ice magic and another sweeping up the ash.

“Da, you can't talk about the First Matriarch like that, even if she is your sister,” Kaie sighed. Matriarch? Didn't the Forsworn call Hagravens that? Oh good gods, was there one of them in this city? Well, not at the moment, that was clearly Madanach's problem.

“She had no right to abduct my children without telling me, none at all,” Madanach growled.

“Sounds like Argis at least knew about it, if he had weapons and armour ready,” Kaie said, arms folded. “We're adults, Da, we're allowed to make our own choices.”

Madanach glared at her, clearly disagreeing on this point, but thankfully he decided not to press the issue. Instead he turned back to Kodlak.

“I still haven't heard who this is,” Madanach snapped. “I'm guessing from the armour he's one of your lot?”

“He's our Harbinger,” Aela explained, looking very demure by her usual standards. “Kodlak Whitemane. Harbinger, this is Madanach, Jarl of Windhelm and King of the Forsworn.”

Madanach's eyes had narrowed and the hostility had seemed to concentrate, getting that bit more potent.

“I know the name. So you're the one who's spent the last twenty years harassing my camps and killing my people.”

Hadn't he known it would come to this? Fortunately, Kodlak had had the journey to think of some responses.

“We're paid professionals, Madanach. Called in when your people started killing travellers and civilians. You're hardly an innocent victim in this.”

“Maybe not. But we were all innocent once, and it was Nord cruelty set me on my path,” Madanach said coldly. “Just as Nord compassion appears to have changed my fate yet again. You're very fortunate your people have been making amends and that the young Dragonborn speaks highly of you. As it is, don't think I won't be watching you while you're here.”

“Likewise,” Kodlak growled. The man might be shorter than him, but he practically reeked of dark magic. Madanach was no weakling and therefore there was no dishonour in opposing him. “You may have persuaded Elisif you're on the side of the Aedra. I remain unconvinced. I'll be remaining in the city until she returns, keeping an eye on you and your troops and ensuring the innocent are not harmed.”

“Did you hear that, cariad? He doesn't trust us,” Madanach said, pouting at his daughter, who laughed, seeming to find the whole thing very amusing. Madanach dropped the pout and laughed himself, before turning back to Kodlak.

“You do that, Harbinger. You stay here as long as you like. You just remember who the Jarl is. The official Jarl, with the clean criminal record and the full pardon, signed by the true High Queen herself.” He indicated two parchments, framed and positioned prominently on the wall, one on either side of his throne, and while Kodlak couldn't read them from here, he could see Elisif's signature on both, and an Imperial seal. By the Nine, Elisif really had declared him pardoned and Jarl of Windhelm. What she was thinking, Kodlak didn't know, but he guessed she'd had little choice.

“Just because you are on the right side of the law does not mean you're honourable,” Kodlak snapped, and at these words, Madanach's expression shifted, annoyance taking on tones of sadness.

“Just because I was on the wrong side of the law most of my life doesn't mean I'm not honourable either,” Madanach said quietly. Then he shrugged and retreated to the throne that had once been Ulfric's.

“Kaie, get Jorleif, get him to find the Harbinger a room. I can hardly put half of Jorrvaskr up at the palace and let their Harbinger fend for himself at the inn. I suppose you can share a room with Farkas until my son gets back.”

Jorleif? Ulfric's old steward? Still here and alive and serving in some capacity? Apparently so, because despite looking a bit awkward, he looked healthy enough.

“It'll be my honour, Harbinger Whitemane, sir,” Jorleif said, bowing as he emerged from Ulfric's old war room and led Kodlak away. “I didn't think we'd see you here, but half of Jorrvaskr is here so I suppose it's no surprise. I'll make sure you're looked after while you're here, don't you worry.”

“Madanach didn't have you arrested?” Kodlak asked, surprised. Jorleif shook his head.

“Oh no. Well, at first, but the morning after the takeover, he hauled me into his throne room and said he needed someone in his court who knew where everything was, and that I could have my old job back if I swore loyalty to him. Well, seeing as the High Queen was here vouching for him and Companions helping too, I decided he couldn't be all bad and agreed. So I help out as best I can, although Kaie's in charge of the city guard and oversees a lot of the administration. I just look after the servants and the palace itself mostly.”

“And Madanach's treated you well,” Kodlak said, scratching his head. “He's not abused or ill-treated you.”

“I won't lie, he's got a bit of a temper, but he's not much worse than Ulfric, and he only actually throws Destruction magic at young Cicero, and frankly I don't blame him there. Creepy little fellow, that one,” Jorleif said, shivering. “But as for Madanach, no, he's not so bad. Seems to know what he's doing. City could have fallen apart after the Dragonborn killed Ulfric. But it hasn't so far and I don't think it will. Most of the die-hards died in the uprising. Rest of us just want a bit of peace.”

“You don't miss Ulfric at all?” Kodlak asked, feeling fairly certain that someone who'd worked as closely with Jarl Ulfric as Jorleif had surely had some feelings on the subject. Jorleif just shrugged.

“Aye, of course. But Ulfric knew the risk he was taking when he started the war. At least he died bravely. Me, I'm just glad to still have my own life and that things aren't worse.”

Not exactly a ringing endorsement but not condemnation either. Very odd. Kodlak had expected a terrified populace cowering under Forsworn rule, but Jorleif just seemed resigned. It was early days, of course. But it seemed things weren't as dire as Kodlak had feared.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eola returned that evening, walking into the city with not a mark on her and her usual smile on her face... and on her arm was an old woman in black robes, coated in illusion magic and smelling of necromancy and wrong.

Hagraven. Right here in Windhelm, and the guards stood to attention as she passed. They knew, they must do, the entire Forsworn knew, and on talking to Aela and the twins, it became apparent they knew too.

“She came up with the illusion shield and looks after the portals, the uprising wouldn't have worked without her,” Aela said, although she didn't sound terribly enthusiastic.

“Look, she's Madanach's sister, she's untouchable,” Vilkas sighed. “I'd personally love to carve her head from her shoulders, but she's too important. I think the Forsworn respect her more than they do Madanach.”

“She's not so bad,” Farkas said quietly. “She listened to me talk about Argis. Made me tea. She's OK. For a Hag, you know?”

His Companions had collectively gone insane. There was no other explanation for it. Mind you, if the gods were sending him dreams of the child of the Forsworn King saving him from Hircine, he was possibly not entirely sane himself.

Eola was being hugged to death and told off by her father, scolding her for worrying him like that, was she all right, how had it gone, was Elisif OK?

“She's fine, Daddy,” Eola soothed, kissing her father gently on the cheek. “I'm fine. I helped kill two dragons and a ton of undead Nords, it was awesome!”

“Good on you, cariad,” Madanach said quietly, kissing her back and ruffling her hair. “I'm very proud. Just tell me next time, I was worried! And you! Disappearing! What if I'd needed your services urgently? You've been gone a whole day!”

“I've been gone longer and the sky has yet to fall in,” Keirine said, shrugging. “You would have been far more distraught had your beloved been killed by Draugr Deathlords within minutes of her arrival. As it is, she is safe... or was safe when I last saw her. Alduin may since have eaten her.”

“Don't!” Madanach shivered. “And she is not my beloved. She and I talked and we are just friends and collaborators.”

“Of course,” Keirine said, smirking.

“And Argis, where is my son?” Madanach demanded. “What happened to him? Why isn't he with you? Keirine? Where is he?”

“Sovngarde, I imagine,” Keirine shrugged, and something almost like a high-pitched whine came from Madanach's throat as he put a hand to his face.

“No...” Madanach breathed. “No, he's not... he can't be!”

Next to Kodlak, Farkas had gone very pale, reaching for his brother's hand and Kodlak barely knew Argis but even so hadn't wanted to see him die.

“Via the portal,” Keirine clarified, smirking a little. “What, you thought he'd died valiantly in honourable battle? No, no, he lives yet. He went through the portal to Sovngarde with Elisif. It's possible they might decide to keep him if he dies there, but he's no shade. After Skuldafn, I didn't feel it wise to let Elisif go alone, and Eola and I were never getting in. Don't trouble yourself over it, brother, they will both be back with exciting stories to tell before we know it.”

“Or they'll get killed out there and we'll never see them again!” Madanach cried. Cursing under his breath, he stalked back to his throne and sank into it, hand covering his face. It was Eola who quietly poured a goblet of wine and brought it to him, balancing on the arm of his chair and putting an arm round his shoulder.

“They'll be all right,” Eola said quietly. “And even if they're not, don't worry. I'll look after you.”

Soft laugh from Madanach, who accepted the drink and slipped an arm around his daughter.

“Bless you. You're a sweet girl. Thank you.”

Kodlak looked away, wishing Madanach would just stop being so damn human, with children and family and feelings. He needed to stay neutral and respected, able to step in and take up the side of innocents if needed.

He needed to be able to challenge Madanach if he had to... and that would be a lot easier if Madanach would actually act like the bloody-handed murderer everyone said he was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Early hours of the morning. Barely past sunrise, the sun slowly rising over a sleeping city. Not that it made a lot of difference temperature-wise. It merely took the place from frozen to cold.

Madanach would personally prefer to be back in bed, swathed in furs, fire rune under the bed, nice and warm with some tea or soup waiting for him when he got up. But Odvan wouldn't have woken him up at Sithis' backside o'clock without a good reason. At first Madanach had thought it was one of the children, or they'd brought Elisif back.

He'd not dreamt he'd be seeing this.

“What happened?” he asked, shivering despite his thick fur parka. “I mean... who did this?”

“Wish I knew,” Kaie sighed, standing beside him and staring at the bloodied naked corpse that had once been Susannah the Wicked. She'd been the one to send for him, and Madanach was pleased to note his Forsworn were already busy cordoning off the area. They'd even gathered some witnesses together, although Madanach suspected none of them would be any help. “First we heard about it was when Helgird came out here to do her morning invocations to Arkay and found the body. That beggar Silda was next on the scene, and then that Corrium man. We've got them lined up but they don't seem to know anything, so the guards tell me. They came running when they heard the screams but we've not been patrolling this area much. I mean, the graveyard's not exactly a target for thieves, is it?”

No, not normally, but burial places were always a target for deviants in other ways. Madanach just hadn't thought it'd be warm enough for the sexual ones to be out here, and as for graverobbers and necromancy, there was already a surplus of bodies of fallen Stormcloaks in the Hall of the Dead that were far more accessible than the ones out here.

Of course, Susannah hadn't been out here, had she? She'd been a living, breathing woman only last night, serving drinks, laughing with her customers, just as she'd been the night Madanach had met her, undercover in a Nord city looking for others that were tired of Nord tyranny. He'd not expected one of them to be a Nord barmaid, of course, but Susannah's sympathy for the Dunmer had been genuine. She'd been wary at first of course, but Madanach had tipped generously, mentioned she reminded him of his little girl Eola, acted the part of lonely widower who just wanted a bit of company, and generally charmed her into co-operation. She'd smiled and called him an old sweetheart, and told him everything he wanted to know, and who knows, maybe she might even have been interested if Elisif wasn't. Doubtful but you never knew.

She'd never be interested in him or anyone else now. It saddened Madanach. It made him angry. It worried him. Why her? Why display her like this? Did the murderer know she'd helped the uprising? Sithis, was someone targeting collaborators?

“Tell you what, Brannach, those don't half look like operation cuts. Look, that one's exactly where a Matriarch would cut to remove a kidney.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Sorla, why'd a Nord girl be donating her kidneys to one of us?”

“Well, she wouldn't, it was the bloody murderer, wasn't it? Honestly, Brannach, you're a fecking idiot sometimes, I swear.”

The two guards meant to be keeping an eye on the body had been poking at it curiously, trying to make sense of the wounds, and Kaie had already made her way over, tersely telling them that was evidence, that was, stop interfering. Then she took a closer look, kneeling next to Susannah's remains, going over the various wounds.

Kaie had been a Forsworn warrior for over a decade now, and she'd killed an awful lot of people and seen an awful lot of corpses and helped her aunt out with experiments often enough to know what wounds looked like... and what surgical incisions looked like.

“Da. Get over here. Take a look at this.”

Madanach made his way over, wondering what had got his daughter worked up. She had her dagger out, poking at the wounds. Surprisingly clean wounds and who on earth stabbed someone to death in straight cuts down the back of the legs or on the shoulders? The relative lack of blood on those told its own story. They hadn't, it had been the sliced throat that had killed her. The rest happened after she died. From the way Kaie was frowning, he guessed she'd worked that out too.

“So why did he slice her open after she died?” Madanach said, trying to work out just what their killer was playing at. Kaie's blade parted the severed flesh to reveal cut open femurs.

“Someone was after her marrow,” Kaie replied grimly. “I think they took sinews too – don't ask me how. Da, this isn't political or even personal. Someone's doing some magical experimentation, and it's not one of us.”

Magical experimentation... which meant it wasn't aimed at him. It wasn't the work of a resistance movement at all, it was some lone necromage.

Madanach the King in Rags was more than capable of dealing with lone necromages.

“Fascinating...” Madanach breathed, before remembering there were civilians watching. “Er... I mean, this is appalling and a crime. I will not have unauthorised necromancy in my city! Brannach, get the First Matriarch down here. Kaie, I want the city sealed. No one gets in, no one gets out. We've got ourselves a rogue mage to find.”

Kaie snapped a few orders out to various guards to close the gates – known city residents allowed back in but no one allowed out except with explicit authorisation from the Jarl.

“You think we can do it?” Kaie asked once this was done. “Find who did this?”

“Yes,” Madanach said, grimly determined to track this bastard down. He'd liked Susannah. He'd considered her a friend. And now she was dead, and he'd utterly failed to protect her. Because he'd had no idea there was a madman on the loose. “We're going to find him and then I'm going to kill him. After due process and a fair trial, of course. Speaking of which, I'm going to need a jury, aren't I? We'd better round up some fine upstanding citizens to verify that we're not harassing the innocent. Women, and men who can't do magic. All of them with strong stomachs, I'm not sure what we're going to find.”

“You want Viola Giordano then, she's tough as anything and seems to have her nose everywhere,” Kaie said, mentally cataloguing the residents of Windhelm. “If you wanted Dunmer representation, Suvaris is pretty well-respected. And you want Brunwulf Free-Winter of course. City will believe him, and he's a Great War veteran, he's seen things.”

“Good, round 'em all up, tell them they're not under suspicion and I'll be sure to compensate them for their time,” Madanach said, something else occurring to him. “Oh, and get Whitemane down here, Delphine too, although her name's not to go on any paperwork. Delphine knows a thing or two about investigations, and as an outsider himself, Kodlak's neutral. He wants to assure himself I'm honourable? He can watch me solve a murder.”

“I'll get right on it,” Kaie promised. Madanach smiled to himself as he watched her go. He'd been starting to get a little restless. This promised to be just the cure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madanach sat back on his throne, pondering the evidence so far. Susannah's body was in the Hall of the Dead, Helgird and Keirine already going over it, both women just a bit too keen on poring over freshly killed remains and talking incisions and organs and gods knew what else and honestly he had a feeling Helgird wouldn't even care about the whole Keirine being a Hagraven thing, she was so glad to have someone around who got as enthusiastic over corpses as she did.

Then there were the witness statements. Next to no useful information of course, just citizens in the vicinity going about their daily business, who'd seen nothing of any use. Helgird coming out of the Hall of the Dead to tend to graves and finding a fresh corpse. Silda warming herself by the forge, hearing Helgird's screams and coming running. Then Calixto Corrium happening to drop by on his morning walk, claiming he'd seen a fellow run off but didn't get a look at him. He'd been very vague on details, only saying it had been too dark to see. In one sense, not helpful. In another... what was he doing out there? Helgird had been doing her job, Silda often roamed the streets, having nowhere else to go (Madanach would see about that – he had every intention of making the Temple of Talos give her somewhere to sleep). But Corrium – wealthy citizen, out at that time in the morning? In Windhelm?? Was he an insomniac... or something more? Madanach didn't know but it was suspicious.

“This is an outrage, I am an innocent civilian, you have no right to arrest me like this! I demand to see the Jarl!”

Oh good, they'd found Viola. She was the loudest, but Suvaris and Brunwulf were behind her and they looked a bit worried too, all following after Borkul. Then the door to upstairs opened and Delphine arrived, Kodlak not far behind her.

“Well, I'm right here, Madam Giordano,” Madanach said, getting up and making his way down the steps as the little group gathered. “Don't worry, you're not under arrest. You three have been selected due to the esteem you're held in by the rest of Windhelm, and because I don't think any of you were involved in this morning's incident.”

“Incident?” That was Delphine, ears pricking up. “What incident?? You didn't tell me there'd been an incident!”

“You were in bed with Brynjolf, we didn't want to disturb you,” Borkul said, smirking a little and seeming to enjoy the hostile glare from Delphine that elicited.

“And I'm here because...?” Kodlak asked, already sounding bored.

“Because you're an outsider and therefore it's unlikely to be you,” Madanach said. “You came here as a self-appointed honourable observer, here's your chance to observe. A woman died this morning – murdered. We think it was necromancy, and not anything carried out by any of my people either.”

“Necromancy!” Suvaris gasped. “By Azura, I didn't think...”

Kodlak also looked suitably appalled.

“Necromancers? Here? And not with you? By the Nine, Madanach, didn't you know?”

Madanach could feel a headache coming on. Non-mages, honestly. Show them a few illusions or fireballs and they thought you were a demi-god who knew everything. They also had a tendency to assume that because one was a mage, one would automatically know everything about anything magical in the vicinity, whether one was responsible or not.

In the Reach, they would be quite correct – Madanach's coronation rites had left him able to sense these things on his own land, and this rogue necromancer would have got about five minutes into his rite before Madanach would have had guards dropping round for a little chat. Out here on Nord land, he was essentially fighting blind.

Of course, in his younger days, he'd not been bad at that either.

“No, I didn't know,” Madanach sighed. “Not until they found the body this morning. But by the old gods, I will put a stop to it. That's where you come in.”

“You're launching a murder investigation,” Delphine said, approving. “Count me in, I'll have people listening out. I'd not heard anything about necromancy, but it's possible no one here knew enough about magic to know the signs.”

Madanach could believe that. What he couldn't believe was Viola's reaction.

“No one cared, you mean,” Viola said, glaring at him. “The guards wouldn't help, the people wouldn't help, I was the only one who thought he could be caught!”

“He?” Madanach sat upright, alarmed. “What do you mean, he? You know something about this?”

“The Butcher!” Viola breathed. “I've been following him for months now – well, not following. Trying to find him. Oh sure, people say I'm just snooping around bothering people, but I'm trying to save lives!”

Viola looked genuinely concerned, and on the one hand it meant she at least would be happy to be involved... but to find out Susannah wasn't the first... and Ulfric had just let this go on?? Of course he had, Madanach really shouldn't be surprised by this point.

“JORLEIF!” Madanach roared. Damn idiot Nord steward, what in the Void had he been doing this entire time? Nepos would never have let things get to this stage.

“You called, my Jarl?” Jorleif asked, looking a bit worried and so he should, damn him.

“Tell me everything you know about the Butcher,” Madanach growled. “How long's this been going on exactly?”

“Oh. That,” Jorleif sighed. “Difficult to say, Jarl. I mean, Friga Shatter-Shield's murder was the first, we think, then Isabella from the inn. There might have been a few travellers vanished too, but we're not sure. We think it was the same man killed Friga and Isabella though. Body found at night or first thing in the morning, all torn up. We've no idea who's behind it.”

“How long has this been going on?” Madanach said quietly, doing a very good job of staying calm considering he'd not felt quite this murderously angry in some time.

“Er, about six months now?” Jorleif said, scratching his head. “Friga died while Ulfric was off in Solitude fighting the High King.”

“You've had a dangerous serial killer stalking the streets for six months and no one did anything about it??” Madanach roared, finally losing his temper. “No, let me guess, you were stretched thin because of the war and Ulfric didn't have time to deal with it?”

That did indeed turn out to be the size of things and Delphine was next in the firing line.

“And why in the Void didn't you tell me there was a killer on the loose, hmm?”

“You were after potential allies and military intelligence!” Delphine cried. “I was planning an uprising, not looking into rumours of some serial killer or other who might not even exist!”

“Well, he exists and because I didn't know, another girl's dead!” Madanach snapped. “He got Susannah from the Candlehearth, and she was one of our informers. I liked that girl. She had spirit, you know? And now she's gone and...” I miss her. Not to mention feeling horrible for failing to protect her. But he was Jarl now, not Ulfric... and he could avenge her at least. Madanach pulled himself together and started giving orders.

“Right. Brunwulf, Kodlak, Viola, Suvaris, you four are going to be my jury and observers, making sure we're not just executing some random person because we felt like it. You're going to be observing the investigation and testifying that we do in fact have the guilty party, when we find him, and we will find him, of that you can be sure.”

Silent but determined nods from the Nords, worry on Suvaris's face but she did agree, and Viola looked nothing short of ecstatic.

“You're looking into it? You're actually looking into it?”

“Yes. Surprised?” Madanach couldn't help but ask. Of course she would be, she was used to a Jarl so focused on the big picture he couldn't see the little people making it up.

Maybe he'd been like that once. Too focused on the Silver-Bloods to think about the lives he was ruining. Well, the Silver-Bloods were gone now and so was Ulfric, and honestly even if this escapade went wrong, he had his back-up plan. Get Kaie to safety via the portals, Nepos to adopt her, his little girl Jarl of the Reach one day even if he never could be in charge. It wasn't his preferred solution but it was an improvement.

But right now, he had a city to clean up – and a delighted Imperial staring at him like he was some sort of Aedric saviour.

“Yes, I mean, no, I mean... you need my help, you just ask!” Viola enthused. Madanach smiled, pleased to see someone was feeling enthusiastic about it all.

“Come on, let me show you where we've got so far,” he told them, getting up and leading them into what had once been Ulfric's war room, now Madanach's crime centre. The map of Skyrim had been removed and replaced by a plan of Windhelm Delphine had produced for him weeks ago. He already had pins and charcoal lines decorating the graveyard area.

“This is what we know,” he said, indicating the outline of a human figure sketched on one of the graves. “Body found naked, dumped, killed by a slash to the throat but also sporting several post-death incisions in places you just wouldn't leave wounds in battle. I've got Keirine and Helgird examining the body in more detail and we'll see how far they've got later, but this is the murder scene. As I was saying, the body was found here, but probably not killed there. Helgird from the Hall of the Dead found her, coming out to do her morning invocations to the dead and finding one more than she bargained for. She screamed, and Silda the Unseen comes running from the market area, along with Calixto Corrium. He was out taking a morning walk apparently. Why he'd be out in this weather just for the sake of it, I don't know but there he was.”

“He's not normally in the habit of taking early morning walks?” Kodlak asked. It was Delphine who answered, staring thoughtfully down at the map.

“Not usually. And Windhelm is cold early in the morning, you don't go out unless you have to. Corrium's a man of means. He's not normally seen outside until early evening.”

“What are you saying?” Brunwulf asked, brow furrowed. “You think he did it?”

Madanach paused, remembering interviewing the witnesses himself, and while Silda had seemed genuinely upset at not being able to help, and Helgird a little mad but not dangerously so, Corrium had seemed a bit too smooth. Always a shame when someone has to die, he'd sighed. Had to die? Madanach had looked closer and seen nothing, felt nothing. No shock or horror, no emotion at all. It had been a bit like talking to a Briarheart... and Sithis knew they killed with no trouble whatsoever.

“I don't know,” Madanach said, frowning. “I have no proof whatsoever, just a suspicion about his reason for being there. It could have been anyone... but he's a potential suspect. If I knew more about the circumstances of the other two murders, I could ask him where he was for those, but needless to say Jorleif remembers nothing of the details and the paperwork's a mess. However, if we find a more likely culprit, I'd be happy to take his name off the suspect list.”

“Killers often like to return to the scene of the crime,” Delphine mused. “They like to see the effects their actions have caused. Of course, they also tend to keep out of sight when they do it. I'm not sure he really intended to end up being quizzed by the Jarl.”

“I'm sure he didn't, but that doesn't mean he's guilty,” Madanach said. Of course, it didn't make him innocent either. What Madanach really needed was evidence... and he wasn't going to get it from staring at a map.

“Come on, come with me to the Hall of the Dead,” Madanach said. “Let's see how my sister's been getting on.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was crowded in the mortuary with all of them in there – Madanach, Delphine, Suvaris, Brunwulf, Kodlak and Viola, and down in the catacombs, Helgird and an illusion-bedecked Keirine were exclaiming over the corpse while Kaie looked on.

“Look at this one, the diagonal cut from the left shoulder, do you see?” Keirine was saying. “The entire muscle's been removed, and if you do this,” she sent a small flicker of lightning into the corpse, “nothing. The body as a whole moves, but the arm doesn't. He's taken the nerves.”

Helgird immediately turned from Susannah's body to that of a Stormcloak soldier, lying face down with a few fresh incisions mirroring Susannah's wounds, and repeated the shock spell. The Stormcloak's arm lashed out, something Susannah's hadn't done.

“By Arkay, you're right,” Helgird breathed. “But how'd he even do that?”

“I don't know,” Keirine said, sounding amazed. “You know, I'm actually impressed. It's a shame he's going to be brutally killed himself when my brother finds him, I'd like to ask him about his research.”

“Research??” Kodlak couldn't help himself saying and that got all three women's attention.

“Oh, you brought him,” Kaie muttered, scowling at Kodlak. “Great.”

“Now, now daughter, he's one of the observers,” Madanach announced. “Here to make sure we're following due process and all that. Now what have you got for me?”

“A corpse,” Helgird said, indicating Susannah. “Not that that's unusual for someone in here – in fact this is the most living people I've had in here for years!”

“Does it always smell like this?” Suvaris asked, hand to her mouth and looking like she was about to throw up. Dunmer cremated their dead within two days of death, they never had to deal with the smell of embalming oils, dust and rotting corpse.

“Smell like what?” Helgird asked, having lost her own sense of smell years ago. Most priests of Arkay did.

“Did you want to wait outside?” Madanach asked, seeing how pale she looked. “You don't have to be here for all of it.”

“I'll be fine,” Suvaris said, not really convincing anyone. Madanach backed away from her, seeing Viola do the same, and turned his attention back to the corpse.

“So, the body. What have you found?”

“It's as you suspected,” Keirine said, indicating the gaping wounds. “She was killed first then dissected. Both kidneys removed, bone marrow from her long bones, the tendons from her knees and elbows, and various muscles and nerves too. Must have taken some skill to do. Whoever did this knew what they were doing – they knew anatomy, they knew magic. I would have struggled doing some of this. And this can't be their first kill either, it's too precise. Brother, I fear we have a serial killer on our hands.”

“We do, there's been at least two others, and I suspect travellers have suffered too,” Madanach sighed. “Now you tell me he's a competent mage and a scholar on top of being a psychopath.”

“That he is. You know, I'm quite impressed,” Keirine said. “When you find him, can I interrogate him? His knowledge could be useful.”

“He needs to face justice, not be recruited by you people,” Brunwulf snapped, Kodlak nodding in agreement.

“We have to find him first,” Madanach said, dearly wishing both Nords would just be quiet. This killer's knowledge might be being misused, but Keirine was right, the surgical and medical implications could be profound. He might be worth keeping around... if they could control him and ensure he did what he was told. He couldn't stay in Windhelm, that was for sure.

Of course, Madanach also knew what had happened to the last man who'd imprisoned a brilliant but ruthless mage and thought to harness his power for his own ends. The Butcher was no King in Rags, but he was likely still dangerous.

“Got any ideas on how to track him down?” Madanach asked Keirine.

“He's left no traces of his own skin, blood or hair on the body,” Keirine growled. “He's a cunning one. But Helgird here noticed that the cuts were made by curved blades – ancient Nord embalming tools like the ones she uses, and she's right. I've got some myself back in the Reach, don't use them often but they come in useful sometimes. I thought the cuts looked familiar somehow.”

“Are you sure none of your people were involved?” Kodlak asked, glowering, and Madanach did at that point turn on him.

“Very sure,” Madanach snapped. “I can categorically state that there was no Forsworn interest in Windhelm before I got out of prison, and Friga was already dead by then if not Isabella.”

“Isabella was already dead when I first scouted the place for you, it's been going on for far longer than we've been in the area,” Delphine confirmed. “So, we're looking for a Windhelm native with ancient Nord embalming tools in his possession. That's if he keeps them in his house, which I doubt. A dissection like that must take hours, he must have some sort of lair in the city. If we could find it...”

A hidden lair could be anywhere, but on the other hand, it wouldn't be in any inhabited house, other than possibly the murderer's own, and Madanach knew that if he was planning something like this, it would be far away from anywhere the authorities might associate with him. That had to limit the possibilities, and he was about to ask Delphine for suggestions... and then he noticed Kaie grinning.

“Something to add, daughter?”

“We already worked out the kill and dissection must have happened somewhere else and I've been inspecting the crime scene,” Kaie said, exuding smugness. “Turns out there's a trail of blood from the graveyard leading to one of the bigger houses. Doesn't seem to be anyone home though and it's locked tight. But I'm sure a Jarl could order it unsealed. Couldn't he, Da?”

Yes. Yes he could. Sure, he should probably find the owner first and get a key rather than kicking the door open or getting Brynjolf or Sapphire to pick it open. But power definitely had its perks.

“Show me this house, daughter. We've got a killer's lair to search.”

Notes:

Next chapter will be Blood on the Ice part two, and probably along in the next few days!

Ta cean calwan cavairma - your chosen calls for my aid.

Chapter 37

Summary:

Madanach's looking for evidence and finding more than he bargained for... but nothing to actually finger the killer. Their prey will need luring... but the best bait at Madanach's disposal is something even he's not willing to risk.

Notes:

Second half of Forsworn Do Blood On The Ice! AKA what happens when this quest is done by someone who is not a gullible idiot and quite capable of Asking Questions. Warnings for blood and gore.

It turned out Grimvar Cruel-Sea had seen the guards Kaie had left outside the house in question and been chatting to them about it, apparently very excited to be living across from the Butcher's lair. He'd even been able to tell them it was Friga Shatter-Shield's old place, a present from her father on her 21st birthday, given in the hope Friga would find a husband, move him in and have the next generation of Shatter-Shields. Of course, after her death, none of the family had wanted to go near it. There were rumours her ghost haunted the place, female cries in the night and strange noises and lights.

Madanach had listened and quietly told Grimvar to go home and stay there, he didn't think it was ghosts behind the sounds. He'd then dispatched Kaie to go find a Shatter-Shield, ideally one of the elders, and get the key. Kaie had managed to persuade Tova, the family matriarch, into handing the key over.

“So, we're allowed to search the place then?” Madanach asked, taking the key off Kaie.

“She says she and Nilsine cleared the place out after Friga died. She's not sure what we expect to find but if it helps catch the killer, she's fine with it,” Kaie said, shivering and pulling her furs closer to her... but Madanach had a feeling it wasn't just the cold. Kaie was unnerved and Kaie was rarely afraid of anything. She was normally just fine around dangerous magic... but usually that magic was being wielded by someone on her side. It occurred to Madanach Kaie had never faced dangerous necromancers who were trying to kill her before. By the time she'd been born, Madanach had unified the scattered Reachman clans, she'd never really had to face anyone in battle other than Nords and outsiders who usually weren't skilled mages. There'd been the odd execution or face off against a challenger, but no one with power like a Hag's. This killer was dangerous and Kaie looked a bit nervous... but Madanach also suspected the killer was used to dealing with citizens who weren't battle-trained and certainly had never killed anyone. Kaie was a hardened warrior and no easy prey.

“Then we'd better get inside and see what's there,” Madanach said, unlocking the door. “Don't worry, I don't think he's there now. But what we find – if this is his lair, it might be gruesome.” He surveyed the little group he'd gathered – Kaie and a couple of guards, his four observers, Borkul, and Delphine had rounded up some of the Blades at her disposal. Ria and the twins had been left back at the palace (or more likely the tavern knowing them), and Eola was probably still in bed, but she had Aela, Brynjolf, Sapphire, Aranea and Erandur all ready to cast an expert eye over things. Madanach approved. Their skill sets would come in useful.

The door swung open and Madanach stepped inside, casting a magelight to light the place up a bit. Tova had been right, there was barely any furniture and there was dust and cobwebs everywhere. But not as much dust as you might expect from an allegedly sealed for six months house.

The blood spatters on the floor were a bit of a give away too.

“He's been here,” Delphine said quietly.

He certainly had, but which parts of the house had he been using, was the question.

“We need to spread out and start searching – Kodlak, Viola, Brunwulf, Suvaris, you four stay here by the door. I'll call you if we find anything interesting, but for all we know he's set traps. Don't want anyone getting hurt,” Madanach said. Not that it would bother him that much if Kodlak got injured, but he'd prefer to avoid any more paperwork to deal with than he had to. Besides, Viola and Suvaris weren't warriors. Enough vulnerable citizens had died just lately. “All right, Kaie, take the upstairs, you two with her. Delphine, some of your lot OK to search the kitchen?”

Delphine nodded, motioning for Sapphire, Aela and Erandur to have a look round there, and for Aranea to follow Kaie. Which left her and Brynjolf trailing after Madanach and Borkul.

“Blood trail's leading to that chest, boss,” Borkul noted. “Thing's covered in blood too. Wanna take bets as to what's inside?”

“I'd rather find out for sure,” Madanach said grimly. In the house five minutes and he was already facing something suspect and likely bloody. Steeling himself, he lifted the lid.

The chest wasn't locked and to his pleased surprise, contained only paperwork. Mostly it was a heap of papers, all of which turned out be flyers with the same message penned on them.

“Beware the Butcher!” Madanach read out. “The killer who haunts the streets of Windhelm! These calamitous times bring out the worst in people, don't become the next victim! See Viola Giordano if you spot any suspicious behaviour.” Wordlessly, he held out one to Viola who only looked a little bit embarrassed.

“I've been putting those up around the city for months!” Viola gasped. “Trying to encourage people to come forward with information. But someone keeps taking them down. Jorleif would barely listen when I tried to get him to do something about it. I even thought it was him ordering it. Guess I was wrong there.”

“Guess you were,” Madanach said, smiling faintly. “Well, he took you seriously enough to do something about your flyers. Just be thankful he didn't take you seriously enough to do any more.”

That did shut Viola up for once. Looking a bit pale, she changed the subject.

“So what else is in there? Just the flyers? Or something more?”

Madanach passed the flyers to Borkul, not seeing a lot else of interest... until right at the bottom, he found a small, battered leather journal.

“Well, that's not mine!” Viola said, curious. “What's it say?”

Madanach flipped it open, aware of Delphine at his shoulder now as well and Borkul behind him, all very keen to know what it was. The killer's journal, it turned out.

“'The plans are coming together swimmingly. I've found good sources of bone, flesh, and blood, but thus far a good sampling of sinew and marrow have escaped me.' Sinew and marrow, wasn't that missing from Susannah's body?”

“That's right,” Brunwulf said grimly. “And I seem to recall some of Friga's bones were taken too, and both her and Isabella had pieces carved out of them. Helgird might know more.”

Madanach made a mental note to ask her, but he'd already seen enough to know this was the killer's own handwriting. Nevertheless he kept reading for everyone else's benefit.

“'No matter. The city is swollen with contemptuous fools who will be missed by nobody. Last night was almost able to corner Susanna as she left Candlehearth. Damn heathen guard showed up at just the wrong moment and I had to turn about, just out for a stroll, and so forth. There will be other chances, but the time is drawing near. I could wish this city was still in Stormcloak hands – unfriendly as they sometimes were, at least they weren't bright enough to suspect anything. These Reachmen are too smart for their own good, and Jarl Madanach's sister is a dangerous one. But I can't abandon my plans. I've come too far to stop now, and another opportunity won't come by again in a hurry. The timings are too precise to waste. I'll just have to be careful.'”

Won't you just, murderer. Not that Madanach's hands were exactly clean... but wasn't that the point? The Forsworn were as dangerous as this killer – more so in fact. This man had been at this for about six months or so, although Madanach had no doubt that had been preceded by years of animal experimentation, honing his technique. This rogue mage was up to something, something linked in to some sort of celestial timing – lunar phases perhaps. He'd need to ask Keirine. In the mean time, he could see what else this journal held.

“'I think back to my time in Winterhold. All the wasted minds up in their towers. They only explore the magic they already know. I am discovering new magic here. Something deeper than the cantripped shenanigans of fire and light. This flesh magic is older than us. Perhaps older than the world itself. I am tugging at the corners of the fabric of the universe, and where it bunches and folds is where I shall create my greatest triumph. One more attempt at the Candlehearth girl. She's proving to be a bit too cautious, but those strong joints of hers should contain the most exquisite tendons. Worth the effort. Tonight.'”

Madanach snapped the journal shut and passed it to Viola for her to look at and pass round, ignoring her hushed whispers at how she was holding the Butcher's own journal in her hands, looking at his very handwriting! Cantripped shenanigans of fire and light?? Madanach would show him. Madanach would have him writhing on the ground in agony while he demonstrated just how un-cantripped Destruction magic was when wielded by an expert. But as for flesh magic... that was something else. Not unknown, not even new – not to the Forsworn. He definitely needed to speak to Keirine. But as for the killer – Madanach guessed not many in the city had attended the College of Winterhold. When Uraccen finally sent word about the Fort Kastav mission, Madanach would be sending a party to accept Jarl Korir's surrender in any case. He'd have to ensure someone suitably talented spoke with the Archmage as well, asked about any overzealous former students whose interests had tended towards the macabre. But that was some way off, and in the mean time, he did have some resources available.

“Delphine, who do you know in this city who might have a College of Winterhold education?” Madanach asked thoughtfully.

“Not many,” Delphine sighed. “Only one I know for sure is Wuunferth, the court mage. It's possible some of the Dunmer might have, but most of them don't really seem to know anything beyond apprentice level stuff.”

“None of us have been there,” Suvaris confirmed. “Since the Great Collapse, most of us haven't been near the place, and none of us were ever students there. We're farmers, labourers, ordinary workers, we don't have the time to keep up any magical scholarship even if we had studied there once.”

“Hard to see how someone could hold down a day job and research, what was it? Flesh magic?” Brynjolf added. He'd been quiet so far, leaning up against the door with his back to the wall, but a thief's eyes missed nothing. “I'm no mage, but it strikes me that learning to surgically remove bones, organs, muscles and tendons takes a bit of practice. Trust me, cutting through tendons is hard!”

Madanach didn't ask how Brynjolf knew that. Carving fingers and toes off people who'd crossed the Guild or owed him money perhaps? Brynjolf didn't seem like the type to do that personally, but he'd no doubt the thief had friends and acquaintances who'd got plenty of experience at that sort of thing.

“So we're looking for someone with time on his or her hands, probably wealthy, no need for a day job,” Delphine said, eyes falling inevitably on Brunwulf and Viola, known citizens of leisure.

“Hey now, I had nothing to do with this!” Viola protested. “Why would I put all those flyers up and then take them down again?”

“Hope you're not suggesting I had something to do with this,” Brunwulf snapped. “I'm a true Nord, Madanach. I don't hold with magic as a rule, although some of the Alteration spells are useful, and I've got no problem with priests using healing magic. But carving people up? No.”

“You could both be lying to me,” Madanach growled. But his mind had flitted back to Corrium, also a man of means, and while he did have a day job of sorts, it wasn't exactly onerous or something he relied on for coin. “But you're not top of my list either. Come on, let's see what else is around here.”

Delphine had already taken off to poke around the end of the room. The rest of the big main room seemed largely devoid of anything but a few bits of rubbish and some empty mead bottles, but there were two wardrobes and a small shelving unit tucked away in the corner.

“They left the wardrobes behind,” Delphine said thoughtfully. “Why?”

“Too big to move?” Brynjolf suggested. Delphine had one of them open, investigating the contents.

“There's still clothes in it – I wonder if they're Friga's or our killer's,” Delphine said, fingering the expensive fabric on one of the outfits. “Brynjolf – Bryn, did you just have five septims out of the pockets of that coat?”

“What? Their previous owner is either dead or a felon, they won't miss them,” Brynjolf argued back. Delphine snapped at Brynjolf to have a little respect for the dead, and Madanach grinned and left them to it, going to examine the shelves. More of Viola's flyers everywhere... but one pile looked a little misshapen. Madanach pocketed the flyers and rummaged around, wondering what was hiding in here.

Something slithered out, crashing to the floor, a green and black something that turned out to be a jade amulet shaped like a skull. Not new, not by any means, but Madanach could sense the magicka. An enchanted amulet – a valuable enchanted amulet if he was any judge.

“Hey Da.” Kaie, back already it seemed. “Nothing upstairs, apart from a load of chairs stacked up on the bed. Aranea's still looking it over, but we're not sure any magic was actually done there. What've you got there?”

“An amulet,” Madanach said, passing it over. “Magical from the look of it. What do you think?”

Kaie took one look and gasped. “Holy Sithis, is that... Sheor's Heart, Da, that's the Necromancer's Amulet! At least I think it is. Auntie Keirine's been after that for years!”

“Why am I not surprised,” Kodlak could be heard to mutter, and Brunwulf was staring rather scathingly at Madanach, as if it was his fault Keirine liked poking corpses and playing with interdimensional portals in her spare time.

“Well, looks like whoever's been using this place found it first,” Madanach replied. “But we'll have to see if we can get an independent evaluation. Brunwulf, any idea who'd know what this was?”

“Wuunferth, if it really is magical,” Brunwulf replied. “Otherwise, Calixto, if you think he's trustworthy. He's got an eye for strange trinkets.”

Calixto again. Madanach made a mental note to get his opinion. Not because he didn't believe Kaie, but because he sincerely wanted to know what Calixto would do when presented with his own amulet. Panic? Lie? Go on the attack? It would be very interesting indeed. But he didn't have time to think on it. Delphine and Brynjolf were trying the other wardrobe.

“Here, let's have a look, and if you could stop pocketing the evidence this time?”

“It's not evidence, it's gold! And for all we know this wardrobe's empty, look if we give it a push... Shor's bones, is this thing nailed to the wall?”

“Nailed to the – no one nails a wardrobe to the wall, they're not that unstable. Apart from me when I was installing that tunnel but that's because the outer structure's not stable if it's not fixed to the back – wait a second.”

Delphine opened the doors and narrowed her eyes, her suspicions rising, and Brynjolf not only wasn't stupid, he knew about her secret room at the Sleeping Giant too.

“You think there's a false panel here.”

“Could be... give me a second... there'll be a catch somewhere... got it! All right, let's see what we've got...”

Madanach hadn't heard Delphine scream before, or show anything other than grim determination and occasional quiet amusement if he thought about it. Then Brynjolf stared into the wardrobe, face pale and horrified.

“By the Eight... Madanach, get over here!”

Madanach looked at Kaie, who looked as concerned as he felt, and went straight to Brynjolf's side, not sure he wanted to see what had Delphine staggering back and standing up against the wall, looking like she was going to be sick. Then the smell of rotting corpse hit his nostrils and he realised what she'd found.

Suvaris took one look and promptly fainted, collapsing in Brunwulf's arms.

“I should get her out of here,” Brunwulf said faintly, eyes not leaving the grisly mess inside the wardrobe.

“Aye,” Kodlak said. “I'll let you know what we find – Talos help me, what has this madman been doing??”

“He's the Butcher of Windhelm,” Viola said, vindicated. “Every butcher's got a slaughterhouse.”

Slaughter was the word. Madanach stared at the altar with the arcane markings on it, and the blood and body parts everywhere.

“So we found his lair then,” Kaie said, sounding a bit too chirpy for her own good. Of course she did, she'd been visiting one Forsworn camp or another continually for the last two decades, not to mention helping her aunt out, nothing fazed her now, no matter how gruesome. Speaking of which...

“Kaie. Get your aunt. Now.”

Kaie nodded and left, leaving Madanach staring at the mess. He wasn't a stranger to blood, but this was something else. What in the Void was this bastard up to??

One thing Madanach did know. The Butcher might have been able to avoid detection by Nords... but the Forsworn knew all about necromancy. Madanach would find out what he was up to, and then he would find him and then... then the Butcher would find out what dangerous dark magic really was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours since the grim discovery at Hjerim. Keirine had arrived commendably quickly and the townsfolk had had plenty to talk about what with Forsworn carting boxes of remains to the Hall of the Dead, sealing off the house, conducting various magical rituals designed to find traces of the maniac who'd been using the place, not to mention casting kin-finding spells on the remains to see if there were any related individuals in town.

It turned out that body parts of both Friga Shatter-Shield and Torsten's recently deceased daughter Fjotli were among those in the house, and Madanach had to deal with breaking that news to both sets of parents.

Tova had broken down in tears, and Thorbjorn hadn't looked much better as he'd begged Madanach to find this bastard, all prior animosity gone.

“I will,” Madanach promised. “He won't get away with this, I swear it.”

“Thank you,” Tova whispered, wiping her tears away. “You've found more out in a few days than anyone else did in months. Thank you for everything. If there's anything you need, anything at all, you just ask.”

“I haven't caught him yet,” Madanach said, although he couldn't help but feel a bit pleased at a family who'd previously hated him now professing their loyalty.

“No, but you will,” Tova said, straightening up and staring him right in the eye. “If anyone can, you can, Jarl Madanach.”

Then had been the Cruel-Seas and that had been worse, Hillevi sobbing while a tearful Torsten swore he thought he'd found his daughter's killer, some thieving Altmer scum, he'd thought he'd avenged her. And then he'd realised what he'd just admitted and gone pale.

Madanach decided absolutely no good would come of arresting a mostly good man who'd just been grieving his only daughter when there was a far worse killer on the loose.

“An unfortunate misunderstanding, to be sure,” was all Madanach said. “These things will happen when leaders don't do enough to protect their people, won't they? Well, don't you worry, I'll make sure she's avenged properly. You go home and take care of the rest of your family, and leave the avenging to me. That's what Jarls are for, right?”

Torsten hadn't been able to show his gratitude enough, and Madanach hadn't quite been able to hide a smile as he showed them out of the Palace. Then weariness overcame him and he sat down at the table, pouring himself a well-earned goblet of wine.

Today had been a day, that was for sure. Then a shadow at his side and he had company. Eola, daughter number two, who'd finally got up at lunchtime, wandered out of the Palace to see where everyone was, and discovered she'd missed all the excitement. He'd never seen her look so disappointed, staring at the parade of body parts being brought out of Hjerim and actually whimpering a little. Eola clearly took after Mireen more than she liked to admit.

“M'inyeen. How are you doing? Coping with life in a city with a killer haunting the streets?”

Eola actually seemed to find that amusing.

“It's simply awful, father. What is a girl supposed to do with such beasts around her?”

She almost looked sincere. Almost.

“Well, I've had an exhausting day dealing with it all, so I'm going to have another drink,” Madanach said, refilling his goblet and pouring one for her as well. “You know, you could take this a little more seriously. Young women about your age are being horribly killed and their body parts used in some experiment or other. I've had to deal with two devastated fathers today, I don't want to be the next man breaking down in tears because his little girl's been found naked in the city centre with half her insides missing.”

“You won't be,” Eola said, her voice immediately turning kind and gentle as she squeezed his hand. “I can take care of myself, Da.”

“Friga and Fjotli probably said the same thing to their fathers, and look what happened,” Madanach said morosely, the mental image of Kaie or Eola turning up dead refusing to go away now he'd thought of it. “I don't even know where Isabella and Susannah's parents live. And for all we've found his lair, I don't even know who he is, not exactly. I've got one suspect, maybe two if you count Wuunferth but honestly, he's a little too obvious. And no real evidence against either of them.”

“You're going to have your work cut out finding him now, too,” Eola said thoughtfully. “Especially now you've publicly exposed his lair and ruined all his hard work. He'll have to start over, find a new hideout, go to ground for a bit. I can't imagine he'll be pleased.”

“And you're an expert on stalking the city streets and murdering people for their body parts, are you?” Madanach laughed, looking up to see his daughter's face close up, guileless innocent look settling into place just a second too late and looking just a bit too carefully schooled for his liking. Dear gods, please let her not be turning into her mother.

“Me?” Eola laughed. “Father, I'm hurt. As if I would hunt innocent young women.” She tilted her head, still smiling and Madanach could swear there was some sort of glamour she was using... but the feeling was gone as soon as it had arrived. “So Delphine mentioned you found the killer's journal and an amulet of sorts? Have you got them still?”

“Of course,” Madanach said, glad of an excuse to change the subject. Twenty years away from his little girl, and he still had a hard time remembering she wasn't that sweet little five year old any more. She was a grown woman, talented witch, very very bright and really quite capable... but still sweet, at least he thought so anyway. Even if she did have terrible taste in men.

But her lunatic boyfriend wasn't here and so Madanach was able to converse with her in peace for once and get her opinion on what they'd found. Not one but two journals and the Necromancer's Amulet.

“Is that the Necromancer's Amulet?” Eola gasped. “I didn't even think it was real! Da, when you've caught him and the investigation's all done...”

“Sithis, not you as well,” Madanach sighed, mentally giving up on the women in his family. “No, Eola, you are not having it, Keirine's already laid claim to it, no, stop looking at me like that!”

Wide eyes, trembling lip, she'd had that exact same expression many times when she was little and Madanach had invariably felt guilty enough to give in. He still did now. But back then all he'd had to face was his wife's wrath. Now he had the prospect of his sister's fury... and he was far more afraid of her than he'd ever been of Mireen.

“No,” Madanach said firmly. “You want it, you go ask your aunt, make nice with her.” He retrieved the amulet and pocketed it before Eola grabbed it anyway. “Here, you want to help, tell me what you think of the journals.”

Eola huffed at him, still pouting, before turning her attention to the journals. She barely scanned the first one.

“Swimmingly, who actually says that?” Eola mocked, flicking the pages. “And he's afraid of Keirine, well so he should be. Bone, marrow, sinew, muscle... he's got quite the shopping list. Wonder what he's making.” She laid the first journal down and read the second, smile fading from her face.

“Disturbing, isn't it,” Madanach said quietly. The second one was short, a list of body parts with worryingly precise measures, an Ayleid poem and just one chilling word to end it. Soon.

“Just a bit,” Eola whispered, no longer laughing. “Da, he's not just killing for the sake of it. He's building something, he's assembling a human body. A female human body.”

“What? Why? Oh gods, that's all I need, necrophilia on top of everything else. But why build one? There not enough complete corpses out there?” Madanach belatedly recalled too late that this was his daughter he was talking to, not Keirine or Delphine... but Eola hadn't even reacted, just shaking her head, the concept of necrophilia clearly not unfamiliar.

“Look to the lights where the souls dance, revealing the time when a spark will revive... he's not building a corpse,” Eola said, looking enthralled. “He's building a vessel – he's trying to summon a soul back from the dead and build a body for it to live in.”

“Again, can't he just use a complete corpse?” Madanach sighed, about done with this whole business if he was honest.

“I think he wants it to look like her,” Eola said, laying the journal down. “He lost someone – a wife or lover maybe. He wants her back, as she used to be, not with a stranger's body. I think he was close too, he seemed to have most of the parts and he's referred to some specific timing. I don't know when but I don't think it's far off. Except you just destroyed his entire work.”

Eola was looking at him, seeming rather worried. His daughter was worried for him, wasn't that sweet?

“You don't need to worry about me, cariad, I've dealt with worse than him,” Madanach laughed, and Eola's frown deepened.

“Don't say that, I already lost you once!” Eola cried. “Da, I'm serious, he'll be an angry and desperate man, he'll think you just took the love of his life away from him, and you don't even know who he is!”

“I have some suspects?” Madanach said, hating to admit to his daughter how accurate her assessment was. But she was right – he had a vague suspicion about Corrium and the slim possibility the court mage was involved, but no evidence regarding either. Not yet.

“And do you have any evidence? Of course not, or he'd be in custody or more likely the Hall of the Dead,” Eola sighed. “You've got names, right? Something to go on?”

“Some,” Madanach said wearily. “It's not enough, and meanwhile I have a city on lockdown and lots of scared citizens all looking at me to sort it out. But that's beside the point. Point is, Delphine's put together a profile with a bit of help from Brynjolf and Sapphire, and we're looking for a man, most likely older, probably human, not married, knows a thing or two about magic, was living here since before the war started. I did ask if she was sure this wasn't a woman, but Delphine assures me that outside the Reach, women tend not to go quite this crazy and take up the dark arts. I really don't know what she means by that, do you?”

“Not a clue,” Eola said cheerfully. “I think she's probably right though – it's someone who lost a significant human female loved one, so probably not any of the Dunmer. Doubt any of them had any human lovers for years, not in this city. Argonians weren't allowed in the city before you took over so not any of them either. That's not an awful lot of people left, Da. Not the Shatter-Shields or Cruel-Seas – I can see one father losing it and killing their daughter, but not both families. The blacksmith lives with his apprentice, so does Nurelion at the White Phial, and if he was a young man, he'd have moved on, found someone else.”

“That's exactly what Delphine said,” Madanach said, impressed. “She and Brynjolf also agreed that in order to get good at dismembering, he'd have to have leisure time, so coin to spare and no real day job to speak of.”

“So we're down to Brunwulf Free-Winter, Wuunferth the court mage and Calixto Corrium,” Eola said, mirroring his own suspicions exactly. Madanach couldn't help but feel rather proud of his little girl. She really was quite bright.

“Either that or Viola Giordano had a sister or a lady lover she's kept quiet about,” Eola added, and that did make him laugh.

“I don't think it's her although it's theoretically possible that she was using those flyers and ineffectual poking around as camouflage, and Susannah was found near her house, and she's a neighbour of both the Shatter-Shields and Cruel-Seas and a regular at the inn... damn it, daughter, stop it, now you have me wondering!” Madanach sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I don't have a lot of leads, I admit, but Brunwulf seemed to think Wuunferth and Corrium might have opinions on this amulet. Delphine and I are going to visit them tomorrow, we'll probably take Kodlak as observer. We'll see how they react to it. I already asked Jorleif if he knew anything about it, he's never seen it before, but seems to think Calixto's the one to ask about strange trinkets.”

“And what then? Are you going to arrest them based on how they react to one amulet?” Eola asked, eyebrow raised. “You need proof, Da, and it's not going to be easy to find. He's not going to be easy to find. You need to lure him out somehow. You need bait.”

She was raising an eyebrow at him, and dammit, he already knew this, he already knew the killer was going to react to this somehow, but question was how? And bait, what sort of bait did she mean, he was hardly going to be able to offer up an innocent young woman to lure him into a trap, was he... He saw the way she was looking at him and realised what she had in mind.

“No,” Madanach snapped, heart pounding at the thought of Eola being next to die. “No, absolutely not, you are not risking yourself!”

“Why not me?” Eola asked, shrugging. “We've established he'll be nursing a grudge against you, what better way to lure him out than presenting the Jarl's beloved youngest daughter as bait? He'll relish the chance to hurt you through me. He'll make a try for me if I make myself vulnerable.”

“Absolutely not!” Madanach roared. “You are not making yourself vulnerable! He is not getting anywhere near you!”

“Da, I'll be fine, I was a highly trained nightblade before I left, I didn't get weaker,” Eola sighed.

“I DON'T CARE!” Madanach shouted, losing his temper. “I already lost you once! I'm not losing you again! You are not risking yourself in this one, Eola!”

“And if he kills again?” Eola said quietly.

“I don't care,” Madanach whispered, realising he was shaking all over and he didn't know if it was his Skooma meds wearing off or just raw terror at the prospect of losing another loved one, another child lying dead in his arms, but he did know it was true. He didn't care who died, how many other families he had to break the news to, as long as it wasn't one of his own laid out on the slab. He couldn't bear the thought of Eola dying, not even if it saved an entire city.

“Daddy, don't,” Eola whispered, edging nearer and putting an arm round him, her hand over his, head resting on his shoulder. “I hate seeing you upset.”

“I'm sorry,” Madanach breathed, pulling himself together somehow and putting his arms around her, holding her close, his youngest child and still feeling delicate and fragile in his arms even though logically he knew she was anything but. “I just don't want you to get hurt. You're my little girl. You mean the world to me, you know?”

“I know,” Eola said quietly, snuggling closer to him and Madanach held her, saying nothing and taking another sip of wine, wishing he could do it, risk his own child's life to save other people's. But he couldn't. Just like he rarely ordered Kaie into direct combat, preferring to have her focus on acting as his envoy rather than leading troops herself, although old gods knew she'd done her fair share of fighting. But having any of them in harm's way, unguarded... he just couldn't bring himself to give the order. Did that make him a bad person? A bad leader? Maybe.

He needed Skooma. Or another drink. Something to let the responsibility slide off his shoulders, something to make it all stop mattering.

Someone to hold him and tell him everything would be all right, someone strong and capable to look after him. Something he'd never really had since his father died, except maybe now and then with the odd lover. Like he'd had with Inga. Or with Elisif.

She said no to you.

I know. But she was still his friend and now his liege, technically. A political construct to ensure the Empire couldn't hurt him, that's what he told everyone else. But he'd deliberately changed the oath of allegiance from the standard Nordic one, weaving in Reachman elements. He'd added in words from the wedding vow. And while they obviously weren't married, he'd looked into her eyes as he'd sworn loyalty, realising it wasn't fiction for him. He meant every word. Maybe she hadn't realised it yet, but she'd changed a lot since he'd first met her. On the physical side, she'd got stronger and gained considerable muscle tone from running around in that Blades armour all day, every day, across half of Skyrim. She might even be able to overpower him in a wrestling match now. And on the mental side, she wasn't nearly as fragile as she'd been once. She might be worried she was turning into a monster – Madanach thought no such thing. She was coming into her own as a competent warrior-queen. She'd killed her own Thane when he'd betrayed her without even thinking twice. She'd find and disembowel the Butcher of Windhelm if she was here, he had no doubt. Maybe even give the orders he couldn't. Or at least take care of him. If she never took him to her bed, even if she'd grown strong now, she was still sweet, gentle Elisif at heart and she still cared for her friends. She'd help him still, he knew. It was him that was the problem, wanting too much, wanting more than she could ever give, his own selfish wants refusing to leave him alone. She was a sweet and beautiful young woman with the world at her feet, and he was a washed-up old wreck, a shadow of who he'd been once. Elisif deserved better... but damned if he didn't miss her.

You come home soon, my Dragonborn. You come find me again. I miss you... and I don't know if I can do this alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evening the following day and Calixto Corrium was just about holding it together. He'd been right to be wary of these damn Forsworn. He should have destroyed Susannah's corpse entirely, everyone would have just thought she'd fled the city to escape Madanach's regime. He'd wrongly assumed Madanach wouldn't care about some dead Nord tavern wench.

Well how was he to know she'd helped the uprising and Madanach had taken a shine to her? He wasn't to have realised Madanach would actually launch an inquiry and seal the entire city. He certainly wasn't to have realised Madanach and his people would turn out to be brutally competent. As it was, two days and his work was in ruins. His workplace compromised, his entire work destroyed – he'd watched Madanach's soldiers, male and female alike, carting all the body parts he'd worked so hard to collect into the Hall of the Dead, and been about ready to cry. Even if the place wasn't now heavily guarded, Arkay's rites would render them useless for his purposes. And the timing – it was to have been tonight! Full Secunda, Dark Masser, and an eclipse as well. Perfect astrological alignments and now it was all wasted. He could weep. Lucilla, I'm so sorry.

He'd have to start all over again, no doubt in a new city, one not run by fellow necromancers. It would take some doing though – he'd likely have to head all the way to Cyrodiil or Hammerfell. Madanach was too close with Elisif for word of this not to get sent out to the other Jarls, and High Rock and Morrowind just had too many wizards. It'd likely take years... and he didn't have an unlimited number of those left.

But first he'd have to lie low and wait for Madanach to unseal the city. That could take a while, but he'd done his best to throw suspicion on Wuunferth. He'd had Madanach himself drop in to get the amulet identified, his own Necromancer's Amulet. That had been ironic indeed, but while Madanach's two companions, that mysterious blonde Breton adviser of his and the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr, had looked grim and suspicious, Jarl Madanach himself had seemed open, even friendly, not seeming to suspect him of anything. He'd even given him a couple of septims for the tour, seeming amused and even a little impressed by the whole thing. It was strange though, out of all the wondrous things Calixto had to show, from Ysgramor's Soup Spoon to the Book of Fate, what had really got the Jarl interested was the Nordic embalming tools. Odd, but it took all sorts.

Then he'd asked about the amulet, and Calixto had seized the opportunity for misdirection, claiming it was a ceremonial amulet traditionally given to the court mage, and even offered to buy it off him. Madanach had frowned then, declining on the grounds it was evidence in the ongoing murder case and not for sale... but he'd then smiled and thanked him, his identification of said amulet had just confirmed his suspicions.

Calixto hadn't known whether to be relieved or not, but he'd had no further visits. So now he was in the Candlehearth Hall, drinking to forget.

At least until a shadow moved at his side and he had company. Company bringing wine. Charming female company... and Calixto realised this wasn't some random tavern wench, this was Jarl Madanach's youngest daughter, Eola. He'd yet to work out what official role she had at court – nothing other than to sleep in most mornings and spend the rest of the time doting on her father from the sounds of it. Clearly a spoilt, indolent baby of the family – but one indulged and adored by Madanach, and suddenly Calixto realised all was not lost. He'd wanted to build Lucilla a new body, sculpting her face to precision, but Lucilla in a stranger's body was better than not having her at all, surely? Wasn't there even a face sculptor down in Riften who might be able to remake the girl's face?

If he played his cards right, Madanach might not even realise Eola was gone, just think that his little girl had developed a sudden passion for a wealthy older man. Which depending on his likely reaction, could be either a problem or a help, but either way, Calixto was good at disappearing if he had to.

Of course, he first had to charm Eola into letting herself be alone with him.

“Hello there,” she drawled. “Calixto Corrium, isn't it? How's your evening going? Mind if I sit here?”

“Much better now I have company,” Calixto replied, indicating for her to take a seat. “You're with the Reachmen, aren't you? One of the soldiers? I'm sure I've seen you at the Palace before now.”

“I bet you have,” Eola laughed. “But no, I'm not officially part of the ReachGuard. I just live there. Sort of comes with the territory when the Jarl's your da and all. Sorry, I didn't introduce myself, did I? Eola Brenyeen, at your service.”

He'd heard that title, Kaie used it as well. Must be a family name.

“Calixto Corrium, at yours,” Calixto said, leaning forward to take the glass of wine she'd just offered him. “Thank you, my dear. Not often I get such charming company of an evening. So what brings you here? Aren't you normally in the habit of waiting on your father most nights? Won't he be wondering where you are?”

“Not if someone gets him so wasted he doesn't know where he is, never mind where I am,” Eola grinned. “I wanted to get out from under his thumb for a bit. Da loves me, I know, but he is sooo overprotective. Hardly ever lets me out of his sight. Kaie gets to do all sorts of fun things, Kaie gets the cool job leading the ReachGuard, because she's got to take over one day, but what do I get, hmm? Nothing, just having to be a good girl and do what I'm told, while he gives me everything I want... except freedom.” Eola sighed wistfully, gazing into her wine glass. “So I snuck out and now here I am! So, what's fun to do in Windhelm of an evening?”

“Not an awful lot, but I've got some stories from my adventuring days, and sometimes there's even dancing if the bards are feeling up to giving us a tune. Interested?” Calixto asked.

Delight flared in Eola's eyes and Calixto guessed the answer was yes. Edging closer, it was with genuine pleasure that he began to regale her with tales of his adventuring days, and Eola's enthralled enthusiasm to all of them convinced Calixto that his evening was about to go very well indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the Eight, that had taken hours, two of them anyway, getting the little ninny drunk enough to agree to leave the inn with him, but it was done and here she was, giggling and clinging on to him and gazing up at him as if he was her ideal hero. If his intention really had been to seduce Eola, he'd certainly succeeded there. But no. This was to be the vessel for Lucilla, and tainting it with his seed would ruin everything. So he put up with the clinging and giggling and escorted her to the old Aretino House. Abandoned now, avoided by all since it had been discovered young Aventus really had been performing the Sacrament there, and that dark ritual would have left an imprint perfect for what he had in mind.

So Calixto led her there, picks at the ready, and not only did she not seem to mind, she'd even got the key on her person, whispering she'd hoped he'd bring her here, the idea of sex in a house where the Sacrament had happened turned her on tremendously and she'd not been able to stop thinking about it.

Calixto laughed and promised her he'd make it a night to remember for the rest of her life. And so he humoured the little deviant, escorting her upstairs and submitting to the groping. Not much longer, and the little trollop would be dead, her remains purified and reborn, cleansed by his sister's reborn soul.

He led her into the back room, floor still stained faintly with blood from the sacrament and Eola gasped to see it.

“Is... this it? Is this where it happened?”

“I believe so, yes,” Calixto said, coming to stand behind her, drawing his dagger and slipping his free arm around her. “Just think, right there is where all those remains were for weeks, lying on the floor while that young boy tried to summon darkness.”

Eola stared at the floorboards, gasping, idly squeezing his hand but not really seeming to notice him at all. She barely reacted as Calixto flicked his knife out and drew a dagger across her throat.

Eola died with barely a sound, only managing to gurgle as she slid to the floor, blood spraying the room and pooling out beneath her. Calixto breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the gods, she was starting to become insufferable. Time to clean up, return home, fetch his equipment and return for the rite... He stopped, stiffening in horror as four figures emerged from the shadows, all looking grimly at him.

Delphine, that Breton adviser whose exact job description was still unclear. Kodlak Whitemane, face ablaze with fury. Brunwulf Free-Winter, shocked and disappointed. And at their head, remnants of the illusion magic that had been shielding all four from view still at his fingers, was Jarl Madanach himself, face a mask.

“I knew it was you,” Madanach said softly. “Knew as soon as I saw those tools in your house – did you not think we'd know the cuts were made by ancient Nord embalming tools? And as for that amulet – I already showed it to Jorleif and Wuunferth, Jorleif didn't even know what it was and Wuunferth correctly identified it for me. You were a suspect all along and everything we found just put your name higher up the list. And now you just slit my daughter's throat in front of me?”

Four against one were not good odds, and they were all competent warriors, likely better than him, and Madanach's magical skills were known to be impressive. But chances were so were his daughter's.

Calixto turned and cast the strongest corpse reanimation spell he knew on Eola's body. Nothing happened.

“What the-?” Calixto began. He turned back to see Madanach actually smiling.

“Did you honestly think I would actually put my little girl's life at risk like that?” Madanach smirked. “Keirine, kill the illusions.”

More illusion magic flickered to reveal Madanach's sister crouched in the corner, expression the mirror image of Madanach's... and Eola's corpse changed before his eyes into that of a Nord woman in Stormcloak armour who'd clearly been dead for a few days. The blood spray also vanished and Calixto realised he'd been tricked.

“I cast Dead Thrall on one of the casualties from the revolt and used illusions to make her look and sound like Eola,” Keirine said, sounding very pleased with herself. “The real one's back at the palace, hiding in her room and no doubt getting quite drunk with Ria and Farkas.”

“No!” Calixto cried, realising his last hope of reviving Lucilla was gone. “You – you don't know what you've done! All my work, all my research – I was on to something! I could have triumphed over death itself!”

“Tell that to Tova and Hillevi,” Kodlak growled, reaching for his greatsword.

“Game's up, Corrium,” Delphine added. “We've got Kaie searching your house as we speak, she's got Viola and Suvaris along as observers, if there's evidence, we'll find it. I daresay we'll see wonders.”

“Come along quietly, and maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement,” Madanach added. “Your notes were of interest, and the medical applications alone could really help. You can't stay in Windhelm but it's possible you could serve your sentence in the Reach, helping out at Keirine's research centre.”

Calixto took one look at Keirine, correctly guessed what her secret research centre in the Reach consisted of, and promptly panicked.

“You'll never take me alive!” he cried, launching himself at Madanach, who threw up a ward just in time... but it was Kodlak who saved the Jarl, Skyforge steel greatsword slicing precisely through Calixto's neck and severing head from shoulders.

Madanach nodded his thanks as he wiped the blood off his face.

“Sorry, Keirine,” he said sheepishly. “We tried to take him alive, we really did.”

“Oh don't worry,” Keirine purred, getting up and scooping up Corrium's head. “I don't need him alive to interrogate, and dead men, unlike living ones, tell you everything you want and never lie to you.” She cast Dead Thrall on Calixto's head and carted it off, cooing over it and stroking the hair, no doubt anticipating all the flesh magic secrets she was going to wring from it once this was all done.

“She can do that?” Kodlak asked, cleaning his blade off and sheathing it. “Take someone's head and extract knowledge from it by force?”

“Yeah,” Madanach said proudly. “Got the technique down to a fine art. Takes a while and it's not pleasant or pretty, but very little witchcraft is. Why, got someone to interrogate?”

“Not exactly,” Kodlak said thoughtfully. “Ah, doesn't matter. Just an old man's regrets, that's all.”

Brunwulf's eyes hadn't left Corrium's remains. “So now what?” he asked. “No doubt in my mind he was guilty, but what are you going to do now?”

“Have my guards in here clearing the place up,” Madanach yawned, feeling the stress of the last two days catching up with him. “See what Kaie found in his house. Find all my girls and cuddle them. Tell Aventus the story because old gods know the boy won't have gone to bed with all this going on and he did only let me borrow the house if I promised to tell him everything. Then a strong drink and a good night's sleep, and then in the morning I'd better write a report and summarise all the evidence. Suspect killed resisting arrest, does that sound like a conclusion we can all live with?”

It did indeed, and Madanach proceeded to make all the things on his list happen. Kaie's search of Corrium's house revealed a stash of embalming tools and linen wraps, some of which still had blood on them, and a third diary detailing his actual motives (“read it, Da, it's almost sweet! He clearly missed his ladyfriend – wait, Lucilla was his sister??” “Don't know why that freaks you out, troll-face, you're the one snogged your own brother.” “Shut up, skeever-breath, gods, it's a pity he didn't actually kill you.” “All right, that's enough, cut it out, the pair of you! I swear fatherhood is overrated sometimes...”). Viola Giordano swore blind she'd always thought he was up to something, and Suvaris swore she was never doing jury service again, but once Viola, Suvaris, Kodlak and Brunwulf had got together and compared notes, they were unanimous that Calixto was manifestly guilty, and that all Windhelm owed Jarl Madanach a debt. And if Brunwulf was heard afterwards quietly asking Suvaris if she was free for dinner in the next week or so, and Suvaris smiling and saying of course, that was simply a happy side-benefit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That's... I don't even know what to say,” Elisif whispered, hearing all this a week after the event. “He'd killed all those young women??”

“About twelve separate victims in the end, we think,” Madanach sighed. “Most of them were travellers, or young women come to join the Stormcloaks, caught before they could sign up. No way of knowing who they were now, but Helgird's laid their remains to rest anyway. Guess we'll have to keep an ear open for families with daughters who came to join up and whose names and fates weren't recorded in the Stormcloaks' payroll. Still not entirely comprehensive, but if we know who's missing a child, we can do kinfinding spells, see if their remains are among what we found.”

“That's horrible,” Elisif whispered, taking another swig of mead and feeling very relieved she'd not had to deal with it personally. As it was, Kodlak looked fairly grim, Delphine was shuddering at the memory and Madanach himself was looking haunted by the whole thing. Elisif didn't blame him. Couldn't have been easy losing a friend and then seeing that fiend slit his daughter's throat. Even if it hadn't really been Eola, it must have been a convincing fake and it must have been hard for Madanach to watch. Taking her gauntlet off, she reached across the table and took his hand.

“Thank you for dealing with it,” she told him. “I think the whole of Skyrim owes you for that. I suppose I'll need to review all the evidence you found but you can be sure I'll tell Tullius you've looked after this city and caught a murderer.”

Madanach's eyebrows flicked up, surprised, and he actually blushed.

“It was nothing,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand back. “I'm just glad you weren't there, it was distressing to see, some of it. Still missed you though. I'm glad you're back.”

Now it was Elisif's turn to blush, and it had been all very well dealing with his feelings when she didn't consider herself free to love anyone... but now she was able to love again and faced with a powerful and dangerous man who'd quite like to do just that with her, and not only that, said dangerous man kept making himself vulnerable around her. He was doing it again, right now, looking tired and emotional and in dire need of a hug and she wanted to give that very thing to him, tell him it was all right, she'd look after him, protect him, take care of him, shove up him against the nearest wall and bite his shoulder while she tore his furs off him...

Elisif hastily let go of his hand and backed off, feeling her heart thudding and wondering just what was wrong with her. She'd thought in Sovngarde she had it under control, that the dragon rage was really aimed at Torygg and she was fine once she knew that, everyone else was safe! Now here it was again, making its presence felt and this time wanting to hurt and use Madanach who didn't deserve - well, all right, he probably did, but that wasn't the point! How was she supposed to get close to anyone again, ever, if she kept wanting to hurt and dominate the ones she wanted?

She sank back on her seat, the horrible truth dawning on her that she'd be lonely for the rest of her life, never married, no lover, and worst of all, no child of her own. No heirs.

Well, she could adopt, in fact there was Sofie right here in Windhelm who'd already said she was too pretty to die and been pleased to see her. Maybe she could do that – no law against rulers adopting children and Skyrim law made it very clear adopted children had all the same rights children of one's blood did.

It could work. It would have to. She couldn't face turning into a monster behind closed doors, she just couldn't.

“Elisif? Are you all right?” Madanach asked, frowning. Elisif pulled herself together and nodded, although she wasn't, not remotely. Best to change the subject. She could cry over it all later.

“I'm fine,” Elisif whispered, not terribly convincingly but he didn't push it. “You were going to tell me what happened in Winterhold.”

“Yes, I was,” Madanach said, still looking worried but seeming to agree on the need for a change of subject. “I wasn't there for any of this in person, you understand. I was needed to keep an eye on things here, but Eola hadn't stopped complaining about missing the good bits of the hunt for the Butcher, so I decided she needed something to do. So when word came in the day after Corrium's death that Fort Kastav had fallen to our forces, I decided Eola could help out. She seemed a bit reluctant, but then Keirine got wind of it and decided she was going as well. So there they all were, a little troop of them, consisting of Eola, Keirine, Duach, Odvan, Ria and Aela as observers, and about twenty guards, which I deemed enough to convince Jarl Korir to hand the city over. All on their way to Winterhold to relieve the Jarl of his command...”

Notes:

And next chapter will have that story of How the Forsworn Took Winterhold, made manifestly easier when the College is going into meltdown and will welcome help from absolutely anyone.

Chapter 38

Summary:

Another double-bill! It's the Forsworn in Winterhold sequence, in which we wrap up the mage's questline - makes no sense to have a non-mage Dragonborn involved, but the Forsworn have magic in their bones. So here they all are, off to occupy the city with Keirine in charge, only to find all Oblivion breaking loose...

Notes:

It should be an easy job - turn up at a small town with only a small guard force to defend it, persuade the Jarl to surrender and install their own puppet regime and guard force. Easy, right? Except Winterhold still has its College, and said College's present problems make the prospect of a Forsworn occupation pale in comparison.

Eola was cold. Eola was tired. Eola was bored. Eola's backside ached from sitting in the back of this wooden carriage for the last four hours. True, the fire rune in the middle meant they weren't actually dying of hypothermia, but it was still too cold. Why she'd agreed to this, she had no idea. But Madanach couldn't spare Kaie and someone from the leadership needed to be there. So Delphine had suggested Eola and Madanach, still feeling overprotective after the whole Butcher incident, had initially said no... until Keirine had announced she'd go, and Eola could come with her to observe and assist.

Madanach couldn't rightly refuse a reasonable request from the First Matriarch, so he'd grudgingly said yes, and so here they all were, bundled up in the back of two carriages with a guard escort – twenty from Windhelm, and Uraccen deciding to accompany them once they'd reached Kastav with fifteen of his own people. Enough for a small town like Winterhold, one would think.

“You ever been to Winterhold?” Ria asked quietly. Kodlak had insisted on honourable observers going, but age and a desire to keep an eye on Madanach had prevented him going personally. But Aela had been complaining of feeling cooped up, and Eola had begged Ria to come. She'd not ever thought the young Imperial would ever be the type she'd befriend, but Ria was brave, good with a sword, possessed of a hidden bloodlust that Eola couldn't help but approve of, appeared willing to give the Forsworn a chance and perhaps most crucially, got on with Cicero. That was Eola's yardstick for gauging people – how they treated the forgotten, the passed over, the wretched – and Cicero had been all of those in his time and still was. People who looked down on her boyfriend were not people Eola wanted in her life.

“Once,” Eola sighed. “Used to be a student there for a couple of years. I was about nineteen at the time. Then I left. There was... an accident. An experiment gone wrong. Wasn't my idea but I was the only survivor. It was agreed after that that it was probably best if I moved on. Don't know how they'll react to seeing me again.”

“That doesn't sound very fair,” Ria frowned. “If it wasn't your fault, that is. What were you doing?”

“Summoning a Dremora,” Eola admitted. “It worked but it got out of control and tried to kill us all. It did kill the others. I only survived because I'd been training for combat my entire childhood and could use a sword. It liked my style and let me live before fleeing the College, but not before taking my left eye.”

Ria gasped to hear it. “You poor thing. Are you all right?”

Eola just shrugged, smiling a little as her sightless left eye turned towards Ria. “I'm fine. My vision adapted eventually. Doesn't even hurt these days and Cicero thinks I'm pretty anyway. Not sure Da's entirely at ease with it, but it's not like he's not got any scars. Come on, you're a warrior, you must know there's a good chance you might end up scarred one day?”

It was true, but Ria hadn't really given it any mind. Twenty years old and living for the fight, Ria had taken Skjor's mantra of eyes on the prey, not the horizon to heart. All the same, a reminder that no one was invincible did subdue even her a bit.

Winterhold finally came into view as the sun set, the shadows of the Anthors casting Winterhold half in shadow, but the setting sun over the Sea of Ghosts to the west did catch the left hand side of the College in sunlight... except the gold light was behaving oddly and the College looked to be flickering somehow.

“That's not right,” Eola said, sitting up and staring at the place, her senses tingling. Keirine also looked grim, feathers ruffling.

“Something's wrong... I can sense elevated magicka levels from here. As if they've got something there spewing the stuff out. I do not like this at all. Uraccen!”

Uraccen turned round from where he was sitting next to the driver. “What is it, Matriarch? Should we do something?”

“We can't get the carriages to move any faster?” Keirine asked. Uraccen shook his head apologetically.

“Not on these roads, Matriarch. Too easy for the carriages to skid and crash. If you want speed, you'd be faster walking.”

Keirine tutted irritably and turned to the others.

“Right. I want everybody off the carriages and sprinting towards that city. With any luck, Aela will be there already and can tell us what's going on. Get there as fast as you can and assemble on the outskirts. Do not enter the city or intervene unless there's an actual emergency in progress. Just take your weapons and any healing or magicka potions, don't weigh yourselves down. The carriages will just have to catch you up.”

“And what about you?” Eola asked, not blind to the fact Keirine had implied she wasn't going with them. “Where are you going? Don't tell me we won't need a Matriarch.”

Keirine grinned, revealing jagged, pointy Hag teeth and making Ria shrink back behind Eola.

“Don't worry. I'm going ahead of you.” A flurry of black, feathers falling to the ground, and a raven was hovering in midair, wings fluttering. It righted itself, took to the air, wheeled above them and flew for Winterhold, soon lost to sight.

“I still can't get used to her being able to do that,” Ria sighed. “Or anything about her, if I'm honest. How you lot are just OK with Hagravens wandering around...”

“We're used to it,” Eola said, and then because she felt some need to defend her people, “That and we're not automatically taught to associate beauty with goodness and ugliness with evil. Shall we go?”

Ria, conscious of all the Forsworn warriors looking rather pointedly at her, the sole non-Reach native in the group with Aela off scouting, gulped, nodded and ran after Eola. Just because the Companions and Forsworn were working together for once didn't mean she felt safe around them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keirine swooped low over Winterhold and realised it was worse than she'd feared. The town was tiny, about three houses, the Jarl's Longhouse and a tavern, but it was devoid of people, and even the guards had taken cover. She could see why – magical anomalies, semi-sentient creations of pure magicka, were weaving through the town, descending on anyone foolish enough to be outside.

Currently that was one person, a Nord in Blades armour trying unsuccessfully to shoot them with her bow, then dropping it entirely as four descended on her at once. Aela the Huntress, who'd run on ahead in her beast form, now trying to be a hero on her own. Keirine fluttered down towards her, resumed her Hag form and cast mage armour with one hand, then sent a thunderbolt at the one flying towards Aela's face.

As one, three anomalies left Aela alone and flew at her. It was a good thing Keirine knew how to deal with these things really. Summoning two ice wraiths to her aid, Keirine set about sending her strongest shock magic flying at the anomalies.

“Thank Hircine you showed up!” Aela snapped, able to resume shooting now she wasn't being completely overwhelmed. “What are these things?”

“Constructs of pure magic,” Keirine called back. “Usually caused whenever magicka is present in very high quantities in a confined space – if the magical pressure's high enough, bits of it can break off and become semi-sentient.”

“What??” Aela cried, fending off two more with her dagger. “You're saying magic can come to life?”

“Magic is life!” Keirine answered, feeling a headache coming on and really this was not the time to want a lecture on magical theory, not with a battle in progress, but Nords were all a bit dim and quite mad, so she supposed it wasn't exactly a surprise. “But it's normally meant to take a form. This is raw magic split off from the usual natural flow and gaining a sort of life of its own. Probably caused by whatever's spewing magicka out of that College like ash out of Red Mountain!”

“The mages did this??” Aela cried, narrowly avoiding another one swooping in.

“Probably not intentionally,” Keirine said, sending a jet of fire into an anomaly and casting lightning cloak to deter any more from coming too close. “But I'm willing to bet one of their experiments has gone wrong.”

Aela was too close to the beast blood to have the same distaste for magic Kodlak and Vilkas did, but even she couldn't help but sigh on hearing this. Then help came, lightning flashing down the central street as five wizards sprinted out of the College, magic at the ready.

Keirine glanced down at her claws and feathers on show and swore profusely. These things always happened when she was unprepared and low on magicka. Abandoning Aela, she dived behind the inn and waited for her magicka to recover as the five newcomers joined the fray. One High Elf in the robes of a Destruction master, clearly as capable in that art as Keirine herself from the look of it. Then a bald Breton in adept level robes, not a master but holding his own. Then three in apprentice robes and while they clearly weren't high level mages, they were giving it all they had. One Dark Elf woman, one Khajiit – strange, Keirine hadn't thought they were terribly gifted magically, and was that one a Nord?? Nords doing magic, there was something you didn't see often.

Her magicka levelled off and Keirine cast her standard illusions – old Reachwoman in black robes, nothing fancy. Just enough to give the impression she was still human. Then out into Winterhold, lightning finishing off the last of the anomalies just as Eola, Uraccen and the rest of the Forsworn rushed into town.

“About time you showed up,” Keirine growled at her niece. “Aela and I thought we'd have to handle this on our own.”

“Sorry, Auntie,” Eola said, having the decency to look at least a little guilty. “We came as fast as we could.”

“There was a snow bear on the outskirts,” Uraccen explained. “Took us a bit of time killing it.”

“Until Eola blew it up with a fireball,” Ria added, looking delighted to have witnessed this. Keirine could only roll her eyes. Trust Eola to be a bit too fond of flashy Destruction magic – just like her father, honestly.

“Excuse me, but can I ask just what you're doing here?”

Keirine turned around to see the High Elf advancing, seeming relatively young by High Elf standards but that could easily make her anything up to three hundred.

“Well, we were here to take Jarl Korir's surrender and claim this Hold for the true High Queen and Jarl Madanach of Windhelm,” Keirine explained. “But it seems you're having a few problems of your own.”

“You're an invading army?” the High Elf asked with some amusement. Keirine just shrugged.

“From what we'd heard, there wasn't a lot left to invade. Seeing the place for myself's yet to convince me we were wrong. Not a lot here except your College.”

“Now that's true enough – the Great Collapse took most of the city with it,” the elf sighed ruefully. “The Jarls have distrusted us ever since. For our part we've mostly stayed out of politics, and we're keen for that to continue. Your business with the Jarl is your own. All we ask is you leave the College be. My name is Faralda, I'm the Destruction master there.”

“Keirine, First Matriarch of the Reach, sister to the new Jarl of Windhelm,” Keirine replied, hoping none of the wizards would realise what a Matriarch of the Forsworn usually was. “We were expecting resistance from the guards – we weren't expecting magical anomalies. Exactly how much magicka are you compressing inside that College and why?”

Faralda's face closed up as her hands went to her hips.

“That is College business, Matriarch Keirine. We're not at liberty to discuss it with outsiders.”

“We found a magical artefact in Saarthal ruins, and now the Thalmor Adviser's gone mad and is trying to use it somehow!” the Dunmer cried. “He already killed the Archmage with it, and now the thing's unstable! Please, you're from the Reach, they know about magic out there, please help!”

“Brelyna!” Faralda hissed, but then she glanced back at the College, saw the magic aura surrounding it and sighed, giving in.

“All right, I admit it, we're in trouble here. If you do know anything about magic, we'd be very grateful for your help.”

“Grateful enough to acknowledge me and mine as Winterhold's leaders?” Keirine couldn't help but ask. After all, if Madanach had legitimised his rule by appealing to Windhelm's lower classes, no sense why Keirine couldn't do the same here. The bulk of Winterhold's inhabitants were College mages after all.

“That's really not for me to say,” Faralda said hesitantly. “I'd need to speak to our Master Wizard, Mirabelle Ervine. But if you can help, I think she'd be willing to work with you.”

“Good enough,” Keirine nodded. “All right, Uraccen, round up the guards and post a watch. Eola, Aela, Ria, you're with me and I'll take ten of the soldiers with me, including my personal guards there. Let's go find the Jarl, shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jarl Korir was found in his Longhouse, remonstrating with a Dunmer while various Nords looked on, including a woman and a young boy who Keirine assumed were Korir's wife and son. That was either very good or very bad. On the one hand, men tended to be more inclined to listen to reason with their families at stake. On the other hand, it sometimes made them very unpredictable, and Keirine had a feeling Korir was going to be the latter.

“What do you mean, you don't know?” Korir roared at the hapless Dunmer. “I employ you to know what's going on at that place, and when all Oblivion breaks loose, you don't know??”

“Jarl Korir, sir, some of the research is necessarily kept under close wraps, I can't be expected to keep track of it all...” the Dunmer protested, before Korir hauled him off his feet, glaring at him.

“Then I suggest you get your backside up there and find out,” Korir snarled. “You find Archmage Aren and you ask him what he thinks he's playing at, inflicting these... things... on my city!”

“That might be a problem,” Keirine said smoothly, gliding forward, illusions masking the sound of claws clacking on the stone floor. “My sources tell me the Archmage is dead, killed by the same thing that unleashed those anomalies on your town. But don't worry. It's not your problem any more.”

“Who in Oblivion are you?” Korir growled, dropping the Dunmer and reaching for his sword, as did half the guards present. About twelve all told, some the Winterhold garrison but a couple were Stormcloaks and one was a Stormcloak general.

“Forgive me, I've not introduced myself, have I?” Keirine purred, mentally signalling for her two personal guards, Fionn and Donal, both Briarhearts and probably capable of dealing with half of this lot on their own, to move to flank her, ready to unleash bloody carnage if need be. “Matriarch Keirine, sister to the new Jarl of Windhelm and loyal servant of the true High Queen. Here to relieve you of your command.”

“What??” This was the Stormcloak general, interrupting proceedings. “What is this nonsense. Ulfric Stormcloak is Jarl of Windhelm and the true High King and Jarl Korir's given him a sworn oath of fealty!”

“That oath's forsworn then,” Odvan could be heard to remark. “And so are we! Heh, did you see what I did there, Duach.”

“Yeah, we heard, you're a right comedian, you are.”

Keirine hissed at both men and they fell silent, although she was sure Odvan was still smirking under his breath. Let him, as long as he kept his mouth shut, she didn't care.

“Clearly the news has yet to reach you,” Keirine sighed. “Jarl Ulfric is dead, felled in battle by Queen Elisif, and she has appointed my brother Madanach Jarl in his place in return for his assistance in breaking her out of unlawful imprisonment and lending his forces to her cause. So far we've taken Forts Amol and Kastav and the city of Windhelm itself. I have twice the number of warriors I have in this room outside garrisoning the town. The Stormcloak cause is dead, Nord. Unless you wish to follow it into Oblivion, I suggest you accept the inevitable and stand down. I'll allow you safe passage to Windhelm with your wife and son where Jarl Madanach will ensure you're well treated. I'll also spare your soldiers. Well, what is it to be?”

“Lies!” the Stormcloak roared. “Jarl Ulfric would never fall in battle to a slip of a girl like Elisif. And I'm not giving in to you witchmen! Victory or Sovngarde!” Drawing his battleaxe, he ran right for Keirine... only to be felled in his tracks by a paralysis spell from Eola.

“Nords. Always so binary in their thinking,” Eola sighed. “Well Auntie, what do you want done with him.”

“Depends what his kinsfolk are planning,” Keirine said calmly, not taking her eyes off Korir. “I'm sure Jarl Korir doesn't want his son to see him brutally killed now.”

Korir was staring back at Keirine, eyes filled with hate as they flicked over the troops with her, clearly recognising the headdresses, even if the rest of the uniform covered far more skin that it would back in the Reach.

“Jarl Elisif's thrown in her lot with the witchmen,” Korir said, eyes narrowed. “It doesn't surprise me, she's already in bed with the Empire and the witch-elves after all. Pah. Talos will rise again, witch, and he'll serve your kin like he did before. Like Ulfric did.”

Angry hiss around the Forsworn ranks and Keirine could feel her Briarhearts imploring with her to let them kill the insolent Nord, rip out his tongue then the rest of his limbs.

“Call to him all you want, he has not answered your kin's prayers in thirty years,” Keirine shrugged. “In the mean time, let me make it very simple for you. The College is currently undergoing what appears to be a magical meltdown and if it's neither stopped nor contained, your town will be next. The Archmage is dead, there may be others, and I foresee the need to immediately evacuate all the survivors here and feed and house them, not to mention treat any injured. Now you can either be stubborn, in which case we will simply take your Stormcloak general into custody and depart and leave you to deal with the crisis on your own, with no Stormcloak garrison at Kastav to help, no supplies coming from Windhelm, cut off from anywhere else that might help... or you can resign your Jarldom to me, accept my offer of safe passage out of here, and leave me to handle the College. Well?”

Korir stared viciously at her for a full minute, full of rage and hate... but he was no fool and even he saw the wisdom of just cutting and running, let someone else deal with Winterhold and all its problems, just put the whole mess behind him.

“Aye,” he sighed, and there was even the hint of something like relief in his eyes. “Get me as far away from this place as possible, away from those maniacs at the College. You witches can sort the place out if you're so fond of magic. Thaena, start packing everything up, we're leaving.”

“What?” Thaena gasped. “What do you mean, leaving? You're not just surrendering?”

“Woman, Ulfric is dead,” Korir snapped. “Oh, she could be lying, but why else would the damn Forsworn leave their precious Reach to come all the way out here? We've been expecting supplies for nearly a week that haven't arrived, and now we know why. And now the College is tearing itself apart from within? She wants this place so badly, she can have it. I'm finished with this godsforsaken town. Soldiers, stand down. You, you, you and you, get your things as well, you're escorting us. I trust that's acceptable?”

“Fine, saves me wondering what to do with them,” Keirine sighed. “Duach, go find Uraccen, tell him the Jarl's seen sense and we need an escort back to Windhelm arranging. With any luck the carriages will be here soon, we can use one of them. Odvan, take Fionn and Donal with you and escort this officer to the jail. You there, Dunmer, you work for the Jarl?”

“Yes ma'am,” the elf gasped. “Malur Seloth at your service, ma'am, happy to help any way I can.”

“Good, glad to hear it, show Odvan where the cells are. Rest of you, hand over your weapons, those of you not escorting the Jarl will also be in the brig until I work out what to do with you. Eola, you're with me. We need to get to the College and find out just how bad things are.”

“They might not be that pleased to see me again,” Eola said quietly. Keirine had heard her say how she'd been encouraged to leave after a ritual gone wrong, but from what Keirine had heard about the College, such things weren't uncommon.

“Don't worry, I'll talk them round,” Keirine promised. “Sounds like they're in dire straits and have other things to worry about than whatever you did five years ago. But I'll need all the magical assistance I can get, and you know more than an ordinary Forsworn warrior, don't you? You've studied and you've done things, I can tell. You're a very capable mage, aren't you?”

Eola grinned, only looking slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, I'm all right,” she smirked. Keirine could tell that wasn't the half of it.

“Come on,” she told her. “Let's go see exactly what these mages have done to themselves.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On getting closer, it became apparent that the College's central tower seemed to be the source of the magicka eruption, and Faralda was outside having an animated conversation with an elderly Nord. Another one? Keirine hadn't realised there'd be as many as two there. They were a minority though. Most of the small crowd standing around were elves of some sort.

“She called herself Matriarch?” the Nord was saying, frowning. “Are you sure that's what she said?”

“Positive. She said she was from the Reach, but her brother's the new Jarl of Windhelm,” Faralda explained. “She says she'll help if we pledge loyalty. I said we'd have to ask Mirabelle. Tolfdir, where is she?”

“Still inside,” Tolfdir said. “Onmund said she was injured in the blast that killed the Archmage.” His eyes flicked to the body of a dead Dunmer lying among the snowberry bushes, the Khajiit and Nord apprentices already preparing to pick it up and cart it away. The Archmage presumably. “So, this... Reachwoman and her friends helped save Winterhold?”

Faralda nodded, but it was the Dunmer Brelyna who noticed the new arrivals. “There she is!” the girl cried. As one, Tolfdir and Faralda looked up, Tolfdir's eyes narrowing.

“I... see,” he said slowly, looking her over. “Well now. It's not often we get a Matriarch of the Reach visit us. And...” His eyes fell on Eola and his entire face closed up. “I didn't think we'd see you back here.”

“Er. Hi Tolfdir,” Eola said, shuffling awkwardly. “I wasn't expecting to come back, but duty calls and all. We're really not here to bother you guys, we just wondered if you needed help...”

“You weren't supposed to come back here,” Faralda said coldly, not having noticed Eola before, due to her hiding behind the other Forsworn. “Not after what happened.”

Keirine quietly despaired of her niece, turning wearily to stare at her.

“Out with it. What exactly did you do? You said it was Dremora-summoning gone wrong and it killed the others but not you.”

“Yeah...” Eola sighed. “Only... it wasn't the experiment or even the deaths...”

“She was found cracking open a femur of one of her fellow apprentices,” Faralda said tersely. “We're all familiar with apprentices doing dangerous research and getting themselves killed but we're not putting up with cannibalism.”

Eola looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up, Aela was looking quite disgusted and Ria had cried out in horror. Whereas the Forsworn, who all held Lady Namira in the greatest respect even if they weren't full-time cultists, and weren't averse to consuming the flesh of their enemies in times of need, were just smirking amongst themselves.

Namira worshipper. Keirine had suspected something along those lines. Eola's abilities just seemed a bit too strong for a twenty five year old to have got on her own.

“Really, niece, what were you thinking?” Keirine sighed. “I told you repeatedly as a girl, the healing effects of cannibalism require either the Ring of Namira or the Blood of the Beast from Hircine, neither of which you possess. I am so very sorry, Master Tolfdir, it would appear my idiot of a niece was half-mad from the pain of her injuries and took some of our old folk-tales literally. What sort of compensation are we looking at to rectify this?”

As she spoke, the ground shook and the magicka levels intensified, all the mages present shivering.

“I think we all have bigger problems right now,” Tolfdir said, indicating the central tower. “We found an artefact called the Eye of Magnus and brought it back here. Only the Thalmor Adviser is doing... something with it. He's barred us from the Hall of the Elements entirely, the Archmage is dead and the Master Wizard's still trapped in there! As is our Librarian.”

“I tried to get him to come with me... but he wouldn't leave his books,” the white haired Dunmer added, shivering miserably in the cold.

“That sounds like him,” Eola whispered. “Poor man. I hope he's alright.”

Keirine stared at the Hall of the Elements, feeling the magicka levels rising and knowing she needed to get that tower evacuated and a containment field up. It'd take some doing, but she had enough skilled Forsworn at her disposal to keep one active, if they worked shifts. She mentally signalled back to Donal to get Uraccen to send four more soldiers up here, and she imagined some of the mages might help too. But first things first, evacuating the Hall.

“I can help,” Keirine said. “That barrier's strong but also not very stable. I think I can get through it, but it'll probably create a few new anomalies when I try. Fall back to the other towers, and be prepared to fall back to the town if you have to. Eola, with me. Take the two Companions there, bring the Librarian out by force if you have to.”

“All right. What are you going to do?” Eola asked, looking concerned for her. As if Keirine had not had to contain magical experiments gone wrong before, although admittedly nothing on this scale.

“I have a ritual to stop and a Master Wizard to find,” Keirine said, mentally preparing herself. “Wish me luck. I'll likely need it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The barrier, as predicted, was easier to manipulate than it looked, and some thunderbolts from her and Eola were able to blast a hole in it – albeit one that released three new anomalies. Most of the College Mages had retreated to the Hall of Countenance, but Faralda, Tolfdir and that Khajiit apprentice all went for the anomalies without even thinking, and once one apprentice had started in on the fight, the other two joined him. Leaving Keirine free to lead the way inside.

Eola ran upstairs to find this Librarian, while Keirine proceeded into the Hall of the Elements, catching her breath as she saw this thing they'd found. The Eye of Magnus they'd called it. She didn't know about that, but it was clearly ancient... and spewing magicka straight from the Void itself.

Keirine could barely take her eyes off it. The power was like nothing she'd ever felt, virtually throbbing with magicka, and she could barely even begin to comprehend the possibilities. This thing could take an entire lifetime to study, even for a Hag... but the gains for the Reach would be immense. If you could channel this thing's power into an entire army somehow... or into the Reach's healers... they need never fear the Nords again. Forget negotiating with the Empire, reliant on the Dragon-Queen's generosity, with this, the Reach could declare independence and seal off the rest of the world. They'd be safe, free, forever...

Except her brother would likely miss Elisif, and it shouldn't bother Keirine any more, it really shouldn't... but the image of her heartbroken, lonely brother, all by himself in Understone Keep, missing the Dragonborn and drowning his sorrows had a way of tugging at emotions she should have left behind long ago. Damn it.

I suppose we could keep the border open a little...

But first she needed to claim said Eye of Magnus for the Reach, and right now she could feel it screaming as the College's Thalmor Adviser channelled its power for himself.

“Ancano, let it go!” a Breton woman cried, just about holding herself upright, leaning against a pillar, robes torn and magicka burns on her arms. “This has gone too far, you need to stop this!”

“And who's going to stop me? You?” Ancano sneered. “Your precious Archmage is likely already dead, those children have fled and you've not got the power left to challenge me! And they call you the Master Wizard! We'll see who the true Master is!”

“Not you, Thalmor,” Keirine said quietly, hate curling in her stomach as she recognised the name. Ancano and Estormo, two Thalmor agents who'd visited her brother, pretended friendship, warned him of the coming war with the Empire and told the Reach's single most powerful chieftain, the King in the making, that if he could take the Reach, they'd regard him as a loyal ally when the Empire finally fell. The ones who'd set him on the road to Cidhna Mine.

“And who are you, hmm?” Ancano sneered. “Some foolish old hag thinking she's the equal of one of the master race?”

“Oh, I don't think you're my equal,” Keirine said sweetly. “Hand over the Eye, Ancano.”

“No,” Ancano spat, and the Eye began to break apart, sides moving as light spewed out and magicka filled the room, the floor started to shake and Ancano broke off, lightning in his hands.

Keirine recast her armour and advanced, ward on one claw, fire on the other, conscious of the fact her illusions wouldn't hold up that much longer. She was aware of Mirabelle moving, staggering to join her despite the danger.

“This isn't your fight – I can hold him off long enough for you to get out of here,” Mirabelle gasped.

“I don't think so, you can barely stand up,” Keirine growled, signalling frantically to Fionn get his backside down here. He was on his way, Urag gro Shub's paralysed form over his shoulder as he sprinted outside and dumped the Orc unceremoniously in the snow as Eola and the others ran out with sacks of books over their backs, only a fragment of the Arcanaeum's supply but hopefully some of the more valuable arcane volumes among them. Eola's would be anyway, although gods knew what those Companions would have picked up.

“I am Master Wizard, I will not let him destroy this College,” Mirabelle growled, stubborn to the last it seemed. And here was Keirine thinking it was just Nords and her brother did this sort of thing.

“I'd like to see you stop me!” Ancano snarled, unleashing lightning... and the raw power of the Eye of Magnus along with it. No ward was going to block that torrent of magic... but Keirine's true specialty wasn't Restoration, or even Destruction. It was Conjuration, the ability to summon wild beasts from halfway across Skyrim to defend her, the ability to enthral corpses to serve her... and the ability to open portals straight into Oblivion itself.

She opened one just as the magicka poured at her, and the Void before her swallowed it down.

“What... what did you do?” Ancano cried, trying to dodge around it.

“What did you do?” Mirabelle gasped.

“It's a portal,” Keirine admitted. “One-sided one, straight into Oblivion, will absorb the magicka...” A black tentacle shot out of the portal at the source of the unwanted magicka and wrapped itself around Ancano, who swore and began lashing at it with fire.

“Let's go,” Keirine said, knowing a cue to leave when she saw it. That portal wouldn't stay open for long. Mirabelle nodded and clutched at Keirine's arm, staggering after her and there was Fionn at last with Eola behind him... Eola?

“You should be outside!” Keirine hissed at her niece, as Fionn scooped up Mirabelle and sprinted out with her.

“I'm not leaving you behind, Da would kill me!” Eola gasped. “You're the only one who really knows how those portals work – is that a Justiciar being assaulted by a tentacle?”

“Yes,” Keirine said, not wishing to dwell on this any longer. “I'll explain later, right now we need to move!”

“I swear I've read porn that ended up like that,” Eola said softly, making Keirine wonder just what the girl had been doing all this time. Completely unsuitable things, clearly. Keirine approved.

“If you wish to live to read more of it, start running,” Keirine said, shifting into her raven form for speed.

Keirine swooped through the air, wingbeats carrying her out of the doorway, and Eola wasted no time fleeing, staggering out into the snow as two of the Forsworn slammed the doors behind her and began casting magical seals on it. Two more on the roof stationed either side of the Hall of the Elements began casting their own warding spells.

Keirine settled on Eola's shoulder, knowing the illusions would be gone if she changed back now, and having no desire to have the whole Hagraven conversation with any of them. Mirabelle was sitting on the ground outside the Hall of Countenance, being tended to by the Restoration mistress, who Keirine would later find out was called Colette Marence.

“Now who says Restoration isn't a proper school of magic,” Colette was saying, sounding rather smug as she healed Mirabelle's wounds.

“I don't recall ever having said that,” Mirabelle said, wincing. “I'm just glad I'm alive. That mage who helped me, did she make it?”

“She's fine,” Eola said, risking a glance at the raven perched on her shoulder. “She's just retreated to rest for a bit. What about you, are you all right?”

“I'm fine, I-” Mirabelle's eyes hardened as she recognised Eola. “What in Oblivion are you doing here?”

“Mirabelle,” Tolfdir said quietly. “Her aunt is that mage who rescued you, she's in charge of all these people. They say they can help if we recognise them as in charge of Winterhold.”

Mirabelle's suspicion didn't ease in the slightest as she stared around, recognising the armour.

“All right, why are the Forsworn here? What have you done with Jarl Korir? I can't say I ever liked the man, but I don't think he deserves you people slaughtering him.”

“He's fine,” Eola sighed. “He saw sense, surrendered, we're taking him back to Windhelm. He won't be harmed. Most of the town guard are in the brig, we're not going to harm them either. If you guys are willing not to interfere, we can help with your little Eye of Magnus problem.”

Mirabelle shivered and glanced up at the Hall of the Elements, knowing in her heart she had bigger problems than the Forsworn taking the town over.

“I can see there's a story behind this,” Mirabelle sighed. “All right, Eola, if you and your friends can help us, I'll let the past stay that way. The College is above politics... but we need help. Come inside and I'll tell you everything we know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

The story turned out to be a short one in the end. It was all the Khajiit's fault. The Nord apprentice, Onmund, had been sent to help round up enchanted items found in the ruins of Saarthal, that the College had been investigating. Of course, J'zargo the Khajiit had got bored of his assigned task and gone to 'help' Onmund instead, and they'd ended up grabbing an amulet off the wall and fighting over it... before realising the way behind them had sealed up. The only way out had involved J'zargo wearing the amulet and blasting the part of the wall it had been attached to with fire, which had opened up a sealed off passageway. This was where the Eye of Magnus had been hiding.

Keirine had returned by this point, looking as human as she ever got, thumbed through Night of Tears (one of the volumes rescued from the Arcanaeum – Eola had managed to salvage some of the more useful volumes, much to Urag's delight) and listened as the three apprentices described seeing visions of the Psijic monks, talking to the Augur of Dunlain, a mysterious spirit entity living underneath the College, and being told they had to find the Staff of Magnus. They'd just returned from a trip to the Dwemer ruins of Mzulft where they'd been told it might be. The Staff itself wasn't there, but they'd found out where it was.

“It's in Labyrinthian!” Brelyna finished. “The staff's in Labyrinthian. So we need to go there and find it and then maybe we can stop this!” She looked around hopefully, face only falling a little as she saw the dubious looks on everyone else's.

“Where's Labyrinthian,” Keirine said quietly to Eola. Eola wasn't entirely sure herself, but she only knew one labyrinth in all Skyrim... and time spent reading the books on the Dragon Cult in Esbern's library had not been wasted either.

“It's an old Nord ruin,” Eola said quietly. “Used to be a big city once. I think it was the Dragon Cult's capital, they called it Bromjunaar. It's out west, in the Skyborns.”

“The Dragon Cult's capital?? That sounds dangerous, niece,” Keirine murmured. “You should go with them.”

Eola really couldn't work out how her aunt's mind worked sometimes. “It's incredibly dangerous, therefore you think I should go?” Eola asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really are the polar opposite of Da sometimes, aren't you?”

“Tsss, he mollycoddles you. I don't believe in sheltering the capable, and you are certainly that. Besides, it looks like those three children are volunteering, as is young Ria. They will need someone to look after them. Take young Odvan as well, he's forever feeling insecure about having grown up in the city and never really having lived as a proper Forsworn warrior. Maybe this will stop his incessant whining.”

Eola laughed and agreed. If it knocked the chip off Odvan's shoulder over barely having lived on a camp and never really having gone on proper raids, it was fine by her.

“Labyrinthian?” Mirabelle was asking Brelyna. “Are you sure the staff is there?”

“Positive,” J'zargo cut in. “The Synod mage was most distressed at us spoiling his results but he was sure the staff was at Labyrinthian. J'zargo doesn't think he knew a lot else but he did know that.”

“Then I think Savos meant this for you,” Mirabelle said, producing an old torc and an amulet. “They're to do with Labyrinthian, and Savos said I'd know what to do when the time came. He wouldn't say why or how he knew this, but I got the feeling there was something desperately personal about it for him.”

“Then we'll be sure to do him proud,” Brelyna promised, taking the torc and amulet. Savos's death was known to all by now, and while Mirabelle was holding up for the time being, it was clear to all that she was still weak and would likely mourn Savos profusely once the adrenaline and shock wore off.

“I hope so,” Mirabelle sighed. Then she turned to Keirine, brief moment of sentimentality over. “All right, do you think you can contain this until they get back?”

“Yes,” Keirine nodded. “But they must hurry, we can keep this up for a week at most, and I'm sure we'll have to abandon the College within three days and focus on protecting Winterhold instead. The good news is I can get supplies and reinforcements on the way and here within two.” By signalling to her third Briarheart back in Windhelm, and creating a landing point just outside Winterhold, but she didn't tell Mirabelle that. It would not be wise to discuss such things in front of wizards, they had a nasty habit of asking questions and trying to find out how it worked, and Keirine didn't want to have to explain that Forsworn communications were based on her quite literally having the hearts and minds of some of their best soldiers in her grip. “I'm sending Eola and Odvan as well, and I see Ria also wishes to help. Good, I don't know what you'll find there but the staff will be guarded, and with the dragons returning, all the old Nord ruins are having their Draugr getting restless.”

“Tell me about it,” Eola muttered. Keirine wondered at that but did not say anything. Evidently Eola had had to accompany the Dragonborn down a few of them before now.

The apprentices looked a bit dubious, but Mirabelle agreed that the more the better. And so the expedition was decided and planned for – three College apprentices, two Forsworn and a Companion, all ready to go find a Staff of Magnus.

And if Keirine surveyed the little group and quietly wondered which ones would actually return, she said nothing. Just because Eola was the only one with any real power, and the other five were all inexperienced fighters didn't mean they'd all die. All the same, Keirine worried.

Notes:

Next chapter, six go to Labyrinthian... but will six come back? It'll probably be up fairly soon, I imagine, likely in the next day or so.

Chapter 39

Summary:

Six go to Labyrinthian, following in the footsteps of a former Archmage. That visit ended in tragedy. Will this trip share the same fate? With the fate of Winterhold, the College and the world hanging in the balance, three College apprentices, one Forsworn warrior, a Companion and a Daedra-worshipping Reach-Princess have their hands full just trying to survive.

Notes:

Second half of Winterhold! Who here remembers Labyrinthian as an enormous pain in the arse to play? Everyone? Everyone. I feel I should warn you that not all of the six are going to survive the experience - the place is a tough one.

Eight hours on the road now, and Eola was starting to wonder about her companions. Ria was still a bit nervous around her after finding out about the whole cannibalism incident, but also seemed to believe Eola had been in pain and desperate enough to try a few old Reach legends. Still, she wasn't staying as close to Eola as she'd once done, preferring to chat with Brelyna and Onmund instead.

Eola didn't lack for company though. Odvan was shadowing her, and she didn't think it was entirely because he didn't want to have to explain to Madanach and Keirine that he'd let her die either.

“So, you and Cicero then,” Odvan said, getting right to the point as they picked their way across the icefields, having had to leave the beach and go inland to avoid Dawnstar. Eola really didn't want to cause any trouble with the locals, not until she had official confirmation the Legion held the town and that they weren't going to be pressing charges against Skald the Elder's murderers.

“What about him?” Eola said tersely.

“You're a serious couple then. I mean, I know you're not engaged or anything, but you seemed close when I saw you together.”

She knew it. Madanach had impulsively declared all those who'd survived Cidhna Mine with him as his sworn brothers, claiming every man in there deserved the honour. Including Odvan, barely twenty-two years old and not exactly an experienced fighter like the others. Odvan who was desperate to make a name for himself somehow. Odvan who apparently had decided to go after the boss's daughter.

“We are,” Eola said shortly, not wishing to discuss Cicero with, well, anyone. He was hers, hers to look after and protect and kill things with. All hers, and he loved her in spite of her messed-up family history. Namira knew his wasn't a lot better.

“Right, right.” Silence for a bit then Odvan couldn't help but blurt out the next sentence.

“Why him? I mean, he's older than you and he's completely mad and... and doesn't any of that bother you??”

“Should it?” Eola asked, one eyebrow raised. She liked Odvan, she really did... but it was clear he'd never killed anyone before. Turned out that alone of the Cidhna Mine veterans, he'd never had Skooma either. Eola suspected neither of those things were a coincidence. It was very strange to think of the Cidhna Mine crew collectively deciding they were going to look out for and protect the baby of the family, but it appears they'd done it. Not that Odvan was at all grateful to be spared trauma and nightmares and Skooma withdrawal either.

“Well... I mean...” Odvan stammered. “I mean, you're really pretty even with the eye, and... old gods, Eola, wouldn't you rather have someone normal?”

Like you, you mean. But Eola wasn't wantonly sadistic, and didn't feel like kicking a puppy today.

“No,” Eola said, shrugging. “I have Cicero. He's sweet and gentle and kind and he loves me. Even if he is a little eccentric. Also he stabs people for a living. You might wish to remember that when talking about him.”

Odvan shivered a bit but wasn't to be deterred.

“You're not worried he'll turn on you? Madanach won't live forever.”

“No, but Keirine will be around for centuries,” Eola said wearily, and really, everyone knew the First Matriarch's attitude towards rapists by now. The grisly punishments were legendary – on the other hand you could always tell a Deepwood man. They were spectacularly well-behaved around women. “I'm really not worried. Listen, I think I know where you're going with this, and Odvan, you're a sweetie, you really are... but wouldn't you be better off going for Kaie? She's actually single.”

Subdued muttering from Odvan which Eola barely heard but it sounded a bit like “mscaredokaie”.

“Didn't quite catch that, Odvan,” Eola said sweetly. Odvan went scarlet but did raise his voice.

“I said, I'm scared of Kaie!” Odvan cried. He stared at her for a few moments, blush deepening as he realised what he'd just said, and then he decided he could hardly make a worse fool of himself than he had already.

“Oh Sithis, look, she's terrifying. She's killed hundreds of people, and she barks orders like she's half Hag already, and she's got Madanach's eyes and a bit of his temper, and dear gods, Eola, she's one of the most frightening people I ever met. But you're different. You're kind. You dote on Cicero and Madanach and you give money to beggars and you don't shout, ever, and you've got a nice smile and...” Odvan trailed off, clearly aware he'd perhaps gone a bit too far.

Eola shook her head, wondering how he'd misjudged her quite so completely, not to mention Kaie. Her sister might be brusque and commanding on the outside, but she had a softer side too. Whereas Eola... well. Yes, she cared very much about the plight of those less fortunate, and she tended to Cicero because the poor lonely love-starved little thing needed it, and she tended to her father for... similar reasons actually. Reunited after twenty years, and while he was still the commanding presence she remembered, she didn't think he'd ever been quite so vulnerable back then either. Of course she worried.

But none of that meant she was a good person.

“You're not afraid of me,” Eola said, wondering at Odvan's blindness to what she really was. Odvan shook his head, not entirely convincingly. Eola just sighed, leaning closer and patting his cheek.

“Oh sweetie,” Eola sighed, before dropping all pretence at charm and letting the predator within show itself. “You should be!”

Cicero would have liked that. Cicero's eyes would have lit up, his grin widening as he reached out for her. Cicero liked his lovers dangerous.

Odvan clearly didn't, because a little whimper escaped his throat, and then he mumbled something incoherent and slunk off to lick his wounds. Eola breathed a sigh of relief. Honestly, how could someone look at her and Kaie and conclude Kaie was the one who was half-Hag already?

“Your fellow Forsworn fears you.”

No mistaking that voice. J'zargo had crept up on her without making a sound, grinning from beneath the hood of his College robes.

“He's right to, cat,” Eola said, turning to face the Khajiit. From the sounds of it, he and his two friends had already survived one Nord ruin, one Dwemer ruin and a fort full of necromancers, and J'zargo in particular was supremely confident about his abilities. “If you knew me better, you'd do the same.”

“Hah! This one likes your spirit,” J'zargo laughed. “You are brave. This is good. J'zargo needs mages who can keep up with him. The other two are good but it is not them pulling J'zargo's fur out of the fire when trouble strikes, no.”

The third-person language reminded her of Cicero, and Eola felt her heart ache a bit for him, all alone in Riften with just Karliah for company and while Karliah was gentle and sweet and would keep an eye on him, she didn't understand Cicero, not like Eola did. She hoped Cicero was all right.

“You doubt Brelyna and Onmund's abilities?” Eola asked, guessing that J'zargo rarely doubted anything – he was convinced he was a great mage in the making and that everyone else was far, far behind him.

“Oh no,” J'zargo purred. “J'zargo knows he is far better than them and that neither would have made it this far without him. Onmund has a tendency to go running full-tilt into battle and just blast things out of the way with fire, and Brelyna cowers in terror and lets her Atronachs do the fighting instead. J'zargo is the one with the brain.”

“And the ego,” Eola smirked. Despite Namira's teachings that all were equal in her eyes and all would succumb to decay in the end, and it was wrong to claim innate superiority over one's fellow human beings, she was finding herself developing a fondness for J'zargo. He was as he was, no pretensions and he sincerely believed what he was saying. She could respect that.

“Hah! Ego? J'zargo merely is sure of his talents, that is all. And there is much for J'zargo to be sure of.” J'zargo tilted his head, curious. “The boy Odvan was trying to court you and you turned him down. He mentioned another, a Cicero. Is he a mage too?”

“No,” Eola admitted. “But he says with me around he doesn't need to be. He's more of a rogue-type. Likes to stalk his prey and strike before they realise he's there.”

“A hunter then,” J'zargo mused. “He would fit in well with other Khajiit. Obviously he cannot be as charming and handsome as J'zargo, but he must be possessed of some, yes?”

“I think he's adorable,” Eola said, smiling. Looks weren't supposed to be the be all and end all either – outer beauty was transient but one's inner values lasted forever – but even so Eola could still appreciate a handsome man in her bed... and Cicero was handsome.

“And he does not mind that his lover is a powerful mage in her own right?” J'zargo asked. Eola shook her head.

“Not at all. He likes watching Destruction magic in use, and he says strong partners make him feel loved and protected. He's not terribly competitive or anything.”

“Good,” J'zargo purred. “It is always easier when the rest of the world accepts it cannot help but lose, although a lot less fun. But you are different, hmm? You are strong and know it. J'zargo saw your aunt, saw she is a powerful mage indeed. Maybe she is training you to follow in her footsteps, hmm?”

“I didn't get my training from my aunt, but it's possible she might teach me a few things,” Eola said, not willing to disclose Lady Namira's gifts. “Why, did you want to join up? She only teaches women, you know. You'd have to live as one to join her coven.”

J'zargo shrugged. “Some sacrifices have to be made for power. J'zargo is dashing and attractive to men and women alike, no matter what pronouns he uses. No, J'zargo merely wished to find out if you were as strong as he thought. J'zargo is tired of being the only competent one in the party.”

Eola raised both eyebrows, but really she shouldn't be surprised at this point. She supposed it was a compliment to her abilities.

“I consider myself competent,” she told him. “As you will see when we get there.”

“Hah! J'zargo likes you, Eola the Forsworn,” J'zargo laughed. “Very well. We will see whose skills are the best. To Labyrinthian then.”

“To Labyrinthian,” Eola promised. Namira prized humility and not partaking in futile, ego-boosting competitions... but by the old gods, there was something about proving herself in front of J'zargo that appealed. And prove herself she would.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Labyrinthian was huge, a vast, snow-bound ruined city easily the size of Windhelm or Markarth, set in and dominating one of the main passes over the Skyborn mountains, linking the marsh with the tundra. It must have been a powerful settlement in its time. Not any more though. Now it was deserted.

Apart from the trolls. Two of them came shambling down to greet them as they climbed the outer ramparts and entered the city proper.

Ria drew her sword and ran screaming at one. Odvan braced himself to face the other, Forsworn swords ready, mage armour cast, but Eola had a horrible feeling he wasn't going to last up against a frost troll. Fire. You needed fire to fight a troll, especially frost trolls.

One fireball later and the troll was staggering back. Then some firebolts from J'zargo, who'd decided Ria and Onmund were doing just fine with the other one with Brelyna's Atronach in support. Between the two of them, J'zargo and Eola sent the troll's corpse flying, much to Odvan's displeasure.

“Hey, that was my kill!” Odvan protested.

“Well, if you'd actually killed it, I wouldn't have needed to get involved, would I?” Eola sighed, rolling her eyes and exchanging pained looks with J'zargo. “Come on, harvest some fat off that thing and let's be moving.”

Ria was pulling her own sword out of the other troll and carving off sufficient fat to fetch a good price from any alchemist, and soon the six of them were moving on. Mirabelle had mentioned a vast underground complex... and they soon found the entrance. Not many places with six ghostly mages haunting it after all. Mostly elves, one Argonian, a Nord, that one might be a Redguard... and one of them turned out to be a young Savos Aren.

None of the ghosts seemed to notice they were even there.

“Just a memory, replaying itself,” Brelyna said softly. “Looks like the Archmage came here with his friends as a young man. I wonder what happened.”

“Well, he survived at least,” Onmund said, shrugging. “Shall we get inside?”

Everyone agreed with that, and Brelyna produced the torc, opening the door and unsealing the entrance.

The first chamber was huge and mostly empty apart from the telekinesis spell tome on the table that Eola swiftly commandeered before J'zargo could get to it. Then another memory of the six ghostly mages.

“We're six College-trained mages!” one of the ghosts laughed. “What could possibly be in there that we can't handle?”

Famous last words, but Eola steeled herself anyway. She'd survived worse, right? Skuldafn for a start, and she took the precaution of putting on her ebony dragon priest mask for extra protection and magicka. She could do this.

All the same, she missed Cicero.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first death happened in the very next chamber. Eola led the way, J'zargo right behind her... and then the entry gate slammed shut between J'zargo and Brelyna and the Khajiit and Reachwoman were on their own.

“J'zargo!” Brelyna cried. “J'zargo, is there a lever on that side?”

“What's going on there?” Ria called from the back. “I can't see anything!”

“It's fine, there's a catch this side, hold on – by the Void, what's that?” Eola gasped, as the dragon mound in the central hall exploded and a skeletal undead dragon burst out of it, accompanied by at least five skeletal archers and mages.

“Fuck,” Eola swore, casting her armour. “Look, just get the gate open, J'zargo and I will deal with this.”

Eola ran off to the right, blasting fireballs at two of the skeletons and guessing the dragon could only fight one of them at once. And she was right. It went straight for J'zargo.

“Hah! Think you can fight J'zargo, can you?” J'zargo laughed, producing a scroll from his pocket. “You thought wrong, dragon.” He recited the incantation on the scroll, just as Brelyna screamed “J'ZARGO NO, YOU KNOW THOSE DON'T WORK!”

The fiery explosion ripped through the cavern, Brelyna throwing up a ward to protect the rest of them behind the gate, and Eola managing to take refuge behind a pillar just in time. Skeletons fell to the ground, bones bouncing everywhere, and there was one archer left who'd somehow escaped the blast but a firebolt from Eola took care of that.

The flames died down and the gate rattled open, Brelyna rushing out and keeping the gate open, pulling the lever as the other three raced out. Unbelievably the dragon had survived... but Ria seemed to have no sense of fear whatsoever and charged it down, Onmund and Odvan's magic in support.

The dragon died, and then Eola rushed out to see what had happened to the Khajiit.

She found him cradled in Brelyna's arms, the Dunmer weeping over his charred remains.

“Stupid cat. Stupid, stupid cat,” Brelyna sobbed. “Onmund and I tested those scrolls, we all told him they exploded on use, he said he'd destroy the rest, I didn't know he still had some!”

“We can't leave him here,” Onmund whispered, staring at J'zargo's remains. “We need to bury him or take him with us somehow!”

“He's already been cremated,” Odvan remarked and that nearly led to a fight, but fortunately Ria intervened to stop Onmund doing anything and Eola successfully restrained Odvan.

“We don't have a choice,” Eola decided, needing to get away from the smell of fried Khajiit right now, and Namira but she was hungry! Too long since her last proper meal. “Look, we have a mission, and we can't abandon it, and I'm not dragging a corpse all the way through here. We'll have to leave him here – don't worry, I'll tell Auntie Keirine and Da and Elisif, they'll send people to get him. Come on, we need to move.”

Mutinous glares from Brelyna and Onmund, but they agreed eventually. It was their College at the centre of the threat after all. And so they went on, Onmund stopping to retrieve J'zargo's amulet, some magicka-booster they'd found in Saarthal apparently, to see what else Labyrinthian had in store. On through ghostly memories and spell-sealed doors and Draugr-infested caves, disembodied voices chanting in Dovah and draining magicka out of them, getting split up at one point, with Brelyna and Ria taking one route, Odvan and Onmund another and Eola getting knocked off a passageway and landing in the water beneath, fending for herself for bit. But luckily, the passages all seemed to lead to the same place eventually, and five reunited for the next bit.

It was all going well until the Wispmother showed up.

“Don't go for the wisps, go for Ma!” Eola cried, dodging the wisps as she went for the mother, and Odvan at least heard her, joining her and sending flames at the thing. Then Onmund in support, sending lightning from a distance, and Ria was dragging Brelyna away towards the next door – which unluckily turned out to be spell-sealed as well, a frost warrior stepping out to fight them.

“Princess, go, go help them, Onmund and I have this,” Odvan growled, switching to his swords. “She's on her knees, I can tell.”

How he could tell any such thing was beyond Eola, but she did accept the need to have a clear line of retreat, so she ran to help Brelyna and Ria – only to see Brelyna's Atronach burning the frost warrior while Ria decapitated it. That was that sorted then.

She turned back to the Wispmother just in time to see three shades split off from it, Odvan lashing out at two of them while Onmund retreated and sent lightning at the Wispmother, and Eola knew they were in trouble. Beckoning Ria to help, she ran forward, fire at the ready, just in time to see the Wispmother snatch up Odvan, who'd been standing far too close to it, grab him by the head and twisting.

Odvan's neck broke with a horrific crunch, and Odvan's lifeless form fell to the floor.

“NO!” Eola howled, instinct and rage taking over as she sent a fireball at the Wispmother, then another, Onmund beside her now, Chain Lightning lashing through shades, wisps and mother both now Odvan wasn't in the way, and Ria reaching for a bow rather than get any closer.

It was one of Eola's fireballs finally killed it and then she ran to Odvan's side, tears in her eyes as she held his body. Namira no, he'd just been a boy really, and a sweet one too. He had his whole life ahead of him and now this.

She laid him out to rest, squeezing his hand and mentally committing him to Namira's embrace. She should never have brought him along.

“Are you all right?” Ria whispered, kneeling alongside her. Eola nodded, feeling a bit too numb to say anything else.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Not like I knew him well or anything. But he's got kin – oh gods, he's Bothela's grandson, that family's huge. They're gonna be torn up.”

She got up, drying her eyes. “Come on. Just one more corpse to fetch, right?”

She heard muttered whispers exchanged between the other three but hardened her heart. Not like it was Kaie or Da or Cicero lying cold on the ground, was it?

~~~~~~~~~~

The spectral Draugr were a new development, but Ria at least squealed over the weaponry and helped herself to all of it.

The gem-trapped passage could have been lethal, but a fireball from Eola knocked the three gems at the end from their pedestals, and as for the others, wards, Brelyna's fire resistance and Ria's heavy armour kept them safe. It was healing potions all round after though.

It was all going so well until they ran into the Deathlord.

Eola opted for ranged Destruction attacks, Onmund likewise, while Ria, brave, impulsive Ria, opted to actually trade blows with it.

Then Brelyna made the fundamental mistake of raising the corpse of the Deathlord's dog.

Howling in outrage at its beloved pet being reanimated, the Deathlord bore straight down on Brelyna, who lost her mind completely and fled into the next corridor... which had several Draugr Scourges awaiting her.

“Brel, no!” Onmund cried as he heard her terrified screams, running to help out and leaving Eola and Ria to sort the Deathlord out.

Ria had resorted to a spectral battleaxe and while it wasn't pretty, it worked, and the Deathlord crumpled to the ground. But there was no time to enjoy the victory. Onmund's magic was still lashing out in the next corridor, and although Brelyna was no longer screaming, Eola wasn't sure that was a good thing.

With Eola and Ria there to help, the remaining Draugr succumbed, and Eola looked around for Brelyna.

She was slumped in a corner, covered in ice crystals, eyes unmoving, a victim of Draugr ice magic. Onmund knelt beside her, cradling her in his arms, silent tears running down his cheeks.

“Onmund?” Eola said quietly, kneeling beside him. “Are you all right?”

Onmund shook his head. “Of course not!” he cried. “They were my friends, both of them, and even though I wanted to hit J'zargo most of the time, he and Brelyna were still there for me! We studied together, hung out together, shared drinks, J'zargo and I kept Brelyna warm when she got cold at night, we survived Mzulft together and for what, this? So I can be the last one left standing, and have my family tell me it's my own fault for not dying first? Nords don't respect the survivors. You're meant to die gloriously.”

“I don't think Brelyna would have wanted you to die as well,” Ria said gently, and Eola was damn sure that if J'zargo could have traded destinies with Onmund, he would.

“Rather me than her,” Onmund said quietly, laying her down and getting up, drying his eyes. “Listen, Ria, you're a Companion, right? Even if you're not a Nord, my family will respect you, and you can take a Nord Companion as well if you like. My family, they're farmers, from Ivarstead down in the Rift, on the shores of Lake Geir. My parents are Jofthor and Boti of Fellstar Farm, my little sister Fastred lives there too. If anything happens to me... will you tell them I died bravely? That I'm in Sovngarde? Eight know Pa will have to respect me for that if nothing else. Also the amulet in my pocket? Give it back to them, it's a family heirloom.”

He sounded bitterly unhappy, and Ria laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You aren't going to die down here, Onmund,” Ria said quietly. Onmund just smiled sadly but didn't respond. Eola made a note to keep an eye on him. He'd just lost all his friends, his new family to make up for the one that disapproved of him running off to learn magic. She wasn't sure what he'd do in this state.

He stopped to retrieve the circlet and amulet Brelyna had been wearing, and the shock magic staff she'd been carrying too, equipping them all and following after, remaining far too quiet for Eola's liking, but at least he wasn't crying.

Not a lot more after that, a few more corridors and then a vast cavern with fort ramparts in the distance. High up on them were three balls of magical energy, two seeming linked to the other – and someone trapped inside each.

“This one's got a dragon priest in it,” Eola breathed. “You can tell from the mask.”

“Like yours,” Onmund noted. “You've fought one before.”

“Yeah. They're tough to kill but I had my aunt, brother and Elisif with me then,” Eola said. Not to mention Nahkriin had been injured from the portal. This one was probably intact... and conscious from the look of it. Namira, had this been the one speaking to her all this time? And to make matters worse, it had the Staff.

“So we have to release and kill it,” Ria said, hefting her spectral sword. “By sorting out those two magical things up there?”

“People,” Onmund said shortly. “Enthralled spirits enslaved after death to keep that thing sealed away where it belongs.”

“Well, their servitude's at an end,” Eola sighed. “We need that staff. Ria, come on, give me a hand.”

Onmund looked pale at the though of having anything to do with this, preferring to wait at the bottom of the steps leading up to the thralls, so Ria took the lowest and Eola the highest.

The thralls died quickly, and the Dragon Priest was free.

It could summon Storm Atronachs. It knew some impressive Destruction spells. Most crucially of all, it had the Staff of Magnus and could drain the magicka and the life out of the unwary, and who knew what that mask did.

None of that seemed to matter to Onmund, who took one look at the thing whose minions had killed his friends and ran towards it, shouting “Victory or Sovngarde!” with lightning in his hands.

“What's he doing??” Ria cried.

“What do you think?” Eola snapped back. “Being a Nord!”

Doing what Elisif in her misery had been poised to before Madanach and the Blades had interfered. Throwing his life away in a pointless fight he couldn't win rather than deal with his own grief.

Onmund's magic was strong... but the Dragon Priest was stronger, and Onmund was facing him on a narrow walkway, preventing Ria getting past him to get to the Priest close up. So she resorted to archery while Eola sent fire and lightning at the Dragon Priest.

It wasn't enough to save Onmund. The Staff of Magnus and all the shock magic sucked the power right out of him, and then the life as well. Onmund sank to his knees and then collapsed to the ground, sliding off the walkway to hit the ground with an awful thud, body unmoving.

“You bastard!!” Ria howled, bow raised as she ran after the Dragon Priest, sending arrow after arrow, then switching to sword and shield as she closed down the priest... and the magicka drain didn't bother her. Ria's sword slashed into it, and more importantly, it kept the thing distracted as fire from Eola smacked into it, and though it had Ria on her knees in the end, the priest was also suffering. One thunderbolt from Eola finally finished it off.

Ria had enough strength left to crawl over to the ash pile and start ruffling through it, retrieving the Staff and the mask and giving both to Eola.

“I think you can use these more than me,” Ria said quietly. Eola ran healing magic over her first then helped her up, accepting staff and mask.

“Well, we found it,” Eola said, trying to force a smile. “Go us, eh?”

“Four people died, Eola!” Ria cried. “They had families, Brelyna's related to half of House Telvanni in Morrowind, Odvan's apparently got kin all over the Reach, and Onmund's parents never wanted him to leave home in the first place! Don't know if J'zargo had any left but he didn't deserve to die like he did. They weren't warriors, Eola. They were three College students who just wanted to be good mages and do magical research, and Odvan was just a kid who got arrested for being a Reachman from the sounds of it, and ended up a Forsworn. At least you and I signed up for this sort of thing. They never did.”

“They could all have stayed home,” Eola countered, knowing in her heart that none of them ever would. “And this is why Keirine made sure there were six of us, to make sure someone made it back with the staff. Come on, you're a Companion, you're meant to value dying bravely, right? If we don't get this staff back to Winterhold, a lot more people are gonna die.”

Ria nodded and made her way down to Onmund's body, handing the staff, circlet and amulet that had been Brelyna's over to Eola, along with the one J'zargo had had and Onmund's heirloom piece. Eola eyed it curiously, wondering aloud if there were supposed to have been other bits to it before shrugging, pocketing it and searching for the blood amulet Keirine had given her.

“Oh,” Ria said, nose wrinkling as she saw it. “We're porting back.”

“Yeah. Oh, but you don't have to come. You can walk if you like,” Eola said innocently, knowing full well Ria didn't want to be left behind. Ria scowled, but agreed, and after a last looting of the chamber, linked her arm in Eola's. Time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There wasn't a lot else to tell after that. Eola and Ria made it back to Winterhold with the staff, broke the news of the deaths to everyone, and Keirine promised to make arrangements for corpse retrieval. Meanwhile, the College had got worse – everyone had had to evacuate and now Ancano's magic enveloped the entire building... but no one else had died at least.

Fortunately, reinforcements from Kastav had arrived, and Winterhold had virtually doubled in size, a Forsworn army camp having built itself around the town, building entire houses out of the snow itself. With the Staff of Magnus there to absorb magicka, the barrier was easily breached, and once the Hall of the Elements had been penetrated, the rest was easy.

A chaotic battle ensued, and despite an initial explosion that had knocked out most of the offensive force, including Tolfdir and Faralda and a still recovering Mirabelle, Keirine, her Briarhearts and Eola all got wards up in time.

One Reach-Princess who'd survived Labyrinthian and who now possessed the staff that could drain magicka off the Eye and away from Ancano. Two Briarhearts both gifted with superhuman strength, unflinching will and the ability to suck in magicka from the Eye as well. Keirine herself, supremely gifted in the magical arts. The Eye also still spewed out new magical anomalies from time to time, all of which seemed to know it was Ancano's fault.

Needless to say, Ancano died, which just left the question of what to do with the Eye.

“I'm claiming it for the Reach,” Keirine announced.

“You're what??” Mirabelle cried, being helped to her feet by Faralda. “And to do what with it, I might ask?”

“She's not serious,” Ria whispered to Eola. Behind them, Aela had raised her bow, pointing it right at Keirine.

“You're not taking it to the Reach, who knows what you'd do with it,” Aela said fiercely, which was a mistake because now the entire Forsworn presence had raised their own weapons, pointing them at Aela.

“With this,” Keirine said calmly, “we need never fear an enemy again. We will have this and the staff and we can raise a barrier around our kingdom that no Nord, not even one with the Voice, could penetrate and we need never worry about you people, or anyone else, again.”

Eola looked at the Eye, its sides shifting as light poured out of it and she was sure it was going to birth another anomaly soon.

“Auntie, we can't, it's not stable, look at it!” Eola cried. “Auntie, listen, we don't need the Eye, we've got the Dragonborn, Elisif'll see us right!”

“She's not here,” Keirine snarled. “She might not ever come back. And even if she does, do you think we can chance the Reach's survival to diplomatic negotiations? Do you think I want to leave a weapon like this in the hands of the Nords?”

“It's not a weapon!” Tolfdir cried. “I don't know what it is... but it's beyond the control of anyone now.”

“I agree,” Mirabelle said, voice urgent. “It's unstable, dangerously so, and if you or Madanach think you can use this to protect your country, think again. If it doesn't blow up and take the Reach with it, someone will end up misusing it. Again.”

Keirine's eyes blazed and her lip curled back and Eola could tell the illusions were fraying, she just knew... and then the monks appeared. Four of them, wizards from the Psijic order, surrounding the Eye.

“My thanks,” their leader noted. “We knew you could do it- wait. Where are they? The Khajiit and the Nord and their Dunmer friend.”

“They didn't make it,” Eola said, stepping forward in the hush that had fallen. “They died in Labyrinthian. It was me who brought the staff back. Are you those Psijics Brelyna mentioned?”

“Yes. Quaranir, at your service,” the lead Altmer sighed. “It grieves me to hear of their deaths, they had such promise... but I am glad you were able to do what they could not. You have saved your College... and the world. Now we will take the Eye of Magnus away for safekeeping.”

“What??” Keirine howled, illusions definitely flickering at that point. “Now just wait here, young man, the Reach needs that Eye!”

“No! It doesn't!” Eola cried before things got any more heated. “We already have diplomatic means in hand, we don't need the Eye! Not in that state, anyway! Please, Quaranir, take it. Get it stabilised and seal it away. For all our sakes.”

“You are wise,” Quaranir said, glancing at Mirabelle and Tolfdir and just seeing relief at someone else dealing with the problem. “The Eye has grown unstable, and the world isn't ready for it. If it goes to the Reach, it'll just be misused again eventually. Perhaps your... Matriarch there might be the next to meet Savos Aren's fate... if she's lucky.”

Or Ancano's, were the unspoken words and Eola felt her heart tighten at the thought. She adored her aunt, and she'd almost gone to her after leaving home... but she'd wanted to see the world and not be a princess any more. So she had, but she'd regretted not saying goodbye to Keirine. Perhaps she should have. Keirine was glaring at her, looking utterly betrayed.

“Take it,” Eola said quietly. “Get it out of here before it hurts anyone else. By my right as Reach-Princess, I cede all rights of the Reach to the Eye of Magnus.”

“Thank you,” Quaranir nodded, turning back to the Eye. “You can now all get on with your lives.”

The monks faded and the Eye with it and Keirine sank to her knees, howling.

“What have you done??” Keirine raged at Eola. “We could have saved our country with that!”

“Or destroyed it!” Eola snapped. “You remember the tales from the Old World of weapons stronger than the sun that could wipe out entire cities and leave the land poisonous for centuries?? That was one, I'm sure, and I don't think we want it anywhere near the Reach!”

“Yes, and they also used the cores of those weapons in secret hidden places and controlled conditions to bring warmth and light to entire nations,” Keirine sighed bitterly. “Niece, that could have been freedom for us.”

“We can still have freedom, I swear,” Eola said softly. “Elisif won't let us down.”

“You are sure of that,” Keirine said, letting Eola help her to her feet at least. “Like your father, hmm?”

“Like him,” Eola said firmly. “Maybe surer because I don't want to get in her pants.”

“Hah!” Keirine cackled. “If he is so sure, why did he authorise the back-up plan?”

Eola hadn't known about the back-up plan.

“What back-up plan?” she asked, not sure she liked the sound of this.

“Teleport you and Kaie back to the Reach and Nepos adopts you both,” Keirine answered, grinning at her discomfort. “Did you not know?”

No, Eola hadn't known. “But I've already got a father... and does he really want to see me and Kaie calling anyone else Da?”

Even sadder look in Keirine's eyes, and Eola knew it then, knew Madanach was gambling everything on Elisif, either going for Reach-King status or giving his own life, settling for his legitimate heirs becoming Nepos's, his bloodline as Reachman Jarls and Kaie integrating the Forsworn warriors into a new ReachGuard, and Eola... Eola having to call someone else father while her own suffered a traitor's death.

“Eola? Eola cariad, don't cry,” Keirine was saying awkwardly, putting her arms around her. “Look, I'm sorry, perhaps you're right, it was unstable anyway, we could never have used it in time or kept its presence secret, perhaps this is for the best.”

For the best?? She'd just given away something that could have saved her father.

“What have I done?” Eola whispered, wiping tears away. “Did I just sentence Da to death??”

“No,” Keirine said firmly as she led her out, leaving Mirabelle to start re-organising the College and beckoning her own forces out. “You said it yourself, your Dragonborn will come through for us. And if she fails... well, I have no intention of watching them execute my brother. Come on, niece. Let's get you a nice cup of tea and something to eat.”

“I want meat,” Eola heard herself saying. “Proper meat.”

Her Hagraven aunt knew. Her Hagraven aunt understood.

“You and you, bring Ancano's body, let's not let it go to waste,” Keirine snapped. One of the Briarhearts scooped the corpse up and carried it out, no one really objecting and Mirabelle musing out loud that she'd just tell Elenwen Ancano's body had been vaporised in the explosion, easier that way.

“Oh, and let the Companions go too,” Keirine added. “No harm done, although if that one raises a bow to me again, I'll make sure she doesn't stay human long enough to hold one ever again.”

Aela grimaced but did not complain when the Forsworn let her go, Ria running to hug her, before realising this was Aela and promptly stopping.

Crisis over, the Forsworn withdrew, leaving a handful of warriors to guard the city and the College to sort itself out. The Winterhold occupation had proved to be a success in the end. Of course, it was only a secondary victory at best. Windhelm was the main prize and the end goal was the Reach, always the Reach. Claiming that relied on the Dragonborn returning... and on the Empire's goodwill.

Notes:

Brelyna's gear was Savos Aren's amulet, the Staff of Jyrik Gauldursson and the Mage's Circlet, all rewards from the mage's questline. J'zargo's amulet was the magicka fragment of the Gauldur Amulet, and Onmund's was the one he trades to Enthir, reclaimed for him by Brelyna and J'zargo in this universe. It was very sad killing them off, but Labyrinthian is hard and they are only young mages. J'zargo would likely have made it if he'd not blown himself up with his own scroll, of course.

There is no canon whatsoever for Onmund being related to the Fellstar Farm family, but they look a bit similar and could easily have had an elder son who went off to study magic against his father's will, adding an extra poignancy to Jofthor not wanting Fastred to leave.

After Labyrinthian, my mage Dragonborns always seem to find Ancano to be a bit anticlimactic, so I focused the story on Labyrinthian instead and let Ancano get blasted to bits by Keirine and Eola instead. Obviously, as Mirabelle survived, she's now Archmage, although Eola's keeping the Staff of Magnus.

Estormo is also not dead, as Eola and Ria teleported out and didn't take the exit he was waiting at.

Next chapter, it's back to Windhelm, with Imperial negotiations awaiting in the morning... but before that happens, there's a few more personal ones to work out.

Chapter 40

Summary:

Stories have been shared and now it's time for bed. But for Elisif, that brings up a whole new set of issues as the dragon blood demands an outlet, and there's some lines even a Dragonborn's afraid to cross. It's a good thing her intended's been crossing lines since his youth.

Notes:

Smut, by Sithis, this one finally has smut! Sort of, I edited the main scene out due to my leads feeling a bit shy, so what we have is build-up, aftermath, and then in the middle, one of the other pairings having a bit of a talk.

So basically what we have here is Elisif/Madanach femdom (sorta), and then Argis/Farkas fluffiness. Enjoy!

The Dragonborn was sitting at the table in the Palace of the Kings in stunned silence.

“So, the mages at Winterhold found this... thing... in the ruins of Saarthal – what were they doing in Saarthal, did anyone actually authorise that??”

“Jarl Korir says he never knew a thing about it,” Madanach said, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, I don't agree with the man on anything, but we did see eye to eye on that one. Still, maybe it's for the best. The Eye's out of all our reaches and the Psijics can deal with it. Meanwhile, we've got a friendly Archmage in Winterhold and the town's behaving itself. Although it does now mean someone is going to have to break the news to Bothela her little grandson is dead, I've got valuable people off in Labyrinthian on corpse retrieval duty, and I've lost Uraccen. Don't worry, he's fine but it seems he's keen to stay in Winterhold. Trying to chat up Archmage Ervine apparently. Honestly, turning his back on the entire cause because of a pretty face. Aren't you glad I'm not like that?”

This was said with a knowing grin and a rather flirtatious wink that set all Elisif's nerves afire and filled her head with visions of shoving the annoying jun-se-reach against a wall and her knee between his legs and shutting him up with a kiss before... and she needed to stop right there. Kynareth help me, I don't want to hurt him!

Except she couldn't help but think of nails running down his back, wrapping her legs around him with her fingers in his hair, making him fuck her harder and... yes, he wants you, go and claim him, make him yours!

This had got to stop. She poured herself more mead and took a long drink, knowing it was going to her head a little but not caring.

“I'm just glad Winterhold's safe,” Elisif said firmly. “Thank you for saving the place.”

“You're welcome,” Madanach smirked, much to Eola's displeasure as she cried in outrage he hadn't even been there.

“I was talking to Eola,” Elisif said sternly, turning to face her. “Thank you Eola. Finding that staff wasn't at all easy, but you helped save a city and removed a dangerous magical artefact in the process. Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Elisif,” Eola said, relaxing and raising a glass with one hand while her other arm snuggled a proud Cicero. Elisif smiled and turned her attention back to Madanach.

“So now we just have to deal with the negotiations in the morning,” Elisif said thoughtfully. “Tullius has given us until noon, so at noon tomorrow, we'll need to head out there and meet him. Now that you've told me all this, it should be easy to persuade him you'll be an asset. After all, it looks like there was plenty of chronic mismanagement by Ulfric for a long time – if that killer really had been operating since Torygg died, and you found him in two days, that's something to be proud of. So is your forces saving Winterhold – who knows what might have happened if you hadn't been there. And Kodlak is saying you've done a good job too – that has to count for something. Balgruuf and Rikke are out there, they respect Kodlak's opinion. You might even get the Reach if Jarl Nepos is willing to step down.”

“Don't worry about Nepos, he and I go way back,” Madanach smirked. “It's just Tullius and that Thalmor bitch to worry about.”

“Elenwen has no jurisdiction over this, all she has a say in is preventing Talos-worship,” Elisif said tersely, and then it occurred to her Madanach had been presiding over just that. “Oh Kynareth, the Temple of Talos, you'll have to close it!”

Again that smirk. “Don't worry,” Madanach said, grinning. “I've taken care of the Temple of Talos. I'll explain more in the morning, but the Thalmor have nothing on us. They can interview as many of my people as they like, they'll find nothing other than lots of true children of the Reach who despise Tiber Septim with a passion.”

Elisif turned to Kodlak, who nodded in confirmation. “I'll spare you the details now, but suffice it to say Delphine came up with an innovative solution to both the Temple issue and how to feed and house all those Stormcloak prisoners from the siege. Turns out one of the Stormcloak captains was a Riverwood man, same village Delphine used to live in. It made the whole thing much easier to manage.”

Elisif was intrigued but it was getting late and she had a feeling they'd all need their wits about them tomorrow. She'd ask Delphine in the morning.

“So all we need to do is persuade General Tullius you're a good ruler, and I've got sufficient evidence to do that,” Elisif said, feeling more relieved than she had any right to. “He'll have to back down when he hears all this.”

“I hope so,” Madanach said, good mood fading. “Otherwise it's my head on a pike, and once I go out there, I'm vulnerable. Why do you think I waited for you? You're the Dragonborn, the High Queen, you're the hero, the one they trust. I'm an old renegade who's spent my life killing half the people I was supposed to be protecting. I took a coronation oath to protect and serve the Reach, Elisif, and for twenty five years I've been its worst nightmare. Forsworn, they call us? I'm the original Forsworn and sometimes I wonder if perhaps I don't deserve an execution. Maybe I should pay the blood-price and let my people go free. Nepos'll look after them.”

Anguished cry from Eola, and Argis gripping Farkas's hand tight, and Elisif couldn't breathe. The room had gone quiet, her ears barely hearing any of this, just dragon blood thumping in her veins and howling at the back of her mind and one certainty pounding through her head.

“They will not execute you!” Elisif growled. “I will kill Tullius myself if he lays a finger on you!”

Madanach was staring at her, a bit shocked but Elisif didn't care. No one hurt what was hers, no one!

“Elisif,” Kodlak was saying, “Elisif, that will only make things worse, you need to stay on the right side of the law...”

Laws are for the weak. A Dovah submits to no one!

“No one is killing Madanach, he's mine!” Elisif snarled furiously, and then it slowly dawned on her everyone was staring at her, literally everyone, you could have heard a pin drop, Kodlak was staring at her as if she was insane and Madanach... When she finally risked a glance at him, her worst fears were confirmed. He was staring at her, stunned into silence but some kind of understanding there too, oh Kynareth, he knew. Somehow he knew, gods what must he think of her?

Elisif couldn't deal with this. She just couldn't.

“I have to go,” she whispered, getting up.

“Elisif?” That was Argis. “El, are you all right?”

Elisif didn't answer. She was already fleeing the hall, heading for the war room and the corridor that led up to the bedrooms where at least she could lock herself away and not have to deal with this.

“Elisif -” Argis began, getting up and preparing to follow – until his father stopped him.

“Argis. Leave it,” Madanach said, getting up and motioning for his son to sit back down again.

“But Da, she's upset,” Argis began, looking worried and that was sweet of the boy, but really there was no need.

“I imagine she is,” Madanach said, his own heart pounding as his mind processed all the implications of what Elisif had just said and done. “But don't worry. Let me deal with it.”

“You're her emotional counsellor now?” Kodlak asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Part of the problem from the look of it,” Aela added, but Madanach was in too good a mood to care.

“I won't deny she and I need to talk,” Madanach said, hoping he didn't sound too breathless. “So that's what I'm going to do.”

Without even bothering to look at the rest of the table, he sprinted after Elisif. From the sounds of it, it seemed someone was having second thoughts about him. Madanach intended to take full advantage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif raced upstairs, darting past the odd servant and occasional guard, heading for a bedroom – which one was hers? She should have asked Jorleif, but she had a feeling he'd already retired to bed. So she ran for the room that she'd stayed in last time. Ulfric's old room.

Crashing on to the bed, door closing behind her, Elisif laid her head on her hands, curled up in a little ball, shaking all over. What had she done? What HAD she done? She'd lost control, lost it completely, lost herself to the dragon blood... and they'd all seen.

What is wrong with me, why can't I stop... Kynareth help me, I thought I was getting better!

She honestly thought having things out with Torygg had lanced the wound, helped get all the festering rage out, and it had, it really had. Except now it was coming back, all these predatory urges she thought she'd dealt with... and they all seemed to focus on Madanach.

Well of course she didn't want him to die. He was her friend, her ally, she cared about him, and if she couldn't protect her allies, what did that say about her as queen?

Except the thought of him dying tore at her heart all over again, and she remembered him tucking her into his bed in Cidhna Mine, smiling down at her and promising he'd get her out of there, and feeling safer than she had since Torygg died. She remembered him standing behind her at Witchmist Redoubt and telling her he'd raised an entire army to take Windhelm for her so she didn't have to die, and nearly crying from sheer joy and relief.

She remembered swearing him in properly as Jarl, signing off his pardon and exacting an oath of loyalty. They'd gone all out, her sitting in Ulfric's throne and him kneeling before it with his hand clenched to his chest, him swearing to protect and govern the Hold of Eastmarch in the name of the High Queen and then pledging undying loyalty to her, including some fanciful lines from a Forsworn vow that he'd insisted were needed to placate his troops. She'd accepted his fealty and declared him officially Jarl of Windhelm, with all crimes and offences in the whole of Skyrim now null and void.

He'd looked up as he'd said the words, eyes not leaving her face and Elisif had felt something pooling in her groin as she realised he meant it, a powerful and dangerous man on his knees before her. As she'd accepted him and raised him to his feet for the traditional Nord bear hug, she'd squeezed him tighter than she'd intended and wanted it to go on for longer... then she'd come to her senses and let go. And he'd said nothing, nothing at all, just looked a little bit sad for the briefest second, and then it was all back to business, with him taking his seat on the throne and getting on with ruling and leaving her to her own devices, and Elisif was left wondering what to do now, feeling lost and bereft somehow.

It was all there, if you joined the dots. Being around Madanach made her feel safe and happy and loved, when he wasn't pushing her away and burying himself in work. Which would be nice... if she didn't keep wanting to force him into sex with her and hurt him in the process.

He'd want answers. He'd want to talk. And Elisif was ready to cry at the mere thought. She buried her head in the pillow, wanting it all to go away, face flushed and warm... actually all of her was warm, too warm... why was the room warm? She didn't think the fire was lit... and then she remembered how the Forsworn heated their surroundings.

Fire rune, there was a fire rune, probably under the bed, someone had cast a rune to warm the place up, but why? Had the guards done it in advance for her? Or was this room actually meant for someone else?

Elisif opened her eyes and saw two things on the dresser – one a Dwemer tea set with a little kettle, a wooden box of assorted teas, Dwemer spoons and cups, and the other a man's shaving kit complete with several razors, various lotions, and a mirror. Oh and a hairbrush with silver hairs in the bristles. Elisif sank back onto the pillows, sniffed them and realised with horror she knew that scent. Knew it from Cidhna Mine and Madanach's pillow there. That one had had silver hairs scattered over it as well.

Oh gods, this room hadn't been left empty. Of course not, it was the Jarl's room, Madanach would likely have moved in the day she left. He'd probably set one up for her down the hall. But she hadn't known that and she'd gone running straight to his room.

She had to get out of here. But as the door clicked open, she knew it was too late.

“Well now,” the familiar husky tones of the King in Rags echoed around the room. “Man walks into his bedroom to find a young woman in his bed, a man could be forgiven for making certain assumptions.”

Elisif sat up, backing away in horror as she saw him close the door behind him and almost glide towards her, greedy, predatory smile that she'd not seen in a while well and truly back on his face.

“Especially when she just cried out to an entire room that he was hers,” Madanach continued, looking quite delighted. “Oh don't worry, I'm not offended, not at all. Just rather surprised, that's all.” He tilted his head, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. “Care to elaborate?”

“You need to leave,” Elisif whispered, heart racing. “You need to leave now!” Oh gods oh gods oh gods, it was all coming back, all the worry and fear and sheer carnal want and he needed to get out of here before the dragon blood got the upper hand and she really did hurt him.

“It's my bedroom now,” Madanach grinned, walking around the bed to sit on it, perched on the left side at the far end, not actually intruding on her personal space yet but looking as if he was planning it. “You can leave if you want, but I'd quite like an explanation first.”

“No,” Elisif gasped, edging away, “you don't understand! It's the dragon blood, it's out of control, if you don't leave, you might get hurt!”

Madanach's eyebrows lifted, surprise in his eyes but not fear.

“Who by? You?” he asked, sounding eerily calm. Elisif nodded slowly.

“I'll hurt you,” Elisif whispered. “You need to stay away from me. You need to be somewhere else, far away, you need to never be alone with me again, otherwise I won't be able to stop!”

The fact that so far she'd done nothing to act on any of her thoughts, fears or fantasies presently escaped her... although later she'd realise and wonder. But right now she was too terrified of what might happen to focus on what was.

Madanach, damn him, was actually starting to smile.

“Hurt me how, exactly?” he purred, sounding genuinely curious. Which was... confusing and unexpected and it did have the effect of stopping the panic. Elisif could feel herself blushing profusely, sure she must be making a prize fool of herself... but he didn't seem to mind. He was just smiling that odd little smile.

“I don't... don't want to...” Elisif gasped, not wanting to admit this in any way shape or form, damn it why couldn't he just do as he was told and leave?

Because this was Madanach of course, and he never did any such thing if he could avoid it.

“You're scared,” Madanach noted. “Embarrassed? Definitely worried. And you're genuinely concerned for my wellbeing, now isn't that sweet?” He tilted his head, predatory grin back in place. “You been having urges to hurt anyone else or is it just me?”

“Just you,” Elisif whispered, looking guiltily away, fighting the urge to cry. “I'm so sorry.”

Silence, and then the bed shifted, and he wasn't doing the sensible thing and running. He was moving closer, sitting next to her now, not actually touching her but close enough to if he wanted.

“Don't be,” came the soft reply. “I'm rather flattered.”

“You idiot,” Elisif couldn't help but say, really feeling the tears come by now. Of course he wasn't doing the sensible thing, when had he ever done that? He liked living dangerously... but he was just a man like any other at the end of the day, and Elisif couldn't bear the thought of hurting him.

“Elisif? You're crying... oh no, Elisif cariad, don't cry,” Madanach said, sounding faintly horrified. Elisif felt another stab of guilt, because she'd just done exactly that. Again.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, wiping the tears away. “You've been so sweet to me and I like you but I can't... if anything happens between us, I'll end up hurting you!”

“Yeah, you said that,” Madanach, voice dropping and sounding gentler than usual, shifting positions so as to get as close as he could without touching her, positioned at just the right angle to hold her... if she reached out to him. “But you didn't answer my question. What did you have in mind?”

What the actual... he surely didn't mean... “Are you insane?” Elisif demanded, sitting upright. “Didn't you hear what I said? I'm dangerous and out of control and I keep wanting to hurt you!”

“Maybe I like dangerous,” Madanach countered. “And I'm right here and you've not done a thing. And you're hardly alone in that last one either. I get disappointed if a day's gone by and I haven't driven someone to distraction. It's usually Kaie or Delphine, but sometimes I can manage it with Keirine too. It's a lot more fun when it's you though!” Then the laughter died and he looked guiltily away. “But not when you cry.”

“Sorry,” Elisif whispered, not sure what else to say and he did touch her then, stroking her hair and moving closer and Elisif closed her eyes and leaned in, resting her head on the furs he was wearing and making the most of it while she still could. She felt him pause, actually shuddering a little, and then the feeling of a hand on her back, pulling her closer, then arms around her, all the distance gone, all pretence of not caring cast aside as she felt a kiss on top of her head. She remembered Inga's words – be honest, tell him everything, he wouldn't hold out for long. Seemed he wasn't holding out at all.

“I can't be with you,” Elisif whispered. “I'd like to, I think. But I can't. I don't... look, you're lonely and vulnerable, you've probably not had anyone in years, I don't want to take advantage!”

“Gods, I wish you would!” she heard him breathe, feeling fingers entwine in her hair and grip tighter, and this had to stop before it got completely out of hand.

“Stop it!” she gasped, sitting up and pushing away from him. “You wouldn't find it funny if I actually was pinning you down, tearing your clothes off and making you touch me!”

Madanach had gone very still and very quiet, staring at her with eyes wide and looking bigger than usual due to the dilated pupils. Finally. Finally, she'd got through to him.

“There might be biting too!” Elisif added for good measure. “And scratching! And... and hair-pulling! And... and I think I'd enjoy it if you struggled a bit.”

Still staring at her. Still wide-eyed. She'd shocked him. About time, maybe he'd finally take the hint, realise what she really was and run. Except don't, don't, don't go.

“Keep talking,” Madanach finally whispered, barely having blinked since she'd said it, just staring at her, tinge of pink on his cheeks and really, what was he playing at?

“What do you mean?” Elisif said, confused.

“I said, keep talking,” Madanach gasped. “What else?”

“I... I don't know what you're talking about,” Elisif said, now beyond confused. “I hadn't thought it through in detail... isn't it enough I keep wanting to do horrible things to you?”

Growl from Madanach, who shifted position, sitting upright with his back to the headboard, twisting round and sending a firebolt flying at the hearth, the fire blazing up in seconds. She'd never quite get used to such casual use of Destruction magic but it did banish the chill in the air. Which was probably for the best as Madanach was peeling off first his gloves... then his entire top until he was sitting there topless, shivering a little as he eased himself back on to the pillow.

Elisif really wasn't dreaming this, was she? Madanach the King of the Forsworn, lying topless on a bed in front of her, and while he wasn't a young man, the years hadn't completely ravaged him either. Pale, a bit too pale, not as broad-shouldered as Torygg, not as much body hair either, just a smattering of silver on his chest, but in possession of well-defined muscles kept in shape by all the years of hard labour – well, digging the escape tunnel anyway.

She could go for that – only the question remained: why? What was he doing?

“My neck and shoulders are quite sensitive,” Madanach growled. “Especially on my left. Be gentle on my neck but feel free to sink your teeth in on my shoulder. Right nipple's quite sensitive too, feel free to play with that. Or my ears, gods yes, nibble my ears and whisper filth to me, I'll be all yours.”

Elisif had to be quite sure she'd heard all this correctly. “What are you saying?” she whispered. “You can't honestly want me to pounce on you and ravage you into submission?”

Madanach closed his eyes and nodded once, a little whimper escaping his throat.

“Elisif, I've not had a woman in twenty years. I'll do anything you want.”

Elisif edged closer, feeling dragon blood rising again, knowing she was blushing, images flashing through her head again, wanting and not wanting, realising this was happening, he was genuinely offering himself and she... she could have a man in her bed again if she wanted.

Before she realised what she was doing, she'd pulled her gauntlets off and was running fingers over his cheek, feeling stubble against her skin. He'd shaved recently from the feel of it.

He'd closed his eyes, moaning softly and smiling, whispering “yeah” and “that's nice” and Elisif could feel the arousal going straight to her groin.

Mine. Elisif really shouldn't be thinking that, he was a dangerous mage and even more dangerous warlord, but here he was, lying underneath her, gasping softly at her touch... and she'd barely touched him.

“Are you sure?” she whispered. “I might not be gentle.”

“Sithis, I hope not,” was the response and Elisif barely held in a whimper. He really needed to not sound quite that breathless and eager and... She leaned closer, eyes fluttering closed as her lips reached his, lightly brushing against him in a gentle kiss and the memory finally came back, that she'd done this before, after sobbing drunkenly in his arms and begging him to stop her getting out of control and becoming a monster. He'd laughed and promised he wouldn't and she'd wanted to cry because she'd finally felt a weight off her shoulders. She'd finally felt safe and something in her had wanted to say thank you. She'd vaguely wanted to connect with someone, anyone... with the one who made her feel loved again.

He'd pushed her away and told her she needed to leave and the moment had been gone. She'd drunk potions and gone back to bed and felt cheated somehow... and more hollow and lonely than she'd felt before cuddling up with him. And then next day he'd had the gall to just nod politely at her, offer breakfast and go back to planning the uprising. As if they'd never had that moment.

He wasn't pushing her away any more. His mouth was opening beneath hers, arms going round her, pulling her to him, moaning as he ran his hands all over her... and she was still in her Blades armour and couldn't feel a thing. Damn it.

He must have been thinking the same thing because he let her go, pouting at her.

“Your armour's cold. And too hard. Gonna sleep in that stuff or something?”

“No, of course not,” Elisif sighed, reaching for the clasps... which were all at the back... and out of reach... buggeration, normally she had a housecarl for this bit.

“Problem?” Madanach asked, frowning after the third failed attempt to get out of the bloody tin body-cage that was her best armour.

“I can't get it off!” Elisif whispered. “Not on my own! I normally have someone to help!”

“What do you mean, you can't get it off, who the fuck wears clothes they need help to actually wear?” Madanach sighed.

“I'm serious!” Elisif cried, feeling her face blazing. “Look, you want in my smallclothes, you give me a hand here or I call Argis in!”

“Oh that's all I need, my son having to help with my sex life,” Madanach muttered. “All right, turn round, Brenhina, I'll undo it for you.”

Elisif did and waited... and waited some more. Nothing.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Hang on,” Madanach said, poking ineffectually at her back. “I'll figure it out in a second.”

“What do you mean you'll figure it out – it's not an Alinorian cube puzzle!” Elisif hissed. “Don't tell me you've never taken armour off before!”

“No one in the Forsworn coats their entire body in plate metal!” Madanach snapped. Silence as they both realised the situation they were stuck in, and then Madanach started to laugh.

“It's not funny!” Elisif whispered, turning to look at him, and then she was giggling too, both of them mortified and red-faced but laughing too hard to care.

“Oh gods,” Madanach sighed at length. “No wonder Blades are always so serious. None of them were ever getting any. Sithis, Elisif, this isn't exactly made for flinging to the winds at the height of passion, is it?”

“It's made for killing dragons in!” Elisif hissed at him. “I'd probably be dead without it! You wouldn't be with me now without it!”

“I'm not getting anywhere now with it!” Madanach growled, reaching for the clasps again, determination fuelling inventiveness. “Wait... I think I see how it works... these unfasten at the back, right?”

It took a good ten minutes of cursing, Restoration magic after Madanach sliced his finger open, more hysterical giggling from both of them, but they got there in the end. Madanach lifted the cuirass off in triumph, had a lot less trouble with the lower half, and finally rolled back on to the bed with Elisif on top of him, cotton shift on over her underwear and stockings on her legs but not a lot else on her.

“Now,” Madanach smirked. “You promised me nibbling, minx.”

“Don't call me minx,” Elisif said, the tussle with her armour having made her laugh and managed to improve her mood no end, even if it did feel a little strange to be curled up with him. A friend, yes, ally, yes, but lover? Too strange... but she wasn't afraid any more. She felt comfortable. Safe. Happy, and happy times since the Day of Blood had been few and far between.

Maybe it might just work out in the end after all.

“So what did you want me to call you then?” Madanach murmured. Elisif shifted on top of him, straddling him and feeling him hard up against her, gasping as she realised this was real, he wanted her, she could have him if she wanted, there was nothing holding her back now, nothing but her. And just as she'd realised in Sovngarde there was nothing wrong with her, so she realised it again, realised there was nothing wrong with this, she could be happy if she wanted.

She wanted.

“Call me Thuri,” Elisif whispered in his ear, feeling a little reckless, and the idea of him saluting her as the dragons had once done Alduin amused her. “Elisif Thuri.”

“Elisif Thuri,” he murmured and Elisif moaned just hearing it. “What's it mean?”

“It's Dovah for Brenhina,” she told him, which was probably about right although it missed the nuances.

“Elisif Thuri,” Madanach murmured again, pulling her closer and nuzzling her cheek. “What would you like?”

Elisif said nothing, pulling her shift off and then her breast-cups, enjoying the little gasp from Madanach as his eyes were drawn to her breasts. She leaned forward, smiling as he inhaled, lowering them to his face, forgetting she had scars now, faded scars but there on her breastbone, and on her upper arms – she'd kept her face unharmed but her body had a few.

Madanach didn't seem to notice or care.

“Thuri?” she heard him whisper. “Can I?”

“Yes,” she gasped, finally leaning down and pressing them to his face. “Kyne, yes.”

“Yeah,” she heard Madanach gasp as he buried his face in her breasts, something almost like a sob in his voice. Elisif felt her own throat tighten, feeling a steely determination to make it up to him for all the years of ill-treatment by her own people. Sliding her fingers into his hair, Elisif held him closer. Forget the rest of the world. Right here, right now, Madanach was hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Someone who had no trouble getting someone out of heavy armour was Farkas, who'd made short work of Argis's gear, not to mention his own, and was now massaging Argis's shoulders, hoping to tempt him into bed. Argis wasn't responding though, just staring into space and frowning.

“Something on your mind?” Farkas asked, nuzzling at his neck. Argis started, blinking and then shrugging.

“No. I mean, not really. I'm just worried about Elisif, that's all. She looked upset earlier. I hope she's all right. I know Da went after her, and I didn't hear any crying or screaming, but you never can tell, and what with the whole Torygg split and everything... I worry about her.”

Silence, and Argis was aware of nothing other than Farkas's hands sliding off him... and a stillness in the air, some tension, a warrior's sense that all was not well.

“'Kas?” Argis asked, suddenly wary. “What's up?”

“It's Elisif. Always Elisif with you, isn't it?” Farkas said quietly, hint of a growl in his voice, and Argis turned to look at him, never having heard Farkas sound like this before. Never this angry. Not at him, anyway.

“What do you mean?” Argis said, not liking the way Farkas was looking at him.

“First time you came to bed with me, it was because you were horny over Elisif but couldn't have her,” Farkas said softly, eyes blazing at him. “Galmar swings an axe at her, and you're taking the blow for her. You nearly bloody died, Argis, and three days later, you're arming up again and leaping into a portal to chase after her and you didn't even tell me what you were planning or where you were going! Then Eola and Keirine get back and say you even followed her to Sovngarde. You were gone nearly two weeks, Argis! I didn't know where you were or if you were all right, and now you're back, she's still all you're thinking about? Damn it, Argis, I thought we... I thought I... do you even give a toss about me or am I just a bedwarmer?”

Of course not, the words came to Argis as soon as Farkas asked the question, but his throat had closed up and they didn't come out. Farkas stared at him, laughed bitterly and shook his head.

“Yeah. Shoulda known. Men like you are all the same. Keep a man around for kicks but it's still a woman you'll actually settle down with. Except it's not gonna be Elisif. Can't see your Da standing for that and I don't think she's interested in you anyway.”

“Well, I know that,” Argis said, silently panicking, any gift he'd ever had for words deserting him. “Doesn't mean I don't care about her.”

“Yeah. You do, don't you.” And now there was some sympathy... but mostly it was just bitter resignation Argis saw there as Farkas got up and reached for his things.

“Wait... where are you going?” Argis whispered, feeling his chest tighten. “You're not...” Leaving? But he couldn't, Argis had argued with his father over this, finally found the strength somewhere to fight his father's constant expectation Argis would just go along with everything he suggested, and Madanach had even given in, actually made an effort to be nice to Farkas, presented a peacekeeping gift and everything. After all that, Farkas couldn't just leave! But he was getting dressed and preparing to do just that, it seemed.

“To the dormitory,” Farkas said quietly. “Where all the other single Blades have bedded down. We're not all the Jarl's sons, are we?”

“Farkas, wait,” Argis gasped, something finally galvanising him into action as it hit home this was it, if he let Farkas leave now, he'd have lost him for good... and he realised he didn't want him to go.

From the way Farkas paused, Argis had a feeling Farkas didn't want to go either. Argis was no Ulfric Stormcloak, capable of pulling poetry from the air if needed, nor was he any kind of bard. He wasn't even his father, a talented, sly, manipulative maverick who usually knew how to sweet-talk the reluctant. But he had some of his father's gifts for understanding people... and he had his mother's gentle compassion too.

Most of all, Argis knew what he wanted and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Sovngarde hadn't shattered and rebuilt him like it had Elisif, but it had left him confused and not sure what he wanted, not sure which parent to follow into the afterlife – did he join his mother in Sovngarde, or follow his father to the Void? Inga had held him tight when he'd talked to her about it, and she'd told him to follow his heart. That wherever he went, she wanted him to be happy and loved, even if it wasn't with her. Madanach hadn't said anything so selfless, but there'd been a guarded conversation after the takeover, where Madanach had taken a quick break from Jarling to come sit by his son, sent Farkas away for a bit and then quietly told him he had himself a good man there, even if he was a Nord werewolf, and that he hoped it worked out. Then he'd held Argis's hand and said the most surprising thing of all – that it was probably for the best, Argis would be happier with one of his own kind. Argis had protested the Reachmen were his own kind, and Madanach had smiled sadly and stroked his son's hair and told him to be his own man, not to try and be Madanach – he'd be happier that way. Argis still wasn't sure what to make of it, but he took that as tacit acceptance that Argis might not be following him into the afterlife, and it hurt but it also made him more determined to appreciate his father while he had him.

But the thought of Farkas walking away, of being just a stranger – worse than a stranger, because Argis had held him in his arms, kissed him, touched him, watched him come, snuggled afterwards, woken up with him, not had to pretend – it was breaking his heart.

“What?” Farkas said, still not looking at him.

“Don't go,” Argis said softly, coming to stand behind him, placing hands on Farkas's upper arms, running his palms over the solid muscle that always felt so reassuring when those arms went round him. “I'm sorry. I didn't know... I didn't know you felt that way, you never said it was bothering you!”

“Didn't know if it was OK to,” Farkas said quietly. “Look, I know you're not normally into men and all, and I know we're having fun... or were... but I like you. Really like you. And watching you be all over Elisif hurts, you know? You nearly died, and it was horrible to watch and... and I couldn't stop myself going wolf and ripping Galmar apart. It scared the hell out of me. Both the thought of anything happening to you, and that the beast takes over when something does. It's never happened before and... she doesn't love you back, Argis!” Farkas had turned around now, desperate pleading in his eyes, and although they'd never said the words, Farkas clearly felt them. And Argis? He looked into his lover's eyes and realised that somewhere along the line, he'd made his choice between the two sides of his heritage. He'd chosen to leave them both behind and follow Farkas.

“I know she doesn't feel that way about me,” Argis said quietly, stroking Farkas's cheeks. “And that's OK because I don't feel that way about her either. Yes, she's gorgeous, yes she's strong, yes she's a sweetheart, yes I care about her. She's my sworn liege and she's one of my best friends and I would give my life in her service if I had to. But I don't want to marry her or even bed her. Don't know if you've noticed this, Farkas, but she's kind of neurotic.”

“New-what?” Farkas asked, looking a bit confused. Argis belatedly realised Forsworn slang based in arcane mindhealing terminology was probably a bit over Farkas's head.

“Means she worries. About everything. She can be as brave as a sabre cat in battle but when she's not fighting, she's thinking and obsessing constantly over everything she thinks is wrong with her or her life. And I know it's not her fault, and I know her husband got killed and that messed her up, and I know everyone back in Solitude treated her like she was an incompetent child and that makes her second-guess everything... but old gods help me, Farkas, you try travelling with it. Or living with it. I love her to bits, but I'd never marry her. She'd drive me up the wall. Da's welcome to it. After twenty years in prison with just his own right hand and a bunch of scruffy Forsworn men for company, I'm guessing he'll put up with absolutely anything. Also, he's crazier than she is.”

Farkas did laugh at that, dropping his eyes and letting his shoulders relax a little, and Argis felt the relief pulsing through him. It might just be all right.

“Your pa's not so bad,” Farkas said quietly. “He was annoyed when you ran off, but he was just worried. So was I. And when he'd calmed down, he was nice to me, you know? Well, for him anyway. Kaie's been friendly too. And Eola's great fun, her and Cicero both. They've all been treating me like we're married or something. Didn't have the heart to tell 'em it wasn't like that.”

“Isn't it?” The words were out before Argis could stop them, but just because he hadn't meant to say them didn't mean he regretted them.

“Isn't what?” Farkas asked, brow furrowing in confusion. “I mean, you just wanted a warm body next to you, right?”

Argis slowly shook his head, wondering just how Farkas hadn't realised, although it occurred to him it might have been due to Argis not actually saying anything. He'd thought Farkas had worked it out from all the cuddling. Apparently not.

“I'm Madanach's son and everyone knows it now, if I just wanted to get off and didn't care who with, I could do that,” Argis said gently, one arm wrapping round Farkas's waist to pull him closer while the other stroked his cheek. “I can worry about my friends – doesn't mean I don't care about you. It's you I want. Not anyone else. I think you're amazing and kind and all kinds of hot and I'd rather have you with me than anyone else, man or woman or other. And I'm sorry you ever thought otherwise or felt I was neglecting you, because I don't want to hurt you or make you feel unhappy. So if anything I do does make you feel unhappy, you tell me, right? Because I love you, and I want you to stick around and be happy with me... if you still are. Happy with me, that is.”

Farkas had looked up in wonder on hearing all this, staring at Argis in amazement.

“You mean it?” he whispered. Argis nodded, feeling unexpectedly stripped bare and vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with him being half-naked. He needn't have worried. Farkas's face had lit up in delight, dazzling smile in place and next thing Argis knew, Farkas was kissing him, stubble scratching against Argis's own beard, but Argis didn't mind. He had Farkas's arms around him, the warmth of Farkas's body right there, and most importantly, Farkas wasn't walking out on him.

“You're not leaving me then,” Argis whispered as the kiss finally broke off, Farkas resting his forehead against Argis's. Farkas shook his head, still smiling.

“No. No, of course not... I didn't know... I didn't know you felt that way!”

“I should have told you ages ago,” Argis admitted, feeling guilty for not saying anything, but there'd just never been a right moment, and then his entire family had just assumed he and Farkas were a proper couple, as had all the Blades, and he'd thought Farkas had thought that too. He'd not realised Farkas hadn't known any such thing, and he'd definitely not realised Farkas still thought he was sweet on Elisif. “And I'm sorry for running off like that – I didn't realise Elisif would invite me to come with her to Sovngarde, but she did and it was a split-second decision, I didn't have time to think about it, it was leap into that portal with her or not go at all. And I wanted to see my ma again.” Argis couldn't keep the wistfulness out of his voice at the memory of Inga.

“She was there?” Argis had told Farkas many stories of Inga before now... including how she'd died. Farkas knew Argis missed her and his voice had softened considerably as his arms went round Argis, pulling him into a hug.

“Yeah,” Argis whispered. “I told her about us. She was happy for me. I said I wasn't sure if you wanted a proper relationship, but she told me not to be ridiculous, why wouldn't someone want me? I just thought it was her being motherly made her say that.”

“Don't mean it's not true,” Farkas said gruffly. “You're gorgeous and brave and you're really smart but you don't look down on other people because of it, you know? You'll stop and explain stuff if someone's not got something. There's not a lot of people do that. I like that about you. I like lots of things about you.”

Argis hugged Farkas, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. It wasn't like he'd never had lovers before, wasn't even that he'd never been in love or had someone have feelings for him. But he'd always had to keep part of himself hidden, had to stop relationships if they got too serious, never wanting to risk a wife or gods help him, kids to his complicated political situation. Now he didn't have to any more and he was about ready to cry.

“I love you,” Argis whispered. He felt Farkas return the hug, kissing him on the cheek.

“I love you too,” Farkas told him, and they stayed like that for a few seconds before Farkas, being Farkas, ruined the moment.

“Erm... Argis? Can we get under the covers now? My arse is getting cold.”

Argis had to grin at that one. “Yeah, alright then. I got ways of warming it up.”

That got Farkas's attention. And so they snuggled under the furs, and soon hugging and kissing turned to rather more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inga had been right. Madanach had proved not to have forgotten how sex worked and they'd spent a good hour in each other's arms, kissing, touching, Elisif finally remembering what it was like to be loved and adored and wanted.

About the only thing Madanach refused to do was actually penetrate her – on finding out she was not in fact taking any contraceptive potions, he'd refused on principle, claiming he didn't want to risk getting the High Queen of Skyrim pregnant out of wedlock. Compared to all the things he had done in his life with no regrets whatsoever, that seemed an odd one to feel ashamed of doing, but he'd been insistent. So she'd acquiesced, despite the familiar heartbreaking longing at the mere thought of a baby in her arms.

They'd finally collapsed in each other's arms, Elisif having stroked Madanach to orgasm as he'd clung on to her. She'd cleaned them both up and crawled back into the bed, sliding under the covers and into Madanach's waiting arms.

Silence fell as they held each other, Elisif feeling supremely comfortable and by the Eight, she should have done this sooner. With him or with anyone, just being pleasured and loved and happy for once, gods she'd spent most of this past year being terrified and lonely and heartbroken. About time she was happy for a change.

“Thank you,” she whispered, nuzzling his neck and feeling a stab of guilt on seeing the bruises that were starting to come up, evidence of where she'd perhaps got a little carried away. He had a few red scratch lines on his torso too, but he didn't seem to have noticed. “Are you all right?”

“Mm-hmm,” Madanach murmured, eyes still closed and a smile on his face as he pulled her closer. “I'm just fine. In fact, shouldn't it be me thanking you?”

Elisif traced a finger over a scratchmark, remembering him biting his lip and whimpering when she'd inflicted it. It must have hurt... but right now, he seemed happy.

“Was it all right?” Elisif whispered. “I mean, it didn't hurt? Much? You enjoyed it?”

“Yes,” Madanach said, opening his eyes and rolling her off him so he could look at her properly. “Yes, I enjoyed it, yes, it was fine, yes Elisif, you're quite welcome back in my bed any time. If they don't execute me in the morning, that is.”

A grim reminder that these negotiations could go badly and there was no telling exactly how Tullius would react tomorrow. Elisif shuddered, clinging on to him, sure she would secede there and then if the General tried to hurt Madanach.

“You are my vassal, my chosen Jarl, I pardoned you!” Elisif growled. “If me being High Queen means anything, then it has to at least mean I can keep my allies safe.”

A pause and then Madanach reached out for her again and gently pulled her to him, leaving a long, slow, lingering kiss on her lips that left her breathless.

“I believe you,” Madanach said quietly, trailing his thumb over her lips. “But even if you can't... I forgive you. You're the first person to look at me in years and see something other than monster. For that, I will always be grateful.”

Elisif could feel tears in her eyes again, and perhaps he didn't exactly deserve the compassion, but that didn't mean she didn't feel it.

“Be grateful after I've sorted this mess out with the Legion,” Elisif told him. “Which I will do, believe me.”

“I do,” Madanach said quietly, his turn to nuzzle her neck now. “I don't have faith in a lot but I do have faith in you. Thank you. For everything. For giving an old man hope. For being a sweet and kind and gentle human being, and a brave and powerful dragonslayer, and beautiful besides. I've never met anyone quite like you.”

“Same here,” Elisif said, stroking his hair. “How you manage to be this ruthless, cynical barbarian on the one hand and an utter sweetheart on the other, I'll never know.”

“Wasn't always ruthless or cynical,” Madanach said softly. “Just ask Keirine. Actually, don't, I can live without the embarrassing childhood stories coming to light. Bad enough she tells them to the kids.”

Elisif smothered a giggle at that, making a mental note to hunt down Eola and ask her at some point. But not right now. Right now was a time to enjoy Madanach while she could. So she snuggled up to him and kissed him on the cheek, enjoying the way he sighed happily and snuggled her back.

“So what changed?” Madanach finally murmured. “You still haven't told me what happened in Sovngarde. All I know is you go off, trap a dragon, fly off into the ether, my sister abducts my children to go help you not get killed, you take my son off to Sovngarde with you and then you turn up about ten days later apparently having killed Alduin, and having this glow about you that was never there before. No, don't deny it, you came back different, Elisif. Stronger. That veil of sadness you had before gone. You went away swearing you could never love again, and you come back and we end up like this??”

He'd propped himself up on one elbow, stroking her cheek, frowning a little, and while he obviously wasn't that bothered or he'd not have persuaded her into sex in the first place, he was clearly curious.

I really don't want to talk about Torygg. She still remembered his face as she'd left, heartbroken and clearly regretting everything, and she'd wanted to go back too... but he was dead and gone. Her marriage was quite literally over with no chance of ever repairing it. All she could do was move on and try to forget. Which did not involve talking about it, not ever, but she supposed Madanach was owed an answer.

“What happened, cariad?” Madanach asked gently. “Don't tell me you're not still mourning, I can see it in your eyes.”

“Not like I was,” Elisif whispered, closing her eyes and leaning into his hands, wanting to pretend it was Torygg's hand, but the calluses and roughness gave the lie to that, another reminder Torygg was lost to her forever. “I mean, I still miss him but... he was there, Madanach. In Sovngarde.”

Silence, and then Madanach was wrapping arms around her, drawing her in and pressing her head to his chest, stroking her hair, holding her tight and not even seeming to mind she had tears rolling down her face again, soaking his chest hairs.

“Are you really all right?” Madanach said softly. Elisif shook her head, knowing she wasn't, not by any means, not yet. But she wanted to be, she wanted to not be mourning any more, and she had a feeling Madanach might be able to help with that.

“We split up,” Elisif whispered, and she felt the surprise – no, shock – from Madanach.

“You what?” he snapped. “I thought you loved him! What changed your mind?”

“I did love him!” Elisif protested. “I still do! It was him, Madanach! He found out I was Dragonborn and he didn't want me any more!”

“He... what?” Madanach said, after a few moments of stunned silence. “But how... why... what do you mean, he didn't want you any more? Did he realise he preferred men or something? Why would he say no to you, why would anyone say no to you?”

Madanach looked genuinely confused and bewildered as to why anyone would turn her down, and it made Elisif want to cry all over again... but it was also one of the cutest expressions she'd ever seen on him.

“He didn't want a Dragonborn wife,” she said quietly. “He wanted someone who'd love and adore him and look up to him, someone he could protect and take care of. He wanted someone weaker than him. I'm... not. Not any more.”

“Then he's an idiot,” Madanach growled, cuddling her and planting a kiss on her forehead. “Gods, why... didn't he remember what having you was like? Elisif, you're gorgeous, you're fierce, you're wonderful... why?”

“I don't know,” Elisif whispered, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Maybe he didn't want a wife who can breathe fire and carve up dragons.”

The confusion on Madanach's face didn't shift in the slightest. “But why?” he asked, pouting. “Why wouldn't he want to be with someone who could do all that? What's wrong with him?”

“I don't know,” Elisif sighed. “Only I don't think I was ever supposed to be Dragonborn. I know I was never supposed to be Jarl. Torygg wasn't supposed to die, I was supposed to give him heirs, he'd set his entire court up to keep me away from power! And when I found that out, I got angry and told him to get out, and I think that's when I realised it was over.”

Madanach didn't say a word, stroking a callused thumb over her lips, pouting at her and still looking a bit bewildered as to why someone wouldn't want her. Then he was taking her in his arms, holding her against his chest and stroking her hair, letting her nestle against him, and that feeling of safety returned, a sense that even though she'd lost Torygg, lost her husband and seen her world turn itself inside out, she was going to be all right. She wasn't alone any more. She could have someone at her side if she wanted... she had someone right here.

She wasn't all right yet but for the first time in a long time, she realised she was going to be, and more to the point, that she wanted to be. Ideally with Madanach, because finding someone who'd genuinely liked her taking charge of him in bed and who didn't seem to want to gain control of her for his own purposes was unexpected and enjoyable. But that meant not letting the Empire take him away from her.

“You're not going anywhere,” Elisif whispered.

“Wasn't planning on it,” Madanach murmured into her hair, planting a kiss on her scalp and Kyne, this was going to turn into sex again at this rate.

“No, I meant, they're not taking you away from me,” Elisif said, feeling the dragon blood rising – no, not rising. It hadn't gone away. It was there, in her head, all steely determination that no one could just walk in and tell her what to do, take her chosen mate away now she'd found him. She wasn't negotiating over this – he was hers, she'd claimed him, Tullius wasn't ordering her around! “I mean, you're mine now, this city is loyal to me, I conquered it, we both did! Tullius has no right to demand I just hand it over – there's nothing to hand over! I'm loyal to the Empire and I'm the rightful queen.”

“But is the Empire loyal to you?” Madanach asked, shifting back a little, the conniving politician back again and watching her keenly. “Where exactly do the boundaries lie? What are you allowed to get away with?”

“I need to keep the tribute flowing and allow the Legion to garrison troops in Skyrim, but I do get some say in where they're garrisoned, and the Jarl of the Hold also needs to agree,” Elisif said thoughtfully. “But local law enforcement lies with the local ruler. If I've declared you pardoned and you are willing to swear allegiance to the Empire, Tullius can't overrule me. I know that much.”

“Right, right. So if that's the case, why are we going out to negotiate tomorrow at all?” Madanach asked, raising an eyebrow. “Us going to him makes us look weak.”

It was hard to deny he was right. But Elisif wasn't the easily intimidated young woman she'd been a few months ago. Elisif was a Dragonborn now, Alduin-Kriid, and she no longer feared any mere man.

“Then we don't go to him,” she whispered. “Listen well, Jarl of Windhelm. This is what we're going to do...”

Notes:

Alduin-Kriid - slayer of Alduin. Thuri - my lord/lady. Brenhina - Queen.

Next chapter, it's all the politics as the audience with General Tullius finally happens, with a few unexpected results...

Chapter 41

Summary:

Negotiating with General Tullius, Elisif was ready for. Dealing with the Thalmor, Madanach and Delphine had prepared for in great detail. But there's one eventuality no one had banked on... and it changes everything.

Notes:

A few of you couldn't wait for the next chapter so seeing as it's ready, here you go! It's something of a game changer. If the last one made you excited for more, this one is a bit of a cliffhanger and no mistake. I don't think anyone's seen this coming.

Nearly noon, and the camp was getting restless. No word from the city, although the Forsworn were watching. But no envoy, no Kaie Brenyeen coming out to treat with them. No word from Elisif.

Tullius didn't like it at all. Something was up. He should never have let Elisif walk into the place alone. Eight only knew what Madanach had done with her, and despite assurances from Jarl Nepos that Madanach would not have turned against an ally like that, Balgruuf was giving voice to Tullius's own fears and Elenwen had been making pointed comments on the High Queen clearly being rather impetuous and was this really what you wanted in a leader? Rikke had argued back that it was a Nord's right to do what they thought was right, and a High Queen had the right to appoint Jarls with the consent of the Hold's people, which might be true... but Elisif was young, inexperienced, and anyone could trust the wrong people. If Madanach had decided she was of no further use to him and done away with her... Tullius didn't care what Nepos said, he was executing Madanach personally if he'd harmed Elisif.

“Sir!” That was Captain Hadvar. Good soldier, loyal to the last... and the one who'd brought the news of the fall of Windhelm to the Forsworn. He'd been a prisoner in Fort Kastav, taken captive by the Stormcloaks during a reconnaissance mission gone wrong and had been expecting nothing but his own execution... until Forsworn soldiers in fur parkas had crept into the cells one night, silently killed the guard and started releasing prisoners. They'd taken the fort together and then their leader, one Uraccen ap Uailon, had given him a message for his general, telling him Madanach had claimed the Jarldom of Eastmarch in the name of the High Queen and would be willing to discuss terms with the General at his earliest convenience, then sent the Imperial prisoners packing.

General Tullius had barely believed it, but he'd gathered his troops anyway, and seeing as the new Jarl of the Pale had invited the Legion in to garrison her Hold, he'd moved to secure the Pale and once that was done, he'd cautiously moved on Windhelm, not sure what he was going to find. He'd certainly not expected the Jarls of Whiterun and the Reach to turn up, although he wasn't exactly surprised either. Balgruuf had sided with the Legion mainly because of the High Queen, and Jarl Nepos's alleged Forsworn ties made it hard to believe he'd not known anything about this little venture. Still, he'd been able to offer some useful advice, urging caution and saying that if Madanach had wanted to massacre the entire city, he would have done it and moved on – staying on to rule it as Jarl was a sign he wanted peace. Tullius wanted to believe him but in his heart, he wasn't sure the King in Rags even knew what peace meant.

Now here was Hadvar, bringing word again.

“Speak, soldier,” Tullius snapped as Hadvar made his way into the command tent, standing to attention as he did.

“Word from the city, sir,” Hadvar said nervously, eyes constantly glancing back outside the tent and there was someone behind him, Tullius was sure. “The Dragonborn's sent emissaries. They want to talk to you.”

Tullius glanced at Rikke, who looked surprised, but nodded.

“Very well. Send them in,” Tullius said, wondering if this was the start of a setup. It certainly didn't sound like Elisif, and she'd promised to bring Madanach out herself to speak to them. Someone had got at the High Queen, and Tullius didn't like that at all.

The entire entrance darkened as Elisif's Nord housecarl entered in his strange steel armour, flanked by two other men, one a Nord woman with dark hair, blue eyes and strange grey armour, and the other the short red-haired Imperial in black and red who'd been with Elisif yesterday, grinning too much for Tullius's liking.

“General,” the housecarl announced without preamble. “The High Queen's ready to receive you now. She's persuaded Jarl Madanach to admit a small party of negotiators into the city. You and Legate Rikke are welcome, and up to four Imperial soldiers to serve as honour guard. We're also willing to admit Jarls Balgruuf and Nepos and their personal guards.” The man's lip curled on the next sentence. “The Thalmor Ambassador may also enter, if she wishes, although Jarl Madanach would like to remind her he's yet to sign the White-Gold Concordat.”

“If Jarl Madanach wishes to swear fealty to the Empire, he'll be bound regardless,” Tullius said curtly, not having remembered this housecarl – Arghus, Argis, Arkas, something like that? - looking quite this commanding when he'd been accompanying the High Queen earlier.

“When he's sworn in and the Empire's confirmed it. Not before,” Argis said, folding his arms.

Well, Madanach wouldn't be the first to feel it necessary to make a statement regarding the Thalmor, or even the inevitability of acknowledging the Empire – Balgruuf had been much the same but he'd come round in the end. It remained to be seen how reasonable Madanach actually was, not to mention the exact nature of his relationship with the High Queen. She'd gone into that city last night promising to bring Madanach to heel and now here she was issuing a summons? He'd done something to her, of that Tullius was sure.

“The High Queen said yesterday she'd bring Madanach out to talk terms,” Tullius said, changing the subject.

“Well, she changed her mind,” Argis said, shrugging. “Windhelm's her city now, she can do what she likes. She wants to have the discussion in her palace throne room rather than out here, that's her choice.”

“I was under the impression the Jarl was in charge of the city,” Tullius couldn't help but say, glancing at Rikke.

“He is, sir,” Rikke said quietly. “But Jarls pick their High King or Queen and swear loyalty to them – their palaces are at her disposal.”

Given that Tullius had tried and failed to use Elisif's name to bring Balgruuf to heel on several occasions before her Dragonborn status became known, Tullius had a feeling it was rather more complex than that... but maybe Madanach's relationship with her was not the same as Balgruuf's.

“All right,” Tullius growled. “Tell Elisif we'll be there within the hour. Madanach's Forsworn had better be ready to let us in.”

Argis bowed and took his leave, promising that all would be ready for their arrival. Tullius watched the party withdraw, suspecting they'd be all too prepared for this.

“What do you think, Legate?” Tullius asked, glowering. “This is something of a personality change from our High Queen. Is this her summons or his?”

“Personally, I think Elisif's finally worked out what a High Queen's supposed to be like and started acting like it,” Rikke observed, then hastily lowered her eyes on seeing the stern glare Tullius gave her. “But it's possible Madanach's had an influence too. We won't know until we get inside the city. Sir.”

Tullius gave Rikke a sidelong glance, wondering if perhaps his Nord second-in-command was a bit too fond of the young Queen for her own good, but Rikke was loyal and would follow orders, even ones she disagreed with.

Tullius hoped he wouldn't have to issue any, but he wasn't any too optimistic about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As promised, the city's small gate opened to admit them, grim-faced Forsworn watching in silence as they stepped through, all regarding them with suspicion – apart from Nepos, who got some friendly nods, and his guards actually got grinned and winked at, confirming Tullius's suspicion that Nepos was working hand-in-glove with Madanach.

Kaie Brenyeen was waiting, Elisif's housecarl at her back along with a guard of Forsworn, tersely telling them to follow her, the High Queen was waiting.

The citizens were watching in silence, which unnerved Tullius a bit – he wasn't expecting cheers of liberation with Madanach's troops still in place, but a great many of them, Nord, elf and lizard alike, were looking rather nervously at him, not to mention the Thalmor. Elenwen had brought two golden-armoured soldiers and a blue-robed Justiciar, and was sweeping along behind him appearing to ignore the stares... but Tullius was fairly certain she was making notes on faces for later.

The palace doors swung open to reveal the throne room, looking as Tullius remembered – aside from the Forsworn guards lining the walls, the blue bear banners gone and replaced by silver and red eagle banners... and in the throne sat Elisif, her dragon crown on her head, armour on, weapons to hand and Solitude's shield mounted above the throne. She didn't rise to greet them, just watched as they approached.

It was a silver-haired Reachman in Forsworn gear with a fine glass axe at his waist who did step forward to intercept, folding his arms and coldly staring Tullius down.

“Who approaches, daughter?” he asked, addressing Kaie.

“Father,” Kaie said, bowing slightly. “General Tullius to speak with you and the High Queen. He brings the Jarls of Whiterun and the Reach too... oh, and the Thalmor Ambassador.” The distaste in Kaie's voice as she mentioned Elenwen was palpable.

“What, the Talos-Finder General?” Madanach asked, smirking. “She's welcome to search in this city, she won't find anything left of him here.”

Exactly what Tullius had been afraid of, but he could hardly stand up for the rights of Talos-worshippers in front of the Thalmor Ambassador.

“Jarl Madanach,” Tullius growled. “I'm here to talk to the High Queen.”

Madanach shrugged and nodded his head in her direction. “She's right there. Elisif, it's the General.”

Elisif. Not Jarl Elisif, or High Queen or any kind of honorific whatsoever. Just Elisif. As if they were old and dear friends. Despite the fact they'd not known each other more than a few weeks if that.

“Thank you, Madanach, I'll speak with him,” Elisif said, actually smiling at Madanach, and not deigning to rise to greet Tullius like she usually did. “General, it's a pleasure. What can we do for you?”

“You know damn well – Elisif, what's been happening in this city?” Tullius demanded.

Elisif raised an eyebrow, confused by the question, it seemed.

“General, I thought I made it perfectly clear yesterday,” Elisif sighed. “Ulfric seceded from the Empire, Balgruuf refused to help me trap a dragon with the Stormcloaks on his borders, so when you refused to launch an attack on the city, I turned to Madanach and offered a blanket pardon for the Forsworn in return for his help. After the takeover proved a success, I appointed him Jarl and the citizenry have approved. Now that I've had a chance to settle in and see how things have been going, I have to say I don't see what all the fuss was about. He's been an exemplary ruler and has turned this city's government around from the mismanagement under Ulfric.”

“Oh, she is good,” Nepos could be heard murmuring.

“Isn't she?” Madanach whispered back, seeming very proud of his High Queen, before both men noticed Tullius glaring at them and fell quiet.

“That is not the point, Elisif,” Tullius sighed. “You can't just go around invading Holds and appointing who you like as Jarl!”

Silence, and Elisif's gaze had gone very very frosty. When she did speak it was in tones Tullius had never heard from her before.

“Can't I, General? I was under the impression I was the rightful High Queen. Within Skyrim's borders, I can do exactly that if the Jarl in question is outright rebelling against lawful authority.”

“Which he's spent his entire career doing!” Tullius snapped, pointing at Madanach, who had the nerve to look offended.

“Yes, General, I know about Madanach's career,” Elisif said, glaring. “I also know firsthand the injustices Markarth suffered at the hands of my own kinsmen and while I don't agree with all Madanach's methods, I can't help but sympathise! And so I have pardoned him and offered Ulfric's Hold as recompense. So far he's not treated Ulfric's people like Ulfric treated his.”

“Because he knew you'd be back to keep an eye on him,” Balgruuf said, glancing warily at Madanach. “Who knows what he'd have done otherwise?”

“Balgruuf, without me he'd be back in the Reach on a Forsworn camp somewhere,” Elisif sighed, tacitly admitting the jailbreak would have gone ahead regardless of Elisif's presence. “This whole operation was organised with and supervised by myself and my people, and no Jarl of Skyrim will be operating without supervision from myself and lawful Imperial representatives, including Jarl Madanach.”

“That's exactly the point, this whole thing was done without supervision from anyone in the Legion!” Tullius cried. “By the Eight, Elisif, what if he'd betrayed you?”

“He hasn't,” Elisif said, only the merest hint of doubt in her eyes. “And he won't. He has risked more than me, General. He still is.”

“I broke out of prison and came out of hiding for her, General,” Madanach said quietly. “I made myself vulnerable because she needed my help. Worst you can do to her is just haul her back to Solitude and sit her back in the Blue Palace. I could end up with my head on the block.”

“Don't tell me you don't deserve it, Madanach!” Balgruuf snapped. Then he sighed and turned to Tullius. “But they have valid points. General, she is the next High Queen. Those Nords who've supported the Empire in this whole conflict don't wish to be rewarded for our contribution by seeing the High Queen we supported overruled at every turn. She went to you first, General, don't deny it. And you said no! You can hardly blame her for resorting to desperate means.”

Tullius turned to Rikke, hoping for a sensible opinion out of her. He was to be disappointed.

“Jarl Balgruuf is right, General. A High King or Queen who can't take action against rebels is no ruler at all. If Elisif calls the Empire in, it's her choice. If the Empire won't help, she's entitled to make alternative arrangements. She's also allowed to grant pardons and appoint loyal Jarls. If you have doubts about Madanach's loyalty, I don't blame you, sir, but if she vouches for him, we have to respect that. She's High Queen, you can't order her about like she's a rebellious child.”

Tullius had grave and enduring doubts about the loyalty of a man who'd taken advantage of the Great War to make his own grab for power, stabbing the Empire in the back during its darkest hour, but he also saw Rikke's point. He'd been told by Titus Mede himself before coming out here that Skyrim was important and winning the hearts and minds of its people was as important as winning the war, and that involved respecting their local customs. Which was why he'd made Rikke up to Legate and then second-in-command, so as to have an informed opinion on Nords and how they saw the world. It was still fair to say that he really didn't understand them, but even he knew that the Empire needed to maintain the idea that the High Queen was in charge of her own country. He really couldn't do that and then overturn all her decisions, not without cause.

Much as it pained him, he supposed he would have to go along with this. Of course, then Elenwen spoke up.

“But she isn't yet, is she?” Elenwen said thoughtfully. “Don't you need to have the Moot first to declare a High King or Queen? Not possible with the war, of course, and that's only just finished. Without that, Elisif's just another Jarl. She's got no authority outside her own Hold. Of course, any loyal citizen of the Empire's entitled to fight against traitors, to be sure – but she can't pardon a criminal from outside Haafingar, can she?”

The room had gone very quiet, and Tullius didn't need to look at Balgruuf or Rikke to know that they had nothing to offer to rebut this. Elisif might be the obvious choice by both inheritance, convention and merit, but the fact remained that despite having the Jagged Crown, she'd not been Mooted, not yet.

“Legate,” Tullius sighed. “In the absence of a High King or Queen, who would be responsible for granting pardons?”

“The Jarl of the Hold in which the offence is committed, but General, Madanach's crimes were rather more severe than simple thieving or even one murder,” Rikke sighed. “He executed several prominent citizens of the Reach, usurped lawful authority, paid nothing in Imperial taxes for two years, and his people have been wantonly murdering ever since. They're crimes against the Empire as much as crimes against Skyrim.”

All true, but General Tullius was a practical man and on top of that, not keen to play into Elenwen's hands.

“I'm the Emperor's representative in Skyrim, Legate,” Tullius said, drawing himself up to his full height. “I don't exactly like the idea of pardoning a murdering traitor, but I'm also willing to concede Elisif's little operation has no doubt saved a lot of Legion lives and civilian lives by bringing the war to an end and also indirectly by freeing her to go and deal with the dragons. So with that in mind, subject to a thorough investigation of Madanach's rulership of Windhelm so far and the exact circumstances of the takeover, and Madanach swearing fealty to the Empire, I suppose I can agree to this... arrangement. If the Jarl of the Reach here is willing to forego a claim for justice on behalf of all Madanach's misadventures there?”

Nepos blinked, started up and then smiled.

“Well now, I think we might be able to come to some sort of arrangement – might I have a word with Jarl Madanach here?”

Tullius indicated for him to go ahead, and Nepos turned to Madanach, who was looking quite confident... at least until Nepos started talking.

“Now, you realise you killed an awful lot of people over the years, Madanach,” Nepos said sternly. Madanach's eyes narrowed, glaring at the Jarl of the Reach.

“Not personally,” Madanach growled. “In fact, if the Empire wanted me to start naming my associates... let's just think about that for a second, shall we? Let's look at the prospect. See it hanging in the air.” A flourish of the hand and a glowing blue sphere appeared in the air, Madanach gazing reverently at it.

“Now now, that won't be necessary,” Nepos said smoothly, a flick of his fingers dissipating the illusion. “Only I do need to see some sign of remorse from you before I can grant you this pardon?”

Silence, and Madanach had gone very still, eyes boring into Nepos, and really anyone else would have fled by now, but not Nepos.

“Remorse?” Madanach said quietly, and nothing in his voice said anything close to remorse, quite the reverse.

“Yes, remorse, don't tell me you're unfamiliar with the concept,” Nepos sighed. “Before I can grant you the pardon, I need an apology for all the death and violence the Forsworn have committed in the Reach. And a promise it won't happen again.”

“Are you serious,” Madanach said softly, and Tullius saw everyone on the Forsworn side looking rather nervous, the little red-haired jester whispering something to his lady friend and Elisif's housecarl eyeing up Nepos's guards with some trepidation. Elisif herself had sat upright, looking alarmed, and Tullius had a horrible feeling there was going to be another murder by the Forsworn in a second.

“Perfectly serious, Madanach,” Nepos said firmly, folding his arms, and Nepos had to be one of the bravest men Tullius had ever met or the stupidest. “Apologise and you can have your pardon.”

Madanach was gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, glare only intensifying, and then Elisif spoke up.

“Madanach. Do it,” Elisif said firmly. “If that's all that's needed... by Kynareth, I'm not having this fall apart because of your pride.”

Madanach turned that glare on her next, and Elisif barely flinched.

“Madanach,” Elisif growled, glaring right back at him, and to Tullius's amazement, Madanach grunted and sighed, turning back to Nepos.

“Fine,” Madanach growled. “I'm truly sorry on behalf of the entire Forsworn for all the killing. We just wanted justice in the Reach and freedom for Reachmen everywhere. Continue to administer the Reach like you have been doing, and we will ensure there are no repeat offences.”

“Thank you, Madanach,” Nepos said, beginning to smile. “Apology accepted. You're pardoned, you and all your people, by my right as Jarl of the Reach, and my goodness, I love saying that, you have no idea!”

“Actually, I rather think I do,” Madanach said, not quite able to stop smiling himself. “If that means I get to keep my Jarldom?” This was said to Tullius, the careworn grimace back.

“Subject to Imperial observers verifying you've not been abusing your power, yes,” Tullius sighed. “This time. Jarl Elisif, I hope you're not going to be taking the law into your own hands again, even when you are High Queen?”

“I will do my best to rule peacefully and fairly and uphold the law,” Elisif promised, which was not a denial but also likely the best Tullius was going to get.

And then Elenwen had to stick her nose in.

“The Thalmor will also want assurances the White-Gold Concordat is being upheld,” Elenwen purred. “Was there not a functioning Temple of Talos in this very city prior to your takeover, in direct defiance of the treaty?”

Oh good gods, this woman was going to make his life hell for the rest of his posting, Tullius could see this. Fortunately Madanach seemed to have a response ready – well, they must have known the Thalmor would ask.

“Madam Ambassador, I assure you I don't believe in the divinity of Talos any more than you do,” Madanach promised, actually contriving to sound welcoming. A rarity among most human rulers when talking to the Thalmor, especially in Skyrim. “Closing that breeding ground of heresy and sedition and turning it into something more socially useful was among my first priorities and I'm happy to say we achieved it within a week of taking office – did you want to have a look round? I'd be happy to show you.”

Elenwen looked a little taken aback to be met with such a friendly response, but had no choice to agree as Madanach escorted her and her entourage out, his Orc bodyguard falling into step behind him along with two forbidding Forsworn guards. That left Tullius facing Elisif.

“Thank you, General,” Elisif said softly, sweet smile and demure manner back now she'd got what she wanted, damn her. Tullius had been a soldier too long to be fooled, even if she was undeniably pretty. “I do appreciate your forbearance.”

“Don't rely on it too often,” Tullius said curtly. “Legate Rikke here will want to speak with your steward about the observers and investigators, who is that or dare I ask?”

Elisif glanced over to Kaie, who detached herself from the wall, staring frostily at Rikke.

“Me,” Kaie said firmly. “You can make the arrangements with me.”

Rikke looked less than happy about this and Tullius didn't blame her but Rikke was a soldier's soldier and knew her duty. She followed Kaie to start the discussions, and then Jarl Balgruuf was asking after Kodlak Whitemane, and Tullius decided the time was right to take his leave and head back to camp. He had faith in his Legate to bring him accurate intelligence. He just hoped Elisif's faith in the Reachmen was justified.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Right this way, Ambassador,” Madanach purred, indicating for Elenwen to follow him. “This is where the Temple of Talos used to be. As I said, I felt something more socially useful was in order – after you.”

Elenwen, only shivering a little in the crisp Windhelm air, stepped into the former temple, eager to seize on any excuse to start making arrests. She was to be disappointed.

The statue of Talos was gone. Talos's shrine was gone. At the end of the temple were two statues, and they were both of women. One a cowled woman with her eyes to the heavens and her hands held out in benediction and the other a woman with a crown of roses and arms outstretched, the sun in one and a moon in the other. Each had a shrine in front of her, and there were two Dunmer priests, one male, one female, having quiet conversations with worshippers, both Nord, Dunmer, even the odd Argonian.

“Welcome to the Unity Temple of Mara and Azura,” Madanach said quietly. “With so many Dunmer living here, it seemed like a good idea to represent their spiritual needs too, and everyone respects Mara. So seeing as I had a priest and priestess of both at my disposal, I closed the Temple of Talos and re-dedicated to deities I do respect. I think the afternoon service to Mara is about to start in ten minutes, did you want to stay for it, Ambassador?”

“I've no interest in Mara worship,” Elenwen said, gritting her teeth. “Didn't you have problems, weren't the citizens outraged?”

“Some,” Madanach admitted. “But they're not actually rioting, so I don't care. The former priest and priestess of Talos weren't too happy, but I made them an offer they couldn't refuse. A large payment of gold and they agreed to leave. I think they went to Morrowind. Very ironic that they registered their objection to Azura worship by going to Morrowind, but there you have it, no one ever said Nords were sensible.”

“But surely there are other objectors?” Elenwen pressed. “Other citizens appalled at the closing of the Temple to this city's long-term patron god and turning it over to those heathen Dark Elves?”

Madanach just shrugged, expression giving nothing away. “Madam Ambassador, this is a very delicate time for Windhelm. The citizens have had to deal with a lot of upheaval in a very short amount of time – first the war, then a serial killer, then our little occupation, and losing the Temple, not to mention Nords facing the prospect of having to treat the non-Nord citizens of Windhelm like people for a change. My guards have their hands full keeping order in the streets and preventing incidents, I've got no interest in invading homes without good cause. Of course, if the Thalmor wish to carry out their own investigations, I've got no objections.”

Elenwen narrowed her eyes, but nodded, seeing this was the best she was going to get. “And the survivors of the uprising, what of them? You didn't slaughter the entire guard, did you?”

Laughter from Madanach. “When denied victory, a huge number of them elected for Sovngarde instead. As for the rest, it was costing too much to feed them. So after a week, I sent them packing with enough supplies each to get to Riften or Morrowind, or back home.”

“You're not worried they'll join up with their comrades elsewhere?” Elenwen asked, surprised at his leniency. Madanach shook his head.

“Some will. Some will have lost heart and just want to see their families again. Either way, there weren't sufficient numbers for me to be worried, and they don't know anything they can use against us. Knowing we're capable of whatever feat of magic they've seen is a far cry from knowing how it works or how to combat it.”

“Indeed,” Elenwen said stiffly, and Madanach could tell that it wasn't the Talos worship she'd been most interested in, but knowing how the Forsworn had done it, what techniques they'd used, and while a Nord soldier wouldn't have known much, the Thalmor knew enough about magic to interpret their reports and work much out for themselves. It wouldn't stay a secret forever, but Madanach was damned if he was letting the Thalmor get their hands on the secrets of Reach-magic without working for it. Much as he'd disagreed with Delphine at the time, he had to admit she'd been dead right about the Thalmor. She'd said that their advantage lay in their magic and their unhesitating ability to wield it on other races. The last thing the Thalmor needed was a faction of magic-resistant warriors with the same willingness to unleash magical storms on their foes deciding to join up with the Empire. Madanach had wanted to argue the point, but try as he might, he couldn't see a flaw in her reasoning, and so he'd given in and gone along with her plans. A wise decision in the event. Delphine herself had teleported to safety that morning with Brynjolf, but Madanach made a note to send word to thank her.

Elenwen took her leave, sourfaced and frustrated, the rest of the Thalmor with her, and Madanach made his way back to the Palace to see how Elisif was doing. She was there, sitting at the table on her own while activity bustled around her, Crown off by this point, looking tired and worn and frazzled. Madanach didn't blame her. Even though things had gone as well as expected, they weren't out of the woods yet. All the same, she'd been magnificent this morning and he couldn't help but feel proud of her. She'd been nothing short of magnificent the night before either and that did bring a smile to his face. Elisif was his lover now. Beautiful, warm, passionate, sweet-natured Elisif. Exactly how this had happened Madanach still wasn't sure but it had and he was determined to ensure it kept happening, because Elisif was a delight and a treasure.

“So how's things been here?” Madanach murmured, sliding onto the bench next to her. “No crises?”

“None, it's just tiring,” Elisif sighed. “Thankfully Kaie's dealing with Rikke now so I don't have to do anything. Of course, that does mean I'm now not sure what to do with myself.”

Madanach shifted closer to murmur in her ear, hand coming to rest on hers. “Nor am I. Shall we slip upstairs, have a little quiet time?”

Elisif wrenched her hand away like he'd shocked her.

“Don't,” she whispered. “Not while... not in front of everyone! I can't... I don't want the Empire to know! Or the Thalmor.”

Madanach wasn't exactly shocked, but all the same he'd not expected that to hurt like it did.

“You're ashamed of me,” Madanach said quietly, feeling stung. All right, maybe he was older than her, but if he pulled this off, he'd be Jarl, surely that counted for something?

“No!” Elisif gasped. “It's just I need them to take me seriously, and they probably won't if they know we... you know...”

“Ashamed of me. I knew it,” Madanach growled. “Look, you're going to have to tell people about me at some point, you can't keep it hidden forever. If I'm getting a full pardon and sufficient status to be remotely eligible for marrying the High Queen, you at some point are going to have to tell the world about the wedding.”

Elisif flinched away, looking like she was going to cry and shaking her head.

“They might not let me,” Elisif whispered, which just confused him even more.

“Let you what?” Madanach demanded, as always concealing softer vulnerable emotions behind brusqueness. “Let you get married to who you want to? What happened to 'no one tells a Dragon what to do'??”

“I might have to marry for politics,” Elisif whispered, sounding wretched. “I don't think I can make you any promises. I care about you, of course I do, but I don't think... that is, I can't...”

Madanach couldn't even look at her, heart quietly breaking but concealing it well... too well. He drew back from her, staring at his hands, quietly radiating rage.

“I am not going to be your bit on the side, Elisif,” Madanach growled. “I am not going to be the one you sneak off to while marrying some other man in public, in fact if I have to sit there watching you wed someone else, I might...” He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Elisif took his meaning.

“Are you telling me if I turn you down, you'll murder my future partners??” Elisif hissed.

“What – no!” Madanach protested, not entirely convincingly. “Rejection I can handle, but I'm not being used by you for sex while you marry someone else!”

“I'm not marrying anyone yet!” Elisif hissed. “It's not even a year since I was widowed and we only just started seeing each other – I can't think about marriage yet!”

“Well I wasn't about to suggest we visit the Temple tomorrow!” Madanach hissed. “I'd just like to be able to kiss you without worrying who's looking!”

Elisif looked absolutely wretched and Madanach did feel bad for snapping at her... but he just wanted to be able to cuddle her in public, was that too much to ask?

“I'm sorry,” Madanach sighed. “I suppose I do understand... but I don't want to let you go. Elisif, I-”

“Am I interrupting something?” Tullius voice rasped out, causing both Elisif and Madanach to instinctively move apart, trying to look innocent.

“No, General,” Elisif said quickly. “We were just talking – did you need something?”

“Not me,” Tullius said, worry flickering in his eyes – worry?? From what Madanach had heard, Tullius didn't worry about a lot and rarely showed it when he did. “But the two of you need to come with me. You've been summoned.”

“Summoned – who by?” Madanach snapped. “Not Elenwen surely, she's a diplomat not someone who can just send for us – Elisif? Elisif, say something, you've gone very quiet.”

“General,” Elisif said faintly, actual fear in her eyes, and Madanach had not seen Elisif afraid in a long time, not since Cidhna Mine. “General, please tell me it isn't...”

“The Katariah docked in Windhelm Inlet in the early hours of this morning and the Imperial envoy made contact an hour or so ago – I've just returned from a debrief and audience,” Tullius said, expression barely flickering. “He wants to see the pair of you. Now.”

“Who does??” Madanach said, exasperated. “Elisif, what's the Katariah? Is it some sort of boat?”

Elisif nodded, barely holding in a whimper and definitely not looking like a mighty and powerful Dragonborn Queen right now. She looked like a frightened child who'd been sent for by the camp Matriarch for misbehaviour.

“It's a ship,” Elisif whispered. “The Emperor's ship!”

The Emperor's ship – but why would it be here... oh. Oh. Fuck.

“What, the Emperor?” Madanach asked, although realistically there weren't many people with that title in Tamriel. “Here?”

“Yes, the Emperor, Titus Mede II, right here, on his ship, wanting to talk to a former renegade and the candidate for provincial rulership who between them managed to organise a coup in a rebel city and overturn completely the politics in one of the Empire's most valuable provinces!” Tullius growled. “So I need the two of you to get a move on and come with me for an audience with him where you can no doubt explain yourselves and tell him everything you've been doing for the last few weeks!”

A number of Imperial soldiers had materialised out of nowhere, rather tough looking ones a cut above the usual grunts, and Madanach had the sinking feeling they weren't getting out of this one.

“Elisif,” Madanach said faintly. “Elisif, do you think he'll be all right with the arrangement we've struck?”

“I don't know!” Elisif cried, stricken. “He's the bloody Emperor, Madanach, he can do what he likes!”

“Yes,” Tullius said firmly. “He can. So I would advise the two of you to make your way over to his ship to give him a thorough accounting and I would advise you to make it good. Because he can have the pair of you executed if he wants, and I have no authority, none, zero, to stop him.”

Madanach felt his brain grind to a halt as he turned to look at Elisif, realising this was it then. The end of the road. One meeting that stood between him and execution.

Well. Guess we're done. Time to initiate Plan B.

“All right then,” Madanach said quietly, getting up. “Give me a minute to say goodbye to Kaie and my sister. Then I'll be there.”

“You can't just give up,” Elisif gasped, panic setting in. “You're not just going to hand yourself in!”

Of course he didn't want to. But he looked around the room, seeing all these Forsworn troops of his, good men and women all, his daughters, his sister, Nepos, everyone he cared about in this room. If he gave the order to fight back, they would, he knew. But it would be death for them all, traitors for life, this chance he'd worked for ruined. He looked back at Elisif, seeing her staring up at him, terrified and fierce and brave all at once, and he knew that he couldn't ruin her life on top of everything else.

“Come on, cariad,” Madanach said gently, holding out a hand. “Let's go meet an Emperor.”

Notes:

See? Game changer. :D As for Titus Mede's reaction, well. You'll have to wait and see.

Chapter 42

Summary:

Elisif finally comes face to face with the man who's Empire she's been doing all this for... and Madanach comes face to face with the man who's Empire he's been rebelling against all this time. But Titus Mede is neither a fool nor a villain, and neither side gets the outcome they imagined.

Notes:

Hello, here is the next chapter. I hit a bit of a creative block, but this one is done so you may as well have it. In which Elisif and Madanach meet the Emperor. It was an interesting one, I must say!

The Emperor's men escorted them through the city and to the docks, the city's people staring in horror as they passed. The full weight of Imperial authority in the city and the Jarl and High Queen themselves being escorted out, not quite like prisoners but deprived of their own people and definitely being herded, that would unnerve anyone.

Madanach had said a quiet goodbye to Kaie, whispering to her to initiate the plan, which meant even now his people would be rousing Eola and probably Cicero too, and escorting the two of them plus Kaie, Argis and Farkas to a secure room in the Palace and then through a portal to the Reach. Keirine would then assume charge of the Forsworn. Easier for her to escape in a crisis than anyone else.

Eola would hate it, Eola would be screaming and crying, Madanach knew. She'd already berated him about the back-up plan on her return from Winterhold, demanding to know why. Madanach couldn't give her any comfort, other than it was necessary, the Reach was bigger than one man. Eola had cried even harder that it wasn't fair, he was her father, she couldn't lose him again. And it had clawed at his heart but he didn't have any choice. He'd never been sure this would actually work, but he'd been prepared to risk his own life. With Nepos as Jarl and Kaie as heir, the Reach would be fine without him. Maybe better than fine. Except Eola didn't see it that way.

They reached the docks, Elisif alongside him, Jagged Crown on her head, weapons by her side – they'd left her those at least – hand snaking discreetly into his despite her stated wish to keep it quiet. Perhaps now she felt she had nothing left to lose.

Madanach squeezed her hand, risking a glance at her. She was pale and anxious but her head was held high, showing all the courage of someone who'd faced down Alduin and survived. She gave him a faint smile and squeezed his hand back. Despite everything, Madanach had no regrets. Better to go out like this than die in his bed in a dingy prison cell. Perhaps there was something to Nord beliefs about death in battle being a good thing after all. Either way, he couldn't think of anyone he'd rather be with at the end. Except maybe his kids, but in all honesty, he didn't want them to see his execution. Not that he wished that on Elisif either, but her mere presence was a comfort to him.

A small boat took them onwards and then there it was, the Katariah, her bulk looming over them. Madanach really wasn't used to boats in the first place, but he'd seen Nord longships while he was here. The Katariah was something else – you could get an entire village in there. For the first time in his life, Madanach slowly began to appreciate how big the Empire was.

How in the world did we ever think we could win? That it would end any other way than with all our deaths? Looked like he really was going to go out like Red Eagle.

Ropes were thrown down, attached to the rowing boat and to Madanach's amazement, winches on the deck hauled the entire boat out of the water and level with the deck. Deckhands with great hooks secured the boat, pulling it in, and from there, Madanach and Elisif were helped on board.

They were escorted through the ship in silence, none of the soldiers wanting to talk and neither Madanach nor Elisif inclined to start a conversation. Madanach felt Elisif link her arm in his, left hand resting on his forearm, and Madanach covered her left hand with his right, neither wanting to be apart from the other.

He'd never told her he loved her and now it looked like he never would.

They finally came to the door of a room which must be the Emperor's itself. Sure enough, the door opened on a room bigger than some actual houses.

“Inside. He's waiting for you,” one of the guards said gruffly, while another announced to the room's sole occupant that the leader of the Forsworn and the Jarl of Solitude were here.

“I'll see them,” and the voice wasn't at all what Madanach expected. The speaker sounded kind, almost fatherly, not at all like a man who held Tamriel in his grip. “Thank you, the rest of you may go.”

“Are you sure, sir?” the guard captain asked, Maro, Madanach thought he'd heard the man called.

“Yes, Commander,” the Emperor said, rising to his feet. “I think this conversation needs to be private, and while I'm not sure about him, I know Jarl Elisif at least is loyal to her Empire.” He looked meaningfully at Elisif, who'd let Madanach go and lowered her eyes, biting her lip. Madanach felt his heart contract at the realisation that Elisif not only couldn't but wouldn't save him. The sense of betrayal made him feel sick, but there was nothing he could do. Not now.

Maro glared at both Madanach and Elisif but did as the Emperor bid him and withdrew, leaving Madanach alone with a man who could have him killed and a woman he was no longer sure he could trust. Numb, he could only follow as Titus Mede invited them both to sit down, taking a seat next to Elisif, but his eyes kept darting around the room to identify possible escape routes.

“Now then,” Titus said calmly. “We all know why you're here. I've had informants both official and unofficial sending me details of what you've been up to and I have to say it's made for interesting reading. Can you really take a dragon's very soul?”

Elisif nodded, staring at her hands.

“Yes sir,” she said softly. “One attacked Solitude and when I went to see the body, it... it burned up and I took the soul. I don't really know how it works, sir, but it just happens...”

“And you've been travelling Skyrim ever since, learning the Thu'um,” Titus said, intrigued. “Nearly getting apprehended by Stormcloaks, evading an attempt on your life by the Dark Brotherhood, some say even wiping them out in retaliation...”

“I did, sir,” Elisif said, a note of pride creeping back into her voice. “Or my people did. I persuaded a renegade member of their order to turn them in.”

“Impressive!” Titus Mede murmured, looking at her with interest. “I always told Maro you couldn't stop the Dark Brotherhood. It seems I may have been wrong. And then there's the trouble you had in Markarth.” His voice hardened at this point as his eyes fell on Madanach. “Where you apparently ended up in prison and fell in with this renegade. Oh yes, Madanach, your name's quite familiar. You're the one who stabbed the Empire in the back during its darkest hour and then had the nerve to expect us to recognise your little rogue state.”

Ah. No doubt about it, execution was looming large in Madanach's future, he could tell. He instinctively glanced at the door behind the Emperor that he'd noticed earlier, wondering if he could get there before Titus Mede called the guards. It was to change everything.

He saw movement in the shadows, and training kicked in. Illusions cloaking the sound and sight of his magic, Detect Life in one hand revealing the silhouette of a man, then the unmistakeable sound of a sword being drawn that had Titus Mede turning in his chair and Elisif gasping as she looked up to see the would-be assassin for herself.

“FUS RO DAH!” Elisif cried out as Madanach's paralysis spell hit the man, an Imperial soldier in light Legion armour, sword clattering to the ground as the combined force of both sent him flying into the wall. Titus Mede was on his feet, staring at the man in horror as the main door flew open and Maro burst in with half a dozen guards at his back.

“All right, you two step away from the Emperor, now!” Maro cried out, enraged. “Arrest the pair of them, kill them if they don't come quietly.”

Elisif's hand had gone to Dawnbreaker and Madanach was already casting mage armour, but then Titus Mede's voice rang out.

“Wait! Oculatus, stand down!”

There was no arguing with that voice, and the soldiers that had been closing in on Elisif and Madanach reluctantly sheathed their weapons.

“Eminence, you cannot be serious, she just tried to kill you, we all heard the Voice!” Maro protested, but Titus Mede was shaking his head.

“She didn't use it on me,” Titus Mede said, pointing at the paralysed soldier on the ground. “The would-be assassin was one of our own. In fact, I think that's Rexus, if I remember rightly, one of Motierre's retainers. No doubt hoping to kill me and let the Dragonborn and King in Rags take the blame. Might have worked too if Madanach here hadn't noticed him creep in and Elisif hadn't been able to Shout him down. As it is... I think you two just saved my life.”

Madanach lowered his hands, looking first at Elisif who looked as amazed as he did, then back at the Emperor who was smiling at him, actually smiling!

“Right... I mean, er, yeah I suppose we did,” Madanach said vacantly. “Er... is there a reward?”

“A reward?” Titus Mede said, eyebrow raised as Maro's men picked the hapless Rexus up and cleared the room, aside from two who slipped out on to the deck to stand guard. “Well, it is customary, I suppose. All right, sit down, the pair of you and we'll talk.”

Madanach sat down, not sure what happened next but fairly certain it wasn't execution, not now. Maybe he could bargain for his own life, accept a retirement at the College or something. It wasn't much but it'd make Eola happy.

“Eminence, please believe me, Madanach's not all bad,” Elisif was saying. “I know he's done a lot of terrible things, but when my own people betrayed me, he rescued me and took me somewhere safe, and when I needed help to overthrow Ulfric and the Legion said no, he helped me deal with the Stormcloaks. Sir, you can't possibly be angry at him for dealing with Ulfric, the man was in open rebellion against you.”

Titus looked at her, amused.

“Elisif, my dear, let us dispense with the polite fiction that you only asked him for help after the Legion said no – General Tullius told me you asked for a direct assault on Windhelm, he said no, and then less than two weeks later the city had fallen to the Forsworn overnight. Please don't expect me to believe that operation hadn't been prepared and planned for beforehand.”

Elisif couldn't exactly deny that, but Madanach felt it his responsibility to spare Elisif's reputation here.

“Actually, she was the last to know,” Madanach admitted. “I met with some of her agents after the escape from Markarth, and agreed with them that we were all worried about her. She was grieving her husband Torygg very deeply and didn't seem to care if she lived or died... but she was set on bringing Ulfric down. So we started planning around that so she could have a little help. We were a bit worried she'd walk in and challenge him one on one in a fight to the death and get herself killed.”

Titus raised an eyebrow and turned to Elisif for confirmation. She blushed and nodded.

“It's true, I was deep in grief and not thinking clearly. He was right to be worried.” Elisif reached out and took his hand, no longer seeming to care about secrecy. Madanach stared down at her hand on his before squeezing it back, lifting his eyes to see her smiling at him. His heart skipped a beat as he realised perhaps she had his back after all.

“Interesting,” Titus Mede murmured. “I wondered if Tullius was reporting correctly what he'd seen, but perhaps not... tell me, are the two of you lovers?”

Madanach felt his skin grow cold as he stared at the Emperor, not sure he'd heard that correctly.

“That is hardly any of your business,” he tried to say but Elisif interrupted before he could get the words out.

“Yes,” Elisif said clearly. “Yes, Madanach is mine. After returning from killing Alduin, I found I had a fresh perspective on life and much-needed closure with regards to Torygg, so I have taken Madanach as my own. I don't care what he's done in the past, Eminence, but I have pardoned his prior offences, the Jarl of the Reach that your officials appointed has agreed and since he's been with me, the Forsworn ceased hostilities against the Empire and civilians and Madanach's done nothing wrong since. I will suffer no harm to come to him, Eminence, and if you insist on overturning my decisions, I might just have to secede after all.”

Elisif was staring down Titus Mede II, the very Emperor himself, grim determination on her face and Madanach realised that she loved him too, and that she was strong and brave and beautiful, and he'd never loved her more. For a few seconds, Dragonborn and Emperor stared each other down, and then it was the Emperor who backed down.

“Agreed,” Titus Mede said quietly. “The Empire needs Skyrim... and much as I hate to admit it, it needs the Reachmen. The Dominion are quiet now, but I'm under no illusion it'll last forever. They lost more people than expected in the last war and need to rebuild their population, which could take centuries for Altmer – but only a few decades for Khajiit and Bosmer, and I know who the Aldmeri armies will be risking in their frontlines. Even so, it's Aldmeri magic that devastates the most, and they have the edge on us.” Then Titus Mede looked up, and while it was clear he regarded Madanach with very little affection, that wasn't hate either, just resignation. “But not, I think, on the Reachmen, on magic-resistant insurgency fighters who don't respect any rules of normal combat, don't fight fair and can come up with a few game-changing magical surprises of their own. Tell me, Madanach, did you really have an entire army stationed within ten miles of Windhelm and no one in the city knew?”

“Yes,” Madanach admitted, feeling rather proud of himself for that one. “It took some doing and used a lot of resources but we did it. Burns through soul gems like you wouldn't believe though.”

“I'll make a note to start stockpiling some,” Titus said, still sounding calm. “Needless to say, my own battlemages have utterly failed to come up with anything quite that innovative. I am impressed, Madanach. Which is why I have decided that you're more use to the Empire alive. Now, the ultimate aim of the Forsworn Rebellion was for the Reach to be ruled by the Reachmen, citing Nord abuses of power and a desire for independence, am I right?”

“Ye-es, where is this going exactly?” Madanach asked warily. He'd had too many promises made in the past to exactly trust Titus Mede now.

“Simply this,” Titus Mede sighed. “Madanach, I'll be honest – I don't entirely trust you... but I do trust the young Dragonborn here. So if she's standing up for you, then I will respect that. So here is my offer. If you swear fealty to the Empire on behalf of yourself, your people and your descendants, I will not only not pursue claims for justice for your past crimes, I will allow you to govern the Hold of Skyrim formerly known as the Reach as an independent Imperial province. Subject to the agreement of the High Queen of Skyrim once she's Mooted, and the willingness of the Jarl of the Reach to hand over power – Elisif, do you think Jarl Nepos will be willing to do this?”

“I think so,” Elisif said, glancing at Madanach, knowing smile on her face. “We might have to pay him off, but he's an old man who never expected to be Jarl in the first place. I think he'll be all right with it.”

“If he's offered a senior position in the new administration, he'll be fine with it,” Madanach said, not quite wanting to give away the fact that Nepos was a very senior member of the Forsworn High Command, but also fairly certain Nepos would vastly prefer being the Reach-King's right hand and steward to actually being in the Mournful Throne himself.

Titus eyed Madanach shrewdly but nodded.

“Very well. My people will be in touch regarding drafting of a treaty and I'll be taking your oath of fealty personally before I leave... but for now, I'm prepared to allow existing arrangements to stand, subject to my people having found no evidence of wrongdoing in your handling of Windhelm's governorship. When Elisif's confirmed as High Queen, we'll see about organising the transfer of power, yes?”

Madanach nodded, not quite sure what had just happened or if he'd been dreaming the whole thing, but the room had gone blurry and suddenly he had an armful of Elisif who was cuddling him and kissing his cheek and whispering “oh my goodness, you did it!”

“I did – I mean, we did... oh gods,” Madanach whispered, hastily drying his eyes and pulling himself together, and Reach-King, he was going to be Reach-King again, after all this time, all the blood and misery and loneliness, but he'd done it. He'd done it and he wasn't going to die. Not yet.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Sir... Emperor... Elisif, what do I call an Emperor??”

“Eminence usually works,” Elisif said, smiling. She turned to the Emperor herself, smiling and Madanach rather hoped that smile wasn't having quite the effect on Mede that it had had on him.

“Thank you, sir,” she told him. “I don't really want to rebel against the Empire. But the Reach was being horribly mismanaged, and the Silver-Blood family in particular treated the Reachmen appallingly, and honestly I think Madanach can do a better job than any of them.”

“We'll see,” Titus said, leaning back and smiling. “Just keep the tribute coming, and the magical innovations, and ensure you abide by some sort of magical ethics code in the process. I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, Madanach, I don't want to start hearing stories of massacres of the innocent or child sacrifice or anything like that, understand?”

Madanach promised there would be nothing of the sort, and while the cessation of the war would cut off the usual supply of corpses for the Hags' experiments, Madanach had also become keenly aware of just how many undesirables there were in the rest of Skyrim, and had a feeling that raiding known bandit haunts on an irregular basis could sort that out. Cicero had been babbling to Eola about being invited to join the Companions, Madanach decided he could send them both off to Jorrvaskr with instructions to send word of the various jobs that came in, he could send people along to help. Everything was looking good.

Then Titus Mede turned his attention to Elisif.

“Well now, that's the Reach dealt with. Now there's the question of what to do with you.”

“Me – what?” Elisif whispered. “But I didn't – aren't I just going to go back to Solitude and be Jarl?”

“Oh absolutely, yes,” Titus promised, smiling at her with great interest, and Madanach didn't like that smile at all.

Treaty or no treaty, if he wants marriage to seal this deal, I'll kill him myself.

“But what then?” Titus asked, seeming almost to be thinking out loud. “You're young, charismatic, powerful in your own right, they say you saved the world from this Alduin dragon. They say you're Dragonborn, like Tiber Septim was. You've certainly got a gift for persuading disparate groups of people to follow your banner. A paranoid man might even think you're setting yourself up as the next Emperor.”

Elisif's face was a picture of pure shock.

“Me?” she breathed. “Oh no no no, I have enough on my plate with Skyrim. I don't want to be Empress! I'm not plotting treason, I swear!”

“I know,” Titus said, sounding rather kind considering the line of questioning.

“Emperor, is this going somewhere?” Madanach growled. “Only you're upsetting my Elisif, and she didn't do anything wrong.”

Elisif smiled rather gratefully at him, and Titus did laugh at that.

“No no, of course she hasn't. I daresay she's going to be a very competent ruler, and a loyal one, and I need more of those. Only she's proving to be extremely popular and Elisif, I hate to say it, but you're going to end up as a focus of power, like it or not. I have enemies, Elisif, as today proved, and many of them are saying the Mede dynasty stole power, that an Emperor who is not Dragonborn is no Emperor at all, that my rule is illegitimate.”

“Oh but sir, you have to know I'm not one of them,” Elisif gasped. “I'm not planning an assassination attempt, and I don't even know who Rexus and Motierre are! I wasn't involved with this one, I swear!”

“I know, and I believe you,” Titus said quietly, leaning forward, sadness in his eyes. “But those who say I'm a fraud as Emperor... Elisif, they're right.”

“Eminence!” Elisif gasped, and then her eyes flicked right to where Madanach was chuckling to himself. “Madanach, hush!”

“Sorry,” Madanach smirked, really not feeling sorry at all. The Emperor himself admitting he was a fraud? This he had to hear.

“Sir, of course you're the real Emperor, why wouldn't you be?” Elisif was saying, sounding rather desperate. “They did the rites and everything!”

“Not the old rites,” Titus said, his voice low and quiet as if he was unburdening himself of some dark secret, some oppressive shadow that had haunted him for years. “I never lit the Dragonfires, was never linked to the Amulet of Kings.”

“The Amulet was destroyed during the Oblivion Crisis, and there's not enough left of the Temple of the One to light fires in!” Elisif protested. “That sealed the Oblivion Gates, we don't need the Dragonfires any more!”

“Don't we,” Titus said softly. “Two hundred years without a Dragonborn Emperor and the Empire's fallen apart. Morrowind under ash. Hammerfell lost after the war. Cyrodiil was invaded and is still recovering. We lost Black Marsh years before all that. Elisif, the whole reason we have an Empire is to stop wars breaking out and to protect humanity from threats both internal and external, to try and bring human kingdoms and elven nations together in harmony. To unite the peoples of Tamriel under the auspices of the Divines, and the Emperor rules because of that connection to the Divines. Without that, he or she is just a petty tyrant over all humanity.”

“You're hardly that,” Elisif whispered. Titus shook his head, looking away from her.

“No, but it feels like it,” Titus sighed. “I'm not Dragonborn. I don't have the gift of the dragon blood from Akatosh. I couldn't light the Dragonfires, couldn't wear the Amulet if it still existed. But you could.”

Elisif stared at him and sat back, shaking her head.

“No. Oh no,” Elisif gasped. “Empress? Me? Oh no, you have to be kidding.”

“Why not?” Titus asked, still in that same calm voice. “I am an old man with no heirs and the question of the succession has been weighing heavily on the Elder Council for some time. I might live for a few more years but not much longer and then what? Chaos? War? A power struggle? You've seen for yourself what happens when a king dies with no obvious heir. Imagine that across all Tamriel.”

Elisif shuddered, not wanting to imagine it but seeing it now, Cyrodiil torn by war, High Rock no doubt similarly affected as rival candidates waged war and Skyrim torn apart all over again as the Talos Question would no doubt rear its head.

“There's no Amulet of Kings,” Elisif said, choosing to focus on that inarguable fact to stave off the impending breakdown that realising the full implications would cause.

“No, and there's no Dragonfires any more either,” Titus said sadly. “But the monument to Akatosh still stands – even the Thalmor didn't dare desecrate that. For Akatosh's Chosen to be crowned as Empress before that statue... I do believe the Empire could rally round that. Elisif, I don't propose stepping down immediately, or making any kind of announcement regarding this until you're settled as High Queen and Skyrim and the Reach are at peace, but I need heirs. Specifically, just one heir. A competent, brave, resourceful heir who people will follow to the death, and who can truly claim to be Dragonborn. You, Elisif. What do you say to being the next Empress?”

Elisif stared in stunned silence before turning pleading eyes on to Madanach. As if he knew anything about being Emperor. But he did know a thing or two about leadership... and about parenthood.

“I'd say adoption's a pretty big deal and she barely knows you,” Madanach said, rubbing the back of Elisif's hand with his thumb. “I think perhaps we want to get things settled down here first. Then perhaps Elisif can start corresponding with you and visiting Cyrodiil a few times a year, see what's involved, meet people, get used to the idea, and then she can give you an answer, hmm?”

“Yes, that,” Elisif said quickly, the relief in her eyes making her absolutely adorable, and Madanach gave up pretending he didn't have a sentimental side and put an arm round her, pulling her closer. Elisif took the Jagged Crown off and snuggled in to him for a brief moment before looking to see how Titus Mede had taken this.

“You perhaps need to make it a little less obvious which advisers you're relying on,” Titus said, amused. “But it's a fair answer. Very well, we'll wait until you're High Queen, and then when Skyrim's settled and the Reach is managing, perhaps I'll arrange a state visit to Solitude and we can talk more then.”

Elisif could just about manage agreement with that, nodding enthusiastically.

“Oh, and I want an invitation to the wedding as well,” Titus added. “If the two of you will insist on cuddling at every opportunity, you might as well make it official. Also it means someone I can count on will be keeping an eye on Madanach. Don't think Tullius didn't tell me that she was able to get you to do something you didn't want to for the sake of peace.” Titus stared pointedly at Madanach as he spoke, reminding him of... well, Nepos if he was honest, a comparison that boded well for no one.

“Elisif hasn't made up her mind yet,” Madanach said, desperate to get the focus off himself. “She might change her mind or realise what I'm really like and leave me.”

It wasn't until the words came out that he realised just how much that prospect hurt, and it must have been obvious in his voice because Elisif had edged nearer, those oh so gentle eyes gazing at him softly and even Titus Mede was looking a bit less hostile.

“Well, that's her choice to make,” Titus said. “But I do hope it works out for you both. You're not exactly a conventional couple, but you seem to work well together. I wish you both all the best. Now, with that all settled, I think it's time you two went back to Windhelm, don't you? I'm sure your people are just dying to hear the news.”

Wouldn't they just. Madanach wondered how long it would take to send to the Reach and get everyone ported back. That's if they'd left in the first place. Sithis knew getting Eola to go anywhere against her will was a tough proposition at the best of times.

“But first, we'd better get some formalities out of the way,” Titus added. “I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you swore your oaths of fealty before you went back, and then there's the matter of an Imperial pardon for the Forsworn. Let's get some witnesses in here, shall we? Maro must be round here somewhere, and I'd be very surprised if Tullius hadn't inveigled his way on board. Oh and I'll need my secretary, now where did that elf get to?” He rang a bell, presumably to summon his underlings. Footsteps sounded in the distance, but given the size of the ship, they were going to be a minute or two. The three of them sat awkwardly in silence, Elisif and Madanach holding hands while Titus Mede stared off into space pondering something.

“You know, I know you might not accept my proposal, and that's fine,” Titus said calmly, as if he was talking about the weather or a choice of wine with a meal. “But there's something you should bear in mind, if you do decide to accept. Your name, Elisif.”

“My name?” Elisif whispered, feeling insecure all of a sudden. “What about my name? Is there something wrong with it?”

“Wrong?” Titus asked, blinking in surprise before smiling. “Oh no, dear girl, nothing wrong at all. It's a Nordic name, well obviously, but did you know there's a Cyrodiilic version too?”

“Is there?” Elisif asked, surprised. She'd never considered that before, although she supposed there must be. There was a Breton equivalent after all, Elisa or Elisabeta. Made sense Cyrodiil had one too, although she was sure she'd never heard it before. “What is it?”

“Alessia,” Titus said, still in that same calm voice, but his eyes had subtly changed, and there was a hint of reverence in there, as well there should be. St. Alessia, first Dragonborn, liberator of humanity from the Ayleid elves. “The Cyrodiilic form of Elisif is Alessia. Should you decide to accept my offer, consider ruling under that name when your time comes. You might find it a potent symbol.”

If the Dominion invaded and Tamriel's humans needed another Dragonborn to free them, he meant. Elisif straightened up, terrified and breathless and nervous... and feeling a sense of destiny settling on her, a dragon's sense of the winds of time whirling round her and revealing a glimpse of the future.

“I will think about it,” Elisif said, as Maro walked in, accompanied by several guards and a Bosmer woman in her middle years carrying scrolls and a quill, and General Tullius as well, eyes full of unanswered questions, and it was all she could do to give him an encouraging smile.

Two oaths of fealty and one signed-off Imperial pardon for the entire Forsworn in return for future loyal service and defence of the Empire later, and it was time to leave.

“Did that just happen?” Madanach said faintly, Elisif's hand in his as they headed for the boat back to Windhelm, Tullius remaining behind for a further discussion with his Emperor.

Elisif nodded slowly, turning haunted eyes to his face. “Did he really just offer to make me...?”

Madanach placed a finger to her lips, hushing her. “Don't. Don't speak of it here. Say nothing to anyone, not until you've thought more and decided who to trust. Delphine can keep a secret and so can Argis, but Delphine will act like it's a done deal already, be warned.”

Elisif needed no warning of what Delphine was like. She just nodded, mentally going down the list of Blades and allies, names coming to her. Argis was there without even having to think. Aranea, who'd probably seen a vision at some point. Kodlak maybe, yes Kodlak might be able to offer advice. Ria perhaps?

Paarthurnax. Definitely Paarthurnax. If he was around, he'd be able to help. She could be the first Empress with a dragon adviser. Certainly the first with a dragon bodyguard – cityguard, she thought, as she thought of Odahviing coiled round the White-Gold Tower or nosing the dragon memorial in the Temple of the One's ruins. It brought a smile to her face and in that moment she realised in horror that she was already starting to accept it.

“Will you be there?” Elisif whispered, snatching at his hand, desperate for someone to cling onto. “Please?”

Hesitation in Madanach's face and Elisif felt like crying. He couldn't leave her, not now, she needed him!

“If all goes well, I'll be running the Reach, cariad,” he murmured, lowering his voice, and Elisif felt her heart break. And then he smiled, squeezing her hand. “But don't worry. I'll still love you when you're Alessia the Second, Dragonborn Empress of all Tamriel.” A pause, in which Elisif felt her skin prickle and her heart skip and Madanach realised what he'd just said... and being a seasoned lover and not some teenage boy with his first crush, he shrugged and brazened through the awkwardness.

“I love you, by the way,” he said gruffly. “In case you hadn't figured that out yet. Something to do with you being pretty and kind and gentle and compassionate and able to breathe fire.”

Elisif bit her lip, feeling the tears well up in her eyes, and maybe she was still an emotional mess, maybe it was still too soon, maybe part of her still missed Torygg... but with all the status and power and politics likely to come her way in the future, there was something about having someone at her side who'd seen her as a dishevelled ragged prisoner and still thought she was special.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, a kiss intended to be a gentle sign of affection, but his lips opened beneath hers, arms going around her and they were kissing frantically, and really Elisif needed to get him back to Windhelm before she got completely carried away. Fortunately Commander Maro was on hand to help with that.

“All right you two, that's enough, good gods, it's enough to know your alliance didn't stop at the bedroom door, you don't have to advertise the fact to everyone. Get on the boat and get out of here.”

Elisif broke off, glanced at Maro's unimpressed expression then back at Madanach, who was grinning unrepentantly but his eyes were shining, joy blazing out of them and transforming his face.

He looks so different when he smiles. Hot on the heels of that was the strong urge to kiss him again and after that, the realisation that she was lost, hopelessly lost.

Taking his hand, she climbed into the boat and held out her arms once she was seated, and Madanach went into them gladly, even the thick sabre-cat furs not keeping him as warm as he'd have liked in the chill Eastmarch air.

“Why in the Void does this place have to be so damn cold?” Madanach muttered, pouting at her as if she could fix it.

“So put a rune down,” Elisif whispered. Madanach laughed and did that very thing, and wrapped in each other's arms, they kissed and snuggled all the way back to the docks.

Notes:

And there you go, a happy resolution for them all! I couldn't execute Madanach in front of her, I just couldn't. So he gets to live, she can marry him if she likes, and she's going to be Imperial Heir if she wants. (She'll get used to the idea.) Alessia as the Cyrodiilic version of Elisif isn't canon but they sound similar and it's a name of excellent symbolism especially with the Dominion lurking on the horizon. So now it's my headcanon.

Chapter 43

Summary:

With the crisis over and the promise of peace, the Blades-Forsworn contingent are ready to party. But in the midst of celebration, Elisif realises she'll have to go home now and the prospect fills her with dread... until it occurs to her the only thing stopping her now is her.

Notes:

And after the dramas of last chapter, this one's a bit more relaxed, the celebration after the crisis ends. What, you thought that was the last one? No, don't worry, we have a bit more to go, a few loose ends to tie up, a few things still to resolve. We're nearing the end though. Done in about 3 - 5 chapters, I think, after this one.

Windhelm loomed up in the mists as the boat docked, and Elisif clambered out, turning to help Madanach, never at ease on the water at the best of times, out of the boat. He didn't fall in, although he did stagger as he landed on the jetty and clung on to her for balance... although Elisif suspected that was at least partially intentional on his part.

“Come on, let's get you inside,” she whispered and Madanach nodded, following after her.

Movement as they emerged on the dock, and Elisif saw a grey-clad woman – Sapphire in her hooded armour most likely – slip away back into the city, while the various citizens all stopped what they were doing and sat up. The Forsworn warriors standing around on guard also starting moving towards them, clearly worried for their king... and Borkul, Farkas and Argis were all sitting round a brazier, clearly having decided that when news about their charges came in, they wanted to be the first to know.

Madanach straightened up at once.

“You are supposed to be – have been evacuated!” he roared, glancing at the Penitus Oculatus still watching and deciding revealing the teleportals could wait for another day. “Not sitting on the docks where anyone could have a go at you!”

“Don't answer to you no more, I work for her,” Argis growled, getting up. “El, what happened?”

“I don't...” Elisif realised she didn't even know where to start explaining it all, and certain conversations were going to have to wait until they had more privacy. But she could set his mind at rest on some matters.

“The Emperor gave his blessing to the Windhelm arrangements,” Elisif managed to say. “Madanach's still Jarl.”

Madanach nodded, grinning as all three men relaxed and the watching Forsworn backed off, visibly relieved

“And it gets better!” Madanach announced. “In return for loyal service to the Empire and defence against its enemies, he's agreed to recognise the Reach as an independent Imperial province! If the High Queen signs off to it obviously.”

“I need to get Mooted first,” Elisif said, and for the first time it occurred to her that the Moot might change its mind about making her Queen once this got out. On the other hand, Ulfric was dead, they'd just had a war, and in order to refuse her, they'd need to find an alternative candidate, and who was there, really? Madanach had Windhelm, Nepos the Reach, they'd both support her. Maven would be Jarl of the Rift most likely, a woman who routinely favoured pragmatism over principle and coin over either, and who needed the Empire's money to rebuild her Hold. She was in no place to make her own claim and was unlikely to care who ruled the Reach as long as the coin kept flowing. Winterhold would likely fall into line with Madanach, Brina wasn't a Nord and wouldn't have the same emotional reaction to losing a Hold a Nord might, and Idgrod... who knew. She had a feeling Madanach might get on with her though. She'd have to suggest a visit to Hjaalmarch, or an invite to Windhelm. Siddgeir... oh gods, Siddgeir, the man made her skin crawl. But he was knee-deep in the Empire's pockets, she had a feeling he'd follow the coin too. Which just left Balgruuf. Balgruuf, whose Hold actually bordered the Reach. Oh gods. Balgruuf. What was he going to say to this?

She was barely aware of Argis hugging Madanach, and then Argis was hugging her and whispering 'thank you!' which did at least get her attention. Then he let her go almost as quickly and had turned to embrace Farkas, who looked surprised but delighted and cheerfully returned the kiss.

Borkul patted her on the back too and then the King in Rags was embracing his bodyguard.

“Knew you could do it, boss, I knew it,” Borkul growled. “Any man who could beat me in a fight had to be capable of doing anything.”

“Borkul, I did not fight fair, I had you on the ground with lightning going through you before you even touched me,” Madanach said, voice muffled. Borkul laughed even harder.

“Boss, I never fight fair either!” Both men laughed at that, and then Madanach was letting Borkul go, arm falling round Elisif's shoulders.

“Come on, let's get back to the Palace, I have a feeling my daughters followed the plan about as well as my son did,” Madanach said, grinning. Elisif couldn't help but smile back, but even as the Forsworn started to celebrate, she couldn't help but worry. Even with the Emperor's backing, this wasn't a done deal yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trek back to the palace took longer than usual due to all the questions and the Forsworn wanting to check on their king, and even Borkul and Argis clearing the way and announcing that there'd be official announcements all in good time, and not to keep the king and queen waiting didn't help, and oh gods, that was all she needed, the entire city thinking of them as king and queen when neither had that title yet AND it linked them as a married couple too. Which they definitely definitely weren't. Despite Madanach's arm around her shoulders and the constant smile on his face.

Finally they got inside the Palace, the doors closing the celebrating city behind them, and Elisif looked round at the little group sitting round the table. Balgruuf there, looking grim, Nepos looking utterly serene, Aela pacing, Eola having stolen the high seat with Cicero on her lap, Karliah next to Nepos seeming a bit pensive despite Sapphire at her side whispering to her, and Vilkas and Kodlak quietly staring into their tankards, even Ria's presence not cheering Vilkas up.

“Would you look at that,” Madanach snapped, gesturing at Eola. “Not only has she disobeyed my direct orders, she's stolen my seat!”

Elisif bit back a giggle, and Madanach didn't have time to argue further. Two small figures had leapt out from nowhere and raced down the hall.

“YOU'RE BACK!” Sofie cried, crashing into Madanach and cuddling him. Aventus swiftly followed suit, the affection a bit more muted but undeniable.

“We thought we'd never see you again, they said the Emperor arrested you!” Aventus said, voice muffled.

“Well, they let me go and they let me stay Jarl,” Madanach said gently, kneeling down to look at them properly. “Listen, aren't you supposed to be with the Shatter-Shields and Cruel-Seas? Like we talked about? To see if you wanted them to adopt you?”

Sofie shook her head violently. “I don't want to be adopted by the Shatter-Shields!” she cried. “I wanna live with you and be your little girl like Eola is!”

“Eola's not so little any more and Eola's in trouble for not fleeing to the Reach like her sister,” Madanach growled. “Sofie, I'm an old man, I'm not even married, you seriously cannot want me as a father.”

Sofie sniffled and looked like she was about to cry, shaking her head.

“But you're kind to me!” Sofie whispered. “Don't you...?” She didn't finish the sentence but Aventus took up the refrain.

“You're good at it,” Aventus said quietly. “I – I wouldn't mind... I mean, I know Kaie and Eola are in line for the throne way before me and all, and that's fine, but... please? Can't we stay here?”

Both children were looking heartbroken, and the guilt on Madanach's face was heartwrenching to watch.

“You can't stay here, I might not be staying here, I might be moving back to the Reach in a few months to take over there,” Madanach said quietly. “The new Jarl probably would rather you two had proper families and proper homes.”

“Can't we come?” Sofie said, desperate. “I don't mind living in the Reach!”

“But Windhelm's your home, your Stormcloak father might come back one day!” Madanach said, glancing hopelessly at Elisif. “Don't you want to be around when he gets back?”

“He's not coming back,” Sofie said fiercely. “I asked Kaie if she knew where he'd been stationed. He was out in Whiterun. They say he died in a skirmish. Kaie's getting Jarl Balgruuf to look into it, but he's not coming back. His pay record stopped three months ago.” Sofie looked downcast at the floor, and Elisif didn't know about Madanach but the casual acceptance was breaking her heart. “I don't wanna stay in Windhelm, sir.”

Madanach glanced up at Aventus, also looking fierce.

“Me neither,” Aventus snapped. “Everyone keeps looking at me like I'm cursed, everyone knows I was... maybe Hillevi and Torsten said yes to you because they were afraid of you, but they don't want me. No one wants me. No one wants the kid who tried to summon the Dark Brotherhood. No one but you, and now you're leaving? I don't want to be left alone in a city that's afraid of me!”

Madanach had to acknowledge the truth of that at least. He looked up and sighed, seeing he'd lost this argument with Aventus and he couldn't adopt one and not the other.

“Are you sure about this?” Madanach asked. “Once it's done, it can't be undone.”

Both children nodded vigorously and Madanach gave in. If he was honest, he did like having children about the place... and having two previous children die left a wound that was never really healed. But perhaps two new ones might help fill the gap a little. Aventus in particular reminded him of himself, in fact the kid was braver and more resourceful than he'd been at that age. Sofie hadn't done badly either – she'd been able to get by without a parent for months. He was very fond of, and very very proud of, them both.

“All right. If you insist that much. By my right as Jarl, I officially adopt you both, Aventus and Sofie ap Madanach. Now come and give your father a kiss.”

“YAY!” Sofie cried, flinging herself on to him. “Thanks, Da! I'll be the best daughter ever!”

Aventus didn't say anything, just hugging Madanach. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You're welcome,” Madanach said gruffly. “And for the record... wish I'd had your guts when I was younger. Black Sacrament, should have thought of that when the Nords killed my da and took my sister. Had to settle for escaping after she rescued herself, and coming back two decades later with an army at my back.”

“Wow, that's awesome,” Aventus grinned, flushing with pride although he must have heard the story by now, it was hardly a secret. “Can I join the Forsworn?”

“When you're older,” Madanach promised. “And if you train hard and learn some magic, although honestly I will still take anyone committed and loyal who can wield bow or blade even if they can't do magic.”

“I won't let you down,” Aventus promised. “Eola was teaching me a few things already and so was Cicero.”

“He was what?” Madanach said, dangerous look creeping into his eyes, but Aventus and Sofie were already running off to tell Eola she was their sister now, officially.

And then the man himself turned up.

“PRETTY DRAGONBORN!” Cicero shrieked, pouncing on Elisif and cuddling her. “You're back! You are not dead! Cicero was worried! Cicero was thinking he'd have to sneak on board the ship and stab the Emperor for you...”

“No!” Elisif cried, alarmed. “No stabbing the Emperor! Or anyone else! You serve me, you don't break the law!”

Cicero just grinned, tilting his head. “Does Brynjolf know this yet? Brynjolf has not lived on the right side of the law for a very long time, if ever.”

“Brynjolf isn't here and Brynjolf isn't threatening to stab anyone,” Elisif said firmly, prising the giggling little fool off her. “Now behave yourself. If you're serious about being in the Blades, that means you kill things on my orders, and only my orders, got it?”

“Yes, Dragonborn,” Cicero chirped, although Elisif had a feeling he wasn't being entirely truthful. He'd need keeping an eye on, that was for sure. She just hoped Delphine was up to the job... or Kodlak for that matter.

“Da, thank the gods, I was worried,” Eola began, approaching her father only to be shot down by the glaring.

“You're supposed to have evacuated with your sister!” Madanach snapped. “Why are you still here??”

“She did go with a whole troop of guards,” Eola protested. “But damned if I'm leaving you behind. No one hurts my da!”

“You're not supposed to protect me, I'm your father! I protect you!” Madanach roared. Eola blinked, then glared back, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes.

“I do not need your protection, I have Cicero,” Eola informed him. “And that's if my own abilities fail me, which I assure you is rare. I did not pledge allegiance to the Forsworn, I joined the Blades, and as a grown woman, that means I do not actually have to do what you tell me!”

Elisif was desperately keen to hear Madanach's response to this one.

“She has a very good point,” Elisif agreed. “You can't legally compel civilians to do things like that, and her sworn allegiance is to me. And she's not a child any more.”

Madanach was shaking his head, growling a little, but also not having much of a leg to stand on.

“Fine,” he growled. “You just count yourself lucky the Emperor confirmed my appointment as Jarl. But when the Imperial edict that the Reach is separating from Skyrim becomes law and you have to answer to a Reach-King, you can be damned sure that if I request something, you'll be doing it!”

“But you're not – wait, what?” Eola asked, confused and staring at Elisif and Madanach. “Did he just say...?”

“Independent Imperial Reach once I'm High Queen,” Elisif told her, amused at the shock on her face. “I mean, there'll be negotiations and a treaty to sign, and I don't know who'll actually be King, him or if Nepos will be taking over, but the Emperor needs mages with military skills in order to guard against invasion by any military power that might also have lots of mages, and your father said yes, he'd do it.”

“Seriously?” Eola whispered. Madanach nodded, finally smiling and holding out his arms to her.

“Seriously. So I suppose I can forgive you. Can't exactly complain that my daughter loves me, can I?”

Eola cried out and flung herself into his arms and father and daughter held each other for a good few minutes, both wiping their eyes as Madanach finally let her go. Eola went into Cicero's arms and Madanach turned to Elisif, holding out a hand.

“Come on, let's go tell everyone else. Nepos is going to need to be involved and I daresay your Jarl Balgruuf will have an opinion as well.”

Wouldn't he just. Elisif felt her stomach turn as she approached the rest of the table, all eyes on them both, and Balgruuf getting to his feet.

“So, you're back then. I take it the Emperor agreed to let him stay in charge? Divines know why, but I suppose someone has to run the place and you did reconquer it from a rebel Jarl.”

“Yes, Madanach's still going to be Jarl,” Elisif said, steeling herself for the next bit, turning to Nepos rather than Balgruuf for this. “Only... well, er, Nepos... can I call you Nepos?” Elisif asked, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. She'd heard about him from Argis and Madanach and Karliah and he seemed nice... but she also knew full well he was a Forsworn leader who'd run a secret assassination ring in Markarth and generally handled all sorts of criminal matters for Madanach. Technically he was an Imperial Jarl, and sworn to back her as High Queen, but Elisif knew what he really was and it was very hard to know how to react to him.

“You can call me anything you like, my dear,” Nepos assured her, smiling and looking very kind indeed for the Steward of the Forsworn. “Good to finally meet you properly at last, I've been hearing so much about you! All good, I hasten to add.”

Elisif just bet he had. She glanced at Madanach, who was looking innocent and guileless and therefore incriminating himself far more than if he'd just smirked in the first place.

“I've heard lots about you as well,” Elisif said, wondering what to qualify that with and then deciding not to. “It's all been very interesting, but I hear you're coping well with unexpectedly being Jarl.”

“Unexpected indeed at my age, but I felt I had to accept for the good of the Hold,” Nepos said calmly. “Seeing as the Forsworn seemed to have killed everyone else, or the Legion had decided they were no longer fit to hold office. I gather losing the future High Queen does tend to rule one out as a suitable candidate for Jarl.”

Elisif did have to giggle at that, although it wasn't funny, poor Igmund, living in exile in High Rock apparently. She felt a bit sorry for him, although not quite sorry enough to invite him to come home... not yet. Particularly seeing as she was about to give his former Hold to the faction that had killed his father.

“About that...” she began. “Nepos, you might not be Jarl for much longer.”

Nepos blinked, both eyebrows rising and a definite chill had crept into the air. “Mightn't I?” he said calmly, but Elisif was starting to realise just how a calm and avuncular old man had managed to ensure Madanach's will was carried out for so long.

“Elisif,” Balgruuf growled, also starting to glare at her, “please tell me you haven't made any foolish promises regarding the Reach.”

She knew he'd hate this. She just knew. But he wasn't directly involved. Nepos though, Nepos's co-operation was vital.

“It might not be part of Skyrim for much longer,” Elisif admitted. “We were talking to the Emperor... and he agreed that given the history and clear evidence of mismanagement by previous rulers, the Reach is going to be an independent Imperial province. With... with a King of its own. I – I was wondering what you thought of that idea?”

“What I... what I thought?” Nepos whispered, eyes widening, skin pale. “You mean the Emperor himself thought it was a good idea?”

“He seems to think having an army of magic-resistant mages experienced in insurgency warfare might be a useful thing to have if the Empire were ever to be at war again,” Elisif said, feeling a little nervous... and a bit worried about the poor man. He looked like he was about to cry. “Um. Nepos? Are you all right? Look, don't worry, I'll see you're provided for, I think the Reach-King to be might even give you a job in his court if you like.”

Nepos smiled at that, then put a hand to his mouth, tears actually welling up.

“You're serious, aren't you?” he gasped. “The Empire said yes... we're getting our kingdom back.”

“Yes,” Elisif said softly. “Once I'm Mooted and the treaty's been worked out. Might take a while to work the details out – you'll be involved, of course.”

Nepos nodded, barely able to speak, but when he finally composed himself, there was a clear light of joy in his eyes as he got to his feet, rounding the table and coming to face Madanach.

“She's not exaggerating?” Nepos said, still sounding as if he couldn't believe it. Madanach shook his head, smiling.

“No,” he said softly. “No, she isn't. It's really happening, Nepos.”

Nepos gasped, actually sobbing a little as he wiped tears away.

“All hail the Reach-King,” he breathed. “I'll serve you in any way you wish.”

To Elisif's surprise, Madanach actually looked a bit awkward, blushing a little, then glancing up, he met Nepos's eyes and smiled.

“I'll need a steward?” Madanach said hesitantly and Nepos actually laughed.

“You don't even need to ask, Breninma,” he said and Madanach smiled and held out his arms. Nepos went gladly into them and the two men embraced, laughing and crying and holding each other, talking excitedly and switching in between Tamrielic and the Reach tongue. It was adorable to watch and Elisif had a bit of a lump in her throat watching them. Not to mention all the various members of the Forsworn in the room hugging each other or crying or just staring in silence. The entire scene was a delight to watch.

But not it seemed for the Jarl of Whiterun. Balgruuf was staring at Elisif with a face like thunder, not entirely sure she'd not lost her mind entirely.

“You cannot be serious!” Balgruuf demanded. “You haven't seriously agreed to hand an entire Hold over to... to him! Elisif, the man is a dangerous criminal! He's barely better than Ulfric – worse if what I've heard's true! They say he consorts with Hagravens!”

“I'm not proposing to put one of them in charge,” Elisif said through gritted teeth. “Look, the Emperor agreed to it, it's a done deal. You sided with the Empire, Balgruuf, that means you owe your loyalty to us. Loyalty means following even when you don't agree.”

Balgruuf growled, hand on his hips, perilously close to his axe, and Elisif had a feeling he wouldn't be sending his axe to Madanach to challenge him, he'd be more likely to just bury it in his head. She reflexively moved closer to Madanach, shielding him with her body as he let go of Nepos, eyes narrowing as he took in Balgruuf.

“I didn't know when I gave it you'd be siding with witchmen and Daedra-worshippers,” Balgruuf growled. Then he shrugged and sighed, exasperated. “But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. This has been coming since you took this city, if not before. Fine. But he stays in the Empire, and he will not menace my lands or my holdings or my people, or by the Divines, I will have his head!”

“He will behave himself,” Elisif promised, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. Balgruuf's reaction had been the one she'd most feared... and he'd said yes. A very grudging yes but a yes nonetheless. It was a good sign of things to come. “He will behave if I have to visit him personally to ensure it.”

She practically felt the delighted little frisson from Madanach standing behind her. She was starting to regret this already.

“Don't worry, I'll be good,” Madanach promised. “See it as the price of peace. You can tell the people of Rorikstead to stop worrying. Not that they were exactly a target, but even so.”

“They'd better not be,” Balgruuf growled. “Elisif, keep an eye on him. You're about the only person he seems to listen to.”

“You know, the Emperor said the same thing,” Elisif said, glancing sidelong at Madanach. “I'll do my best, and I'm sure I won't be the only one keeping an eye on him.”

“No,” Balgruuf muttered, still glaring daggers at Madanach, but resigned to the inevitable. “Well, if it's done, it's done. I hope you know what you're doing, Elisif.”

A phrase that still rankled, even if she wasn't entirely sure how this was all going to work. But it was an improvement on people just automatically assuming she was incompetent, and she couldn't entirely blame Balgruuf for being nervous of Madanach. So she nodded and Balgruuf took his leave, Irileth following him out, and as the Jarl of Whiterun left, the entire room relaxed, several people squealing and cheering at once, and Madanach hugged Nepos, then his children, then Elisif again, even ruffling Cicero's hair and giving Farkas a pat on the back before taking his place in the Jarl's seat.

“Don't suppose I get to keep this once I'm Reach-King, do I?” Madanach sighed, patting the arm of the throne.

“No,” Elisif said, rolling her eyes. “You can't be King of the Reach and Jarl of Windhelm. Just count yourself lucky you're going to get to vote in the Moot. After that, the treaty will take effect and you'll have to hand over to... well... someone else. Ideally a Windhelmer.”

“Don't worry,” Aranea spoke up from where she was sitting next to Erandur, both of them looking in a very good mood. “Delphine's got it all planned out. She lined up Brunwulf Free-Winter ages ago, it's why we went to great lengths to not kill him during the uprising.”

Elisif turned to Madanach for confirmation and he sighed and nodded, seeming a little regretful about the whole thing.

“I'll hate to give this place up, but this city's too cold to live in forever. I want to go home, Elisif. So we kept him alive, and I've been making a point of talking to him... and he'd make a good Jarl,” Madanach said. “Haven't told him I'm thinking of handing over to him yet, but I think he'll do a good job.”

From what Elisif had seen of him, she agreed – the citizens of Windhelm all seemed to look up to him and had seen him as the natural spokesperson when they woke up to a Forsworn city. Trust Delphine to have already thought several steps ahead. She'd need to track her down before returning to Solitude, talk with her. She'd need advisers. She'd need people she could trust, knowledgeable people, sensible and practical people. She still wasn't sure she liked Delphine that much, but she had to admit she was too capable to ignore. Even if she was more wedded to serving some abstract ideal of a Dragonborn than dealing with the real thing.

She took a seat next to Erandur, who she realised a second later was actually holding hands with Aranea.

She looked up at them both, startled, and was met with an amused grin from Aranea and a bashful smile from Erandur.

“Hey, are you two together?” Elisif gasped. “When did that happen? Erandur, you told me you could never love again, you still had to do penance for... well, for your sins.”

“I know, I did,” Erandur admitted. “And it wasn't easy. But it was working in the temple alongside Aranea day in and day out, watching her talk to people, deal with their problems, offering advice, making prayers and invocations to Azura, leading services with her, and us being able to discuss things said to us with each other and not worry about it going anywhere. It got me thinking that maybe this was where I was supposed to be. Maybe this was Mara's will, me and Aranea working alongside each other in the Temple, helping Windhelm heal. More I thought about it, the more sense it made... and having Aranea around just seemed right. I'd been worried I'd get distracted by carnal thoughts but it wasn't happening. Well, they were, but they weren't stopping me from doing my job or interacting with her like a civilised elf... and the more I thought about it, the more I realised I was perhaps overthinking the entire thing. So, er, after talking to Vilkas, Ria, Eola and Cicero for advice, and they were all more or less helpful, I ended up taking Aranea for a nice romantic meal at the Palace.”

“I had the cook make them something especially, it was a lovely evening,” Madanach called cheerfully from the throne.

“I must say, I'd not expected the Jarl's Palace as a venue, but it was a lovely thought,” Aranea said, squeezing Erandur's hand.

“Didn't think she'd say yes, but she did and, well, it's just gone on from there,” Erandur said, placing his free hand over Aranea's and smiling adoringly at her. “I'm a very happy man.”

Aranea leaned over and kissed his cheek, which soon led to a full kiss on the lips and much cheering from those assembled, who were already getting started on the mead.

“I'm very happy for you both, congratulations,” Elisif told them, feeling surprised as she realised she meant it, she was genuinely happy and pleased and... it didn't bother her. Seeing happy couples no longer bothered her in the slightest. It didn't remind her of what she'd lost. Not now she had someone she could go and cuddle if she wanted, a someone who was currently sitting in the high seat smiling wistfully at her.

Elisif had a sudden urge to cuddle him again, and found she didn't care who knew or who was watching. They'd all know soon enough anyway. She reached for an empty goblet, poured some mead and took a swig, before looking around for someone who knew how to remove heavy armour and didn't presently have his tongue down his boyfriend's throat.

Fortunately Aela had yet to acquire any kind of lover that Elisif knew of, in fact she was looking just a little bit lonely – or eager to be off roaming the wilderness slaughtering things anyway. Elisif made her way over to whisper in her ear.

“Aela! Can I borrow you?”

“I suppose,” Aela said, getting up all nonchalant on the surface but Elisif could tell from the quiet relief in her eyes that Aela was eager to be away from what was turning into a drinking festival – honestly, even Kodlak was starting look a little tipsy, with his arm round Cicero loudly telling him to drink up, lad, wasn't often you got to slake your thirst on someone else's coin, and Cicero was staring pensively into a full tankard of mead, quietly whispering that he didn't have to down the whole thing in one, did he?

“So what can I do for you, High Queen?” Aela asked, seeming a bit nervous and standoffish, and it occurred to Elisif that Aela had never called her that before in her life.

“Stop calling me that for a start,” Elisif said with a shudder. “Look, you were there for me when I was alone and frightened and didn't know what to do, you get to call me Elisif no matter what happens.”

“I do, do I?” Aela said, but there was amusement in her voice and the tension sliding out of her somehow. “You're going to be paying regular visits to Jorrvaskr when you're High Queen, are you, trying to act like you're just like everyone else when you can't even visit the privy without a retinue of guards?”

“Don't remind me,” Elisif groaned, already feeling impending dread settling on her as it sunk in she'd have to go back to Solitude, be Jarl again, deal with Falk and Sybille and Erikur... not Erikur at least although remembering shoving a blade through his chest didn't make her feel any better. “I know it's my duty and all, but I wish I was like you sometimes.”

“Do you now,” Aela said, surprised. “I must say, I never really saw you as the hunter type. I don't mean to say you're not skilled or brave, but you've not quite got the focus. Can't see you tracking your prey for days in all weathers.”

Elisif had to admit that while capable of saving the world, spending three days hiking through snow and rain just to catch dinner didn't appeal at all.

“I know, but you can go wherever you like, do whatever you please, no one's stopping you, no one questions where you've been or tells you what to do,” Elisif sighed. “I don't think I'm ever going to have that again, am I?”

“You were Jarl before, don't tell me you're not used to it,” Aela said, eyebrow raised, and suddenly Elisif wanted to cry.

“I hated it,” Elisif whispered. “I thought I was just mourning Torygg at first, and I was, but now I'm not so much, and the thought of going back... I can't, Aela! I just can't!”

Aela was looking a bit panicked, clearly not used to dealing with Jarls emoting at her, or Jarls in general... or people in general, in fact, there was a reason Aela's jobs tended to involve beasts. Fortunately someone else was approaching, someone newly arrived off a portal from the Reach.

“Can't what?” Kaie asked, Keirine and a few Forsworn guards behind her. “Hope you're not backing out on your promises, Elisif.”

Oh god, the treaty, she had to go back to Solitude and put that through, no one else was going to care about it at all. Except the thought of going back to the Blue Palace was bringing tears to her eyes.

“Apparently the thought of going back home and being Jarl is depressing her,” Aela sighed. “I'm sure you'll get your treaty, don't worry... but Elisif's not doing so well. Something about all the responsibility and wishing she wasn't constantly being watched and never being able to go anywhere without a squadron of guards.”

Elisif could barely look at Kaie but when she did, she was surprised to see the Forsworn heir actually looking sympathetic.

“Don't I know it,” Kaie said dryly. “My older sisters get themselves killed and suddenly I'm heir to a throne we don't even have, and it's bye bye freedom. It's especially galling when you have a younger sister with no sense of responsibility whatsoever who swans off whenever she feels like it and has decided to shack up with someone who's even less responsible and just encourages her. Guards, get out of here. All of you. Go join the party.”

“Princess, are you sure that's wise-?” one started and Kaie narrowed her eyes.

“Did I stutter? I said dismissed.”

The guards all glanced at Keirine, who nodded once and they all slunk away. Kaie sighed and turned back to Elisif.

“You see the problem? Princess, not Queen. They're my father's soldiers, not mine. And they're all afraid he'll have them and their families executed if harm comes to me. Not true, by the way, he'd leave the families alone, but even so...”

“He lost two daughters already, you can't blame him for wanting to protect you,” Keirine said quietly. “And you could have stayed. Your brother and sister did.”

“What, so he could come home to find all his kids dead or in enemy hands, he'd have loved that,” Kaie snorted. “But these are my problems, and I suppose I should count myself lucky to have them. Now you, Brenhina, at least you don't have the problem of a powerful father being overprotective and surrounding you with guards because you're his precious princess and heir.”

Elisif could feel the tears well up as it occurred to her that she was going to have exactly that problem if Titus Mede adopted her – maybe she could order the Haafingar guard around and even pull rank on the Legion, but the Penitus Oculatus wouldn't be going anywhere, not now, and they'd treat her exactly like Daddy's Precious China Doll Princess. It grated on her, especially as she wasn't sure Torygg ever got that treatment. They saw him as a ruler to be who should be obeyed, not a precious object to be coddled and kept prisoner. The discrepancy jarred her.

“I saved the world and everyone still thinks I'm a defenceless little girl,” Elisif whispered. “I mean, you lot don't and the rest of the Blades don't, and Madanach doesn't, but everyone at Solitude does. It's going to be a daily battle just to get anything I want, and I am just so tired and... why can't I take you lot with me? Why is everyone I care about just going back to their lives and I'm stuck in a palace not my own, with a court not my own, with a steward I didn't pick and a housecarl who takes my steward's orders over mine!”

“So sack the pair of them,” Kaie said, seeming not quite sure what the problem was here. Elisif could only roll her eyes.

“I can't just sack them, they've done nothing wrong,” Elisif sighed, but all three women were looking baffled.

“They don't need to have done anything wrong,” Keirine said, Hagraven rasp carrying in the stone corridor. “You're Queen. You choose who you wish in your court. You need to have people around you you trust, that you can rely on. If you do not trust them, you replace them. How you do that may require a bit of thought, granted, but your court should be your own.”

My court should be my own... Her court should be her own, but it never had been, it had been Torygg's, still following his orders even after he'd died. The resentment burned... but it also occurred to her that maybe they'd kept following Torygg's orders because she'd never given them any new ones.

“Falk was saying before Torygg died that he was thinking of retiring,” Elisif said hesitantly, looking up at all three of them to see if this was making any sense. “He's having a secret affair with Bryling, that's one of the other Thanes, and thinks marrying her is inconsistent with being steward. But he stayed on because of the war and everything... I could tell him he can retire now the war's over, can't I?” She must be a terrible person to be so relieved at essentially sacking Falk, but she was already feeling happier. “I mean, I'll give him notice obviously, and a pension and a title, and maybe a house if he's not marrying Bryling after all, and oh, he'll need a housecarl, I can give him Bolgeir and that means I can have my own choice of housecarl as well!”

All three women were smiling back at her, nodding in agreement.

“You do that very thing, Elisif,” Aela told her. “Any idea who you'll replace them with?”

Well, technically she already had a housecarl in Argis... except he was wasted in that job. Good at it... but wasted. Because he was smart, like his father, really he had quite the keen mind, he'd make an excellent advisor. He was loyal, trustworthy, good at intimidating people, all good qualities to have in a steward... oh, and he'd get on with Madanach. Last thing she needed was her lover and her steward at each other's throats. She'd seen Madanach back down from Argis when Argis put his foot down, and she couldn't see that happening with many other people. And she'd taken Argis to Sovngarde with her, they'd killed Alduin together. Who else, really?

“I think I know who the steward will be,” Elisif said. “If he says yes. I'll have to think about the housecarl but I'm sure I'll find someone.”

“I'm sure you will too,” Kaie said, grinning. “And if you really can't find anyone, let Da know, he'll sort something out. He's very keen for no harm to come to you. Oh, we moved your things into his room, by the way. Don't look like that, sleeping space is at a premium, if you're going to spend your nights cosying up with him, you don't get to simultaneously claim your own room and never use it.”

“Oh gods,” was all Elisif could say, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, and then Keirine had to add to it.

“Also I left a contraceptive potion each on the dresser,” Keirine added. “They're labelled with your names, make sure you drink the right one each. His is good for two weeks, you'll need a daily dose for the first week then every week thereafter. I'm guessing the High Queen of Skyrim becoming pregnant while unmarried would be a bad thing.”

“Oh gods,” Elisif whispered, mortified. “Does everyone know?”

“I'm afraid so,” Aela said, grinning as she put an arm round Elisif. “Something to do with no one being able to find you after you ran off, then red hairs on Madanach's pillow in the morning. Don't be embarrassed, we're happy for you. About time you had something nice happen to you. Of course if he stops being something nice, you let me and Vilkas know. We'll come and help you out.”

“Funny that,” Kaie drawled. “I was just about to remind Elisif here that he's a vulnerable and lonely old man who I would prefer not to see manipulated and ill-treated and heartbroken.”

“Vulnerable? Him?” Aela cried. “He's a dangerous battlemage, he's hardly...”

“All right, that's enough!” Elisif cried, not keen for an argument to break out already. “Thank you, Aela, I'll keep it in mind. Kaie, I promise to look after him although I cannot guarantee we'll never argue.”

“Hah! I'd wonder what you'd done to him if you didn't,” Keirine cackled. “Come on, niece, let's go find him. I imagine this is going to be quite the tale...”

Wasn't it just. Elisif smiled nervously as Kaie and Keirine moved on, then slumped against the wall, drained.

“Aela,” Elisif said wearily. “Aela, I've got in-laws, help.”

“I'd love to, but I'm not sure what you expect me to be able to do,” Aela said, amused. “Come on, you knew about the rest of the Forsworn, surely.”

“I know, I just... didn't think I'd end up marrying into them,” Elisif admitted, before realising what she'd just said. “I mean, not that he's asked... not in so many words... the timing isn't right... and I definitely didn't say yes or anything...”

“But you'd like to,” Aela finished. “Only you're not sure. Because Torygg's not been dead that long, the political situation's delicate, you're not sure if you want to marry him or just want another husband, you do definitely want children and you need a husband for that, but you're not remotely ready. Is that a fair summary?”

“I... yes,” Elisif said, surprised. “I didn't know you were that good at emotional stuff.”

“A good hunter pays attention to what's going on around her,” Aela shrugged. “And I'm a very good hunter. I don't have a lot of advice for you but assuming he's not demanding an answer immediately, I'd just wait and see what happens. Sort the politics out, let the personal things fall as they will. Maybe you'll have a better idea of where you stand when you're actually Mooted. All the same, don't wait too long. You don't want to let the prey get away.”

“He's not prey!” Elisif protested and Aela laughed.

“I suppose not. He's not doing a very good job of running away after all. Now, what did you need? You had a reason for dragging me away and it wasn't to get me away from the drunken rabble. For which, thank you by the way.”

“Needed help with my armour,” Elisif admitted. “I wanted to get changed into something more comfortable. I don't suppose I have any nice clothing here?”

“I don't think so,” Aela said, shaking her head. “We brought your things from Sky Haven Temple, your scaled armour and Forsworn gear among them, but no fine party gear, I'm afraid. We do have your make-up though.”

It would have to do. So Elisif led Aela to Madanach's room for assistance getting out of her Blades gear and into her scaled gear, brushing and rebraiding her hair and redoing her make up, Jagged Crown replaced with a golden circlet that was probably once Ulfric's. That done, Aela slipped off to clear her head and no doubt go hunting out on the Aalto, and Elisif returned to the Hall.

Madanach had abandoned the high seat by this point, sitting at the top of the table next to Nepos, arm draped round his fellow Reachman's shoulder, and Elisif felt a twinge of jealousy at the closeness between the two of them. Come off it, Madanach isn't in to men even if Nepos is. They were just a pair of old friends who'd not seen each other in years, not in person.

So why did she feel like she was intruding?

“Hello Madanach,” she said, feeling her cheeks blush, and knowing everyone knew was a far cry from demonstrating it in front of the entire hall. All the same, Nords were brave, right?

Madanach looked up, saw her standing there, widened his eyes to see her out of her usual heavy armour for once, and looked again, staring unashamedly.

“I didn't have any pretty outfits, this is as comfortable as it gets,” Elisif said, feeling a little nervous, and why she was worried about his approval all of a sudden, she had no idea. She certainly didn't seem to need to. Madanach was already nudging at Nepos.

“Nepos, get them to move down and make room,” Madanach was saying, and that was something easily resolved when Cicero climbed into Eola's lap, leaving enough room for Farkas and then Argis and then Nepos to move into. Elisif snuggled next to Madanach, smiling as he put an arm round her.

“You're lovely,” Madanach murmured. “Nepos, look, isn't she adorable?”

“She's a sweetheart,” Nepos said, smiling. “And far too good for you, needless to say – Madanach, how exactly did you persuade her to say yes again?”

“I'm not sure,” Madanach said, smiling at her and stroking her cheek, and it was always a bit of a surprise to remember he was the same height she was, that they were looking at each other on the same level, she wasn't looking up to him like she always did with Torygg. There was something symbolic about this, she was sure. “Elisif, what do you see in me?”

“It's the money,” Elisif joked nervously. “And the ability to shoot fire from his hands. And he does eventually do what he's told if you glare at him.”

Pouting from Madanach and Elisif couldn't help but giggle, and Nepos couldn't resist laughing either.

“That sounds like him,” Nepos said cheerfully, before the smile faded a little. “You take care of him now. He's not been happy for a very long time. It's good to finally see him smiling again, but he's going to need a lot of looking after.”

“Nepos...” Madanach sighed, clearly having had enough of being fussed over. His daughters and sister must already have been driving him to distraction.

“I'll look after him,” Elisif promised, placing a hand on his knee. “Eight know what'll happen if I don't, he'll probably start planning an uprising to take over High Rock or something.”

Madanach promptly began denying any such thing, not entirely convincingly, and Elisif belatedly recalled that the eastern-most province of High Rock was the Western Reach with its own Reachman population, and she fervently hoped Madanach wasn't actually planning to take that over as well. Fortunately, she was saved from wondering about that by the arrival of young Sofie.

“Hello Elisif! You got changed! And you're not wearing your crown. Oh, and you're wearing make-up! You look really pretty.”

“The crown was too heavy to wear so I got changed,” Elisif told her. “I don't have a party dress with me, but I've got this. Do you think it'll do?”

All this time Madanach hadn't stopped rubbing her back or stroking her hand, smiling indulgently at her, and Sofie couldn't not notice.

“Daddy, is Elisif going to be our new mama?” Sofie asked, looking a bit dubious. Madanach's smile faded, and Elisif could feel him immediately back off.

“I... um...” he began, looking a bit alarmed, and Elisif could feel her heart break a little.

“Would that be a bad thing?” she asked. “If I married him? You wouldn't have to call me Mama if you didn't want.”

Sofie shook her head. “Oh no. I just wanted to know. No one will tell me anything, only that you're still working it out. And I asked Cicero but he just said you had an understanding, and an arrangement, such as two consenting adults might have, but I don't understand at all.”

Madanach had gritted his teeth, turning glacial eyes on Cicero.

“Stop discussing my personal life with my children, Cicero!” Madanach roared down the table. Cicero only pouted and cooed back.

“They asked! They asked poor Cicero! Maybe Madanach should discuss these things with his children himself and they will not need to ask humble Cicero, hmm?”

“You little...” Madanach growled, before turning back to Sofie. “Yes, well, Elisif and I do have an understanding but we haven't actually decided if we're going to get married yet. Just means she'll be staying in my room while she's here, and I'll be visiting her in Solitude when I can. Now you be polite and nice to her, hmm?”

“Yes Daddy,” Sofie said, before darting forward and giving Elisif a cuddle. “Will you visit me lots and read me stories?” she whispered, and Elisif felt her heart break.

“Yes of course,” she said, lump in her throat as she hugged Sofie.

“Yay!” Sofie gasped. “And if you do marry Daddy, can I be a flower girl? Please?”

“Er...” Elisif really wasn't sure how to answer this about a hypothetical wedding that she wasn't entirely sure about, not yet. “I'm not sure...”

“If there is a wedding, we will certainly include you and your brother if he wants, in the ceremony,” Madanach sighed. “But Elisif hasn't said yes yet, so unless she does, there isn't going to be one. Understand?”

“Yes, Da,” Sofie sighed, before cuddling Elisif again.

“Say yes soon!” she whispered. “I love you, Elisif!” And then she let her go and ran off, leaving Elisif wonder what had just happened.

“I think your daughter just adopted me,” Elisif said faintly. Madanach laughed and pulled her back for a cuddle.

“Yeah, she does that,” Madanach laughed. “Sorry. Better than her hating you on sight, isn't it?”

Elisif had to agree with that, and then it was Aventus's turn to show up.

“Hey Da. Hey Elisif. So, is it true what everyone's saying? That you two are... you know...”

“I know you're a little young to be thinking about that, bion,” Madanach growled. “But yes, if you must know, Elisif and I are sharing accommodation while she's here. And I may well be going to see her in Solitude. If you're good, you get to come and see the place as well.”

“I'm always good,” Aventus protested, not terribly convincingly. Then he frowned as he glanced at Elisif then back to Madanach, who was still cuddling her, hadn't really stopped since she'd sat down. “You two aren't going to be sitting there holding hands and kissing all evening, are you?” Aventus looked vaguely disgusted at the entire concept.

“Yes,” said Madanach, grinning. “What, don't you like seeing your father happy?”

“Yeah, but...” Aventus grimaced. “I don't know about the kissing.”

Elisif felt a little bit guilty but Madanach didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

“He's at that age,” Madanach explained casually. “Not interested in kissing girls in the slightest. Unless it's kissing boys he'd prefer of course.” A knowing smirk on Madanach's face and Aventus looked even more appalled.

“I don't want to kiss anyone!” Aventus cried, horrified and Madanach finally burst out laughing, before reaching out and patting Aventus on the shoulder.

“No, and there's no reason you should, you're not even eleven yet. I'll try not to go overboard with Elisif in front of you, all right? Now, there's a whole party going on and I think this once you can stay up late if you like. Off you go, have fun. Why don't you bother Cicero, it looks like he's just downed an entire tankard of mead, may possibly be about to vomit and would surely appreciate loud noises right in his ear. Just, er, keep Vilkas between you and his sword arm.”

“Sure thing, Da,” Aventus grinned, running off to do that very thing, although Aventus being fond of Cicero and quite able to tell when Madanach was teasing him, didn't actually shout in Cicero's ear. Up close, Cicero really didn't look all that well.

“You're a bad man,” Elisif scolded, snuggling up to Madanach. “You're meant to set an example to your children, not encourage them to get into trouble.”

“Elisif, I've spent my entire life breaking the law,” Madanach grinned, nuzzling her hair. “I'm in no way a suitable role model, surely you know that by now? Besides, Aventus is sensible, in fact there he is, passing Cicero a healing potion right now and being told what a dear, sweet boy he is to help poor stricken Cicero so. Frankly, if Cicero is stupid enough to start playing drinking games with the Companions, it's his own fault. At least Eola has more sense.”

“No, she's playing drinking games with Sapphire, Karliah, Ria and Kaie instead,” Elisif said. “Dibella help me, Madanach, this party is getting debauched.”

“Good,” Madanach grinned. “I want this hall so thoroughly debased Ulfric can hear it in Sovngarde and curse my name.”

Elisif did grin at that one. All right, so perhaps people deserved the chance to unwind. All the same, she was starting to feel the stresses of the day catch up with her. Very definitely time to retire to bed with Madanach soon. After asking what she'd meant to, of course.

“I need to rearrange my court, Madanach,” she told him. “I was thinking of asking Falk to step down and get myself a new steward. One I can trust, like you with Nepos.”

“Maybe not exactly like him and me,” Madanach said, glancing over at Nepos who was now on the far side of the room having an animated discussion with a decloaked Keirine and not seeming bothered by the feathers and claws and fangs in the slightest. “But a steward you can rely on is an indispensable asset, I agree. Any idea who you're going to pick yet?”

“I was going to ask Argis,” Elisif said hesitantly. “Er... are you all right with that? I mean, he's your son and all, I thought I should check.”

“Argis. You mean, my Argis... as Steward of Solitude and right hand of the High Queen herself?” Madanach didn't seem quite able to believe it. Elisif nodded nervously, awaiting the reaction. Madanach stared at her... then beamed, delighted.

“My little boy's gonna have an important job that I didn't get for him!” Madanach gasped, looking rather emotional all of a sudden. “Have you told him yet – of course not, let's sort that out, shall we? HEY! ARGIS! GET OVER HERE! ELISIF WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!”

Argis got up from where he was cuddling Farkas and made his way over, Farkas looking a bit troubled as he followed in Argis's wake.

“What's up?” he asked, guarded. “Everything OK?”

“Madanach!” Elisif hissed. Gods damn it, but she wasn't ready! She'd hoped to have a few days before talking to Argis about this, not spring it on the poor man right now! But no help for it. Madanach was looking very pleased with himself, brimming with excitement and she couldn't not say anything now.

“Argis,” Elisif sighed. “I have been thinking about how it's going to be when we get back to Solitude and, well, I've decided I can't go on as Jarl with the court I've got.”

Argis nodded, not seeming surprised by this. “Figures. Was wondering what you were gonna do. Did you want me there as housecarl? Happy to help, you know that.”

“I know,” Elisif said, feeling a bit nervous now it was time to ask. What if he didn't want to? She'd not even thought to think about that. “Look, Falk was talking about retiring this year if Torygg had lived, but he stayed on because he didn't want to abandon me. Only, well, I think I'll be all right without him now so I'm going to ask him to retire anyway. But that means I'll need a new steward.”

“Right,” Argis nodded. “Did you want me to help you find someone?”

Bless the man. Elisif wasn't sure if his failure to realise she meant him was a good thing or not.

“Not exactly,” Elisif said. “Er... Argis... did you want the job? I mean, you're bright and capable and intimidating, and I'd trust you with my life, and you get on with Madanach and... oh look, you don't have to, I'm sorry to put you in an awkward position, I'll ask someone else if you're not interested...”

Argis looked as if he was still taking it in, and he definitely didn't look enthusiastic about the prospect.

“Steward of Solitude? Me?” Argis said faintly. “Are you sure?”

Elisif nodded, biting her lip. “Yes,” she whispered. “You've had my back all this time, and you even went to Sovngarde with me. I'd love to have you as my steward.”

“I, er...” Argis turned helplessly to Farkas, panic in his eyes. Farkas just stared back, shrugging vaguely. Argis growled a little under his breath.

“Elisif, I'm sorry, I need to talk to Farkas about this,” Argis said, lowering his eyes. “I mean, I was going to escort you back to Solitude after all this then go and join Farkas at Jorrvaskr, not take a job at Solitude that'll leave me too busy to ever see him. Even if it does mean having to put up with Cicero... Kas? Kas, where are you going?”

“Need to talk to my brother,” Farkas growled. “Wait here.”

Argis stared as Farkas strode off, tapping Vilkas on the shoulder and quietly talking with him, and Kodlak too. Both men looked surprised, and then Vilkas tersely cuffed his brother on the shoulder and snapped at him not to be such an idiot, while Kodlak reached out and patted Farkas on the arm gruffly telling him... something, Elisif couldn't make out the words, but Kodlak looked both proud and sad and then he was holding out his arms for a hug and he and Farkas were embracing, and then both twins were likewise embracing too, and then Farkas was coming back, eyes moist but smiling brightly.

“Kodlak and Vilkas said yes, I can go to Solitude with you,” Farkas announced cheerfully. “I mean, I think I need to go back and visit every so often, and Vil and Ria are probably going to drop in whenever they're in the area, probably Aela too, come to think of it, Tor and Athis'll want ale buying for them too if they're in town. But Kodlak told me a Nord should follow his heart and Vilkas said to stop being an idiot, I didn't need his permission to live my life. So, er, if there's room for me at the Blue Palace, I can come with you. You know, when you're Steward. Stewards can have boyfriends, right?”

“Of course they can,” Elisif said, trying not to laugh. Farkas just looked too adorable. Elisif could definitely appreciate what Argis saw in him. “I'd be happy to have you living at the Palace with Argis. If he says yes, of course.”

Which he hadn't yet, in fact Argis was too busy staring at Farkas, apparently too dazed to string a sentence together.

“You... you don't mind?” Argis said, confused. “You'd actually leave Jorrvaskr for me?”

Farkas just shrugged. “Can't live with my brother all my life. Jorrvaskr'll be all right without me. Not sure about you though. Tough job, being steward. You'll need someone to talk to. And remind you to eat. And make sure you go to bed. You're like your da that way.”

“I don't need reminding to eat and sleep!” Madanach said indignantly and just a little too loudly, and as one, Keirine and Nepos turned to look at him, outright disbelief on both their faces.

“What? I don't!” Madanach muttered indignantly. Elisif absently patted his thigh, making a mental note to keep an eye on both of those things, and returned her attention back to Argis to see how he was taking all this. He looked a bit dazed, which worried Elisif a little.

“Argis?” Elisif said softly. “Argis, you know you don't have to say yes if you don't want, I would never want to pressure you into anything.”

“No... I mean, yeah... I mean...” Argis, lost for words, decided to abandon them completely and promptly kissed Farkas.

“I love you,” Argis told him roughly when he finally let him go. “Yes. Yes, come to Solitude with me. I'd love to have you there.” Then Argis turned to Elisif and actually bowed, fist to his chest.

“Brenhinama. I accept. I'll be your steward and right hand and serve you as best I can.”

Elisif let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. She risked a glance at Madanach, who'd also gasped and was now beaming at Argis with tears in his eyes, every bit the proud father. She fought back the strong urge to kiss him. This was about Argis, not him, not right now. She got to her feet and held her arms out to Argis.

“Thank you,” Elisif breathed, embracing him, feeling her worries about going home fade away. This wasn't the end of her freedom. She could have her friends, her people around, not be penned up in the Blue Palace as a helpless prisoner. She could be a real Jarl, like Balgruuf, like Madanach, like Ulfric... maybe not Ulfric. But someone with power and influence, and that prospect wasn't upsetting at all, quite the reverse.

“No problem, Brenhina,” Argis said, his voice wavering a little, and then he was letting her go and turning to face his father, and then both of them were hugging too, Argis whispering “look, Da, I'm a steward!” and Madanach whispering back how proud he was. And then Argis was leaving both of them behind to go tell Nepos, the man who'd taken him in and mentored him after Madanach's arrest, and Nepos was holding Argis's hands, tearfully telling him well done, he always knew he'd go far.

“It's going to be all right, isn't it?” Elisif said, watching Argis get congratulated by his old mentor and his aunt, and feeling unable to stop smiling. Madanach was clearly of a like mind because he had his arms round her waist, head resting against hers. “I'm going to go be Jarl and be good at it, and it's going to be OK, isn't it? I'll have a steward who listens to me, and I'll get a new housecarl who's loyal to me, not my ex-husband, and maybe some new Thanes, and Farkas there too, and I won't be so in awe of Sybille because I can ask you about magical things or write to Aranea or Erandur or Eola or something. Goodness, I can get a second opinion! And not just off you, off lots of people! I'll have eyes and ears, I'll know what's going on out there!” Elisif could barely contain her glee at the thought of not being dependent on people any more.

“Yes, you will,” Madanach said, hugging her tight and kissing her cheek. “Anything you need, you let me know. I'm not telling you state secrets or anything, but if you ever need my help, you've got it. I'm yours for life after today.”

Hers for life, and while that wasn't technically a marriage proposal, it was a fairly blatant opening for her to broach the subject. Marriage. Remarriage. To Madanach. It would get people talking like nothing else. Elisif couldn't see anyone in Skyrim approving... but the Emperor had suggested it. Not only that, they had taken on Ulfric together. Elisif decided she could easily persuade the bards to make something approaching a stirring love story out of that. She'd need to speak to Viarmo and Giraud, talk them into helping her. Although they'd probably want some sort of patronage in return. Well, hadn't Viarmo been hassling her to lift the ban on the Burning of King Olaf Festival? If she gave him that, he'd probably be in quite a good mood and very receptive to writing a tale of a Dragonborn who saved Skyrim and the world. She still wasn't entirely sure she approved of celebrating the burning of a king, but she had a feeling Madanach would like to go. He'd be unlikely to object to setting fire to the effigy of a dead Nord king, in fact he'd probably beg and indeed bribe Viarmo to let him light the fire.

The thought brought an immediate smile to her face. She didn't exactly know how Solitude would react to Madanach, or indeed his reaction to Solitude... but she had the sudden urge to find out. I shall land Solitude with both a guardian dragon and the Reach-King-in-Rags as Jarl's Consort, and see which scandalises people more. Yes. This was a plan, and her inner Dovah approved wholeheartedly.

“I don't think I can think about marrying anyone until after the Moot and the treaty,” Elisif said, taking his hand in hers. Madanach lowered his eyes, good mood fading a little.

“I didn't mean... I was talking friendship and allegiance, not being your consort,” Madanach said, voice rough. “I know it's complicated for you.”

“Oh, it's not that complicated,” Elisif heard herself say, heart thudding and blood pounding through her veins. “I love you, you love me. Everything else is just a matter of timing and detail, really.”

Silence and for a moment, Elisif wondered if she'd misjudged his mood. Madanach was staring at her, face a mask, and then a moment later, he was shaking his head, frowning.

“My hearing must be going. For a moment there, I thought you just said you loved me.”

“I did,” Elisif said, hoping her palms weren't sweating too much, because she felt giddy with nerves and he could hardly fail to miss the way she was clutching his hand. “I mean, that's all right, isn't it? You said it to me earlier, you can't really complain or anything.”

Madanach hadn't said anything to this. He was just staring at her, silver-blue eyes wide, mouth opening in amazement... and then his face just lit up with a dazzling smile, an expression of sheer joy which made Elisif quite forget where she was or indeed who she was or anything else remotely important... only that that smile made her heart skip and then he was kissing her, lips on hers and Elisif only knew she was happy. She was happy again, after months and months of misery and thinking she'd never know anything else but grief, and her very soul was singing.

When they broke off, it was to cheers and shouts and applause from the entire hall, including some drunken cries from Eola to “get in there, Da!” and Cicero sighing about how lucky she was to be kissed by the savage and dangerous Forsworn King, Cicero wished the savage and dangerous Forsworn King would kiss him like that, and getting a smack on the backside from Eola for his trouble.

“Oh goodness,” Elisif whispered, blushing. “Well, they all know now, don't they?”

“They all knew anyway,” Madanach murmured. “Don't worry, I think they approve. Vilkas and Kodlak have both warned me of the dire consequences of breaking your heart, by the way.”

“I had the same from Kaie and Keirine,” Elisif whispered back. “We'd better both be nice to each other, hadn't we?”

“Don't be too nice to me,” Madanach whispered in her ear. “I get out of hand otherwise and start plotting uprisings.”

“No, no uprisings!” Elisif told him, playfully reaching for his backside. “You promised you'd behave!

Madanach laughed and kissed her again, promising he would bring nothing in the way of shame or dishonour to her name, and Elisif decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, for now anyway. And so they spent most of the evening snuggled in each other's arms, and as the party died down and broke off, Elisif and Madanach retired to bed and spent the rest of the night entwined together, blissfully happy and later, quietly content, loved and beloved and if the time wasn't right to formalise anything just yet, nevertheless there was now unanimously acknowledged by both something to formalise.

Notes:

Soppy ending ftw! And this isn't the last chapter either. There will be more.

Chapter 44

Summary:

With the Thalmor lurking, not all Elisif's associates have been able to check in with her as they'd like. Delphine in particular has something to discuss with the young Dragonborn... but Elisif's revelations send the conversation off in an unexpected direction.

Notes:

Hello all! Hope you had a good Christmas and are all feeling healthy and happy. It has been a while for which I do apologise. It is all Bioware's fault, they released this game in November and, well...

Anyway, to make up for it, I did some writing over Christmas, and here's the result. Two chapters! They wrap up the Windhelm section and take Elisif back to Solitude in triumph. And we all know how much she's been looking forward to that, don't we? But before that, there's some business in Windhelm remaining, namely Delphine wanting to catch up with Elisif...

After all the preceding excitement, the days after that were relatively uneventful, with the Legion preparing to move out and head home, as were a significant proportion of the Blades. But there was an interim agreement signed between the Emperor, Elisif and Madanach setting the arrangements down in writing at least, with Balgruuf, Nepos and Tullius as witnesses, signed off in the Great Hall of the Palace of the Kings and despite tension and not a little panic, Emperor Titus Mede II's state visit to Windhelm went without a hitch.

So it was the day after that left Elisif able to finally get out of the city for a bit to do some long overdue checking in.

Kynesgrove was recovering well from the ordeal – the tavern had been rebuilt and the Forsworn had donated tents to the rebuilding effort and a few rampart spikes, although the goat and Spriggan heads had been politely declined. Iddra was back serving drinks behind the bar, Roggi was back telling stories, and if the original population were not easily replaced, the ones that were living there now were doing their best to settle in. Even if Elisif wasn't popular among them.

“This was a bad idea,” Argis murmured in Elisif's ear, glancing warily at the former members of Ulfric's army and the Windhelm guard that had been relocated to Kynesgrove with new identities, their names faked in the death roster to give the Thalmor the impression they'd all gone to Sovngarde. “You should have had her come to you.”

“Hush, that wasn't an option and you know it,” Elisif whispered back. “Elenwen's not left yet and I'm sure she has agents in the city. This is the safest way.”

“Is it?” Argis whispered. It was him, Elisif and Farkas, just the three of them so as to avoid attracting undue attention, and even then they'd had to take a portal out to Witchmist Grove to avoid being seen leaving the city. The Aalto was down to just the little Hagraven nest that had been there before the Forsworn moved in, little or no trace of the camp left behind now, but Keirine had left a portal point set up just outside Matriarch Moira's hut, just in case. It still unnerved Elisif to be using gods-only-knew-what eldritch magic to get about but she had to admit it seemed to work. She just didn't want to know what the price was.

But they were here and the new village headman was arriving to see what they wanted.

“Dragonborn,” Ralof once of Riverwood growled. “Welcome to Kynesgrove. We weren't expecting to see you here after what happened.”

After she'd killed their liege, taken their stronghold and wrecked Stormcloak plans to secede, he meant. But Ralof was glad to not be dead or in a Thalmor dungeon, and conversations with Delphine had gradually won him round a little. It didn't mean he'd turned into a glowing enthusiast of hers, however.

“I felt I had to come and see how you were all settling in,” Elisif said calmly, betraying no nervousness, or regret for that matter, in fact Madanach, once persuaded she was doing this no matter what, had advised to just act like it had never happened and not refer to it unless asked and never ever to concede regret or that she'd been in the wrong. Elisif wasn't sure she entirely agreed but could do the not referring to it bit. Even with grim-faced Forsworn guards patrolling the village, a reminder of who Kynesgrove owed loyalty to now.

“Did you,” Ralof said, arms folded and radiating disapproval, eyes flicking to the Jagged Crown and back as he doubtless recalled the last time they'd spoken. “How kind. Well as you can see, we're doing well, rebuilding the place, getting farming going again, doing a bit of hunting, the mine's even open. You can tell the Jarl we're being good little boys and girls and he'll have his tribute on time.”

“He'll be pleased,” Elisif said, electing to ignore the dripping disdain in Ralof's voice. Too much to hope that a one-time Stormcloak could ever approve of Madanach, she supposed. “But that's not why I'm here. Is Delphine around?”

“In the shrine,” Ralof said, turning and beckoning for her to follow. “Come on, I'll take you down there.”

“Friendly,” Argis muttered in Elisif's ear. “Still don't see why we couldn't just hand them over to the Thalmor.”

“Because we promised Delphine and your father's no keener on the Thalmor than she is,” Elisif murmured. “Come on, we got most of what we wanted, we can compromise on this.”

“Also Vil and I might have given him a black eye when we last saw him,” Farkas added, looking a bit guilty. “He was the one Elisif left alive to tell the story after we got the Jagged Crown for her.”

That did put a grin on Argis's face and he calmed down a little after that as Ralof led them into the mine. Down the main tunnel, off down a side passage and then into a rock chamber that had been mined out years ago but did make an ideal location for the Shrine of Talos that had once been in Windhelm's Temple.

As they approached the locked gate that led to the Shrine, Brynjolf emerged from the shadows in his grey Nightingale armour – why it was called that, Elisif still didn't know, but she had a feeling she was better off that way.

“Mine's still sealed, Ralof lad. Dangerous passageways lie beyond here. One false step and you might not come out alive.”

“Aye,” Ralof nodded, not seeming surprised at the challenge. “But a dragon's hide doesn't fear a blade. Got Jarl Elisif and her guards here to see our landlady.”

Brynjolf smiled at that, and nodded at Elisif. “So I see. Good to see you again, lass. We've been hearing interesting things about you. Something about a state visit from the Emperor?”

Elisif nodded, still feeling nervous at the mere mention of Titus Mede. She'd not told anyone about his offer to adopt her. Madanach was still the only other person who knew, except maybe the Emperor's closest associates. She was sure his Bosmer secretary had been giving her knowing smiles throughout the visit.

She'd not realised how big a strain keeping a secret like that would prove to be. Then again, it was probably about the same as being the guardian of an active Talos shrine.

“He's recognised the Windhelm agreement,” she told him. “Recognised a few other things as well. But we can talk later. After I've spoken to her.” With Ralof far away – he and the other ex-Stormcloaks would find out at some point about the Reach going independent but she'd like to be far away when it happened.

“Can't wait to hear it, lass,” Brynjolf grinned, producing a key and unlocking the gate. “All right, you can go in. Just you, mind. Your lads here can wait outside. Not that I don't trust them around her, but the fewer people who go in there, the better, eh?”

Delphine's paranoia truly didn't know when to stop, but Elisif was used to it by now. Best not to take chances and neither Farkas nor Argis were Talos-worshippers anyway.

“All right,” Elisif agreed. “You two wait here, I'll be back out shortly. No, Argis, don't look at me like that. This is just a one on one meeting with an ally, I'll be fine.”

Argis growled but assented, standing back against the wall and glaring at Brynjolf as he locked the gate behind Elisif as she went deeper into the mine.

“I hear anything coming out of there I don't like, I will be going in regardless,” Argis informed Brynjolf. “Don't think Farkas and I haven't got ways of getting that gate down.”

“I heard,” Brynjolf smirked, clearly having heard about Farkas being a werewolf. “Don't worry, lads, Elisif'll be fine.”

“Brynjolf, will you be all right with these two?” Ralof asked, eyeing Argis warily. “Happy to stay and keep an eye on them if you want.”

“I'll be fine,” Brynjolf said, settling down and making himself comfortable. “You head back up top, send word if anyone of the Aldmeri persuasion shows up or if anyone's looking for our lass. I can handle these two.”

“If you say so, Brynjolf,” Ralof replied, narrowing his eyes at Argis and Farkas both but taking his leave. Argis had to raise an eyebrow at Ralof trusting a known thief over him and Farkas, and he told Brynjolf this.

“Aye, but I'm also the one who infiltrated and ransacked the Thalmor Embassy, freeing at least one prisoner, killing a few key Thalmor personnel and no doubt putting a dent in their operations for months,” Brynjolf said, grinning. “They were all very interested in that story. Interested enough that I'm now one of them as far as they're concerned.”

“You don't even worship Talos,” Argis pointed out, being fairly certain from talking to Karliah who the Nightingales really worshipped, if worship was the right word for a cult of thieving. Brynjolf laughed, shaking his head, but there was a harshness to that laughter that belied the amusement.

“No, lad, I don't. But thanks to that little job, my name's on a Thalmor list and my Guild's been destroyed. So I will throw in common cause with anyone looking to take those bastards down a notch if it's worth my while and if they end up calling me brother, I can live with that, I suppose. Kynesgrove's not got a lot worth stealing anyway.”

Now that was more like the Brynjolf Argis knew. Always came down to coin in the end with him. Argis wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. On the other hand, Brynjolf also liked not dying, and Argis was fairly certain his life expectancy wouldn't be very long at all if he knifed Delphine in the back.

So Argis settled down to wait. Elisif hated being constantly watched anyway. Maybe it was better this way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif walked into the cavern, lantern light and even glowing soul gems illuminating the rock and soil walls, and dominating the room, the statue of Talos leaning on a sword pinning a dragon to the ground, and before it the axe-headed shrine.

Elisif tried to smile but she couldn't overlook that it bothered her now in a way it never had before. It was just so... violent in its implications. Not that she'd shrink from war if she had to, but to protect herself and her people, not go conquering. When I have statues built of me, I want the dragon draped around me, like it's my pet. Dragon power used to protect the weak, not enslave them.

Her inner Dovah whined in her head, clearly not sure about this one but also quite liking the image of being draped round her shoulders rather than pinned and vulnerable. She'd take this as compliance.

Arranged in front of the shrine were wooden benches and on the front one was a woman in leather armour fingering her Talos amulet. Delphine of the Blades, and the one who'd refounded Kynesgrove as a secret enclave of former Stormcloaks and Talos-worshippers, and Elisif strongly suspected that she was using the little community as a source of future Blades, in fact she was sure the number of prisoners had been greater than she'd seen in Kynesgrove so far, which likely meant some of them had already been spirited back to Karthspire for Esbern to start inducting.

The level of organisation and planning and sheer paranoid cunning that Delphine was capable of frightened Elisif sometimes, and when Delphine and Madanach joined forces it was even worse. At least Madanach she was sure of now. Delphine was out of Elisif's control entirely, and that concerned her. Definitely best to keep her close at hand.

“Delphine,” Elisif began, taking a seat next to her. “Hello. I killed Alduin!”

Delphine didn't look up at first but she did smile.

“So I heard,” Delphine said, a note of quiet pride in her voice. “Welcome back. You're looking well, Dragonborn.”

“Thank you,” Elisif said, feeling a little nervous. “So do you. Did you really organise all this while I was gone?”

“Yes,” Delphine said smugly. “Madanach might not have cared about the prisoners' fate but damned if I was letting Elenwen have the satisfaction. So I stood my ground and eventually he agreed just so he didn't have to feed them. I've got the older ones and the ones with spouses and kids moving here, with Ralof looking after them all. Whereas the young and single ones were all delighted to sign up as rogue dragonslayers and fighters of the Thalmor. They're already combat-trained and Madanach has agreed to provide training in guerrilla warfare so long as no one mentions Ulfric or Talos. We've also got a few smiths among them working on recreating Blades gear for the dragons and Shrouded Armour for the Thalmor-fighters. Let them think the Brotherhood have come back.”

Elisif could live with that, even if organised crime was probably funding it all. No doubt extremely organised crime if Delphine was involved.

“Well done,” Elisif said softly. “I'd never have thought of all that. Thank you. I'm not sure what I'd do without you. Certainly not sure I'd ever want you as my enemy.”

“The Thalmor are and they've barely noticed me,” Delphine said, a touch of bitterness colouring her words.

“Because you've been doing your best to hide,” Elisif pointed out. “Well, that worked didn't it? Why not a covert campaign against the Thalmor?”

“Because it will attract attention,” Delphine sighed. “It'll eventually lead to an incident or the discovery either you or Madanach is sponsoring it, and you'll have to either disavow us or declare war. A war for which the Empire isn't ready.”

“No, not yet,” Elisif sighed, acknowledging the truth of this... but the Dominion weren't going away and was anyone going to be able to live freely and safely until they were gone, once and for all? No, they weren't. Which meant she'd need to get the Empire ready - and that meant finally giving in and admitting she was the next Empress, didn't it? “Delphine... I need to tell you something. And you can't tell anyone. It's important and right now only three people know it, and the other two are Madanach and the Emperor himself.”

Delphine did sit up at that, frowning. “A secret between you, Madanach and the Emperor? What on Nirn is it? It can't be the Reach separating out, I already had that from Sapphire, the news is spreading all over Windhelm. So what... Elisif, you're not pregnant, are you??”

“No!” Elisif gasped. “I've only been with Madanach a week if that, we're using potions!”

“So you are finally involved with him?” Delphine said, smug grin in place. “Good, about time. You two are good together. So what is it then?”

“Emperor Titus Mede wants to adopt me!” Elisif gasped, blurting it out to get it out of the way and her nerves only easing slightly as Delphine's eyebrows shot up. “He – he thinks the Empire's problems are because there's not been a Dragonborn ruler for two hundred years and as he's got no heirs, he's decided he wants me as the next Empress! Delphine, I don't know what I'm doing, please help. Er. Delphine? Say something?”

Delphine hadn't stopped staring at her throughout all this, expression turning to shock and disbelief. Elisif couldn't blame her for that – even Delphine couldn't have anticipated this one. She could barely believe it herself.

“Sweet mother of Talos,” Delphine finally managed to get out. “Are you serious?”

Elisif nodded, by now faintly terrified, and Delphine couldn't go to pieces, this was Delphine, the woman coped with just about anything. She'd even taken the Brotherhood on for her and won. She couldn't fall apart now, not when Elisif needed her.

“You're gonna be Empress,” Delphine whispered. Elisif nodded again, feeling very young and nervous, and almost as if she actually had been pregnant and breaking this news to a mother she'd had a difficult relationship with. Not a bad metaphor, that. Because Delphine had broken out into a smile, hands to her mouth and Elisif could swear she'd actually squealed.

“I haven't said yes yet,” Elisif warned her, wary of Madanach's advice on Delphine's likely reaction. He'd not been wrong.

“Say yes,” Delphine said instantly. “Lorkhan's eyes, this changes everything. All right, listen, you and Madanach need to get married soon, sooner the better, announce the engagement as soon as you're Mooted. We'll need two prongs of publicity – you'll need to get the Bards' College to present it as a tale of love at first sight after you were unjustly imprisoned and he rescued you and agreed to help deal with Ulfric for love of you. Meanwhile I'll have Brynjolf getting word of the politics out via the grapevine, that it's to make sure he behaves himself post-independence. Goodness, Titus Mede's not a young man, he could be dead within five years, you could be Empress before you're even thirty. You need heirs and you need them soon, so have a short engagement and stop using the potions the day it's announced, it'll be easier for everyone if the consort and heirs question is settled before you take the throne.”

“I knew you'd do this,” Elisif sighed. “Madanach said you'd act like it's a done deal and start organising it all.”

Delphine pursed her lips at this, staring pointedly at Elisif.

“Elisif. You would be an idiot to turn it down. The Empire needs you.”

“No, you need me, because you can't fight the Thalmor on your own forever, you need Imperial backing and when the inevitable war happens, you'll need me to help you fight it,” Elisif said tersely, wise to how this dance worked by now. Delphine actually hesitated and Elisif wondered if she'd actually won this one... until Delphine hit back.

“You're right, the next war's inevitable, and when it comes you will not be ready. The Empire will not be ready... not unless there's someone in charge who can prepare, who knows what to expect. Someone who fought them last time round. Maybe I need the Imperial machine to achieve anything, but without me, you will not know enough to stop them,” Delphine said, eyes unblinking as the Breton stared up at her, no willingness to compromise or give in there at all. “So you say yes to this, and then we can start working on making sure the Empire's ready for the next fight. Do we have a deal?”

Elisif hesitated, thinking this over and in principle this seemed like a good idea... but all the same she was done with people thinking they could do what they liked in her name. Being a figurehead Jarl had been bad enough. A figurehead Empress was far worse.

“You want the Imperial machinery to do something, you go through me,” Elisif said tersely. “I'll give that order if I think it's needed. Even if you're not using Imperial machinery, I want to know what you're up to. Even if I don't know every detail, I want to know your strategy. You answer to me, Delphine, you're not a law unto yourself.”

Delphine's eyebrows rose up, the other woman clearly not having expected this. Then she smiled and nodded.

“All right, Dragonborn. We have a deal. I'll make sure you're kept in the loop.”

Elisif let out a breath she'd not realised she'd been holding. “Good. I mean, er, thank you.”

“Don't thank your underlings when you're Empress,” Delphine said, grinning again. “Just order them about. Or rather, thank the ones doing menial jobs but just give orders to your more senior ones. The senior ones have power and coin to make up for being snapped at after all.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Elisif promised, wondering if she should run that by Madanach before recalling he was precisely the type who'd get away with murder if she wasn't a bit tough on him sometimes.

“There was something else I needed to talk to you about,” Delphine was saying, and was it Elisif's imagination or did she look a bit nervous? “Elisif, I... oh Talos, Elisif, Esbern and I know about Paarthurnax.”

What... oh. Elisif felt her heart sink as it occurred to her the Blades were dragonslayers and even though she in no way owed Delphine this information, nevertheless she still felt guilty. But she'd learnt a thing or two and so she tried not to react.

“And?” Elisif said, holding her ground. “All right, so he's a dragon and the Greybeards are protecting him, but he helped me, Delphine. He told me about Dragonrend and how to find it. He was the first to greet Argis and me when we got back from Sovngarde. He's not dangerous, Delphine. He's on humanity's side.”

“He's a dragon, Elisif,” Delphine cried. “They're all dangerous! Even if he's not hurting anyone now, there's no telling what he might do in the future. And he's immortal, Elisif. He's got all the time in the world. All he has to do is wait until you die of old age and then the world is his!”

“He's not like that!” Elisif cried, even as part of her wondered if it was true, if Paarthurnax was just playing her until she died before striking out against humanity... and then her inner Dovah growled its own response to that and it occurred to her that Alduin had been gone for centuries, there'd been no Dragonborn line since Martin died and no Blades for thirty years. If Paarthurnax had wanted to strike, he'd had all that time, and yet he'd paid no attention to the world below, his eyes firmly on the skies. If anything, it was Odahviing she needed to worry about, he'd only sworn loyalty to her, not her heirs. But he was only one dragon when all was said and done. As was Paarthurnax, and none but the First could raise them. And she'd seen to him.

“Look,” Elisif said firmly, “Paarthurnax is not the violent type. Odahviing is, I admit... but I will see if any of my kids inherit Dragonborn powers and if so, Odahviing can serve one of them.”

“Odahviing?” Delphine, said, voice low and dangerous. “What, the dragon you caught at Dragonsreach?”

“That's right,” Elisif said, guessing she had nothing to lose at this point. “I'm going to offer him Mount Haafingar as a strunmah and have him protecting Solitude.”

“You're what??” Delphine almost shrieked before finally collecting herself. “Elisif, he's a dragon, how can you possibly trust him?”

“Because he promised to serve me and he risked his own neck by bringing me to Sovngarde,” Elisif said firmly. “Delphine, they are not mindless beasts, they are thinking creatures. They are wild but they listen to reason. They are savage and violent but not without honour. Do you honestly think Nords would have supported the Dragon Cult as long as they did if dragons didn't have that?? Of course they have honour and rules of combat, Delphine, they're incapable of sneaking up on anyone and when you're stronger than most non-Dov, you don't need to resort to subterfuge very often. When they give their word, they don't break it. Odahviing will remain loyal as long as I live. Paarthurnax will not give you any problems. If that changes, with Alduin gone, they are just dragons. They can be killed, and I have no doubt you'll find warriors willing to do it. You might even find another Dragonborn. But while I live, no harm will come to them.”

Delphine was staring back at her as if she'd grown another head, and Elisif began to wonder if she'd gone too far. Delphine looked as if she was about to walk out.

“You know, by all rights, Esbern and I should be cutting you off right now or be forfeiting our oaths,” Delphine challenged, and she looked hostile enough that Elisif began to fear she'd do that very thing. “We're sworn to rid Tamriel of dragons. That's all dragons, not all except the ones you've made friends with!”

“You're sworn to serve a Dragonborn,” Elisif said quietly. “You want to break with me, go ahead, but that means if the Thalmor find you, you are on your own. You get no help from me. Or from Madanach. Don't think he'll side with you over me.”

Delphine was shaking her head, still looking grim... and then she sighed and shrugged.

“Damn it, Elisif,” Delphine sighed. “How you manage this, I have no idea... but you're right. We'd be mad to alienate the future Empress. So I will leave the decision to you. For as long as neither dragon gets out of control and they refrain from attacking civilians, I will take no action against them. But if either breaks faith with you, if either starts going for civilians, then I will expect you to do your duty as Dragonborn.”

If Paarthurnax lost control of himself, Elisif suspected he'd want someone to stop him and end it, and it wasn't a job she wanted to leave to anyone else. As for Odahviing, if he broke faith with her, she'd likely feel so personally betrayed that killing him would be the only option.

“If that happens, I will do as Tamriel will need me to,” Elisif promised and Delphine finally smiled a little, sagging in relief.

“You always do,” Delphine said quietly. “It'll be an honour to serve you, Dragonborn... Eminence.”

The Imperial form of address, although to be fair it was often used for High Kings and Queens too. But to hear it from Delphine... Elisif never thought she'd see the day.

“Thank you,” Elisif said softly. “I'm glad you're with me, you know. Despite everything. You're... dammit Delphine, I need you.”

“Likewise,” Delphine said, before turning to look at up at the Talos statue again. “I'll revere Talos always... but he's dead and gone and he never answered my prayers. You though, you're alive and well. And if they don't make you a Divine, well, I think you're always going to be remembered as a hero. And you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Elisif said again, feeling her cheeks stain red with embarrassment. There didn't seem to be anything to say to that, so Elisif gazed up at Talos, wondering if he really was a Divine or not. She had no idea. Whether he deserved to be... she didn't know that either. But she knew one thing. He'd definitely been Dragonborn and Emperor. And now she'd be both as well. You and I are equals in that at least, and as for Divinity, I think being alive may have the edge on that. And after my death, that's for the Eight and those I leave behind to decide.

She'd not expected that resolution to bring the peace it did. Almost as if a Divine had finally blessed her. Tiber Septim acknowledging his heir? Or Talos saying he was sorry for what he did as a man, for what his followers did in his name after? Elisif didn't know. But she felt more comfortable with the Dragonborn God than she'd done for a long time. Not that she'd tell Madanach this. But as she sat with Delphine and looked on Talos's Shrine, she finally began to feel healed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in Windhelm, and Elisif was surprised to see Balgruuf waiting for her in the Palace, sitting at the table and exchanging pointed glares with Madanach in his high seat. Behind him, Irileth was glancing warily around the room, a few other Whiterun warriors with her, including Lydia, the young woman who'd brought Balgruuf the news of Windhelm's fall and helped capture Odahviing.

“Balgruuf?” Elisif asked, surprised to see him here. “I thought you were leaving today.”

“Tomorrow,” Balgruuf grunted. “Wanted to talk with you before you left. No, don't worry, I'm not here to tell you why everything you're doing's wrong. Imagine you'll probably have enough of that when you get back to Solitude.”

Very probably although what business that was of Balgruuf's, Elisif had no idea.

“So what are you here for then?” Elisif asked, waving Argis and Farkas away as she took a seat next to Balgruuf and ignored Madanach's snort of derision.

“You remember Lydia, don't you?” Balgruuf said, beckoning the girl over. Lydia smiled nervously, cheeks pink as she glanced shyly at Elisif and looked away.

“I do,” Elisif said, wondering where this was going. “Hello Lydia. You're looking well.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Lydia said softly. Balgruuf nodded and turned back to her.

“Seems Lydia's been quite taken with your exploits. You've gained quite the admirer. Not that I can fault her for that. Half the country thinks you're a hero and even the ones who backed Ulfric appreciate the story.”

“I'm sure they do – Balgruuf, where is this going?” Elisif asked, wondering what Lydia's admiration had to do with anything.

“Only this,” Balgruuf said, glancing at Argis, still watching from the sidelines and his frown the mirror image of Madanach's. “That the housecarl you brought from Solitude died and I notice you never brought old Bolgeir with you. Then I find out your principal bodyguard is Madanach's son and there's even talk he's taking over as your steward?? There's too many Reachfolk at your court, Elisif. You need someone there who'll watch your back, not keep balancing your interests with Markarth's, if they bother balancing them at all.”

“I trust Argis to serve me loyally and tell his own father to back off if necessary,” Elisif said pointedly. “He's done it before after all.”

“I suppose he probably has,” Balgruuf shrugged. “But that doesn't change the fact you need someone to watch your back that's in your pocket. So seeing as Lydia's become something of an enthusiast of yours, I'm offering her to you. She's a fully-trained housecarl and a fine warrior. I'm hoping you can make use of her. I'm thinking you might prefer a younger, female bodyguard instead of old Bolgeir.”

“Are you -” Serious, was what Elisif wanted to say, but of course he was, Balgruuf wouldn't make the offer if he wasn't. So she turned to look at Lydia to see if she was really as enthusiastic about this as Balgruuf had made out.

“Are you sure about this?” Elisif asked Lydia. “You know you can say no, I won't mind.”

Lydia did look up at that, confused. “No?? Why would I say no? I get to serve the greatest hero in Skyrim, the true High Queen and Dragonborn. High Queen, it's my honour to guard you.”

Bless the girl, she actually looked genuine. Even if Balgruuf was probably using this as an opportunity to have someone close to her court, Elisif decided Lydia's loyalty was real.

“You won't miss Whiterun?” Elisif asked and here Lydia's smile did falter a little.

“My family's there,” Lydia admitted. “And I'll miss them. But I'm sure I'll still see them, and this is worth it. I'm not doing anything worthwhile in Whiterun. In Solitude, I could really make a difference! If you'll have me, lady Queen.”

Lydia lowered her eyes, looking nervous and uncertain still, and Elisif couldn't help but smile. Bless the girl, it seemed like she genuinely had her heart set on this.

“All right,” Elisif said, loving the way Lydia's eyes lit up. “But don't expect non-stop excitement all the time. Most of the time, court life's pretty boring. There'll be a lot of standing around.”

“Oh I don't mind,” Lydia said, sounding rather breathless. “Thank you, High Queen, thank you so much! You won't regret it, I'll protect you with my life if I have to!”

Elisif remembered Jordis telling her to run, and Argis lying bleeding in her arms, and sincerely hoped Lydia would never have to. But she'd accept the service.

Up until Madanach sidled up behind her after Balgruuf had left and Lydia been shown to her quarters by Jorleif, arms sliding around her waist as he nuzzled her neck. With Imperial authority having left the city, Elisif had finally relented on the public displays of affection front and Madanach was now taking full advantage.

“She fancies you,” Madanach murmured, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“She does not – wait, you really think so?” Elisif could feel her face flushing scarlet as Madanach turned her to face him.

“Yes,” Madanach grinned. “Don't worry, I don't mind. I'm not worried you'll run off with her and leave me or anything. Just thought I should warn you. Or enlighten you – oh look, you've gone bright red, did anyone ever tell you you're adorable when you're embarrassed?”

“Funnily enough, no, I don't recall being embarrassed this often until I met you!” Elisif hissed back. “Oh gods, look, I don't even fancy women, wouldn't know what to do if I had one. I don't – I should talk to her.”

“No, no, don't do that,” Madanach soothed, stopping her from chasing after Lydia. “Be a bit embarrassing to explain to Balgruuf why you sent his housecarl back, and humiliating for her. Say nothing, try and make sure she doesn't see you naked, and if she makes the inevitable pass at you, turn her down gently. Unless you realise you're really bisexual after all, of course. In which case, go for it, who am I to judge.”

“Bi-what?” Elisif asked, confused. She'd not heard the term before.

“Old Reach term, means you like men and women... or people who don't really fit either of those, and there's a few of those in the Reach too. But if you're not, you're not. We can't all be,” Madanach said, shrugging.

“You sound almost hopeful,” Elisif said, confused. “Why would you be – Madanach, no. No, you do not get to watch!” Elisif didn't claim to know a lot about exotic sexual practices, but just lately she'd been broadening her horizons, largely thanks to drunken chats with her Blades. Cicero's knowledge alone could fill entire shelves of erotic literature.

Madanach pouted and Elisif could feel herself blushing. What she saw in him escaped her sometimes.

“I wasn't going to!” Madanach protested. “Unless you wanted me to – look, I'm just saying, if you ever realise you like women, I'm OK with that.”

“And if I decide I'd rather have a handsome young man instead??” Elisif hissed. “Would you be so keen to watch then?”

Silence as Madanach stared back, frowning slightly, actually thinking this one over... wait, thinking it over?? Madanach was supposed to be the type to kill rivals, not encourage them.

“Make sure it's someone cute?” Madanach finally said. “Who's got a thing for older men and no problems with magic? What? You think I never had a man in my bed before?”

Elisif frankly had thought exactly that and to hear otherwise was a bit of a shock, because in no way could she imagine Madanach of all people kissing another man, or doing other things for that matter... except apparently she could because her brain was helpfully furnishing all sorts of images and now she was wondering if Madanach gave or received or both or...

“Oh,” Elisif whispered. “I... right? I don't know what to say...”

Polite disbelief on Madanach's face as both eyebrows raised.

“Of all the things to put you off me, that's it? Not the Hagravens, the murders, the forbidden magics or the age difference, but the fact I've had men in my bed?”

“No,” Elisif managed to get out. “I just never thought... you?? Seriously? I never thought you were the type...”

“Just because I don't flounce around like Cicero doesn't mean I'm immune to the appeal – stop looking at me like that, you like men as well!”

“Not in the same way!” Elisif hissed. “Mara, Madanach, are you the one on top or... I can't believe we're having this conversation.”

“I'm not fussy,” Madanach said, shrugging. “Honestly, Elisif, it hardly matters, not like I was planning on having anyone else. Elisif? Elisif, say something, you're starting to worry me.”

“I... I need to think about this,” Elisif whispered. “I mean, I need to... I'll be in our bedroom if anyone needs me.”

Elisif fled the room, mind full of all sorts of wild and indecent images of Madanach entwined with various male members of the Forsworn, wanting and not wanting it to stop. Madanach watched her go, brow furrowed as he began to wonder if perhaps Nords weren't quite as open to same-sex relationships as he'd believed, or at least were only OK with them in the abstract, not in their partners' pasts. Such was not the case among Reachmen and Madanach hadn't realised Elisif would have a problem. It worried him. It kept worrying him. It kept worrying him until he finally called court business to a close for the day and went to find Elisif.

He found her in their bedroom, out of her armour, presumably having got some of the guards to assist, looking flushed, breathless and not a little dishevelled.

“You have to tell me!” she insisted, grabbing his furs in a panic.

“Tell you what?” Madanach asked, still a little wary.

“The details!” Elisif cried. “I need to know! Who was it and what did you do??”

He should have known it would come to this. Details. Everyone always wanted the details. It was a little wearying and the main reason he never really talked about it. But he supposed he owed her this.

“Cidhna Mine or when I was young?” Madanach sighed.

“Either. Both! I don't know!” Elisif gasped, arms wrapping around him as she started writhing up against him. “Just... just tell me something! I mean, I can't stop thinking about it but I don't know what it involved and... Madanach, please!”

He'd seen that expression before. Chiefly when she was lying underneath him begging him to fuck her. Somebody clearly had been thinking about things, hadn't she?

“Pervert,” Madanach murmured in her ear as he backed her towards the bed, Elisif unresisting as he pushed her back on to the mattress. “Well now, if you insist. If you want every filthy detail of my sordid past, I shall just have to oblige, won't I?”

Elisif moaned a little in response, writhing beneath him, as Madanach proceeded to do just that, whispering filth in her ears and occasionally doing more than just whispering. Afterwards of course came serious questions and whispered reassurances that of course he wasn't going to be off hauling young Reachmen into his bed as soon as her back was turned, he was getting too old to fool around anyway, it took all his energy keeping up with her. To which Elisif whispered that was a shame, she wouldn't mind seeing that.

And with that talked over, night fell and all was well in Windhelm, and Elisif the Dragonborn was at peace. And if she'd been intending to remain in Windhelm, all would have stayed that way. But all good things come to an end... and Solitude awaited.

Notes:

Come on, I couldn't kill Paarthurnax and Elisif was never going to agree to it. Didn't want to demonise Delphine either though, so I appealed to her inner pragmatist, had Elisif tell her about the Imperial Heir business first, and that was enough to persuade Delphine to relent a little.

Madanach being bi - wasn't something I was initially going to include, but it was a headcanon I used in another fic, and it's quite plausible - stuck in Cidhna Mine for twenty years with not a woman in sight? Same-sex activity's quite likely under those circumstances and we can't rule out a little fooling around pre-marriage either. So in it goes. :D (My bi readers will no doubt appreciate it.)

Next chapter is the return to Solitude... and Elisif's dreading it.

Chapter 45

Summary:

Jarl Elisif returns in triumph to Solitude to the adulation of her people... but the woman under the crown feels more like a recaptured prisoner than a returning hero. However, Solitude's not quite the city it was and Elisif's definitely not the Jarl she used to be. When it turns out that one of her adventures has had unwelcome consequences, Elisif gathers her followers for one last battle.

Notes:

And here we are back in Solitude. Poor Elisif, she's not been looking forward to this... I however have been looking forward to this for some time. :D

Nearly a month after the fall of Ulfric Stormcloak, and the Imperial Legion was returning home. Troops had headed to the Rift to accept Jarl Maven's oaths of loyalty and provide aid to the dragon-ravaged Hold, the volunteers were returning home and the regulars were all returning to their usual bases. Including a large detachment returning to Solitude, led by Legate Rikke... and including as guests three armoured warriors who weren't part of the Legion but who were too important to be allowed to wander Skyrim unsupervised. The returning Jarl of Solitude, her adventures done, Alduin dead, dragons still around but being successfully hunted by guards and Legionnaires and dedicated bands of dragonslayers operating out of the Reach who were definitely not Blades, was sitting in the back of a carriage, watching Solitude loom up ahead of her.

“There it is! Solitude!” Lydia gasped. She'd visited the city once or twice but it never failed to make an impression. How the arch stayed standing was beyond her, but it looked beautiful. So why was the Jarl looking so pensive?

“Er, my lady?” Lydia asked, concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Elisif sighed. “I suppose. I mean, yes of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Hey. El. You're gonna be fine,” Argis said, voice surprisingly gentle for a heavily armoured six-foot-tall Nord warrior. “Lydia and I, we got your back.”

“Thank you,” Elisif said softly, staring at her hands, and the Slayer of Alduin did not look the part of the returning hero. Lydia had seen Elisif's mood decline since leaving Windhelm, and despite the lengthy cuddle Elisif had shared with Madanach before boarding the carriage, Lydia didn't think this was because she missed her lover.

“Don't you want to go back to Solitude?” Lydia asked, frowning. “I mean, you're Jarl, don't you want to get back to your palace?”

“My husband died horribly in that palace, and I never really got the chance to be Jarl, Falk did all the governing,” Elisif said, voice barely varying from the soft monotone that sounded nothing like the insistent young woman who'd demanded Balgruuf's assistance in trapping a dragon, or who'd demanded the Empire honour the agreements she'd negotiated. The contrast couldn't have been more marked.

“But... you're Dragonborn,” Lydia said, scratching her head. “You saved the world. You stopped the war! You're a hero! They'll be lining the streets to welcome you home! My lady... High Queen... Solitude needs you!”

“I know,” Elisif said quietly. “And I'll do my duty to Skyrim and Solitude. But that doesn't mean I like the idea.”

Lydia turned to Argis, really not having expected this for a second. She'd heard Elisif came from humble origins, had neither sought nor expected the power, wasn't ambitious, and of course all Skyrim knew of how Torygg had died. But to hear she was quietly dreading being Jarl again, as opposed to roaming Skyrim having adventures and killing dragons... it wasn't at all what Lydia had anticipated.

“Is she serious?” Lydia asked Argis, lowering her voice. Argis nodded.

“Yeah. She hated being Jarl before. Sure, she was grieving Torygg, but she was also really lonely and no one was really supporting her. Course she's not looking forward to going home. When she had all the Blades together, it was different, it was High Queen this and Dragonborn that. Now she's leaving it all behind. Can't blame her for being unhappy.”

“I didn't know,” Lydia breathed.

“Not many do,” Argis said, sympathy in his eyes as he watched his dejected Jarl stare gloomily at the Blue Palace. “Keep it to yourself.”

“Isn't there anything we can do?” Lydia said, hoping her desperation wasn't showing too much. Skyrim couldn't know how unhappy its High Queen was. Now more than ever, Nords needed a leader they could rally behind.

“Yeah,” Argis growled. “Stick close to Elisif and look after her. Eight know she'll need all the friends she can get.”

Lydia nodded and drew closer to Elisif. Damned if the Dragonborn was dying on her watch.

And so they arrived in Haafingar, the carriage trundling over the Dragon Bridge that signified the Hold's boundary. Word had clearly arrived before her, because people were lining the road, all waving and cheering, welcoming their beloved Jarl home. This at least seemed to please Elisif, because she rallied, waving back, actually smiling, calling 'thank you!' as the carriage passed through the town, even calling the procession to a halt to chat to one Varnius Junius, asking if the town had had any more strange lights and odd noises nearby. No was the answer to that one, and Varnius was very grateful to his Jarl for acting so promptly and resolving things. True, Kilkreath was now home to a cult of Meridia worshippers dedicated to restoring the temple and quite possibly cleansing the world of undead and the necromancers that profaned people's remains, but Varnius assured Elisif the cultists had been no trouble, kept the noise down, didn't seem to perform rites at night anyway, and were bringing a lot of business to the town. What with the Restored Temple of Meridia and the Penitus Oculatus, Dragon Bridge was getting quite busy these days.

Elisif stopped dead at the mention of the Penitus Oculatus and her mood dropped yet further as a troop of said Oculatus approached her carriage.

“Eminence,” the young man at their head said, bowing deeply before Elisif, who was definitely gritting her teeth, Lydia could tell. “Greetings to you and welcome back. I'm Commander Maro, Commander Gaius Maro, that is, and I now head up the Skyrim branch of the Penitus Oculatus. I believe you met my father in Windhelm?”

“I did,” Elisif confirmed, weariness lurking behind the surface smile. “Now that the Emperor's returned to Cyrodiil, are the Oculatus staying here or returning with him?”

“His Eminence has decided we're to maintain a presence, both here and at Castle Dour, for the foreseeable future,” Gaius replied, and was it Lydia's imagination or did he look a bit nervous? Which was probably natural, Elisif's reputation as a hero of legend was no doubt preceding her, but that he looked so proud as well... odd. “He's taken an interest in the province and is believed to be intending a proper state visit some time in the next year, so we felt it best to maintain a base in Solitude. Your Eminence, my men and I were about to leave for the city, we'd be honoured to accompany you...”

Elisif closed her eyes and sighed, as if she'd somehow expected this but also hated the very idea. Nevertheless, she assented, and the Oculatus soldiers stationed themselves around the carriage, Maro himself climbing in next to the driver.

“All right, why are the Emperor's elite guards riding with us?” Lydia whispered. Elisif didn't answer, looking away with her lips pursed. Argis shook his head.

“Not here,” he said quietly. “We talk at the Palace, yeah? Need to know and all that, and yeah you do need to know, but the rest of the Hold doesn't.”

Lydia looked at Argis, then back to Elisif, who'd resumed smiling and waving as if she didn't have a troop of Penitus Oculatus now guarding her carriage, and wondered what she wasn't being told, and then it occurred to her that Gaius Maro had given Elisif the same form of address he'd used for the Emperor, but surely not... All the same, Lydia couldn't help but wonder.

Past Kilkreath, and the Meridia worshippers in their white and gold sunburst robes all turned out to salute Elisif, who actually got up and drew Dawnbreaker, raising it to the sky to mass acclaim. And then Solitude itself at last. Argis was out of the carriage, helping Elisif out and giving filthy looks to the Oculatus men who'd drawn in as he'd done so, then Lydia followed, glancing at rooftops and the nearby cliffs just in case. Too easy for an assassin to hide up there, but it seemed the area was clear.

Then the gates were flung up and if Dragon Bridge had been busy, Solitude was packed. Banners and flags everywhere, a big sign across the market square reading 'Welcome Back, Jarl Elisif!' and what looked like the entire city turned out to see her.

“Oh my goodness,” Elisif whispered, hand to her mouth. “I didn't expect – well, I suppose I should have – I didn't realise they'd miss me this much!”

“Of course they did,” Rikke said, the Oculatus soldiers recognising the Legion's second-in-command when they saw her and falling back to let her approach, and if Legion and Oculatus didn't always see eye-to-eye, Rikke's personal reputation was unblemished. “The way my soldiers tell it, the city's been talking non-stop about you since you left. Every new piece of news, every new tale, no matter how wild it may seem, gets dissected non-stop, retold, no doubt embellished in the process, and now the entire city is convinced their Jarl is the next Tiber Septim. Jarl Elisif, I know you're not exactly fond of the limelight, but let them have their fun. They're proud of you, and so they should be.”

Elisif was biting her lip and Lydia wondered if she was all right, and then a group of bards from the College started singing 'The Dragonborn Comes', all in harmony, and the citizens joined in too, and Elisif was rubbing her face, smiling despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. Lydia glanced at Argis, who grinned and patted Elisif on the back and led her forward through the city waiting to welcome her home.

It must have taken three hours to finally get to the Blue Palace, what with children wanting to know the full story, and adults who pretended they didn't, but really were as keen as the little ones, and Elisif had never been able to walk past a child without talking to it at the best of times. It took forever, and Elisif left a lot out but by the end of it there were a lot of excited children, a lot of enthusiastic adults who were already cracking the mead open, and one tired but happy Jarl with her two housecarls, finally making her way into her palace, her mood having perked up considerably.

“Jarl, you're back!” That was Falk hurrying downstairs, and he looked worried... worried?

“Falk!” Elisif cried, rushing towards her steward to hug him. “Yes, yes I'm back, I just got here! Goodness, half the city turned out to see me! I've had to promise Viarmo and Giraud a proper telling of the story later this week so they can write the saga, but everyone's talking about it! Falk, I don't know what you've heard or what to even begin telling you, but so much happened and... and... Falk, I killed Ulfric! And took Windhelm! And then I went to Sovngarde and killed Alduin!”

“I know, I know, I heard, it's frankly unbelievable – the Forsworn were involved??”

“Yes,” Elisif admitted. “But they're not so bad as they say. The Empire's keeping an eye on them, and there's an agreement been signed and a draft treaty in the works. I... guess I'll have to sign it once I'm queen. Don't know how that'll go, giving an entire Hold independence like that, but I owe them.”

“Never mind that,” Falk said quietly, voice low and urgent. “We have more immediate problems – did the courier find you?”

“Courier?” Elisif asked, confused. “What courier? Falk, what's going on?”

Falk didn't answer, leading Elisif off to one side, his face grim. Elisif followed, giving anxious looks back to Argis and Lydia, both housecarls confused and moving in closer to hear this one. Falk glanced over at them, clearly dying to order them away, but he knew Argis and guessed Lydia was also working for his Jarl now.

“We have a problem,” Falk said quietly. “Elisif, we need that Dunmer priest you brought here to go into Wolfskull Cave. We think... we think the ritual you interrupted there has gone wrong.”

“Wrong?” Elisif gasped. “What do you mean, wrong? Erandur and I stopped it, we stopped Potema coming back! She didn't come back, she can't have! Has she?”

Falk's expression was all Elisif needed to know. Elisif felt everything stop as she realised what was wrong. Potema the Wolf Queen – back somehow.

“Tell me everything,” Elisif said, shoving the rising feeling of panic down. “What do you know? The city's still standing and no one seems to know anything about Potema coming back.”

“It happened three days ago,” Falk said quietly. “I sent word to Windhelm immediately, must have just missed you. It happened in the Temple – something, a Draugr, burst through the cellar wall there, nearly killed one of the priests. Fortunately some soldiers had just got back from Eastmarch and were giving thanks for their safe return in the Temple at the time, and they killed it. I had the place sealed, closed the Temple, used your imminent return as an excuse, but I can't keep doing that. Elisif, I spoke to Styrr at the Hall of the Dead, he seems to think the binding you interrupted was left hanging and Potema's spirit got loose somehow. He thinks she's in the old catacombs down there, but no one can get in to find out. We were hoping you and that Dunmer priest might be able to help. Styrr seems to think one of you has a link to Potema.”

“Erandur's in Windhelm, serving as one of their priests of Mara,” Elisif said, gently patting Falk's arm in the same way he used to pat hers to reassure her. “But I'm here now, Falk. Don't worry. I'll deal with it.”

“You'll deal with it?” Falk asked, staring at her hand on his sleeve, clearly not entirely coming to terms with the idea of Elisif being the one to comfort him. “But... how?”

“Same way I dealt with Alduin,” Elisif said, finally smiling as the dragon within started to growl. “Trust me. I'll sort it out. Argis! Lydia! Get your things, we've got someone to kill.”

“Oh! I mean, at once, my Jarl,” Lydia nodded, leaving her pack to one side and making sure sword and shield were in place.

“Ready when you are, Elisif,” Argis grinned, hefting his battleaxe. “Where is this sorry son-of-a-bitch?”

“She,” Elisif corrected him as she led them out. “It's a she. Someone thinks she's the true Queen of Solitude and is trying to stage a takeover. Fancy helping me teach her a lesson?”

“Yes!” Lydia cried, before remembering where she was. “I mean, of course, my Jarl.”

“No, you had it right the first time,” Elisif flung back, already looking forward to this. At least she was... until Gaius Maro and about seven Oculatus soldiers stepped forward.

“Oh.” Elisif stopped, her mood immediately plummeting at the reminder her life wasn't her own any more. “Commander. I thought you'd be at Castle Dour.”

“Yes, that's where I'll be based,” Gaius replied, bowing to her. “But I'll be having some of my men stationed here to supplement the palace guard and I'll need to meet with your steward to go over your security arrangements... Eminence?”

Once Elisif might have meekly gone along with all of this. But her dragon blood was fired up and ready to rip a rival apart, and she was in no mood to put up with overzealous Oculatus agents.

“Commander, I don't know what your father told you, but I am Jarl of this city and going to be High Queen, and in this Hold, this province, my word is law! And palace security arrangements fall under my purview. When it's convenient for me, my housecarl and I will meet with you and discuss anything you feel is relevant. But right now, I have an urgent matter pertaining to the wellbeing of the whole of Solitude to deal with, and I do not have time for this. So please, if you could possibly return to Castle Dour and leave me to take care of my city in peace, I would appreciate it.”

“Eminence, this is highly – wait, a matter endangering the entire city?” Gaius had dropped the deference, every inch the alert soldier. “And you're dealing with it personally??”

“Of course,” Elisif said, surprised. “Look, it was me who stopped the ritual that raised her, it looks like it's me who's going to have to stop her. I'm taking my housecarls for backup and I'd appreciate it if you could get out of the way...”

“What??” Gaius cried. “Out of the question, my orders were quite clear. To protect you with my life and ensure nothing happens to you! Eminence, I cannot stand by and allow...”

Elisif lost her temper.

“Listen here, you overpromoted Imperial bureaucrat,” Elisif snarled, jabbing Gaius in the chest. “I am Jarl of Solitude, future High Queen of Skyrim, Slayer of Alduin, and I have faced far worse than the upstart necromancer trying to take over my city. And I have certainly faced worse than you! So you can either get out of my way and let me get on with protecting my city and my people as I see fit or... or you and your men can get behind me, take my orders and help me!”

“I...” Gaius looked over at Falk Firebeard, who'd just emerged to see what the fuss was about. “Sir, are you her steward? Can you tell her to calm down?”

“Tell her to...?” Falk raised an eyebrow. “Sir, I don't know who you are, but she's my Jarl. I don't give orders to her.”

Elisif looked up at Falk, amazed to hear him say this when he'd previously done his best to talk over her at every turn. But here he was, backing her up. He noticed her staring at him and actually inclined his head, bowing a little, slight smile on his face. Elisif found herself smiling back. All this time she'd been worried and it turned out Falk had her back after all.

“Come on,” Elisif told her housecarls. “Let's go. We need to talk to Styrr and after that, I need to get the Temple unsealed and find out where this Draugr came from.”

She'd barely got out of the palace when she heard Gaius Maro calling after her.

“Jarl Elisif! Er, I mean, Your Eminence!”

Elisif stopped, rolling her eyes and turning around. “What?” she sighed.

“Wait,” he gasped, running to catch up. “I mean, I didn't mean... I know you're Jarl and my orders were to protect you, not tell you how to do your job. So, if you're intent on doing dangerous things in the service of Solitude... will you at least let me and my men accompany you.”

Elisif raised an eyebrow and glanced at Argis, then at Lydia. Lydia nodded and Argis shrugged.

“Sure... if you think he won't get in the way. Could use a few more swords and the Oculatus are good.”

“Well, all right then, Commander,” Elisif replied, nodding for them to fall in with her. “But stay out of the way, and do what Argis tells you. No trying to push me out of the way if someone comes at me with a sword. You're soldiers following me into battle, or you're staying here.”

“Understood, Eminence,” Gaius said quietly, before calling to his men to fall in line and follow the Jarl. Elisif suppressed the urge to squeal. Had that really just happened? Had Gaius Maro of the Penitus Oculatus really just fallen into line? But apparently he just had, and Elisif looked closer, realising he was barely older than her... if he was older.

“Commander,” Elisif said softly, so his men didn't hear him. “If you don't mind me asking... how old are you exactly?”

“Twenty five,” Gaius admitted. “But I've been training with my father since I was a boy, joined the Legion at sixteen, passed all the entrance exams for the Oculatus at twenty and rose to captain a year ago. I... may I say it's an honour to be chosen to protect the Imperial he-”

Elisif placed a finger to his lips, shaking her head.

“Don't say a word to anyone about that until it's made official. You're my bodyguards and protection service, not my spokespeople.”

“Yes ma'am, I mean, Eminence, I mean... yes, of course,” Gaius said, only stammering a little. Elisif smiled. All right, this was perhaps not quite the burden she'd thought.

“All right then,” Elisif said, turning and striding off. “To the Hall of the Dead, and if two of the Oculatus could go in front and tell the people to clear away – Lydia, supervise them, make sure no one overreacts, these are innocent citizens, not criminals.”

Lydia nodded and took charge of two of Maro's men, clearing the way ahead, and they arrived at the Hall of the Dead without further incident. Elisif hadn't been here since Torygg had been laid to rest. She tried not to think of his remains interred somewhere in Solitude catacombs.

Inside, Styrr was standing, arms folded, having a rather frustrating conversation with two visitors.

“Young lady, I appreciate your desire to help, and ordinarily I would happily accept the aid of anyone both skilled and public-spirited enough to volunteer their assistance, but this matter requires the specific assistance of the individuals present at the original binding, and I don't recall you being either of those.”

“And your evidence for that is...?” Eola's voice rang out across the room, sounding every bit the imperious Reach-Princess. “My aunt has consulted with one of the eyewitnesses on the ritual used and seems to think there's no magical binding on either of them, only that the Wolf Queen's likely to recognise them and respond to a challenge. Styrr, I think I know enough to be able to persuade her to let me in, please let me try?”

“Pleeeaaassseeee??” Cicero added, wringing his hands and sidling up to Styrr hopefully. “Cicero is very good at stabbing upstart necromancers who should have died properly the first time!”

“Admirable, my boy, but I'm very much afraid one Wolf Queen can only be laid to rest by the other... and there she is!”

As one, Cicero and Eola turned and both their faces lit up to see Elisif step in.

“Hey Elisif!” Eola called cheerfully, and Cicero was his usual exuberant self, as always. Alas for him, he had no idea about the whole Imperial adoption business, and hadn't fully realised Elisif now had highly-trained elite bodyguards who had no idea who he was.

“DRAGONBORN DRAGONBORN PRETTY DRAGONB- eeeeek!” Two of the Oculatus had drawn their swords on the motley-clad lunatic trying to pounce on their charge and stepped forward, only just avoiding impaling Cicero.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE QUEEN!” Gaius roared. “ON THE FLOOR, HANDS ON YOUR HEAD, NOW!”

Cicero wailed even more, cringing back and wringing his hands and appealing piteously to Elisif.

“Elisif, help!” Cicero cried. “Tell them poor Cicero is your friend! Tell them poor Cicero meant no harm and isn't going to stab you!”

“Let him go!” Elisif cried, horrified as it dawned on her she'd need to brief Maro in far more detail than she was comfortable with on her friends. “He works for me, he's... he's not going to hurt me!”

Gaius glanced at her then nodded at his men, who backed off. Cicero whimpered and scrambled to his feet, clinging on to Eola and shooting terrified looks back at Elisif.

“I'm so sorry,” Elisif gasped, making her way over to see if he was all right. “They're a bit overzealous but they're just doing their job. I've, er, got bodyguards now. Extra bodyguards. Um. Commander, this is Cicero and this is Eola, she's Jarl Madanach's younger daughter. They're friends, they're allowed to come near me, oh gods.”

Thankfully, Cicero appeared to have forgiven her because he let Eola go and snuggled into her arms, whimpering and staring up at her, looking personally betrayed.

“Cicero just wanted to say hello,” Cicero whispered. “Cicero nearly got stabbed!”

“I know, I know, I'm sorry,” Elisif soothed. “I'll make sure it doesn't happen again, I promise.”

“It better not, he's one of a kind!” Eola said, sounding a little stern as she rubbed Cicero's back. “Hey, you fetchers know my da's a Jarl, right? You can't just execute me, right?”

“Better not, she's also my little sister,” Argis growled, drawing nearer to her. “You better have a damn good reason to lay a finger on her.”

“Your name's been mentioned, Lady Eola,” Gaius said stiffly, still not taking his eyes off Cicero. “They did mention you had a consort of sorts called Cicero, but details were a little light.”

Probably because Delphine and Madanach had both gone out of their way to ensure Cicero was steered away from anyone important, which now Elisif thought about it, might not have been the best idea if it meant the Oculatus had no idea who he was and thought he was an assassin. Well, he was an assassin, but not one intending to stab Elisif.

“Well, that's him,” Eola said tersely. “No more unfortunate incidents, hmm?”

“I'll see his description gets circulated to all agents in Skyrim,” Gaius promised, eyeing Cicero warily and frankly Elisif couldn't fault him for that. “Forgive me, my lady, we were not expecting to see the Jarl of Windhelm's daughter and her consort here in Solitude.”

“We just got off an East Empire ship from Windhelm,” Eola said, brandishing a letter which Elisif could see had the official Seal of Solitude on it. “The Jarl received a letter by courier yesterday from the Steward of Solitude – well, it was intended for Jarl Elisif here but she'd just left and so Da opened it, because he's nosy like that and it looked important, and a good thing he did too!”

“It was asking for the pretty Dragonborn and her Dunmer friend Erandur to come home quickly, because something had gone wrong from a ritual you attended!” Cicero added, quite unnecessarily because Elisif had read the letter herself by that point. “So Madanach called in Erandur and Lady Keirine wanting to know more about this ritual, and Erandur said you'd stopped a group of necromancers bringing the Wolf Queen back!” Cicero looked very impressed by this, and Elisif vaguely recalled Cicero being somewhat disapproving of the entire study of necromancy, claiming that if he'd gone to all the trouble of stabbing someone, he certainly did not want them getting up and walking around again – that was very bad and would lead to terrible things like shame and dishonour and Sithis help him, refunds. This had then been hastily followed with much cooing at Keirine that her little hobbies and rituals didn't count, Sithis knew no client would be asking for any refund if Keirine had been at the target.

“Not well enough from the sound of it,” Eola purred. “Auntie Keirine extensively interrogated Erandur – not like that, she just asked a lot of questions, that's all, he's fine – and guessed that if the summoning bit had worked but the binding been stopped, her spirit might well be roaming Skyrim and she'd likely return to her old haunts near Solitude. She's got to have had an old workroom near the city, right? All necromancers have a workroom.”

“In the catacombs – the old ones, that is,” Styrr confirmed. “They're under the Temple, but they run for miles outside the city. Plenty of old graves down there and Potema no doubt used them when she was queen here. They've been sealed for years, but with Potema's spirit back, the dead there are eager to serve once more. Elisif, my Jarl, you'll need your sword.” He nodded at Dawnbreaker, gleaming away in its scabbard, and Elisif caressed the hilt. Yes, Dawnbreaker's services would no doubt come in very useful. But first, more information.

“I thought I might,” Elisif said grimly. “What are we dealing with down there, and why do you need me specifically? Eola was saying there was no magical reason for it to be me.”

“You were present at the ritual, my Jarl,” Styrr explained. “Even if the connection is not mystical, she will likely recognise you. She's sealed the catacombs off, no one can get in... but for you, she might open the door. She'll know she owes her return in part to you. Also, she was Queen of Solitude, you are the Jarl and High Queen-elect. You're directly in her line of fire. She must know she can't achieve anything with you in the way. In order for her to bring any of her plans to fruition, she needs you out of the picture. If you come to challenge her, she'll respond, I am sure.”

Which made a lot of sense, but did then lead to the question of what exactly Potema's plans might be, and Elisif wasted no time asking that question.

“Raised in spirit form is not the same as returned from the dead,” Styrr told her. “She will need help before she can return to the living. All the more reason to act quickly – challenge and defeat her now while she's still a spirit, and you can nip everything in the bud. If Potema can become fully human again... she's a Septim, you know. If she were to return, she'd be Empress. Entitled to the throne by right of bloodline.”

“Because she's descended from Tiber Septim,” Elisif said, risking a glance at Gaius to see how he was taking this. “A Dragonborn. Well, so am I, and if she wants the Ruby Throne, she'll have to come through me first. Not that I'm planning a coup myself or anything,” Elisif added quickly, seeing Styrr's raised eyebrow. “Titus Mede and I had a long conversation, we reached agreement on that.”

Styrr seemed to accept that, but Eola was still frowning, mouthing the word “agreement?” to herself before looking at the new elite bodyguards, looking again and then whispering in Cicero's ear as to who they were exactly. And Cicero, having learnt all about the Penitus Oculatus as a young assassin, even run afoul of them on one job involving a member of the Imperial Household, whispered back that they looked like part of the Emperor's personal guard force, but that wasn't right, was it, they only protected the Imperial family, Eola, Eola sweetling, what is it, you look shocked.

“Nothing, sweetie, nothing, I think I need a word with Da when we get home, if he doesn't know, he really really needs to,” Eola whispered back, feeling a bit faint and quite honestly it was a good thing they were here, no way was Elisif going up against the bloody Wolf Queen without mage backup and Cicero there for stealth stabbing of anyone who might get too close.

“So anyway, we need to enter the catacombs, kill her minions, find her, kill her and... will that solve it? Can she be killed?” Elisif asked hopefully. Styrr thankfully seemed to be of the opinion she could.

“I think that sword of yours can do the job,” Styrr promised. “Likely there'll be part of her mortal remains buried there – if you can find them, bring them to me once you've dispatched her spirit. I can give them the proper rites, ensure this can't happen again. In the mean time, you'll likely need help with her minions – you're not a mage, are you, my Jarl? Have you got one with you?”

Two of the Oculatus tentatively raised their hands, which did surprise Elisif before she recalled Imperials were generally fairly accepting of magic, far more so than Nords, and that an elite military unit from Cyrodiil would certainly have a battlemage or two. However, there was only one mage here that Elisif really trusted to have her back.

“Teach it to Eola here,” Elisif said, beckoning the Reach-Princess to be forward. “And if there's any members of the Oculatus who want to learn, I don't have any real objections.”

And so Eola and a few of the Oculatus learnt how to turn the undead, which Eola remarked was useful, she supposed, although she usually just set fire to them. And then it was time to go hunt Potema.

Alone, Elisif might have found it a challenge. But she had two highly-trained Nord housecarls, and Lydia turned out to be as capable as Argis. There was also Eola's magic sending Draugr running screaming and on fire, Cicero in his Shrouded gear and the Blade of Woe, ebony dagger and a rather nice bow darting here there and everywhere and never being where you expected, and the five of them could have dealt with the situation on their own most likely. With Gaius Maro and the Penitus Oculatus rushing ahead to clear the way, it was a bit of an anticlimax. Apart from the bit where they found three rotating discs blocking the way and a vampire attacking them, and while Maro and soldiers dealt with the vampire, Cicero had darted on ahead and got stuck. Which led to Eola running after him, and Elisif gritting her teeth and following, not wanting to have to explain to Madanach his daughter had got hurt. Which meant the three of them ended up pressing on alone and running straight into a Draugr Deathlord. Which went straight for Elisif while Cicero vanished and Eola darted back and starting lobbing fire at it.

“Try using Turn Undead!” Elisif cried.

“I did! It's not working!” Eola shouted back.

Daedra take them all. Elisif bashed its axe away with her shield and Shouted it down to get a bit of space. And then the others caught them up.

Argis roared into the room first, Lydia close behind and the two of them started hacking into the undead horror. Then the Oculatus soldiers poured in and the fight was soon over.

“Sorry about the delay, Eminence,” Gaius said apologetically. “It took forever messing around with those levers to get the doors lined up. Why'd you go ahead?”

“I was trying to stop those two,” Elisif said, indicating where Cicero was kneeling by the Deathlord, trying to retrieve his arrows, a job made easier when Argis growled at him and wrenched a few out for him.

“Thank you, dear Argis! Lovely Argis!” Cicero cooed. Argis grunted.

“Yeah, whatever,” Argis growled. “Any idea how to get through that door?”

The Oculatus soldiers were already looking it over and preparing to batter it down. Elisif had to wonder if there was a better way. Maybe Eola should have brought Karliah along. Or maybe someone had a key.

A search of the Draugr's body revealed only some septims and an ebony war axe which Elisif gave to Lydia. But the fledgling vampire that Cicero had shot dead on sight when they first got here turned out to have a key. Which got the door open.

“All right, let's go!” Elisif cried, and her soldiers swarmed out ahead.

The rest of the minions weren't much of a challenge after that, and it was only when they reached the final chamber that things got tough. Potema's voice rang out, daring them to face her inner court, and lightning speared down from the sky, hampering the mages no end. Eola staggered back, sword out and even the Staff of Magnus not helping that much. Elisif fell back to protect her, Dawnbreaker lashing out and carving into Draugr where the Thu'um wasn't sending them falling back. And then Cicero popped up, daggers lashing out as he stood in front of Eola, for once not striking from the shadows, just darting around and stabbing viciously into the Draugr daring to menace his pretty Eola. Unfortunately for him, the Draugr was bigger than him, and its ebony sword speared Cicero right through the stomach. Clutching his abdomen, Cicero collapsed to the floor in agony.

“Eola???” he wailed and Eola's inhuman shriek of rage rattled everyone's ears.

“YOU FOUL-TASTING ABOMINATION!” Eola raged, fire blasting from one hand and the Staff of Magnus in the other sucking in magicka as fast as she expended it. Elisif dispatched the Draugr she was fighting and turned to help Eola... but it was Gaius Maro whose blade sheared the head off its shoulders and dropped the undead thing to true death, and two of his men who ran to help Cicero, high level Restoration magic at the ready.

“Are you all right, Eminence?” Gaius asked hesitantly. Elisif nodded, gazing at the bodies littering the place, mostly Draugr but there were two of the Oculatus who wouldn't be getting up again too, and Argis was sitting on the floor clutching his shoulder, Lydia frantically signalling to one of the Oculatus healers to come and tend to him once Cicero was stabilised. This fight might have gone badly if it had just been the five of them.

“Thank you,” Elisif said quietly. “Listen, I'm sorry I called you an overpromoted bureaucrat earlier. You're really not, are you?”

Gaius actually blushed, staring at his feet. “That's all right, ma'am, they did say you might be a bit resistant to the idea,” he sighed. “I'm just glad we were here to help.”

“So am I,” Elisif said quietly, as Eola held on to Cicero, tears in her eyes as she thanked the healers, swearing she'd never have been able to heal him that well herself, and Mara knew no one else would have had a hope. Looked like the Penitus Oculatus had just saved the life of the last Dark Brotherhood assassin.

“Hey. El,” and that was Argis, flexing his hand and rolling his shoulder but otherwise looking fine, Lydia grinning behind him as she patted his back. “We think Potema herself's in the next room, you ready?”

“Yes!” Cicero squeaked from the floor, or at least he did until Eola glared at him.

“I don't think so, you nearly died! I'm sorry, officer, could you keep an eye on him? He does try and overdo it when he's ill. No, sweetie, you're staying here and resting, no more stabbing for you today.”

Cicero pouted but relented on learning a big muscular Oculatus man was going to be looking after him, cooing and giggling and fluttering his eyelashes and being utterly compliant for once.

“Eola, I think Cicero might be bisexual,” Elisif whispered to Eola who just raised an eyebrow then burst out laughing.

“Oh sweetie,” Eola laughed, drying her eyes. “Did it take you this long to work it out? Yes he is, and no I don't mind. Be a bit hypocritical of me to object about that, wouldn't it now?”

“Oh,” Elisif whispered, and then the septim dropped. “Oh! You mean you as well... does Madanach know?”

“About Cicero? Sure, with the number of times he's had to peel him off him, he's surely worked that out by now. About me? Never really came up.”

“You should tell him,” Elisif said. “He'd appreciate knowing, I think.”

“You think?” Eola asked, surprised. “Well, he was OK with Argis and Farkas, I suppose. Eventually. I'll think about it. Don't we have a Wolf Queen to kill?”

They did, and Elisif led the way into the next room where Potema's spirit was waiting, and while the Wolf Queen fought well, it ended with Dawnbreaker skewering her and the explosion ripped her to pieces, leaving just bones on a throne to mark Potema's passing.

“That must be her remains,” Eola said, fascinated. “I bet Auntie Keirine would love these.”

“They're being sanctified,” Elisif said tersely, indicating for Lydia to collect them together. “By a priest of Arkay. So this doesn't happen again.”

Eola grimaced at the mere mention of Arkay, which was odd but maybe it was a Reachman thing. But Eola let Elisif take them, and there turned out to be more loot for everyone, and everyone tracked back to Solitude, the world safe once again.

Styrr was delighted to see them despite the late hour, promising he'd see the remains laid to rest, and Gaius had Cicero whisked off to the Castle Dour infirmary, Eola in tow. Argis and Lydia followed Elisif back to the palace, two Oculatus soldiers following them discreetly to the palace itself before letting them go.

Falk was still up, tankard of warmed mead in hand, sitting quietly in the throne room, looking up as the three of them emerged into view.

“Elisif – Jarl – you're back!” Falk got to his feet, seeming unsure how to greet her now. Elisif had no such reservations, smiling and going to draw him into a hug.

“You didn't need to stay up!” Elisif told him, but she was rather glad he had.

“Couldn't sleep,” Falk shrugged. “Might as well sit up and wait. So, is it done? Is Potema...?”

“Laid to rest,” Elisif confirmed. “You can have Rorlund re-open the Temple in the morning.”

“Thank the Eight,” Falk sighed. “Thank you, Jarl. This city, the whole of Skyrim, owes you more than we can ever repay.”

“I'm just doing my job,” Elisif said, letting Falk go, feeling a little embarrassed, not least because it occurred to her she was going to have to relieve him of his job in the next few days, and he really didn't deserve it. He was a good man and a loyal one and she began to wonder if she could keep him on after all... but she'd already asked Argis.

“Aye,” Falk said, looking a little uncomfortable, gesturing for guards to step forward. “Listen, Elisif, I already had quarters made ready for Argis and Lydia. And Maro of the Oculatus wants to meet with me for some reason – Elisif, why are the Oculatus involving themselves with you?”

“I – can it wait until morning?” Elisif asked wearily, motioning for her housecarls to follow the guards to their rooms. Neither had sufficient energy to object.

“Aye, that it can,” Falk said, voice not unkind... but he seemed worried about something. “But there is something... Jarl, can we talk? Privately?”

Odd. Very odd. But Elisif trusted Falk, and so she led him to her room, lighting candles and motioning for him to take a seat.

“What is it?” she asked, sitting opposite him, finally removing the Jagged Crown and putting it to one side, relieved to get the weight off her head. He wasn't meeting her eyes, in fact he looked like the bearer of bad news. Like a lover breaking up with someone.

“Jarl, I – Elisif, I can't be your steward any more,” Falk finally blurted out, and that was unexpected, to say the least. Falk not being steward? Not wanting to be steward?

“But you've been doing the job for years,” Elisif said, confused. “Don't you enjoy it? Is it – is it me? Did you not like being stuck with all the work while I was travelling? Or...?” Oh gods, did Falk secretly hate her?

“What? Oh! No, nothing like that, Jarl,” Falk said, shoulders sagging in relief at finally having admitted it. “No, it's... Jarl Elisif, I've served Solitude for many years and I regret none of it. But I can't... Jarl, there comes a time in a man's life when he can no longer serve two masters, and my circumstances have lately changed. I won't be able to give you the service you need as steward and I won't be the one to bring scandal to the Blue Palace.”

Which was a shock, it really was... but at the same time, Elisif could only feel relieved. She didn't have to sack Falk. He was resigning. She'd need a new steward anyway. And she had one lined up. She couldn't have asked for better. Except... scandal?

“Falk, are you in trouble?” Elisif asked, worried. “What have you done? Stendarr help me, you're not turning yourself in for something, are you??”

“No, no, this one is entirely moral,” Falk sighed. “Jarl, Bryling is pregnant. About three months along. I fathered it.”

Thane Bryling. Childless, unhappily married to Erikur for years, separated some time ago, the two civil enough but hardly friendly, neither wanting to go through the acrimony of a divorce. Istlod had been king at the time of the split, a traditionally minded man who barely believed in the concept of divorce at the best of times and had made his views known to both Thanes that if they couldn't live with each other so be it, but he wasn't having his Thanes taking Mara's vows in vain.

Elisif had felt sorry for all concerned, especially when she'd realised Falk and Bryling had feelings for each other, but she'd had no time to think about anyone else's love life when her own was falling apart. It seemed Falk and Bryling had finally given in to their feelings for each other, and this was the result.

“If she wants to keep the baby, you're going to have to marry her, but I don't see how terribly scandalous this is...” Elisif began but Falk wasn't listening.

“She was technically married!” Falk cried. “Until I arrested her husband, and then you executed him!”

“Yes, for treason against his Jarl, of which we have proof of his guilt,” Elisif sighed. “Don't tell me people think he was innocent.”

“No one does,” Falk had to admit. “Even his own sister was glad he was dead. Bryling's certainly not mourning. But Elisif, I had to administer his estate after he died, I was involved in that whole case. If I marry Bryling now, it'll look like I did it for my own benefit. How can I still be steward if people think I'm abusing the post for my own gain?”

“Abusing the... Falk, you did nothing of the sort,” Elisif said gently. “Is anyone feeling cheated by the settlement? Gisli hasn't complained?”

“She got the house and the lion's share of the coin and contracts,” Falk sighed. “She hasn't said anything, but if I wed Bryling now, and we remain here, it'll become obvious she was pregnant by me at the time of the death and...”

“And she might complain,” Elisif said, feeling sympathetic but really, Falk was probably worrying about nothing at this point. “Well, don't you worry. I'm here now, and if Gisli complains, she can appeal the whole thing to me. Not that I'm likely to change much, but we'll have a look at it. Falk, tell me this. Marrying Bryling, having children with her – is that really what you want? Truly?”

“I...” Falk hesitated, then he looked up and Elisif could see tears glittering in his eyes and a smile starting to appear. “Aye. Aye, more than anything. Elisif, I'm sorry, I can't be your steward and father to a small baby, I just...”

Elisif could feel tears in her own eyes at the thought of babies, but she also remembered that it could happen now, maybe she'd have a baby this time next year, and she could hardly begrudge one of her oldest friends the same happiness.

“Then go speak to Bryling,” Elisif whispered. “You go organise your wedding. And six months from now, you can step down and go be a husband and father. Maybe sooner if I can get a replacement in place in time and the handover goes well. Don't worry about money, I will make sure you get a suitable pension. Just make sure I get a wedding invite.”

“I – really? You're not upset?” Falk looked like he could barely believe it. Elisif smiled and nodded, taking his hand.

“No. In fact, I'm happy for you. After everything, you deserve a bit of happiness. I can find another steward, that baby is only going to have the one father. Don't worry about me, Falk. You've given so much to this city, and to me. You deserve to be happy.”

“I don't... don't believe it... thank you, Jarl!” Falk took both her hands in his, beaming with happiness. “I didn't think you'd say yes! I – I must tell Bryling at once, she'll be amazed. Thank you, Elisif, you don't know how much this means to me!”

“Oh, I think I can guess,” Elisif said with a smile, getting up to see him out. “Go on, go talk to Bryling. Let her know the good news. But before you go... there is one thing?”

“What is it, Jarl?” Falk asked surprised. “Something else you need?”

“Yes – maybe. Falk... there is room in my court for a new Thane. It's an honorary title mainly but it still carries weight. Of course I can only give it out to someone known throughout my Hold and who owns at least one piece of property... but if you're to marry someone who owns property... and I know the entire Hold knows who you are. Falk Firebeard, when your service as steward ends, it'd be my honour to make you my Thane.”

“Me... Thane?” Falk couldn't believe his ears. “Are you sure?”

Elisif nodded. Falk dried his eyes and smiled.

“I'd be honoured, Jarl. Thank you.”

Jarl and Steward embraced and then Falk saw himself out, no doubt to go tell Bryling everything. Elisif closed the door and paused before retiring to bed. Today had been eventful. A joyful return... a threat and a battle... and the news Falk was going to have the thing she'd wanted, giving power up for his family. For a few heartbeats, she felt loneliness assail her. Happiness for everyone but not her. Not right now anyway.

But she was home and safe and alive, and she had friends in this city, and her people loved her, and on the other side of Skyrim was a man who loved her and would happily provide babies if she asked him. And he probably missed her too.

I'll write to him tomorrow. He sent Eola and Cicero to help, he'll want to know how it went and if they made it. The thought cheered her up immensely. Smiling, she put the lights out, undressed and went to bed. She was home, and things weren't nearly so bad as she'd feared.

Notes:

And there you go, all working out nicely, eh? We have a couple more chapters to go, I want to take the story up to the Moot at the very least. Also there are one or two more romantic developments to settle. With any luck, it'll be out soon.

Chapter 46

Summary:

Solitude is busy preparing for the Moot, and Elisif and Argis both have lots to contend with. Including a lover who is too sentimental for his own good, and the need to prepare Solitude for the arrival of its new dragon guardian.

Notes:

Slower paced this one - this is the prelude to the Moot and resulting end of the story. But it's still pretty good! Gets a bit fluffy in parts though.

Days later and things were going well. Cicero was recovering nicely, and Eola was taking him out on a daily basis to see the city. Solitude's children loved him. Solitude's adults were less certain, but it was amazing what they'd put up with from the consort of the new Jarl of Windhelm's daughter.

The Temple had re-opened with a service of thanksgiving for the end of the war, the defeat of Alduin and the safe return of the Jarl and indeed many other sons and daughters of Haafingar... and remembrance for those who were never coming home. The service left everyone feeling a bit emotional, but Argis and Lydia were there to comfort Elisif after.

In happier news, the city was celebrating victory and rather more than that when Falk and Bryling announced their engagement. Gisli raised not a murmur of protest, and after that, Falk threw propriety to the winds, organised the wedding for barely a fortnight in the future and virtually moved in to Bryling's house.

Elisif gave Falk's old room to Argis and named him as the next steward, with Lydia as her new housecarl to replace Bolgeir, gone to serve Falk as his housecarl. The citizens of Solitude were a bit wary at first, but Falk was there to reassure them still, and many had to admit that Argis was friendly enough, and seemed to know what he was doing, and not only that, he seemed to have a way of bringing their Jarl out of herself. Many noted that Elisif seemed a lot more confident and cheerful since her return and she certainly seemed to know what she was doing in a way she never had before. Some of Solitude's gossips even wondered if perhaps there might not be another wedding in the near future. But despite much mutual laughter, teasing and surreptitious whispering between the Jarl and her new steward, there was no sign of kissing, hand-holding, starry-eyed gazing or romantic meals together, in fact the evenings Elisif and Argis spent together were usually marked by bottles of mead everywhere, much laughter, frequent visits from that Reachwoman and her strange jester friend, and no sign whatsoever of any romantic gestures. And then a courier arrived from Whiterun with a letter from Jorrvaskr for the new steward.

“For me?” Argis said, tipping the courier. “From Jorrvaskr? Who in Jorrvaskr?”

“Guy called Vilkas. Said it needed to get to you right away. That's it, gotta go!”

“Vilkas?” Elisif said, watching curiously from the throne. “Why's he writing to you?”

“Because Farkas ain't that good with a pen,” Argis said, ripping the seal open impatiently. Weeks since they'd got here and no word from Jorrvaskr, and Argis had been starting to worry. About time someone wrote to him.

“Who does he know in Jorrvaskr?” Bryling asked, reclining in the padded chair Falk had had brought to the courtroom. “Was he a Companion then?”

“No, he's from the Reach,” Elisif said, watching Argis's face as he read, her new steward smiling to himself as he did... then frowning. “But he met the Companions while he was helping me out and got to know one of them. Argis, what's up? Is something wrong? Is Farkas OK?”

“Yeah,” Argis said, frowning. “They're all fine, they all send their regards, Kodlak says he hopes Cicero's all right. And Farkas is coming here at the end of the week for a visit.”

“Well, that's good, right?” Elisif asked, sensing a 'but' in the air. “I know you missed him.”

“Farkas?” Bryling whispered quietly to Falk – not quietly enough.

“His boyfriend, apparently,” Sybille drawled. “I know, I was surprised too, Argis doesn't seem the type. I thought that Cicero would have been the type to have a man friend, to be honest.”

Elisif's gaze turned unblinkingly on all three of them, and court mage, thane and soon-to-be-ex-steward all fell quiet. Elisif had a way just lately of intimidating virtually anyone into silence with barely a word.

“Argis, what's the bad news?” Elisif asked. Argis shook his head.

“Dunno. Vilkas doesn't say but something's happened. He says Farkas needs to talk to me. Also he's bringing someone else with him but doesn't say who, only that she'll need her own room. She??”

She?? And not Aela or Ria because Vilkas would just have said. But Elisif did know that Farkas was a good man who wouldn't just abandon Argis for a pretty girl.

“Well, Farkas wouldn't cheat on you and expect you to give house room to his new lover,” Elisif reassured him. “Falk, can you have a guest room made up? I don't know who this is, but we will need to be ready. I don't know how long they'll be staying. I guess we'll see this Fredas.”

Of course, with half the palace sealed off and Cicero and Eola currently occupying the guest room, things were liable to get a little crowded, but thankfully, Cicero managed to solve that problem, albeit by unorthodox means. One minute he was seen chatting to a poor beggar in the streets. An hour later, he was staggering out of the Pelagius Wing, having sweet-talked Erdi the maid into giving him the key, waving a new staff and announcing the wing was fine now, Sheogorath the Madgod was no longer occupying it, pretty Elisif could have it cleaned and aired and repaired and have all the rooms she liked for her guests.

Cicero was hauled very promptly into Argis's room and told not to frighten the court by saying things like that and what was that staff anyway?

Eola recognised the Wabbajack when she saw it. She also took a tour of the wing herself but found nothing other than a few magicka residues. Something had been there but it wasn't there now. So Elisif sighed, called in Rorlund from the Temple, had the wing exorcised and cleansed on the quiet and then had the servants going in to clean the place up... with Lydia there to reassure them. All the same, few people wanted to go in there after dark. Still, it would do for visitors, such as the visiting Jarls for the forthcoming Moot. Elisif promptly assigned the wing to the Jarls of Falkreath, the Reach and the Rift. Maven was not the type to be bothered by ghosts or daedra, Nepos would almost certainly have sufficient mage support to deal with anything unusual, and Elisif had never liked Siddgeir anyway.

With that done, all was ready for Farkas and guest when they arrived in the city. Farkas hadn't given a time and given the roads, carriages could take a while... but the road from Whiterun to Solitude had got safer as of late. Groups of armed warriors from the Reach, partly Nepos's ReachGuard and partly freelancers who definitely weren't Blades, had cleared out both bandits and Falmer hives, and the road was that bit safer now.

And so a carriage trundled in to Solitude on Fredas afternoon, and two figures got out of it. One a big Nord warrior with a greatsword hefting two packs... and the other a rather smaller, shyer figure, following in his wake as he made his way into the city, heading for the palace.

Elisif got up as her Oculatus guards announced the arrival of Farkas of Whiterun, Argis also coming running from where he'd been brushing his hair and quietly panicking.

“Farkas!” Elisif called. “We got Vilkas's letter! We got everything ready! So where's your friend? We're all very curious. Aren't we, Argis?”

“Sure, sure,” Argis said distantly, adjusting the noble's outfit that he really wasn't used to wearing. “Er. Hey Farkas. Look, they made me steward!”

Farkas let the packs fall to the floor, and Elisif couldn't help but notice one was a lot smaller than the other and decorated in mountain flowers and lavender. Now who would cart around a small pack with flowers all over it? Other than Cicero.

“Hey Argis,” Farkas managed to get out, having never really seen Argis in anything other than his armour or his underwear or neither before. “You're looking good. Really good. I mean...”

Argis glanced down at his outfit, grinned sheepishly then back up to Farkas. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. How you doin', Kas? Vilkas said you wanted to tell me something.”

Farkas nodded, looking nervous. “Er. Yeah. Yeah, I did. Um. Argis. I kinda did something a bit... it was honourable! But... er... don't be cross?”

Argis had gone rather quiet, staring Farkas down and looking just like his father in that moment.

“Need to know what you did first, Kas,” Argis said quietly. “Do I need to pay anyone off? I don't need to ask Da or El for a loan, do I?”

“No!” Farkas protested. “Nothing like that! Only... well, maybe I should just show you. Lucia! Lucia, c'mere. This is Argis. You know I told you about him.”

The owner of the flowery pack stopped poking at the Blue Palace's floral arrangements and came running. She was tiny next to Farkas, a little slip of a girl with dirty blonde hair and a blue dress that was new-ish but dusty from the road and a bit too small for her. She wasn't Nordic. Those were Imperial brown eyes, and she didn't look more than ten if that.

She ran straight to Farkas's side, peeping nervously up at Argis as she clutched at Farkas. Farkas put a protective arm round her, smiling down at the little girl before turning his attention back to Argis, hope and worry and a certain stubbornness that hadn't been there before in his eyes.

“Her name's Lucia,” Farkas said, staring at Argis as if daring him to argue. “She's nine years old, ten next month, and her ma died this summer. They lived on a farm out in Whiterun somewhere. When her ma died, her uncle came with his wife and kicked her out. They said she wasn't good for anything. She's been living rough in Whiterun ever since. I've not been there often enough to see what with everything, but I ran into her begging the day after we all got back to Jorrvaskr. Gave her a septim, asked where her ma and pa were. Found out she didn't have any and hadn't eaten for days. So I took her back to Jorrvaskr, got Tilma to help me bath her and feed her and got Eorlund to build a bed in my room for her. She's lived there ever since. She likes singing and flowers and poetry. Wants to be a bard. Told her we'd visit the College while we were here. She'd like some books too. She's really good at reading.” He patted her on the shoulder, looking fiercely proud of her then turned back to Argis. “I ain't sending her to Honorhall. Even with Grelod dead. Riften's not recovered from the dragons yet anyhow.”

Argis had barely taken his eyes off Lucia, barely able to process the fact that his boyfriend, apparently entirely without thinking about anything resembling consequences or how anyone else might feel about this, had seemingly adopted a child. And there wasn't a damn thing Argis could do about it. No wonder Vilkas had sounded like he'd been hiding something.

“Papa?” Lucia whispered. “Are you sure he's a friend of yours? You said Argis was nice.”

“He is,” Farkas murmured, ruffling his daughter's hair. “Only I didn't tell him I was bringing you. Think your Uncle Vilkas said I was bringing someone but not who.”

Argis, speechless, turned to Elisif to see how she was reacting, only to see that she was staring at Lucia, barely able to contain herself, eyes already getting that broody, gooey look they always did on seeing children. Well obviously she wouldn't see a problem, if Madanach turned up having adopted four more, Elisif would just squeal and start mothering them all. Whereas Argis was fond of kids, sure, but hadn't really anticipated actually rearing any. Certainly not when involved with another man.

“Farkas, you can't just go round adopting kids on a whim,” Argis sighed. “What if she's got other kin out there?”

“She says not, and her aunt and uncle don't want her,” Farkas said, folding his arms. “Nor did anyone else. So I took her in. She was living rough, Argis, I had to do something. I know I should have asked you first, but I couldn't just leave her! I was just gonna take her to live at Jorrvaskr with us, but she's not the warrior type and then she asked me if this meant I was her papa now and I couldn't... come on, Argis, you trying saying no to a half-starved kid who's looking at you like you're Martin Septim come back! And yeah, Vilkas already told me off and Kodlak asked if I was sure about this, but I am, Argis. I really am. So they said OK and said she could stay. But... if you don't want her here... I guess I'll have to take her back to Whiterun.”

“Papa?” Lucia whispered. “Papa, I'm scared. Don't leave me!”

Farkas said nothing, cuddling his daughter and staring back at Argis, and honestly Argis had no idea what to think. But he had a feeling Farkas wasn't budging now, not for anything, and that little girl didn't deserve to find a loving father only to lose him, or have that father get his heart broken because of her. So he looked at Lucia, tiny and terrified and clinging on to her father, here in a strange city and not knowing what was going on. And Argis remembered being about her age himself, having just seen his mother killed and then some ReachGuard turn up and drive the Nords off while a mysterious Dunmer woman ushered him away through a city filled with the clash of steel and screams of the dying and blood everywhere, citizens he'd known all his life being hauled out and killed by Ulfric's men, and ReachGuard warriors dying, the long siege having sapped their strength. Then out and running through the starlit valley, tears rolling down his face and the sky red behind him for miles, until they finally reached a camp with goats' heads and Spriggan bits everywhere, and lots and lots of devastated Reachfolk all sitting around, and at the head of the camp, the King himself, dethroned and not knowing if his wife and kids were even still alive at that point. And Argis had been terrified, standing there while Karliah quietly told Madanach Argis's mother was dead but she'd rescued Argis, and Argis had been too scared to even cry and why would the King have had them rescue him? And then Madanach had been there, kneeling down and taking Argis into his arms and whispering it was all right, bion, you're safe now, I've got you, I'm so sorry I couldn't save your mameth but I'm here, I'll take care of you. Argis had asked why, he wasn't even a Reachman.

“Yeah you are,” Madanach had whispered. “Half-Reachman. I'm your da, bion. You're my son.”

Argis had burst into tears but he'd clung on to Madanach's fur armour, not sure if it was true and not caring. Madanach had taken care of him as if it had been and Argis had loved him unfailingly ever since. Now here was another orphan terrified and bereaved and in need, and Farkas hadn't been able to help himself.

Argis apparently was every bit his father's son, because he looked at Lucia and felt his heart go out to her. I can't send her away, I just can't.

Guess that means I'm her da now, doesn't it? Madanach's reaction to this was likely to be unrepeatable but honestly he'd been going on about grandkids for ages, and given he'd adopted two kids about Lucia's age, he could hardly complain. Slowly he got to his knees to get a better look at her.

“Hey,” Argis said softly. “You're Lucia, right?”

Lucia nodded, looking very uncertain.

“Pleased to meet you. I'm Argis. I live here. Help the Jarl out with all her important stuff. So Farkas is your pa now? You like having him looking after you?”

Lucia glanced up at Farkas then back to Argis, nodding enthusiastically.

“He's the best!” Lucia said proudly, raising her voice to normal speaking level then blushing and looking away again.

“You love him, don't you?” Argis said, finding this rather cute. Lucia nodded, cuddling Farkas.

“Yeah, so do I, even if he is a bit of an idiot sometimes,” Argis told her, smiling at her, and this revelation did bring her out of her shell a bit. She let go of Farkas and moved a bit closer.

“What happened to your eye?” Lucia asked. “Does it hurt?”

“Got in a fight with a sabre cat,” Argis explained. “But that was years ago. It doesn't hurt any more.”

Lucia whimpered a bit, looking concerned. “But it hurt at the time! And you can't see out of it any more.”

“Eh, I got used to it,” Argis shrugged. “Anyway, you should have seen the sabre cat. It was in a lot more pain than I was. Well, until it wasn't. Er. Anyway. Welcome to Solitude! This is the Blue Palace, and you've got a bedroom here somewhere. Except I didn't know you were a little girl so you might not like it. But that's OK, I can have it redecorated.”

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” Lucia gasped. “I mean, I don't need to live in a palace. I don't mind Jorrvaskr.”

“You don't mind Farkas's snoring at night and all the fighting and swearing during the day?” Argis asked, grinning and ignoring Farkas's cry of “I don't snore!... Elisif, I don't snore, do I?” To which the Jarl of Solitude pointedly replied she wouldn't know. Lucia giggled as well, before looking at her feet, smile fading.

“Thank you, Mr. Argis sir, but I'm just a little girl. You don't need to worry about me.”

“Yeah I do,” Argis said gruffly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Listen, you got your pa, and that's great, but kids can't have one parent. It's better with two. Did you want another one?”

“What, a mama?” Lucia asked, surprised. Argis shook his head.

“Nah. Another dad,” Argis explained. Lucia wrinkled her nose, looking a bit confused.

“But no one's got two papas, how would that even work?” Lucia said, puzzled. Well, looked like she at least knew where babies came from, which saved Argis having to explain it.

“Well then. Wanna be the first?” Argis asked, smiling hopefully. “Wanna live with me and Farkas here?”

“What, you? As – as my other pa?” Lucia's eyes widened and she turned to stare at Farkas. Farkas had been watching all this in a state of shock, but he recovered, kneeling on Lucia's other side with his eyes shining, putting a hand on her back.

“Up to you, Lu,” Farkas said softly. “But he's a good man and he'll look after you like I do. Maybe better. He can read you stories from a proper book.”

“But I like your stories,” Lucia whispered to Farkas.

“I like his stories too, we can listen to them together,” Argis told her, nudging her gently. Lucia looked back at Argis, then blushed, giggling shyly.

“Can I see the Bards' College?” she asked hopefully. Argis nodded, suddenly unable to stop smiling.

“Sure you can. Might even be able to get one of the students to give you lessons if you like.”

“Really?” Lucia gasped. “What, just singing, or can I learn the lute as well? Have you got a lute?”

“Somewhere,” Argis replied, fairly certain he could find a lute of some sort somewhere. Or just buy her one if her birthday wasn't far away. Lucia's mouth had widened and she looked like she was about to squeal.

“And books, can I have books?” Lucia gasped. “Please?”

“We'll get you books. And a little bookshelf to put them all on, right?” Argis promised, nodding at Farkas, who was looking very enthusiastic and who would probably build the bookshelf himself given the opportunity.

“Yay!” Lucia cried, flinging her arms round Argis. “Thanks, Papa! Er... other papa? Um... what do I call you?”

“Da,” Argis said, reaching out to cuddle his new daughter. “You call me Da. Or Daddy. Or Daddy Argis if you like. I don't mind which. But I'm from the Reach and we call our fathers Da out there. Short for Vada which means father, yeah?”

“OK Daddy!” Lucia said cheerfully. Then she tilted her head, looking a bit confused. “So if you're from the Reach, why aren't you living there? And isn't it dangerous because of all the Forsworn?”

Argis patted Lucia on the back, trying not to laugh. “Not any more, the new Jarl of the Reach came to an agreement with the King of the Forsworn, and they're at peace now. No more Forsworn. They haven't signed the treaty properly yet but they will. Once they've had the Moot. Which is a few weeks away, but it'll be soon. I might be a bit busy helping the Jarl organise it all. That's my job and why I live here. Because Jarl Elisif needs my help.”

“Oh...” Lucia whispered. “Is that the same Jarl Elisif who killed the dragons? Does she live here too?”

“Yeah,” Argis said, grinning. “In fact, that's her over there trying not to squeal. You'll like her, she's nice. Hey! El! This is Lucia, look. She's... she's my little girl. Me and Farkas's little girl.” Argis felt his voice shake on that last sentence as it hit him he had a daughter now. He was a father. Him, a father! He'd thought he never would be, and yet here he was. A little girl relying on him to look after her. Frankly he was terrified, and he wondered how Madanach had coped. He'd need to ask him. Which would mean informing him he was a grandfather now. Which... well, the chances of either of them making it through that conversation without tears was slim, the chances of both of them managing it was non-existent. And yet right now, he really wanted to find his father and tell him everything.

Lucia had gone over to Elisif, who had dropped to her own knees, holding out her hand to Lucia.

“Hello!” Elisif gasped breathlessly. “I'm Elisif! You must be Lucia! Welcome to Solitude, little one! Do you like the palace?”

Lucia looked about her and nodded eagerly.

“It looked really pretty from the carriage!” Lucia said. “Are we really staying here?”

Elisif nodded, surprised she'd even ask.

“Of course! Your daddy Argis lives here, and so can you and your papa Farkas. Would you like me to show you around?”

Lucia nodded enthusiastically, and court closed for the day as the Jarl of Solitude showed a little girl all around her palace, including meeting the servants, and the Thanes, and the guards, including some grim-faced Oculatus guards, and Lydia the housecarl, and being shown the throne room and her daddies' room and Elisif's room and the kitchens and her new auntie Eola and Uncle Cicero who apparently wasn't really a proper grown-up and anything he said needed to be run by one of her fathers or by Elisif first. Lucia was a bit confused but accepted it. It was no stranger than having two dads or the Jarl herself squealing over her.

Meanwhile Farkas was rather awkwardly sidling up to Argis.

“Thanks,” Farkas said quietly. “For not shouting at me.”

Argis responded by smacking Farkas on the behind and glaring at him.

“No more adopting any kids without talking to me first, you hear? I don't care if they're about to drop dead of ataxia. You tell me before they start calling you pa, right?”

“Yes Argis,” Farkas said, sounding very apologetic but with a bit of a smile on his face still. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” Argis said, putting his arms around his lover and deciding that for all his faults, Farkas's heart was in the right place. Feeling a sudden rush of affection, Argis leaned forward and kissed Farkas. Farkas kissed him back, and the rest of the world faded away... until Elisif and Lucia returned to find Argis and Farkas lost in each other.

“Oh!” Lucia gasped. “They're married! Is that why they're kissing?”

“Well, they're not actually married, not yet,” Elisif explained, sincerely hoping Lucia didn't ask for details. “But they might do one day. They love each other very much, that's why Farkas was a bit worried about bringing you here, he was worried Argis might not like you, or like him any more.”

“But he does still like him,” Lucia said as her fathers broke apart, blushing.

“Yes,” Elisif said, fairly brimming with pride at the sight of them. “Yes he does. Go on, go tell them all about the place, I don't think Farkas has been here before.”

So Lucia ran over to tell Farkas all about the Blue Palace, and Elisif watched the little family go, familiar ache in her heart... but also an overwhelming sense of happiness on behalf of her best friend. Argis deserved to be happy, as did Farkas... and little Lucia definitely did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You wanted to see me, General?” Elisif asked, glancing about at the Imperial Suite in Castle Dour, wondering why General Tullius wanted to speak to her here, of all places, but a glance at the Imperial seal on the letter in his hand told her why. Clearly he'd heard about the Imperial heir business, and he was no fool. He had to have worked out what the presence of a Penitus Oculatus protection detail meant. Two of them had accompanied her from the Blue Palace, taking up position on either side of the door, and Elisif had a feeling some more of them were guarding the other exit on the walkway side.

She'd worn her armour and Jagged Crown anyway. Always best to remind the General she could fight now. From the appreciative nod he gave her, it seemed to have the desired effect.

“Jarl Elisif. Or is it Eminence now? I've had some interesting news regarding you from Commander Tiberius Maro of the Penitus Oculatus in Cyrodiil. Young Gaius's father.” Tullius was standing across the table, arms folded, but for once he wasn't scowling. He nodded at the Oculatus guards who'd followed her in. “Is it true?”

“What have you heard?” Elisif asked. More information definitely required before she answered that one. Tullius brandished the letter at her.

“Only that he wants to know when the Moot is so he can arrange for extra protection for the Imperial heir,” Tullius growled. “And that the Emperor's planning a state visit for the spring if all goes well, make sure the Legion is ready and am I sure there won't be any trouble from remnants of Ulfric's army?”

The active remnants of Ulfric's army were either being recruited to the Blades or mercilessly hunted by Madanach's more covert forces, with rumours of two Daedric spirits, a red-haired one in a jester's hat and a one-eyed hag in a bear's skin, being the most prolific and feared slaughterers of the Stormcloak resistance. Wilder tales had them clad in the skin of Ulfric himself and feasting on the flesh of their enemies but Elisif was sure that was an exaggeration. Nevertheless, she'd had word of Stormcloak camps in other holds being decimated, and firsthand reports of what had happened to the one in Haafingar. Lydia had gone to inspect the remains and come back looking pale and advising Elisif not to go in person, it did indeed look like a Daedric beast had torn through it and set it on fire. Neither Cicero nor Eola could account for their whereabouts on the night the slaughter had happened, but Cicero had cheerfully announced he was feeling much better now and couldn't possibly encroach on Elisif's hospitality any longer. Elisif had been privately relieved to see them both leave. There'd been talk of them heading to Whiterun to sign up with Jorrvaskr. Elisif hoped Kodlak knew what he was taking on.

“I don't think the Stormcloaks will be a problem,” Elisif reassured him. “I don't think they have any agents in the city already, and I doubt the visiting Jarls will be bringing any.”

“Good, although that's not my point,” Tullius replied, eyes boring into her. “Extra protection for the Imperial heir?? Is he talking about you??”

Elisif hesitated, knowing that if she said yes now, that was it, no turning back, even though she'd been corresponding in secret with Titus Mede for a few weeks now, and had the letter agreeing to the adoption in her private dresser waiting to be sent, as soon as she worked up the courage. After the Moot, she'd told herself. Well, the Moot wasn't so far away now, was it? About time she starting admitting it.

“Yes,” she admitted, feeling a weight fall off her shoulders but her heart speeding up, blood pounding through her veins as she realised this was real, she was the next Empress, Mara help her, she wasn't cut out for this even if she was Dragonborn. “Yes, I... yes.”

She wasn't sure what else to say. What else was there to say? She could go on and explain the reasoning – Titus Mede didn't have one, he felt the Empire needed a Dragonborn ruler again, she'd apparently proven herself by taking Skyrim for her own. But she could hear Delphine's voice telling her not to explain, not to justify, she was the leader, let others explain themselves to her. So she waited for Tullius to react.

“Emperor Titus Mede is going to make you his heir,” Tullius said, disbelief all over his face. “Are you... of course you're serious, and Maro's never anything but. Jarl Elisif, I can't say I'm completely convinced this is a good idea... but it's not my decision, or my place to question His Eminence's orders. And I suppose you've proved yourself capable enough just lately. I hope you realise that even when this is official, you won't have authority over the Legion. Not automatically. We swear our oaths to the Emperor, not his heir.”

“Understood, General,” Elisif said, gritting her teeth and reminding herself she was not allowed to assault officers of the Legion, Dragonborn or not, High Queen or not. “But I will be High Queen of Skyrim and Heir Apparent to the Ruby Throne, you can't give me orders either. I answer to the Emperor too.”

Silence from Tullius as his eyes narrowed, staring back at her as if he couldn't decide whether she was a deadly rival or an ally to be courted or just an upstart pretender who had no business running anything. But in the end, whatever his personal opinions, Tullius was a soldier who followed his Emperor's orders. He clenched his fist and held it to his chest, in a soldier's salute.

“Understood, Eminence,” Tullius said, voice curt but he seemed to approve somehow, unheard of though it was. Elisif couldn't remember him ever approving of anything, he could beat even Madanach on the surliness front. And yet, he seemed less hostile than he had been. “Jarl, I don't know how long Titus Mede has left – he's in good health but he's not a young man and who knows what might happen. But when your time comes, assuming you're able to take the throne... you'll have my support.”

“I... what, really?” Elisif gasped, not sure she'd heard that right. “I mean... General, let's be honest, ever since my husband died you've treated me like an irritating formality at best, there to preserve Imperial legitimacy and stop the entire province rebelling. And now you're backing me for Empress?”

“Yet half the province rebelled anyway,” Tullius said, shrugging. “And in the end, who restored order? The Legion? No. You and a bunch of rebel outlaws, mercenaries and mystics who all followed your lead, and despite me telling you it was a suicide mission and a lost cause, you attacked Windhelm and held it against all comers. Divines know how you do it, maybe you're just naturally cunning or maybe you've got a gift in attracting good advisors. It doesn't matter, the best rulers don't rule alone. I'm a soldier, Elisif, I can take charge of an army on my own because that's how war works. But politics? That involves winning people over to your side, even when they hate each other or have little in common but loyalty to you. You appear to be good at it. And so I suppose it's not the worst idea letting you try your hand at running the entire Empire. Divines know it's been ruled by worse.”

Coming from Tullius, this was practically a ringing endorsement. Elisif couldn't help but smile.

“Thank you, General,” Elisif told him, feeling oddly lighthearted now it was all out in the open. “When I'm on the Ruby Throne, I won't forget you. It'll be good to know the Legion's got my back.”

“Please don't promote me,” Tullius said, looking rather pained. “I really don't want an Elder Council seat. Also I only head up one Legion, you have others to win over.”

Elisif's horror must have shown on her face, because Tullius actually smiled – very quickly and it was gone in a second, but it was there.

“Don't worry, I'll brief you on the other Generals,” Tullius promised. “I know rather more of their secrets than they realise – you won't be going into negotiations unknowing. Incidentally, what is your knowledge of politics outside Skyrim?”

Fragmented, was the answer to that – she knew a bit about High Rock but hadn't really been near court much. Her father had played at many a noble's house but done his best to keep her away from that life. Breton politics was a deadly game for the unwary. As for the rest of the provinces, she was really rather out of her depth. Maybe Karliah or Aranea or Erandur might know a thing or two about Morrowind, and Cicero might be helpful regarding Cyrodiil... but Elisif's knowledge was lacking and they both knew it.

“Needs improving,” Elisif admitted. “But I do have a few informants who might be able to help.” Delphine must know people, she had to know people, that was what she did, right?

“A good start,” Tullius nodded. “Well, I can't abide politics myself, but I can keep you appraised of Legion matters, troop movements, that sort of thing. We get all sorts of reports coming in, most of which are irrelevant to the High Queen of Skyrim... but Her Eminence the Heir Apparent might find them very interesting.”

“I might,” Elisif said thoughtfully. “Send them to my steward, we'll have a look at them. Or send word for me to come here if it's so sensitive even he's not allowed to see them.”

Tullius agreed and saluted again before taking his leave, leaving Elisif to call her guards and walk back to the Blue Palace, feeling continually amazed at the turns her life was taking. General Tullius approving and being helpful?? Unheard of. And yet one day, unless he retired before then, he'd be under her command.

It was too much to think about. She needed to sit down and think and no doubt flail in the direction of Lydia or Argis or both, in fact an evening of mead, good food, cards and the company of Argis, Lydia and Farkas sounded like a marvellous idea. Definitely time to go home, close court for the day and relax with her inner circle.

Because tomorrow's job was going to be a tricky one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That's right, a dragon!” Elisif said brightly. “I'm bringing a dragon to Solitude. He's going to live on Mount Haafingar mostly but he might sit on the Blue Palace sometimes. I need to introduce him to the city guard so they don't think he's attacking and shoot him.”

Captain Aldis scratched his head and tried not to stare at his Jarl as if she'd gone mad. Tullius wasn't even bothering with trying.

“A dragon?? Here? Are you insane?? That beast could destroy the entire city!” Tullius shouted. Elisif's smile faded but she stood her ground, two Penitus Oculatus men at her back staring impassively back at the General with all the disdain the Oculatus traditionally had for the Legion, and Lydia by Elisif's side frowning as if she wasn't sure what the problem was, why wouldn't you want a dragon in your city?

“He's not going to,” Elisif said tersely. “He's my friend. He helped me before and will again. Now, do I have your word the Legion won't fire on him when he gets here? He's red and black, he's quite distinctive.”

Tullius was growling under his breath, clearly regretting deciding to back her as Imperial heir and probably drafting the letter to Titus Mede even now telling him his chosen successor was a dangerous madwoman, please reconsider. Fortunately, Rikke chose that moment to turn up, helmet off and armour gleaming in the sunlight, all strapping Nordic warrior and brisk competence as always.

“Sorry I'm late, General, Jarl Elisif, what's up?”

“She's bringing a dragon here,” Tullius said contemptuously. “Apparently it's some sort of pet.”

Elisif had not expected Rikke's eyes to light up they way they did. “Really?? You've got a pet dragon? Jarl, I am very impressed – when's he arriving? How does one address a dragon?”

“Legate,” Tullius growled, glaring at her and Rikke coughed and lowered her eyes.

“Sorry, General. But when is it arriving? Someone will need to prepare the troops, sir.”

“This week, once Captain Aldis has briefed the city guard and got word out to the citizens, and I've got assurances from the General the Legion won't be firing on him,” Elisif said firmly.

“Won't be firing on who?” And this was Gaius Maro, just back from inspecting the city defences. “Are we expecting visitors? Eminence, you said the Moot wasn't for another fortnight, I need you to tell me if we're going to have guests. It's not the Jarl of Windhelm, is it?”

“No, it's not...” Elisif forced back the familiar sensation of loneliness and missing Madanach, along with disquiet as to just how much Maro seemed to know or have guessed about her relationship with him. “Commander, I've invited a dragon here. He's a friend. He's going to live on Mount Haafingar but chances are he'll be seen on the Blue Palace roof from time to time. Can you brief your people?”

“A dragon? You've acquired the services of a dragon?” Gaius gasped, the amazement making him look suddenly rather young and Elisif remembered he was only a few years older than her, not a rugged veteran like Tullius or Rikke or Aldis. “That's brilliant – er, that's quite the asset, Eminence! Don't worry, you'll have no trouble from us, I'll arrange for him to have the necessary clearances – not that he'll be going in the Palace, of course, but it'll save me having to station people on the roof if you've got a dragon up there. Could I – could I meet with him? Is he going to be here for the Moot? I'm thinking someone with an aerial view of the city could be very useful.”

“I think it could be arranged,” Elisif said, grinning, even as Tullius threw up his hands and demanded to know if anyone else was concerned about a giant, fire-breathing lizard being allowed into the city.

“It's only one dragon, sir,” Rikke pointed out. “I don't think he's any more dangerous than Jarl Madanach, and he's being allowed in.”

Tullius wasn't exactly keen on that idea either, but he did have to concede the point. Particularly as Maro seemed all in favour. On his and Elisif's heads be it then.

“I want it on record I was not in favour of this,” Tullius snapped. “And if that dragon goes rogue, my soldiers will be killing it, Elisif. But... I will ensure they don't fire first. Rikke, assemble them all for this afternoon, I'll address them.”

“Thank you, General!” Elisif cried, all smiles now she'd got her way, as bloody always. “You won't regret it!”

Tullius already was, and that regret did not abate three days later when Elisif stood on Castle Dour's ramparts and shouted for her dragon friend. Solitude held its breath, assembled citizens, Legionnaires, guardsmen, Temple priests and priestesses, sailors, merchants, mercenaries, visitors, Oculatus and Elisif's entire court, all watching the skies nervously. And then he came, the great red dragon Odahviing, soaring across Skyrim from the Throat, wind sweeping across Solitude as he arrived, shadow darkening the sky and blotting out the sun, and then great wingbeats stabilised him as he lowered himself on to Castle Dour's roof.

Quietly muffled screams from one of the townsfolk but other than that, silence as an entire city stared up at the dragon on the castle. Their Jarl's dragon, it turned out.

“Yolaazov,” Odahviing noted, glancing around at the massed city with some amusement. “They are not firing at me, so I see you told them of me.”

Elisif nodded, unable to stop smiling. A dragon, she had a dragon, and so far no one was objecting.

“Hello Odahviing!” Elisif gasped. “Welcome to Solitude! You remember Argis, don't you?”

“Your assistant in defeating Alduin. Yes, I remember. Greetings. Why do you have a small joor clinging to you?”

Lucia peered out from behind her father, staring shyly up at Odahviing, who was staring down at her curiously. Argis tightened his grip on her, glad he'd decided to wear his armour after all. He might risk his own safety, but not Lucia's.

“She's my daughter,” Argis said firmly, correctly guessing the best way to deal with a dragon was to stay strong and not give way. “Her name's Lucia. She's never seen a dragon close up before.”

“Hello!” Lucia finally managed to work up the courage to say. “You're very big!”

“So I am,” Odahviing said, amused, seeming fascinated by the presence of a small human. “Joor have kiirre, small ones they spawn from their bodies and fight to the death for. I had forgotten this. It has been a long while since I last saw a kiir and I'm not sure I've ever spoken to one before. The joor of the Dragon Cult used to usher theirs away from us when we neared their settlements.”

“That might still happen now,” Elisif had to admit. “I think the townsfolk are a bit nervous but if you don't eat them, they'll get used to you.”

“Hah, Dov do not actually need to eat,” Odahviing laughed. “As long as we have sunlight to bask in, we do just fine. So that is Argis and his kiir Lucia. Who are these others?”

And so Elisif introduced him to General Tullius and Legate Rikke and Lydia and Falk and Bryling and Sybille (who had all sorts of questions on dragon biology and culture but Elisif persuaded her to have this discussion later) and Gaius Maro, and then Giraud Gemane and Viarmo both popped up, wanting to pick Odahviing's memories, in particular the Dragon War and Dragon Cult days, and Elisif had to persuade them to arrange a proper appointment later via Argis as well. And then seeing as Elisif felt she owed her people something for putting up with this, announced a holiday and free mead and ale for everyone all day. Solitude's goodwill was promptly restored as the city needed a strong drink by this point and so everyone dispersed to find one.

Elisif spent the rest of the day sitting on the Blue Palace's roof, Odahviing draped on the tiles behind her, both watching the firework display she'd had the foresight to arrange earlier.

“They're Khajiiti firecrackers mostly, with a bit of help from various alchemists from Cyrodiil,” Elisif explained. “It's not magic or anything but it looks pretty. I suppose it's a bit tame compared to a dragon fight.”

“It is no match for two Dov at war,” Odahviing agreed. “But it is entertaining to watch. Joorre are so easily amused. A bit of fire in the sky and they act like it's some sort of divine blessing.”

“Isn't the Thu'um a divine blessing?” Elisif asked, raising an eyebrow. “A gift of Akatosh is what everyone tells me.”

“Yes,” Odahviing said, growing slightly more serious at this point. “The power to sing the world into being... or destroy it. Well, it is not destroyed yet. I find I prefer it that way. Life would be very dull without a world to shape.”

“You want the world to survive because you like playing with it,” Elisif said, raising an eyebrow at Odahviing but honestly not surprised by this point. Odahviing nodded.

“Yes. It interests me. Joor interest me. I like seeing what they come up with to get by when they cannot fly or breathe fire. You interest me. Few would invite a Dovah into a strunmah of the joor.”

Few would. But for all Elisif was mostly a sweet and caring young woman, she had an inner core of pure Dovah now... and secretly she was rather pleased to be the only Jarl in Skyrim with a dragon lounging on her palace.

“I think I'm the only Jarl who's friends with a dragon,” Elisif said, leaning back against Odahviing's scales. “The others will be very envious. Odahviing, they're all coming to visit in a few weeks time. Think you can arrange to fly around the city and sit on the castle and palace roofs and watch them when they arrive? They're here to decide the next ruler of Skyrim and I want it to be me. I think it probably will be anyway, but I think it'll definitely help if they arrive to see my strunmah's protected by a dragon.”

“You want to use me to gain favour with the other joor rulers,” Odahviing said, and was it her or did he sound slightly offended? She needn't have worried. Odahviing laughed and nodded.

“Of course, Dovahkiin. What is the point of serving a joor if she is not acknowledged by the others as the most powerful? You are of course the strongest of them, but if they need help seeing that, I am happy to assist. Are there any you need particular... assistance with? Do I need to go to their strunmahhe and... convince them?”

“No!” Elisif gasped, trying not to think how the other Jarls would react to a dragon landing on their palace and informing them to vote for Elisif or he'd burn their city. “I mean, no, that won't be necessary, three of them have already promised me personally they'll back me, and the Jarl of Windhelm's working on the others. He's on my side.” Elisif paused, wondering quite how to explain how romantic love worked to a dragon with presumably little or no concept of family life – did dragons even have genders? Immortals didn't need to breed after all.

“He's your friend,” Odahviing murmured, and for all that he didn't fully grasp how human families worked, there was a knowingness to his voice. “A friend so close he is persuading other Jarls to support you, not him. Why.”

“He's not a Nord. Skyrim would never accept him as King. He doesn't want the job anyway. He wants to be King of the Reach again but he can't have that unless I'm High Queen. Only a High King or Queen has the power to sign the treaty that'll make the Reach independent again, and I'm the only one who's likely to want to. He rescued me from prison and helped me kill the previous Jarl of Windhelm. I want to repay him,” Elisif explained. Well, it covered the facts. It didn't cover just how complicated things had got, or that Madanach had turned out to be an odd mix of passion and gentleness behind closed doors while still retaining an edge of wildness.

Silence from Odahviing, who was watching her very closely.

“What's his name?” Odahviing finally asked. “This Bronjun-se-Hiimsejun who desires your power more than his own.”

“I'm not entirely sure that's true,” Elisif pointed out. “He thinks I can get him what he wants. It's not the same thing.”

“But he follows your lead,” Odahviing murmured. “He will be King but not High King.”

“He won't be under my authority though,” Elisif pointed out. “He'll have his province, I'll have mine.”

“Whose is bigger?” Odahviing wanted to know. Elisif rolled her eyes. Typical dragons, they were as bad as human men sometimes.

“Mine,” she admitted. “But I've got to persuade other Jarls to go along with what I want, unless we're at war. He can just rally the ReachGuard.”

Odahviing smirked at that. “Somehow I do not think that is entirely true. Maybe his suleyksejun runs differently to yours in some respects but a king cannot rule unless his subjects back him. So. You have the bigger, more powerful kingdom and he's fine with that.”

“He just wants the Reach,” Elisif shrugged, but inwardly she was starting to worry. What if he was using her, what if he secretly wanted more, what if... perhaps she was overthinking this a little. Madanach's ambitions weren't boundless and he wasn't an idiot. He had to know he'd never be High King of Skyrim and he also had to know he couldn't use her as a puppet either. Once perhaps. But no more.

“Is he a weakling then?” Odahviing asked. “Or did he lose a fight?”

“He's not weak!” Elisif cried, although she also remembered holding him in her arms, feeling wrinkled skin and silver hair and not a young man's toned muscles, seeing the various medicines he had to take each day, for addiction, for blood pressure, boosting his immune system, the quick bursts of healing magic when he thought she wasn't looking, the cough Cidhna Mine had left him with and the way he had to squint to read things. Madanach was a lot more fragile than he let on, and old age had mellowed him. “But he did lose a fight once. He was king until the old Jarl of Windhelm took his city. They put him in prison. Then years later they threw me in there because Jarl Ulfric wanted me out of the way. That's how Madanach and I met, and seeing as we both had the same enemies, we joined forces. Now we're allies.”

“Maar-Dinok? That's his name?” Odahviing had lifted his head up, genuine amazement in his voice as the fireworks lit the sky around him.

“It is, why?” Elisif asked, wondering what had Odahviing so fascinated, and then she realised Odahviing hadn't quite pronounced Madanach's name right... or rather, he'd said the nearest equivalent phrase in the Dovah speech.

“Maar-Dinok means Terror-Death in your tongue,” Odahviing laughed. “He's either a fool or has the mightiest Thu'um around... next to you of course. And I do not believe you'd long entertain the company of a fool.”

“He's not,” Elisif said, fighting her own laughter and not really succeeding. “His name really means Terror-Death?”

Odahviing nodded gleefully. “Yes. Has he earned it?”

“Oh absolutely, he'll be delighted when I tell him!” Elisif laughed, visualising this right now, the silver-eyed King of the Forsworn cackling away on finding out the meaning of his name, looking very pleased with himself and running off to tell Kaie. “I think you might like him, you know. He's a Destruction mage.”

“Hmph. And you said he wants to be King of the Reach – of course he does. He's a Sosinjoor then. Be careful of them, their magics are formidable. Especially their sorceresses, their Ruvaak-Monahhe. It is said they can set the very blood in your veins on fire.”

“I don't doubt it,” Elisif agreed, remembering Keirine and the bloodied body parts of mostly animals strewn liberally around her workroom. “I know one who can open portals through Daedric realms. She's Madanach's sister.”

“All the more reason to be wary,” Odahviing growled, but he didn't seem angry. Impressed, rather. “But an ally is no use if they're weak. If you think you can keep him and his kin in line...”

“I'm marrying him,” Elisif said before quite realising she'd said it and feeling her face burn. Of all the times, places and people to come out with that... and she'd not even asked Madanach yet! Not properly anyway, and did she even want to be Madanach's wife?

Yes. He's mine. Madanach, with all his wildness and dangerousness and ruthlessness and at the same time getting sleepy in the afternoon and needing tea in the morning before he was even vaguely functional, and gods dammit how was it possible to want to fiercely possess someone and at the same time dote on them and worry about them? I want him to submit to my every whim and then I want to mother him. It was all rather confusing, although it also occurred to her that getting Madanach to comply with healers' orders might well involve ordering him around.

“Marrying... ohhh. Why did you not say, Dovahkiin? He is your ahmul! Now that explains much. I would indeed like to meet him,” Odahviing nudged her in the side. “I need to make sure the ahmul-se-Dovahkiin is worthy of his title.”

Elisif thought about that... and thought about it some more... and decided the idea of Odahviing staring Madanach down and cheerfully promising to eat him if he was anything less than an ideal husband was too delicious to pass up. And so she promised Odahviing she'd introduce them while the Moot was on, and settled down to watch the stars. She owed Madanach a letter anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif cariad,

I'm relieved to hear you had no trouble dispatching the Wolf Queen, and even more relieved my unofficial son-in-law behaved himself. Kaie and I had a good few septims set aside in bounty money – we're very pleased to hear we didn't need it. Although I now owe Keirine a drink. My sister is unbearably smug when she wins a bet.

Speaking of which, a little bird in the East Empire tells me your palace recently took delivery of a shipment of Firebrand Wine. I have heard good things about this stuff. If some of this were to find its way to Windhelm, I would be very much in your debt, my sweet, beloved Queen of Dragons.

Now on to more serious matters. I have heard from my children. Eola and Cicero are settling in well at Jorrvaskr, it appears. Why Kodlak's let them in, I have no idea. I love my daughter, but she's a lot like her mother in a lot of ways, and I was no saint either – you'll find that shocking, I know. Eola's a very skilled Destruction mage and she gets this hungry look in her eyes sometimes that unnerves even me. Keirine doesn't seem to think there's a problem, but she's got the empathy of a rock, plus I've seen her workroom. Keirine's idea of normal would send hardened warriors fleeing for their lives. And Kaie seems to think that ever since Eola saw their sister killed, she's been obsessed with blood and body parts. It concerns me a little, although old gods know I can hardly judge her. And we all know what Cicero is. The two of them encouraging each other just doesn't bear thinking about. And yet Kodlak's welcomed them in with open arms. I will never understand Nords. Still, it appears they're settling in well. Cicero is getting on well with young Ria – both used to live in Cheydinhal apparently, so they've been talking non-stop about that and he's taken her under his wing. Whereas Eola's befriended this Dunmer they've got there, Athis. I believe she's promised him free drinks at the New Gnisis or something like that. I've told her I will stand a fifty septim tab for him, and if he gets drunk and obnoxious, he will be in the cells, friend of the Jarl's daughter or no. All the same, she says she's learning a lot of swordcraft from him, and they spend their evenings sitting up by the Skyforge and bitching about Nords. He seems like a decent sort (why couldn't she have taken up with him??).

They've taken Farkas's old room, no doubt because absolutely no one wants Cicero in the same dormitory as them. I hope things are going well between Farkas and Argis, because if they split up and Farkas moves back to Jorrvaskr, I don't think he's getting that room back. I certainly don't think he'll want the bed back.

And talking of Farkas and Argis... Elisif, tell me the truth. They've adopted a child? Together? Or, from the way Argis tells it, Farkas adopted her on a whim and now Argis has to put up with it.

Elisif, I've wanted grandchildren for ages, you know this. But not like this. I mean... not if my son's essentially been forced into it. Tell me the truth, Elisif. For my own peace of mind. Is Argis happy? Does he truly care about this child? Or is he just going along with it so as not to lose Farkas? I don't want him to get hurt and resentful or spend years being unhappy but not able to leave because there's a kid involved. Not that he or Farkas are anything like Mireen used to be... but the thought of Argis feeling as trapped as I did breaks my heart. Set a worried father's mind at rest, won't you?

Argis has also sent Kaie details of the accommodation arrangements for the Moot – I see we're getting the nice guest quarters at the Blue Palace! Nepos is very jealous that we get the ones in the North Wing while he's in the allegedly haunted Pelagius Wing, and Argis telling him to, and I quote, “bring a Matriarch, you'll be fine” is not reassuring him. Eola's cheerful yet vague assurances that the place is fully exorcised are even less helpful.

Still, I will be there myself soon enough and we can do a few tests. I'll let you know if we find anything interesting, and maybe we can do a magical cleanse while we're there. Set a few wards, that sort of thing. I promise not to summon anything or sacrifice anything.

I'm really looking forward to seeing Solitude properly. There's a ridge in the Reach near Broken Tower Redoubt where you can see all the way to the coast, and Solitude's right there. You can even see the blue in the Blue Palace if the light's at the right angle, it's a sight to see. Of course, when I was a young warrior or even a more seasoned one, I was mostly looking at it and cursing the Nords. It's very strange to think of going there as a welcome guest, let alone as a Jarl.

It's really strange to think about that palace in the sunlight that I used to see as a symbol of Nord decadence and arrogance and realise that's your home. That's where you live. That's where the woman I love is. It gets me every time.

By the gods, I miss you. This city's been surprisingly welcoming considering we conquered it, but it is cold. This hall of mine is too large, too empty, and the bed is soft but it's lonely without someone to share it with. I never noticed when you were here but now this room feels like a cavern. Too wide. Too open. I had the roof barely more than a foot from my head for two decades, and now it feels like miles away, and there's skylights besides. But I do find the stars comforting. I just wish I had someone to watch them with. Someone to hold and who can tell me it's going to be all right. I wish you were with me, creenama. I don't feel afraid of anything with you around. It's not even the sex I miss most, although I certainly do miss it. It's you. It's snuggling up with you under the furs, lying awake listening to you breathe and feeling safe at last, waking up next to you and seeing you smile, knowing it's going to be all right.

I haven't felt like that in decades, and I have you to thank for it. I just wish you weren't so far away. But I'll see you soon, right? At the Moot. You have my vote obviously. And Nepos's. And Kraldar was positively reasonable when I explained to him that quite a few of the Forsworn were keen to keep up contacts with the College, and that Reach money could help rebuild his city, and Reach-magic stop the next Great Collapse taking the rest of Winterhold, but for this to happen, I would need to be in a position to authorise it all, and I can only do that as Reach-King, which only happens if you're High Queen. I have also made contact with Jarl Maven, and while she reminds me of my ex-wife, initial conversations have been productive. She'll vote for you.

Kaie and Eola are presently out in Hjaalmarch assisting Jarl Idgrod with... I don't actually know, Eola's letter was extremely vague, only that Morthal needed help, she'd taken over the old Stormcloak camp with Cicero, could I send troops to meet her there, and ideally Karliah too? Apparently some sort of high level lock is standing between them and the end of the world, and neither of them can pick anything worth a damn. I don't even know, but Kaie's taken a warband and headed out there with Karliah along out of sheer curiosity. With any luck, Idgrod will be grateful.

Sofie and Aventus send their love and they're looking forward to seeing Solitude. As am I.

I imagine it will be improper for me to share a bed with you before the Moot. But I don't mind lingering after everyone else has gone home. And then... then I'm all yours, my love.

Thinking of you,
Madanach

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Madanach,

I wish I could write like you. You write me all these passionate declarations of feeling, and all I can think of to say is that I love you too, and I miss you as well. It's the hardest thing in the world to see Falk and Bryling happy, and Argis and Farkas, and I'm all alone still.

But it helps knowing you're out there, and that one day, maybe... Well, I'll see you again soon, right? Not long now! Indeed, it's soon enough that I think the Firebrand wine can keep until you get here. I'd hate for anything to happen to it in transit after all, and if I start sending Jarls gifts before the Moot, it'll look like I'm trying to buy their friendship. But I'll see if a bottle can't find its way into the guest suite you're staying in. You're an absolute sweetheart for wrangling the eastern Jarls for me and I am very grateful.

I have heard from Cicero! I don't know why he felt the need to write to me, I guess he was feeling a little lonely and wanted to talk to someone other than Eola. But he was very informative, telling me all about settling in at Jorrvaskr, and that while he is obviously not telling Kodlak quite everything about his past, only that he did hunting and reconnaissance, and occasionally had to kill enemies and Very Bad Men, he's got enough stories to keep the place entertained. Apparently Kodlak's very fond of him and is even spoiling him a little. And he has their housekeeper Tilma wrapped around his little finger already, can you believe.

He's also told me about Morthal, and I've had independent confirmation of it all from Idgrod, so it must be true. Apparently the town was under a secret siege from vampires! Their leader turned the barmaid and she turned someone else and corrupted one of the millworkers. The barmaid Alva had the millworker's wife and child killed, and then he took up with her. Which is why Cicero and Eola got involved – they were passing through on a job and asked about the remains of the millworker Hroggar's old house. So Idgrod asked them to investigate, and that's why they needed Karliah, to get into Alva's house so they could search for clues. I don't think I'm telling this very well, and Cicero's letter was a bit confusing, but basically Eola knows a vampire when she sees one, and there was something about the ghost of Hroggar's little girl turning up and befriending Cicero too? Leading him to the vampire Alva had turned so he could kill her. Anyway, once Kaie and Karliah had arrived, Cicero and Karliah went to search Alva's house, Hroggar found them and attacked so Cicero was forced to kill him (he sounds so heartbroken about the fact too – I'd tell him off but frankly a man who lets his own child die deserves all he gets). And they found Alva's diary revealing the whole plan to turn Morthal into some blood farm for this vampire clan! And that's when Kaie and Eola took the diary to Idgrod and told her they'd be happy to sort this little problem out if she voted for me in the Moot. Madanach, your children are disgraceful sometimes. I've had to write and tell her I had no idea they were up to anything of the kind. Still, it seems to have worked out. Kaie and Eola and the Forsworn warband plus Cicero and Karliah sorted out the vampires, I don't think anyone got infected, Idgrod did pay them for their trouble, Cicero seems to have had a fine time, and Idgrod paid me a visit to tell me everything and assure me I had her vote. She seemed to approve of the whole thing and is looking forward to meeting you in person. She said nice things about your girls and even seemed to think Cicero was a sweet young man. I really don't know what it is with him and older women.

Also, I feel I should warn you that, er, well, I have a dragon now. A real one. A big one. He lives mostly on Mount Haafingar, and tells me he can subsist on sunlight, all dragons can, they mostly eat for fun rather than sustenance. But he's promised to help defend Solitude, and he does like lounging on the Blue Palace. His name's Odahviing, he's the dragon I caught in Dragonsreach. He was so impressed with me killing Alduin, he now works for me. The city's a bit unnerved, but so far he's been no trouble. Well, apart from the Thalmor – Elenwen claims he's menacing her Embassy. Odahviing says he was just curious. I've told him to keep his distance. Let's hope he listens.

I told him about you! He seems to approve. He says your name in Dovahzul is Maar-Dinok and it means Terror-Death. And that you had best prove to be a worthy mate for the Dovahkiin. I really am very sorry, I'm just repeating what he said. I think he likes you, although it is difficult to tell. He likes the idea of meeting you though.

As does a certain someone else. I know you're a bit worried about Argis and I don't blame you. But I think he's getting used to the idea of the fatherhood, in fact I think he's even enjoying it! He's a good father, Madanach. He's been taking Lucia around the city, introducing her to people, and he's got her a lute tutor from the Bards' College. And she loves him, Madanach, she really does. Him and Farkas both. I did ask him privately if he was really all right, and he's still a bit dazed, poor man... but he's also really happy. He reckoned he'd always thought he'd never have a stable enough life to have any kids or get married or anything, and he wouldn't want to endanger any he did have, and once he started going out with Farkas he'd thought that was it, he'd never have them. Except now he has and it's nothing how he thought it would be but he wouldn't change it now for anything. He's told her all about her famous Granda Madanach who's in charge of the Forsworn and now Windhelm. She's very eager to meet you. Also, I think she might like it if you brought Sofie and Aventus with you. I think she could do with having more children around. She gets lonely.

As do I. When my bedroom door closes and I'm alone for the night... that's when I miss you most. I might have the world at my feet but I still get lonely. I miss you, Madanach. Come see me soon.

I love you,
Elisif

Notes:

A bit fluffy, but it links in to the Moot nicely.

Notes on the Dovahzul:

Kiir - child

Bronjun - Jarl

Hiimsejun - Windhelm

Suleyksejun - kingdom

Sosinjoor - mortal witch, i.e. witchman or Reachman

Ruvaak-Monahhe - Raven-Mothers, i.e. Hagravens

Ahmul - husband

All Dovahzul translations were taken from Thuum.org.

Chapter 47

Summary:

The Jarls are gathering for the Moot and even though it should be a straightforward hailing of the victorious Dragonborn as High Queen of Skyrim, Elisif's nervous and given the personalities involved, she's right to be. Meanwhile Madanach's not just a Jarl visiting for the Moot - to some Solitudians, he's better known as Ahmul-se-Dovahkiin and Granda and they're very keen to meet him...

Notes:

And welcome back! This is the prelude to the Moot, in which all the Jarls start gathering in Solitude. In which we have an eccentric old seer, an outwardly harmless old man who nevertheless has an awful lot of ex-Forsworn in his entourage, an old man who's anything but harmless what with having all the current Forsworn at his back, a former Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood patron who can still easily find ways to deal with her enemies if she needs to, and the father of the Worst Children in Skyrim, among others, and presiding over this lot is going to test all Elisif's patience. Oh and let's not forget Madanach adjusting to being in a Nord city and no one trying to kill him, and meeting his new granddaughter for the first time.

Midday on the eve of the Moot and Elisif was quietly starting to panic. Best outfit on – check. Jewels and circlet shiny? Check. Hair brushed, clean and styled – check. Make-up done – check. Palace clean – check. Guest quarters ready and fully supplied, both here and in Castle Dour – well, Argis had assured her all was well there. Extra food and drinks were here, extra staff hired, the Bards' College promising post-Moot entertainment, evening reception at the palace organised for tonight, dragon lounging on the roof firmly instructed to behave. All was ready.

And Elisif felt terrified.

“Argis?” Elisif whispered as she sat in the Blue Palace's main hall, perched on the edge of the flowerbed at the foot of the ornate staircase leading up to her throne room, awaiting the arrival of the first Jarls. “Argis, is it going to be all right?”

“No, they all hate you, expect assassination attempts tonight and humiliation tomorrow. Even Da's gone off you,” Argis said, a little shrug of his shoulders and his voice sounding utterly unworried. For the briefest of seconds, Elisif felt panic seize her, and then she saw the little grin on his face and promptly hit him in the side.

“Stop that,” Elisif threatened. “Or I take your job and give it to Odahviing.” Argis did laugh at that... for about ten seconds, then he glanced at her face and laughter turned to nervousness.

“Er... you wouldn't. Right, El? I mean, he wouldn't fit in the palace, right?”

“He could interrogate visitors in the courtyard,” Elisif said, already warming to the subject. “In fact, Argis, next time I'm feeling under the weather, we'll do that, have Odahviing sit on the roof and stop anyone coming in unless it's really important.”

“Will do, Elisif,” Argis grinned. “Best not to let him loose with the paperwork though. You don't want the guard roster and the monthly invoices carved into stone and carted off to Castle Dour every time.”

Elisif giggled at the mental image of important Hold paperwork being replaced with clawmarks in rock or glowing Thu'ums Shouted into the city's buildings. Took her mind off the Moot anyway... and then she remembered and was back to square one.

“You'll still be my friend if I lose, right?” Elisif whispered. “I mean... you won't leave me?”

“I will not leave you,” Argis promised. “Nor will anyone else.”

A reassurance, but deep down she'd known all along he'd say that. It wasn't his loyalty that concerned her.

“And... and Madanach, he'll still love me, right?” Elisif said softly, trying not to think of his reaction to a No vote.

“He will still love you,” Argis promised. “He will remain Jarl of Windhelm, Nepos will still have the Reach, Da will still start throwing his weight around or being a conniving arse like he always is, and your opponents will start having unfortunate things happen in their Hold ranging from mysterious bandit attacks to a plague of the walking dead, and gods help the poor bastard who took your crown. It'll be yours in six months, don't worry. 'Sides, you already got you, Da, Nepos, Balgruuf, Kraldar and now Idgrod. Six out of nine and I think Brina will back you too if she finds out it was you got rid of the nightmares. Maven's also inclined your way. Just leaves Siddgeir. You get on with him?”

“No,” Elisif admitted. “Him and Torygg got in a fight over me once at a party at the Bard's College. Siddgeir wasn't Jarl yet, Torygg was still a prince, we weren't even married. We'd only recently started seeing each other and hadn't announced anything. Siddgeir thought I was a servant or a student maybe and wouldn't leave me alone. Until Torygg turned up and hit him. It's been very awkward ever since.”

“So it should be, he should be ashamed of himself,” Argis snorted. “Does Da know that story – of course not. Well, don't you worry. Your new boyfriend's scarier than Torygg ever was.”

“I'm scarier than Torygg ever was,” Elisif growled. “But I don't care if it's not unanimous. I just need them to reach a conclusion.”

“Ah, they will,” Argis said cheerfully, patting her back. “And if not, just remember, Siddgeir's Hold's right next to the Reach, organising an army of the walking dead in Falkreath's nothing. Cemetery's right there too, it'd be the simplest thing in the world.”

“Stop it!” Elisif hissed, trying to suppress the giggles, because disturbing the rest of Nord war dead and endangering an entire town just to get revenge on a Jarl who'd slighted her was definitely not the sort of thing she wanted to be sponsoring. Even if it was Siddgeir.

Argis grinned and looked up as Lydia approached, announcing the first of the visiting Jarls.

“Jarl Brina Merilis of Dawnstar, my lady!” Lydia called, and behind her Brina arrived, her housecarl behind her in his Legion gear. A good omen.

“Jarl Brina, it's so good to finally meet you!” Elisif said brightly as she stepped forward and bowed in greeting. Brina didn't bow. Brina was staring at her in shock.

“You're Jarl Elisif?” Brina gasped. Behind her, Horik Half-Hand was also staring at her, at least until he remembered this was a Jarl and a powerful one at that and lowered his eyes.

“Er, yes,” Elisif said, glancing at Argis and beginning to worry. “I mean, why wouldn't I be?”

“But you're that mercenary,” Brina protested. “No, don't deny it, I saw you slipping off with Erandur to the Tower of the Dawn, and the next night, the nightmares stopped! It was definitely you, I recognise the hair! And you're Jarl Elisif?? I heard your name was Maia...”

“I...” Elisif looked down and grinned ruefully. “Yes, you're right, that was me, I'm so sorry I lied about who I was. But Skald was such a fan of Ulfric, and I knew if he knew who I was, he'd never let me leave. I'd be caged up and sent off to Windhelm.”

Brina pursed her lips and stared at Elisif for a few moments before inclining her head, acknowledging the truth of this.

“It's true. Skald let his heart rule his head on that one. He trusted nothing and no one Imperial. I wondered daily how long it'd be before I ended up imprisoned. His death was horrible, but better one man than an entire town, and while I didn't celebrate it, I didn't mourn either. I was too relieved that the guards hammering on my door in the middle of the night weren't there to arrest me but make me Jarl. Skald's death was not honourable, but little in war is. And as for the nightmares, all Dawnstar owes you a debt for that.” Brina raised her fist and clapped it to her chest in salute. “Thank you. I think you'll make a fine High Queen.”

“I... really? I mean, thank you!” Elisif gasped. “And I'm sure you'll make a fine Jarl too.”

“I hope so,” Brina said, smile ghosting across her face. “Also, as you no doubt know, I'm an old woman with no children, so I'm going to have to be a bit creative in selecting a successor. I do have someone in mind though. I hope you're alright with Dawnstar remaining in non-Nord hands – passing into Redguard hands in fact. Seren's a good woman, bright, capable, understanding, already pregnant and in possession of a husband who's not ambitious. I'm sure she'd make a fine Jarl after me. I hope that's not going to be a problem for you, Jarl Elisif.”

“Of course not, I'm sure your judgement is fine,” Elisif promised. “You just bring her to Solitude once the baby's born so I can meet her. Or maybe I'll visit you!”

“I'm sure we can manage both in time to come,” Brina promised. “But I've taken enough of your time. You said we were quartered in Castle Dour, is that right?”

Argis confirmed this, introduced himself and led Brina away, passing her over to one of the guards to be escorted out there, and from there things got easier.

Balgruuf was next to arrive, also quartered in Castle Dour, in the Imperial Suite no less, partly because Elisif wanted to impress him... and partly to keep the kids away from her.

“Father, I don't like this city, it's boring, Castle Dour's ugly, there's no waterfalls, I want to go back to Whiterun!”

That was Dagny.

“Dagny, you have been here five minutes, give the city a chance,” Balgruuf growled.

“Father, why's there a dragon on the roof? Isn't that dangerous? I thought Jarl Elisif was supposed to be a hero. Heroes don't let dragons near their city.” Frothar, heir to the throne and least disagreeable of the three young Balgruuflings, although that was rather like saying warts were preferable to the pox and the clap when it came to Dibellan diseases, as Argis had put it only the night before at the pre-Moot nerve-settling drinking session.

“Dare I ask which one the pox is?” Elisif had giggled, only to stop smiling immediately as Farkas and Lydia had both said the same name in unison.

“Nelkir.”

Nelkir, sly, vicious little brat, a manipulative little troublemaker by all accounts and one who the entire city of Whiterun shivered at the sight of, relief all around he wasn't the heir. And he was gazing round the courtroom with eyes no child should have. Cicero sometimes looked like that, but never for long and never at Elisif. Nelkir looked hungry.

“Don't worry, Frothar,” Nelkir said, smirking. “That's the dragon Elisif captured at Dragonsreach. It's not going to attack. It's her pet. She probably has a collar made for it. She's Dragonborn, she collects dangerous pets. Like the Jarl of Windhelm.”

“Do you think she puts a collar on the Jarl of Windhelm as well?” Dagny whispered.

Elisif could feel her face going scarlet as giggling erupted from all three children and Balgruuf snapped at them to be quiet before making his way out of the vestibule to where Elisif was waiting at the foot of the stairs, Argis by her side and Lydia... mysteriously absent. Curious.

“Elisif! Good to see you!” Balgruuf laughed, but the strain on his face from dealing with three little brats was clear for all to see. “Fine city you have here, as always. I hope you don't mind me bringing the children. They've never been before, you see.”

No, they certainly hadn't. They'd not been at Torygg's Moot. Elisif had been rather appalled at the way all the Jarls had, behind Balgruuf's back, privately expressed relief at this.

She was still appalled but mostly at her own deep sense that these particular children were not triggering her maternal instincts at all, but her instincts to rip prey apart.

“Well, I hope they're enjoying it. You're all in the Imperial Suite!” Elisif said brightly. “It's where Emperors stay when they visit Skyrim.”

“That... might just impress Dagny,” Balgruuf admitted. “I'll see you tonight at the reception? I don't think the children will be coming, it's a bit late for them. They've had a long day.”

“Oh, that's absolutely fine,” Elisif said, only just remembering to tone down the relief in her voice. “I'd hate for them to get tired. But they'll be at the festival tomorrow night, right?”

“First Burning of King Olaf since King Torygg died? We wouldn't miss it for the world,” Balgruuf promised. “I hear you have something special planned – a re-enactment of King Olaf's Verse?”

“Yes, the finding of the Lost Verse was quite the stroke of luck!” Elisif said, hoping no one quizzed her too closely on that either. She and Headmaster Viarmo of the Bard's College had been stuck on what to do entertainment wise and then Dean of History Giraud Gemane had suggested the Lost Verse which he was positive was in a nearby ruin in Hjaalmarch. It just needed someone to get it, and then Farkas had turned up at the College with Lucia for her lute lesson. He'd volunteered on the spot, and even found the verse... only it had been near unreadable. It had taken Elisif, Argis and Viarmo nearly three hours sitting round a table in the Blue Palace to come up with a reconstruction. “I do hope people like it, some of the content's a bit controversial.”

Namely the decision to rewrite the dragon capture bit completely in case Odahviing listened to the performance and took offence. Olaf One-Eye was now not just a master of the Voice, but a dragon shapeshifter who'd used that ability to fake the dragon capture and then attack Winterhold, using magic to make them think Solitude had attacked them. It was a good story, although Elisif hoped no one started thinking she was going to try that. She did after all have a dragon... and an ally with a talent for strange magic. It was a good thing they were burning Olaf in effigy at the end really.

Balgruuf took his leave, and then it was time for a breather. Elisif perched herself on the edge of the nearby flowerbed, Argis on one side, Lydia emerging from wherever she'd been hiding, and then Farkas turned up as well.

“They gone?” was all he said. No need to ask who he meant.

“They're gone,” Argis promised, putting an arm round Farkas. “Although they'll be at the festival tomorrow.”

Farkas grimaced. “Oh great. Well, I already warned Lucia to avoid them if she possibly can. Hope your Da really is bringing his little ones. It'll go a lot better for her if she's got friends of her own.”

“He is,” Argis promised. “Sofie and Lu will get on, I'm sure.”

“Where did you disappear off to?” Elisif asked Lydia. “One minute you were there, the next, gone! Didn't you want to meet Balgruuf again?”

“Of course!” Lydia sighed. “But not with his kids around. Gods above, I'm ashamed to be related to them.”

“Related – wait,” Elisif sat up, not having realised this at all. “You're related to Balgruuf?? Or is it their mother?” She knew Lydia was high up in Balgruuf's estimation but she'd not been aware they were kin.

“They're my cousins,” Lydia admitted. “My father is Balgruuf's brother, Hrongar. I was born when he was quite young – he had a fling and had to get married. Ma died in childbirth. I miss her but sometimes wonder for Pa's sake if it was for the best. I don't know if they actually loved each other. But I grew up at Dragonsreach, my grampa looked after me, and Uncle Balgruuf was often around too. He was kind to me, taught me how to use a blade, got me a place among the guards when I came of age. I'm sorry, Jarl, I should have said, but we always kept it quiet, especially once Balgruuf had kids of his own. That and I didn't want to be hired by anyone because of who my family were. I wanted you to see me as me.”

“I don't think it would have made a difference,” Elisif said quietly, placing a hand on Lydia's. “But you should have told me. No wonder he wanted you in my court.”

“My loyalty's not to him,” Lydia said fiercely. “I love him dearly, but I serve you, Jarl Elisif.”

“I know,” Elisif said softly, believing her. She'd seen the admiration in Lydia's eyes often enough before now. She'd never take advantage of that loyalty but it was nice to have.

“So wait a second, if anything happened to those kids, you'd be in line to be Jarl of Whiterun?” Argis interrupted, and Elisif could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

“Well yes, but... Argis, no.”

“Why not, my brother-in-law lives out that way, he'd be happy to help-” Argis began, only to have both Elisif and Lydia glaring at him and even Farkas looking a bit disapproving.

“Argis, that's not honourable,” Farkas said sternly.

“No child murder!” Elisif hissed, and Argis backed down on seeing both Jarl and lover annoyed by this. Even if hearing the little brats refer to Madanach as her pet did rile her.

And then the next Jarl arrived, and this one entered with rather more of a bang. Two columns of Reachman warriors in Forsworn gear – no, there were a couple of Nords in there too – marched in, stopped, parted to form an honour guard and saluted fists to chest, staring impassively as their Jarl approached.

Not Madanach. Nepos, in fine clothes, on the arm of a silver-haired woman with yellow eyes, his steward Uaile if Elisif recalled correctly. The daughter of one of Madanach's chief lieutenants who was presently serving as Madanach's liaison with Winterhold.

“Hello Nepos,” Elisif said, unable to repress a smile as she made her way over. “You've brought quite the retinue of guards. Madanach will be jealous.”

“I doubt it, I'm fairly certain he'll be bringing more,” Nepos grinned. “Good to see you, my dear. Feeling nervous?”

“A little,” Elisif admitted. “But I think we have a majority. I hope so anyway.”

“Well don't you worry, dear girl, the Reach has your back,” Nepos soothed, patting her hand. “After all you've done for us, we're very pleased to support you. Isn't that right, Uaile?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Uaile promised, smiling at Elisif. “We've heard so much about you!”

From the gleam in her eye, Elisif suspected Uaile meant her ordering Thonar's death, or one of her allies killing Thongvor to help rescue her, or of course breathing fire right in Ulfric's face. She wondered quite how to break it to the girl she wasn't usually that bloodthirsty.

“All good, I hope,” Elisif said nervously, brightest smile in place.

“Oh absolutely,” Uaile breathed, and that was bloodlust all over, no doubt. “Can you really breathe fire?”

And there it was. The fire breathing. All anybody wanted to know about, as if most mages couldn't produce flames in their hands without really trying.

“Yes, but...”

“Uaile, I'm sure Jarl Elisif has better things to do than show off the Thu'um for our entertainment,” Nepos chided gently. “Now, shall we find our quarters and settle in before Himself gets here?”

“You're right sir, of course,” Uaile admitted, slightly guiltily. Argis fell in alongside Nepos and led him off to his quarters, chatting animatedly all the way, leaving Elisif with Lydia and Farkas.

“Did you want me to leave as well?” Farkas asked hesitantly, not sure of the protocol but aware you didn't just walk away from a Jarl, even one who was a friend.

“You don't have to,” Elisif said, feeling just that little bit safer with Farkas around. There was something reassuringly reliable about him. “Unless Lucia needs you, of course.”

“Don't think so,” Farkas shrugged. “She was out in the courtyard reading last I saw her. She wanted to watch the Jarls arrive.”

Well, the courtyard was a good place for that – recently refurbished and replanted, and now with seats and benches round the edge, perfect for a little girl to get some quiet time, and lots of plants to keep her hidden from important visitors. Elisif sometimes sat out there herself on quiet days.

Then the next visitor arrived, Kraldar, Jarl of Winterhold, with his housecarl Thonjolf.

“Jarl Kraldar, hello!” Elisif said, bright smile back in place, the fake one she kept for important guests. “How was your journey? Thank you for coming such a long way!”

“Oh, it was nothing, Jarl,” Kraldar laughed. “Your man Madanach's been nothing short of helpful – sent a carriage to pick me up and bring me to Windhelm, let Thonjolf and I travel on the ship with his party, even arranged a room in the Pelagius Wing with his people for us. And he's been very enthusiastic about assisting with rebuilding Winterhold. Apparently he just needs assistance from the Jarl of the Reach and yourself as High Queen – Jarl Elisif, I did hear about the treaty the Empire's been negotiating with you and the Reachman Jarls. I don't exactly know if I approve... but it's not my Hold, at least, and Madanach's made some pretty promises. I hope you'll ensure he keeps his word.”

“If I'm High Queen, he'll need my approval before any investment in anything outside his dominions happens,” Elisif promised. “Don't worry, I fully intend to keep an eye on him and ensure he honours his side of things. And from what I hear, he's genuinely interested in Winterhold and wants good relations with the College. That's a lot easier if the infrastructure's there to support it and if the townsfolk aren't bitter at the College any more.”

“Glad to hear it,” Kraldar replied, twinkle in his eyes. “Well now, Jarl, I won't take up any more of your time. The Jarl of Hjaalmarch just arrived at the same time we did and promptly ambushed your man from Windhelm. They're just outside talking.”

Elisif felt a little thrill run down her spine as she realised he was here, Madanach was here! At last, at last, she'd missed him so much, it was all she could do to stop herself running outside to find him... but that would imply weakness, wouldn't it. Damn protocol. And so she let her servants show Kraldar to his room, and stood and waited, and wondered how long was a decent interval to wait, and if she should send Lydia to go find Madanach anyway...

“My Jarl, would you like me to head out and inform them the Jarl of Solitude's delighted to welcome them to her city as honoured guests of Solitude?” Lydia suggested, half-smiling at her, and Elisif nodded, biting her lip.

“Please?” Elisif whispered, realising how breathless and needy she sounded, absolutely nothing like a Dragonborn Queen should be sounding, and by the Eight, she needed to get under control before anyone else saw her. Lydia patted her shoulder, grinned and sauntered off to go nag two Jarls (albeit highly unconventional ones) into getting their backsides in gear.

Her efforts bore fruit, and before long, Jarl Idgrod arrived, Gorm at her back, glowering at all and sundry. But Idgrod was smiling as she approached.

“Well now, look at you! The Jarl of the hour,” Idgrod laughed. “And more than that if I've seen correctly.”

“Seen... what?” Elisif asked, suddenly reminded of Aranea, and hoping Idgrod wasn't going to come out with visions during the Moot.

“Why, many things,” Idgrod almost purred. “I've seen hardened warriors laying down their blades. I've seen dark mages using their powers for good. I've seen the Carrion Crow of Deepwood save lives instead of raising corpses for once. I've seen a dragon on top of your palace – I hope you know what you're doing with that one, Jarl Elisif.” Idgrod looked slightly disapproving at this. Elisif didn't exactly blame her.

“He offered to serve me,” Elisif explained, hoping this reassured her. “I don't think a dragon would offer to serve a mortal if they didn't mean it. They're too proud.”

“And when you are no more?” Idgrod said knowingly. “You think he will just leave?”

“With the World-Eater gone, he is vulnerable to death like any other and he knows it,” Elisif said, standing her ground. “And Solitude will not be defenceless. I'm remaining loyal to my Empire, Idgrod. There'll be enough Legion troops to protect Solitude if Odahviing turns.”

“Yes,” Idgrod said, eyes unblinking as she stared right into Elisif's. “It will be your Empire.” Then she laughed and the moment was gone.

“Ah, but don't mind me, I'm just an old woman,” Idgrod cackled. “All this is long in the future. You have a Moot to worry about, and your little reception tonight. Oh and you have another Jarl outside waiting to see you. Well, I say waiting, but I believe he was wrangling his children and said for me to go ahead of him. Your man's here, and may I say how charming he was. It's a good thing we're both involved, or I might think he was after something.” A waggle of the eyebrow, and Elisif gritted her teeth, suddenly feeling the urge to rip someone's head off... and then realised Idgrod was smiling, gently shaking her head.

“That man is a complex one,” Idgrod said, kind and understanding and not many were when it came to Madanach. “Brilliant and bright but fragile... very fragile. All bright lights and flashing patterns and shining glass sculptures but easy to break. And they did and it made him jagged and sharp. But his pain isn't him. He just needs warmth and fire to melt the edges and solder the broken bits back together. Fire, mercy and trust. That's what he needs.”

Fire, mercy, trust. Yolaazov. What Paarthurnax had called her all that time ago. Did Idgrod know that, could she tell? Elisif didn't know, but she did know she missed her Reachman.

“I'll do my best,” Elisif whispered, and Idgrod patted her hand.

“I know, dear,” was all Idgrod said, before taking her leave, Lydia guiding her away. And then all that was left was to wait for Madanach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madanach for his part had spent the entire journey, no the entire previous week, in a barely coherent fugue state. There had been running around panicking. There had been bothering Kaie and Jorleif and Keirine non-stop checking that everything was in order. There'd been ordering a fancy tailored outfit from High Rock – white silk shirt with ruffled cuffs, black silk and velvet waistcoat trimmed in gold and with gold laces up the front, black leather kilt (traditional Reachman menswear in exotic materials – oh absolutely yes), black leather boots up to the knee (with supports in the heels to add an inch to his height, not that he was sensitive about it or anything), black velvet gloves to keep his hands warm (and if Elisif liked the soft fabric and kept holding his hands, so much the better), and to top it all off, black velvet hooded cape lined with cloth of gold that fell down to his waist, because Skyrim got cold and it rained in Haafingar, right?

The East Empire brought the whole thing to Windhelm four days before he was due to leave, and Madanach had only with the greatest reluctance been dissuaded from wearing it non-stop. He'd even considered ordering a mask to go with it, apparently very fashionable among High Rock nobles, or at least he had until Kaie had put her foot down and snapped no one in Skyrim wore masks, he'd look ridiculous.

Madanach swore there and then that when he was Reach-King, he'd host a Breton-style masked ball, make all the Skyrim Jarls wear one, turn it into a trend and then they'd be sorry. But for now, he acquiesced. And so it was just the outfit, intended to make him look halfway civilised in front of all the other Jarls.

Madanach had stared at himself in the mirror for a good half hour after trying it on, before Sofie and Aventus had come to call him for dinner, taken one look, stared and both looked amazed that the father they normally saw slouching around in furs could look so different when dressed up.

“Wow, Da, you look really handsome!” Sofie had exclaimed. “Are you going to dress like this all the time now?”

“Or is it just for Elisif?” Aventus had smirked knowingly, and that boy knew far too much about matters sexual for his age. Madanach had tasked Argis with discreetly investigating what exactly Aventus's knowledge about such things was, only to learn that Aventus already knew all about it. Well, it saved him a job, and apparently Eola had also decided to check her new siblings' education and enlightened them on anything they might have missed. She'd done a bit too good a job in Madanach's view.

“I plan to wear it at the Moot in order to convince the Jarls that I am more than a murdering savage,” Madanach growled. “And before you start smirking, yours are in your bedrooms, and you're damn well wearing them or staying home.”

Sofie had squealed and run off to find hers, leaving Aventus looking faintly terrified.

“Mine doesn't have ruffles, does it?” Aventus asked nervously.

“Yes. Complete with pink ribbons and bells on the sleeves,” Madanach replied calmly, and the look on the poor boy's face was all the satisfaction Madanach could have wished for. Madanach kept up a serious face for all of five seconds before bursting out laughing.

“No. Dark red velvet top and some nice black trousers for you,” Madanach told him. “Go on, go try it on.”

Aventus had shaken his head, glaring at his father. “You're terrible,” was all he said before running off to have a look at his new things.

But that had been days ago, and Madanach's good mood had descended into quiet terror, manifesting as freaking out and panicking and snapping at people. Now here he was in Solitude, at the head of the Eastmarch delegation, with a retinue of Forsworn guards, Borkul in gleaming Orcish gear, two excited children from the streets of Windhelm now looking like nobles... and he was quietly panicking.

He'd distracted himself on the voyage with chatting to Kraldar about the 'rebuild Winterhold' plan, and so far the redesign encompassed overhauling the Whistling Mine to bring in some cash, opening up an arcane smithy and tailor to likewise monetise magical expertise, get in an apothecary somehow, establish a Reachman settlement in either Saarthal or Alftand (Alftand less controversial, Saarthal not in danger from the Falmer), sort out a Markarth-Winterhold permanent teleportal network to open trade up, maybe even a dock of some sort? It had been quite the exchange and Kraldar's constant wide eyed whisper of “you can do that?” had been quite endearing.

And then the cry of “we're nearly here!” had come from the deck, and Sofie had come running to squeal at him they could see the arch! So above deck he'd gone and seen the Blue Palace up closer than he ever had before, continually staring as they passed under it, unable to stop thinking of Elisif in that palace, no doubt fretting and seeing to all the last-minute arrangements, and was she as worried as he was? Was she thinking of him too? Did she... had she missed him like he had her?

Madanach had hugged his children and hoped so. Then they'd finally arrived at the docks, lowered the anchor and parked the boat – no, that was wrong, wasn't it? Weighed anchor and moored the ship, that was it. Damn nautical terminology. He swore the Nords made it all up to spite him sometimes.

He'd gone below to get changed, brush his hair, clean his nails, adjust his circlet, stare into the mirror, before organising his children, sorting his guards out, rounding up all the luggage and finally disembarking. There'd been Solitude guards waiting for them all, and servants to collect the luggage and let them into the city via the side gate – easier if you were coming from the docks, apparently. And so Madanach had followed, holding his children's hands, Borkul at his back, everyone gazing around the Nordic capital (for now, although Madanach honestly couldn't see them picking anyone other than this city's Jarl as their new ruler), taking in the sights. Castle Dour's imposing bulk, the walkway arching above them, the windmill silhouetted in the sunlight, the dragon sweeping overhead... dragon??

Madanach had let both his kids go and summoned fire to his hands before he remembered Elisif had one now. A red dragon called Odahviing, the one she'd captured in Dragonsreach and who worked for her now she'd proven herself.

“Is that Odahviing??” Aventus had gasped. “He's huge!”

“Yes he is, and I hope that's him or this city might be in trouble,” Madanach said quietly.

“That's him,” one of the Solitude guards said, and Madanach couldn't tell from her tone if she was impressed or not. All the same, there was a hint of pride in the young Nord's voice. “The Solitude Dragon himself. He's got a rank in the guard, can you believe. Jarl dubbed him Dragon-Lieutenant Odahviing. So far he's caught two thieves and a master vampire that was attacking the city, and seen off another dragon that turned up.”

“That must have unnerved a few people,” Madanach said, wondering just how the Nords were coping with this. “Hasn't anyone complained?”

“Aye, but he hasn't actually hurt anyone,” the guard sighed. “He will keep landing on buildings and talking to people but Jarl Elisif says she can't exactly pass laws banning people having friendly conversations. Honestly, we're starting to get used to him now. Kids think he's great though. I give it three months before he's giving them rides.”

“Can I have a ride on him, Da?” Aventus piped up, all eagerness on hearing this.

“No,” Madanach had snapped. “Bad enough when Elisif does it. Come on, you two, let's find the palace.”

They'd passed Solitude's citizens, many off work for the day, all watching him keenly, even giving him a few admiring looks, definitely whispering, and Madanach had no idea what they thought of him but they'd clearly recognised him. He did his best to ignore the whispers, which got manifestly easier when the procession stopped due to the Jarl of Hjaalmarch's party arriving. Well, at least this guaranteed no one was only looking at him.

“Well, well, Jarl Madanach of Windhelm! Now here's a sight to see.”

Jarl Idgrod, known to Madanach by the correspondence that had arisen after his daughters had saved her town from vampires, turned out to be a forty-something matron who reminded him of Keirine and had a definite aura of magic. He could believe she was a seer.

“Jarl Idgrod,” Madanach purred, bowing respectfully. “We meet at last. How is Morthal?”

“All the better for your daughters showing up when they did. A mighty queen and a mother of queens, although perhaps less said about the one who'll father them the better. Still, maybe darkness is best placed to fight darkness. People can change, even that one.” She tilted her head and smiled at Madanach. “After all, you have. This time last year you were a penned-up criminal, now here you are with a Jarl's throne, and two little orphans who now have a father.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they do,” Madanach said proudly, arms round them both even if Aventus looked a bit uneasy about being publicly hugged. And so Idgrod fell into step with Madanach, chatting with him about children and mentioning her own, including her boy Joric, apparently gifted with magic but not in a controlled way. Madanach was well aware of that phenomenon. Not an easy thing to deal with but he'd found himself offering to see if he could find someone to train the boy. Very few were completely beyond help in his experience, and that seemed to go down well with Idgrod.

Kraldar had gone on ahead, no sense holding the man up while Madanach and Idgrod talked magical prodigy children, or at least initially, then the conversation took ever more arcane turns such that Madanach for a bit actually forgot he was in Solitude for the Moot and just kept right on chatting... at least until a cough distracted him.

“Excuse me. Sir and Madam Jarl. The Jarl of Solitude sends her fondest regards and bids you welcome to her city. Won't you come in?”

Lydia was standing in the doorway smirking – smirking! Elisif was clearly letting that housecarl get away with far too much – on the other hand, it wasn't like Borkul was a lot better.

“Of course, of course, let's not keep our hostess waiting... er, Idgrod, why don't you go on ahead while I find my kids – Sofie! Aventus! Get back over here, I told you not to wander off!”

“Yeah, I'm right here,” Aventus sighed, emerging from what Madanach swore had been shadow and flowers a second ago, and he really needed to monitor the amount of time Aventus spent around Cicero in future.

“Good, stay with me and smarten yourself up, we're going in any second, Aventus where is your sister?”

“Over there,” Aventus sighed. “Talking to her new friend.” He nodded his head over at where Sofie was sitting on one of the benches, talking excitedly to another little girl about the same age, maybe a bit older.

“That's him!” Sofie was saying, all pride in the father she'd had for mere weeks. “He's the best! You'll like him, I promise, he's nice!”

That, daughter, is pushing it. But he'd take praise when it was offered.

“Sofie!” Madanach called over to her, raising his voice that bit higher, not quite at bellowing-orders-in-the-middle-of-battle volume yet but definitely at intervening-in-a-developing-argument-during-a-meeting-before-it-got-out-of-hand levels. “We are going inside, get over here!”

Sofie's friend looked slightly disbelieving about the niceness part but at Sofie's urgings, she followed, emerging into the courtyard lights as an ash blonde Imperial girl in a fine blue velvet dress with silver embroidery on the sleeves, and a little silver necklace that resembled a wolf's head round her neck, dropping a little curtsey as she saw him. Noble-born or at least wealthy. Madanach wondered who she was.

“Sofie, what did I tell you about wandering off in a strange city?” Madanach sighed. “And who in the Void's this, doesn't she have a home to go to?”

“I was only over there, Da!” Sofie pouted. “I was talking to Lucia. She was watching us and I saw her and I went to say hello. Da, this is Lucia! She lives here. She's got two papas!”

Madanach felt the world go still as he heard the name and stared down at the girl, wide-eyed and worried and a bit nervous, and it occurred to him that in all his worrying about his son and ranting about Farkas's irresponsibility and how he'd wring that Nord's neck when he saw him next, he'd not actually really stopped to consider that there was an actual little girl in the middle of all this who'd been alone, afraid, vulnerable, starving and who'd probably been desperate for a family again.

“You're Lucia,” he said, suddenly having no idea how to approach this whatsoever but also knowing it wasn't the girl's fault one of her fathers was an idiot. Lucia nodded, clearly a bit intimidated by this strange nobleman with all the fur-clad guards who'd just waltzed into her city. Madanach didn't blame her, but he could go some way to easing her fears. Managing to avoid wincing too much as his knees cracked, he slowly knelt down to talk to her on her own level.

“Yes, sir,” Lucia said softly. “I'm Steward Argis's daughter, sir.”

She didn't sound remotely noble-born despite the clothes. Madanach couldn't help but smile.

“Not like that, little one,” Madanach laughed gently. “Tilt your head up, like so, and announce it like your father's the Emperor himself. You're a noble now, henbach. You need to act like it. Sofie, show her.”

Sofie shook back her hair, straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath, before launching into a pre-prepared monologue worthy of Dagny Balgruufsdottir herself.

“I am Sofie Tatiana Isabella Carlotta ap Madanach, daughter of the Jarl of Windhelm. To whom have I the pleasure of speaking?”

“Sofie Tatiana Isabella Carlotta, is it?” Madanach asked, amused. “Last time you said it, you were Sofie Marjolaine Alessandra Melinda. Or did you miss some out?”

“I am a Jarl's daughter, I may have as many names as I like,” Sofie informed him, nose in the air. Behind Madanach, Aventus smirked at her.

“Don't mind him, sis, he's just getting old. He can't be expected to remember little things like his kids' names.” Aventus only narrowly avoided the incoming clip round the ear and Madanach decided his youngest son had definitely been spending too much time around Cicero.

“Quiet, or I am renaming the pair of you,” Madanach said pointedly, before turning back to Lucia. “It's a pleasure to meet you, young Lucia, but you shouldn't be calling me sir.”

“Shouldn't I?” Lucia whispered, blushing. “Oh! I – I'm sorry! What should I call you?”

“Granda,” Madanach said, already fighting the urge to cuddle her. “I'm your Granda Madanach. Argis's da. He told you about me, right?”

Lucia's eyes had gone practically saucer-like as she stared at him.

“You're Granda Madanach?” Lucia gasped. “You're the one who hid an entire army near Windhelm and invaded it with Jarl Elisif?”

“The very same,” Madanach purred, glad to hear his exploits had not gone unremarked... and that his little granddaughter was impressed.

“Wow,” Lucia breathed. “And you're here, you're really here!”

“I really am,” Madanach grinned. “It's a pleasure to meet you. How are you finding Solitude? And your fathers? Must be quite the change from living on a farm.” Or the streets, but he didn't think she'd want reminding any more than Sofie ever did.

Lucia did look down at this.

“Solitude's very big,” she whispered. “And there's a lot to remember about being noble. It's all very complicated. I miss Whiterun and Uncle Vilkas and Auntie Ria and Tilma and Kodlak. They were kind and nice and I liked them. And it didn't matter what fork you used when or how you introduced yourself, and people just said what they thought when they thought it, even if Papa Farkas did have to keep telling Torvar off for using rude words. I miss it.” Lucia stared at her feet and Madanach really could wring Farkas's neck – why the fuck had he adopted this poor girl and brought her here?? He should have got Vilkas or Kodlak to do it and left her at Jorrvaskr, not made this poor child miserable and probably Argis too.

“What about Argis?” Madanach had to ask. “You like him?”

Madanach hadn't seen a child's face light up so quickly in quite some time. Not since adopting his two, in fact.

“Yes!” Lucia gasped. “He's the best! I mean, he's not like Papa Farkas, he's quieter and you can't play with him like you can Papa. But he's really bright and he knows all sorts and he's teaching me chess and he can read books and gets me loads of them, and he helped decorate my room for me, and sometimes when it's quiet he lets me help at court! I mean, it's not much, just taking notes for him and delivering messages, but he gives me extra pocket money for it and tells me I'm really smart! And he got me a lute and talked the bards into giving me lessons and... and he tells me stories from the Reach and things he and his sister Eithne used to get up to and... and he told me she died.” Lucia had gone sad again, staring up at Madanach, heartbroken. “And his mama died as well, he saw Ulfric Stormcloak's soldiers kill her, just like they did Eithne. He looked so sad, Granda. Granda?”

Madanach had closed his eyes, the memory of the sword impaling Eithne and the light dying out of her eyes even as her blood went everywhere feeling as raw and real as if it had happened yesterday.

“It's fine,” he said gruffly. “It's just I was there when Eithne died. I couldn't save her. I – oh look, don't you worry, yeena bach, it was a long time ago.”

“That's what Daddy said but he was still upset!” Lucia whispered and then the next thing Madanach knew, Lucia was cuddling him.

“I'm sorry, Granda,” Lucia whispered in his ear. “I didn't mean to upset you!”

“It's all right,” Madanach murmured, rubbing her back and hugging her, and quietly deciding maybe Farkas didn't quite need pushing in the Karth and holding under after all, and that while his first grandchild was unexpected, he really couldn't regret having one. “Not your job to worry about me, any more than it's your job to worry about your da. Looking after him is Farkas's job, right?”

“And who looks after you?” Lucia said, clearly a bit too perceptive by far and also clearly having worked out that there wasn't a grandma of any kind, certainly not if Argis's mother was dead.

“Jarl Elisif,” Aventus, Sofie and Borkul all said in unison, accompanied by knowing sniggers from some of his guards, and Madanach slowly turned around to glare at all of them, about to threaten them all with either imminent unemployment or returning to the orphanage, as appropriate. Or at least he was until the air subtly changed, a shadow loomed over them all and the laughter in everyone's eyes died, Sofie hiding behind her brother, who was already hustling her back, and Borkul was reaching for his battleaxe, with several guards casting mage armour.

Madanach could guess who the new arrival was, and slowly turned around, positioning Lucia behind him as he looked up into the dark eyes of the Dragon-Lieutenant of Solitude, perched on the palace roof but his neck outstretched and his face barely a foot from Madanach's own.

“Greetings, wundeniik,” Odahviing growled, teeth bared. “I hope you are one of the Bronjunne. I hope you are... expected. I would hate to have to deal with... intruders. Not when Yolaazov is hoping to be crowned tomorrow. Lucia, kiir. Is he... bothering you?”

“Odahviing, you can't hurt him, this is Granda Madanach!” Lucia cried, squirming out of Madanach's grip and pushing forward. To Madanach's astonishment, Lucia reached up with not a shred of fear and stroked Odahviing's face, and the dragon not only let her, he actually seemed to lean into the touch.

“That is well,” Odahviing murmured. “I would hate to have to eat someone right before Yolaazov's... coronation. I am told it would embarrass her, although why she would be embarrassed by the other Bronjunne receiving a demonstration of what may happen if they do not vote the right way, I cannot fathom. But joor are strange.” He nudged Lucia gently before turning to gaze at Madanach again. “So. You are Maar-Dinok. I had expected someone... taller.”

“I assure you I am well-named,” Madanach growled, feeling his pulse throbbing and his heart racing but not about to show fear in front of a damn dragon. Even Elisif's pet.

“Hah! So I have heard!” Odahviing laughed, seeming pleased. “I would not expect the Ahmul-se-Dovahkiin to be any less. Yolaazov needs someone worthy of her, someone strong and fearless but who knows his place and will not become a rival in turn.”

Madanach had seen that look before. It had been many decades ago, when he was a young man in his twenties being presented to Karthspire's then chieftain as the new boyfriend of his only daughter. He'd not expected to be on the receiving end now.

“She will have no trouble from me,” Madanach said, folding his arms and staring Odahviing down as best he could, having matured a lot from the nervous twenty-something he'd been once, in fact he was secretly rather enjoying the thrill of taking on a dragon in a battle of wits. “I just want my kingdom. She can keep Skyrim.”

“Even though Skyrim is bigger,” Odahviing purred, and that was definitely a snicker from Borkul. The rest of the party had gone very quiet, however, and Madanach was aware of the tension in the air. Definitely time to defuse this one before murmurings started about why put up with a small kingdom when they could have the rest of Skyrim.

“Bigger is not always better,” Madanach purred. “It's what you do with it that counts. And my kingdom has the gold and silver mines. It's also not covered in ice and snow.”

Odahviing snorted and then Madanach found himself faced with the unexpected sight of a dragon laughing. Not a sight he ever thought he'd see.

“All right. I like you, Maar-Dinok. You may enter. No doubt Yolaazov is eager to see you again. She has missed you.”

Madanach nodded his thanks, hugged his children and then got pounced on by his little granddaughter for good measure.

“He likes you!” Lucia gasped. “I was worried he wouldn't. But he does!”

“Well, he didn't eat me, that's something,” Madanach agreed as he watched the dragon haul himself back on to the roof, face turning to glance out at the road to Solitude, no doubt watching for the arrival of any other Jarls.

Another smirk from Borkul and if that Orc made any comments about that being Jarl Elisif's job, so help him Madanach was going to freeze his tusks off. And talking of Jarl Elisif, about time he went in to see her. Best to not keep his lady friend waiting. Even if this entire evening was likely to be utter torture, what with him wanting to take her in his arms, kiss her, push her up against the nearest wall and slide fingers inside her, wringing an orgasm out of her while she held him tight and damn everyone else to the Void and back. And likely none of that was going to happen for days until everyone else had gone home. He couldn't even hold her hand.

He'd spent the last month or so missing her horribly, and now she was here and he still couldn't have her. This was going to be hard. But for her, he'd survive. And with any luck, she'd be Mooted tomorrow without any trouble, sign the treaty, and then he'd be Reach-King, she'd be High Queen of Skyrim and Imperial Heir... and then maybe, just maybe, they could be together properly and he'd actually get what he wanted.

Maybe. He didn't exactly have a history of a happy, fortunate life, and it had left him bitter, angry, fighting Skooma addiction and his own dark side, old and tired and his best years behind him. And yet Elisif didn't seem to mind any of that. When he was in her arms, none of it seemed to matter any more. And she was literally just inside the palace.

“Come on, kids,” he told the three of them, deciding protocol be damned, Elisif had never missed a chance to squeal over a child in her life. Deploying the kids would be far better than a dramatic entrance with his men at his back. “Want to see Jarl Elisif again?”

“Yes!” Sofie cried and Lucia nodded eagerly. Even Aventus grinned sheepishly.

“All right then,” Madanach said, fingering his Amulet of Dibella for luck. “Go on, you run on ahead and say hello. I'll be right behind you.”

Three children ran inside and Madanach took a deep breath and prepared to follow. Time to go meet a queen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The doors opened ahead of him and it was Lydia who was first to greet him, smiling and beckoning him forward, into the Blue Palace's lobby. Surprisingly, it wasn't blue on the inside, just the sort of yellow-ish tiling that apparently half of Haafingar was done in, with a small lobby that opened up into a grand main hall with stairways winding up to the actual throne room, and it was far grander that Madanach had expected. Prettier too, artfully done in a way Madanach would never associate with Nords. Must be the Empire's influence. He liked it though.

Haafingar guards and Oculatus alike watching him carefully as he walked in, but the focus of the room was clearly the flowerbed at the foot of the stairs, where three children had all descended on the Nord noblewoman waiting there, Lucia giving her the quick kiss and cuddle of someone who knew they could do this whenever they liked, then Aventus making a big deal out of submitting to it but not actually resisting and then Sofie pouncing on Elisif and crying out that she'd missed her, and if Sofie ended up marrying a man in her later years, Madanach would frankly be stunned.

“I missed you too, little one!” Elisif laughed, planting a kiss on Sofie's cheek and hugging her back. “Welcome to Solitude! I hope you had a good journey.”

“It was really cold on the ship,” Sofie admitted, Aventus nodding alongside her fervently. Both children had spent most of the voyage huddling in furs and looking chilly, although that had not stopped either from spending most of it on the deck looking out at the icebergs in the Sea of Ghosts, or at the shore and its landmarks.

“You poor things!” Elisif soothed, stroking Sofie's hair. “Well, you are here now, and it'll be nice and warm, and if it's not, you let me or Argis know, we'll have more wood sent up.”

“Oh that's all right, Da usually has his guards cast fire runes,” Aventus said cheerfully. “He says he'll teach me soon!”

“We already know the simple spells,” Sofie said proudly. “I lit a fire all by myself the other day!”

“Did you?” Elisif gasped, only a faint flicker of unease at the thought of small children knowing Destruction magic showing in her eyes, but she'd never been one to disparage a child's achievements.

“She did,” Madanach told her, stepping forward, heart in his mouth as he finally took in the sight of her, brushed and braided and clean red hair falling down around her shoulders, her armour gone and exchanged for a red and green noblewoman's dress with jewels gleaming in the lamplight. Elisif the Fair, Jarl and High Queen to be, warrior's garb put aside for a queen's raiment and Madanach realised he'd never seen her in civilian clothes before. Always it had been armour of one sort or another, or her night clothes or prison rags or nothing at all, and she'd always looked gorgeous in all of them. And then Elisif the Fair gasped, cheeks stained red, as she let Sofie go and straightened up, looking Madanach straight in the eyes and if Madanach hadn't been too busy feasting his eyes on her, it might have occurred to him she'd never seen him outside prison rags and Forsworn furs either, and certainly not in a silk shirt, black velvet waistcoat with matching gloves and a black leather kilt. All he knew was that she was there, right there in front of him, Solitude's beautiful Nord Jarl, the woman he'd loved and lusted after and shared a bed and a victory and so much more with back in Windhelm... and he wanted her more than anything.

“Madanach.” The word barely escaped her lips as her eyes raked over him, Elisif seemingly heedless of anyone or anything else as she took a step forward then another and Madanach belatedly wondered what the protocol for one Jarl meeting another was, no one had ever actually said, but whatever it was, Elisif clearly hadn't read the book either. She'd reached out a hand, fingers skimming over his chest, briefly touching the amulet round his neck, questions in her eyes.

“We don't worship that many of the Eight back in the Reach, but Dibella's a popular one,” Madanach said gruffly. “Thought I owed her something for introducing us.”

“Right,” Elisif whispered, looking a little dazed and as if she'd barely heard him, and if there actually was protocol, she definitely wasn't following it, because Madanach was fairly sure no diplomatic protocols anywhere specified that the hosting ruler was to greet visiting ones by stroking their face. Which she was doing right now, getting ever closer, and Madanach reached up to take her hand before this got out of control... although given that his first instinct was to reposition it on his backside then pull her in for a kiss, it possibly already had. Then Lydia's voice brought all thoughts of passion to a screaming halt.

“Jarl Maven Black-Briar of the Rift and and Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath, my Jarl!”

Elisif actually growled, narrowing her eyes as she glanced over his shoulder.

“Damn them both to Oblivion,” she muttered as she let Madanach go, stepping away just in time as the last two Jarls approached.

One young man, lazy grey eyes flicking around the palace and gazing down his nose at everyone as if bored by it all – must be Siddgeir. And then there was the middle-aged woman with her own entourage and guards, black hair, quite possibly dyed, expertly plucked eyebrows, also hiding her emotions well, but she didn't waste time gazing at the palace. Her eyes fell first on Elisif... and then on him, curiosity stirring there and no little interest. Maven, had to be, and while their correspondence had been cordial, they'd never actually met. Now she was here... and Madanach was reminded very strongly of his ex-wife, another power-hungry predator if ever there was one.

Instinctively, he shuffled nearer to Elisif.

“Maven, how lovely to see you!” Elisif was saying, smiling at least somewhat genuinely at Maven. “Thank you for coming all this way, how was your journey?”

“Could have been worse,” Maven shrugged. “We had a few little skirmishes along the way, but nothing my guards couldn't handle. So, Jarl Elisif, I've been hearing some very interesting reports about you. Killing dragons, making some... interesting choices of ally, taking Windhelm and installing... well, I daresay the new Jarl's going to be here, isn't he? And I don't believe you've introduced me to your friend.”

Madanach smiled nervously and his hand snaked involuntarily into Elisif's, and if he could have whispered 'don't leave me!' into her ear, he would. Elisif seemed to realise anyway though, and squeezed his hand.

“This is the new Jarl of Windhelm,” Elisif told her. “Madanach of the Reach. I hear you've already been in contact?”

Maven's eyebrows shot up and that was definitely interest, no doubt about that.

“Really? You're Madanach? I'd expected someone... wilder.”

“The furs and bones are for more casual occasions,” Madanach told her, aware he was babbling a bit but it was important to look like he didn't feel like a Hag's research experiment, right?

Maven glanced at the Forsworn guards lurking in the shadows, all drawing a bit nearer to their King now that he had more than just Elisif talking to him.

“I see,” Maven said, nose wrinkling just a little at the Forsworn armour, and having her be a little nervous of his soldiers could only be a good thing. “Well, Jarl Madanach, I look forward to moving our acquaintance on to a more personal footing. Jarl Elisif, rest assured I shall be in attendance at your reception later, as soon as my entourage and I are settled. Now, your steward said I was in the Pelagius Wing?”

“That's right,” Elisif said, at the same time as another voice repeated the same words from the stairs. Argis approaching from upstairs, and Madanach could feel the lump in his throat as he saw his son arrive in understated but fine clothing, Nord servants behind him who hurried forward to attend to Maven's people and lead the Jarl of the Rift away. That was his son, that was, a Jarl's Steward, giving orders to his underlings and chatting to Maven deferentially but not with any particular fear or unease, and acting like he'd been born to the role. Madanach had never felt so proud... or so relieved. His son was doing all right, and there'd been many many years when Madanach had feared it would be otherwise – that his son was unhappy, underachieving, wasted on guard duty, not able to take the Forsworn leadership role he deserved and was capable of, not able to leave the Reach entirely because he refused to abandon the only parent he had left, in constant danger of being found out and executed or worse. Madanach had worried constantly. And now here he was, at the right hand of the High Queen to be, protected, respected and safe. And happy too, judging from the way Lucia had rushed to his side as soon as Maven had gone.

“Daddy!” Lucia had cried, and Argis was hugging her back.

“Hello princess,” Argis said gruffly. “You doing alright?”

Lucia nodded, but she didn't say anything, eyes flicking nervously to Siddgeir, still here... and staring glacially at Elisif. She was staring right back, equally furious, and Argis's expression wasn't a lot better. Well now. Wasn't this interesting.

“Siddgeir,” Elisif said stiffly. “Welcome to Solitude.”

“Elisif,” Siddgeir sniffed, gazing around at the palace, nose wrinkling as his eyes passed over Madanach. “May I ask why you felt the need to install a dragon on your palace?”

“Because there's nowhere else in the city with enough space for a dragon to sit on,” Elisif snapped. “Don't worry, he won't harm anyone. Only on my orders or if the city's attacked. Now, your quarters are in the Pelagius Wing, Argis, would you mind seeing Jarl Siddgeir to his suite?”

Argis grimaced but did as asked, indicating for Siddgeir to follow, and Elisif finally leaned into Madanach, letting her weariness show.

“I missed you,” Elisif sighed. “Honestly, Madanach, is it unqueenly to admit I'm sick of the whole business already?”

“No,” Madanach murmured, taking her in his arms and resting his head against hers. “Killing the dragons was the easy part, wasn't it?”

Elisif nodded, snuggling against him, closing her eyes and honestly Madanach was half tempted to just ask her quietly where her room was and then follow her up there and spend the rest of the evening shutting everything away and focusing on nothing but kissing her. Damn but he'd missed her.

“I've got to persuade them all to vote for me tomorrow,” Elisif whispered. “I think most of them will, but Maven makes me nervous and Siddgeir...” The visceral shudder at the mere mention of his name told Madanach all he needed to know about how Siddgeir made her feel.

“You don't like him?” Madanach asked. Elisif shook her head.

“No. And it's likely obvious to everyone. He wasn't Jarl either at the last Moot, his uncle was in charge. At least he's only got a minor Hold, it's not like anyone will want to vote for him.”

Madanach didn't think so either, but he wasn't one to sit back and idly tolerate potential threats to his Elisif either.

“Did you need me to make veiled threats as to what might happen if he doesn't toe the line?” Madanach murmured. Elisif laughed and shook her head.

“No, sweetie. But thank you. Argis seems to think he won't be a problem.”

“I hope not,” Madanach growled, planting a kiss in Elisif's hair. “You're going to be High Queen by this time tomorrow, he will be swearing allegiance and liking it, then we're going to sign off the treaty that's currently sitting in Castle Dour, and I'm going to be King of the Reach. And then you and I are going to cement diplomatic relations in style by disappearing to your bedroom for a week.”

Elisif couldn't stop herself giggling at that and she kissed him on the cheek, and then to his disappointment, she let him go, still that sweet smile on her face even if her eyes were full of regret.

“I'll see you later on tonight?” she whispered, and Madanach nodded. After all the lonely weeks without her, trying to distract himself with work and with his children and no doubt driving Kaie up the wall in the process, being deprived of her now felt almost like torture. But for a few hours, he could bear it.

Not long now. By this time tomorrow, he'd have everything he wanted.

Notes:

And with any luck, we might even have the Moot next chapter!

Chapter 48

Summary:

The night before the Moot and all through the palace, everyone's stirring. I do like writing political intrigue, especially when murderously angry Reachmen are involved. And Maven. She's such an evil cow, but I do love her. Anyway, here is the build-up to the Moot.

Notes:

Everyone's gathered for the Moot, and Elisif's being a good hostess and arranging entertainment for her guests. But even a people as culturally straightforward as Nords aren't immune from political intrigue, and Skyrim's version of the Grand Game is as cut-throat as anywhere. Particularly when a Jarl only just back in favour is keen to claim what he couldn't years earlier, and the gaps in Madanach's knowledge of Nord culture could prove a fatal weakness.

Not quite early evening, and Madanach surveyed the really rather nice suite of rooms they had. Plenty of space, beds for the children and a double for himself and a bed for Borkul – everyone else bedding down on the floor in bedrolls, but they were used to that and he'd told Argis so. Also it was a good security arrangement – hard to sneak through a room if you kept tripping over hardened Forsworn warriors.

And everywhere was clean and everywhere was dry and there were fresh flowers everywhere and fresh linen and the fire going, and it was all so nice.

Madanach liked the Blue Palace. Madanach liked it very much indeed. Of course, Madanach would like it even more if his children would close the window and stop letting all the warm air out.

“Aventus, Sofie, will you close the damn window, you're letting the entire Sea of Ghosts in and wasting Jarl Elisif's firewood.”

“Can't you just put a fire rune down?” Aventus asked, frowning.

“No,” Madanach hissed. “Or rather, I will, but there is no point if someone keeps letting all the warm air out!”

“Oh but Da, we wanted to look at the icebergs!” Sofie cried. Madanach gritted his teeth, this close to losing his patience.

“You had all day on the ship to look at icebergs!” he snapped, just as someone knocked on his door. “Are you not tired of the unending spectacle of frozen water yet? Borkul, get the door.”

Borkul opened the door to see Argis the Bulwark, son of Madanach and now Steward of Solitude, staring back at him, but Borkul remembered Argis when he'd just been another Silver-Blood guard, albeit one who seemed to have a closer tie to Madanach than most. Borkul was also a stronghold-raised Orc whose understanding of father-son relationships was framed by the experience of being fathered by a clan chief who was also the father of all the other kids in the clan and distanced himself from them all on purpose on the grounds the boys might one day challenge him and the girls would be married off anyhow, so no point getting close to them. Borkul had never really quite got the idea of human fathers generally being a bit more involved with and fond of their children.

“Bulwark,” Borkul growled. “Chief's busy. What do you want?”

Argis narrowed his eyes, his good one glittering just like Madanach's, and while he might not have magic, he was every bit as strong and skilled as Borkul was.

“To speak to my father,” Argis growled. “And my daughter is here too and wanted to see if Sofie wanted to play. And so help me Sithis, Borkul, you give me any backchat in front of my little girl, you'll be getting more closely acquainted with the floor tiles than you expected.”

“Huh,” Borkul snorted, but there were a couple of Haafingar guards out in the corridor and one of the Oculatus passing by as well, so he decided not to push his luck. “Fine, I'll see if he's free. Boss, it's Argis.”

“Argis – Argis! About time you dropped by, come on in! And is that my little granddaughter?”

Borkul rolled his eyes and stood back as little Lucia ran in to greet Madanach, who was still after all Borkul's sworn liege and king even if he was inexplicably fond of the little rugrats. Argis followed her in, face impassive as he pointedly ignored Borkul. Wasn't like Argis wasn't used to getting somewhat brusque treatment off the Reachmen, who still didn't really know how to treat him, son of the King notwithstanding. Yeah, Da fucked a Nord and he liked it. Get over it, he's probably going to marry one if this all works out, and this one can breathe fire.

“Granda!” Lucia had cried, looking hopefully up at Madanach, who was kneeling down to talk to her, big grin on his face.

“Hello there, little one, what brings you here?” Madanach purred, giving Lucia a cuddle. “Did you miss me? Or was it Sofie you wanted to play with?”

Lucia didn't answer but her eyes flicked to Sofie instinctively, and Madanach sighed, guessing when to give in graciously.

“I knew it. Sofie, close that window and get over here. Lucia's come to see you.”

“Lucia!” Sofie cried from the still unclosed window. “Come see, we're looking at the icebergs! They're all lit up in the aurora!”

Which explained why the kids were fascinated now, Madanach supposed – now that the sun was setting, the northern lights were coming out and he supposed it was a nice view. But it was still too cold for his liking. Shivering, he took a seat by the fire and poked at the logs to fire it up, inviting Argis to join him.

“It's really pretty! But it's a bit cold,” Lucia said, also shivering a bit.

“Oh, why didn't you say?” Sofie exclaimed, promptly closing the window. “Is that better?”

“Yes, much, thank you!” Lucia gasped, and Madanach gave up on understanding kids.

“I ask three times for her to close that window because it's cold and nothing, and Lucia only has to hint at it and suddenly the view's not that nice after all,” Madanach complained to Argis. “Honestly, children. Never have any – oh wait, too late.” He couldn't resist smirking at his son a little.

“It's your fault, you spoil them too much,” Argis told him, pouring them both some wine. “They've got to the taking you for granted stage already. We don't have that problem with Lu. We're still at the trying to convince her it's OK to ask for things stage. Hey, Lulu! Why don't you show Sofie and Aventus round the Blue Palace? I'm sure they want to explore.”

Lucia turned around, looking a bit uncertain before looking back at Sofie, who had no problem picking up on the social cue that had sailed over Lucia's head.

“I'd love to look round, wouldn't we, Aventus?” Sofie said, smiling. “Everything's so pretty here! It's so much nicer than Windhelm!”

“It's OK, I suppose,” Aventus shrugged. “And it's not as cold as back home. I wouldn't mind seeing the rest of the place. Da, can we?”

“Don't let me stop you. Just be back here before the reception starts, you both need to get changed beforehand.”

“Yes, Da,” both children chorused before tearing out the door with a rather confused Lucia in tow, and Madanach knew perfectly well they'd likely both roll in at the last minute and have to get changed in a hurry. Fashionably late? Try doing anything with children in tow and you wouldn't be anything but. Fortunately the grown-up child was waving alcohol in front of him, which made up for a lot. Madanach accepted the glass of wine and sank back in his chair, eyes closed as the rest of his entourage likewise took the hint and made themselves scarce.

“Is it bedtime yet?” Madanach sighed. Argis shook his head.

“Sorry, Da. You've got a party of sorts yet, and people will notice if you don't show.”

Madanach grimaced at the thought of yet more social interaction, and tomorrow was likely to be full of it too. A bit of peace in his old age, was that too much to ask?

“If I put in an hour's worth of face time and then disappear to bed, will you wrangle my kids for me?” Madanach sighed wearily. “In fact I'm almost tempted to pay Aventus to cause a scene so I have to shepherd them both to bed early and conveniently forget to come back.”

“Da, you can't make your kids play up in public just so you can get out of socialising,” Argis sighed. “That's not nice. And if they both leave early, Lu will get lonely. She's not keen on socialising either. You can talk to her. She'd like that. Don't know what it is with you, but she only just met you and she loves you already.”

Madanach grinned, secretly rather pleased and very relieved his new granddaughter approved. New granddaughter. There was a thought. This was going to take some getting used to, and he was just the grandfather. He wondered how Argis was feeling, and it occurred to him he should ask.

“And you?” Madanach asked, sitting up and opening his eyes, watching his son carefully. “How are you finding it all? Don't tell me you were unequivocally pleased when Farkas landed an unexpected child on you. You're not that paternal.”

Hesitation from Argis, and Madanach knew, he just knew, that Argis wasn't really that willing, and once he'd have gone on a righteous rampage in Farkas's general direction... but he'd met Lucia now and she was lovely and sweet and deserved to be loved and happy with a family. Madanach dearly wanted her to be a part of his... but if his son's heart wasn't in it, it wasn't going to be easy.

“It was a bit of a shock,” Argis finally admitted. “And I could have decked Farkas, I really could. But... well... Lucia was looking at me, and she was terrified and... I couldn't turn her away, Da. I just couldn't. Same way you couldn't say no to Sofie and Aventus either.”

Madanach had to admit that was true, although old gods knew he'd tried. But they had both insisted, and in the end, he'd given in and despite the near constant activity and having to deal with two excitable children at his age, oh and the constant backchat of course (where they picked this blatant disrespect for their elders up from was beyond him), he couldn't imagine not having them around now. Maybe it was the same for Argis.

“And now?” Madanach asked quietly. “A month in, and do you regret it?”

Argis did look up then, uncharacteristically shy look on his face as he smiled and shook his head.

“Nah. No way. She's adorable! Every time she sees me, she just smiles and hugs me, it's great. I don't even have to do anything, she just thinks I'm the best. Me and Farkas both. And she's usually pretty well behaved, does what she's told, cleans up after herself, helps get rid of spiders for Farkas, reads to Farkas and me, constantly offering to help with stuff, and... she's just... I don't know how to put it! She's just sweet. And lovely. And she's my little girl – I've got a little girl!”

“So you have,” Madanach replied, unable to stop himself smiling at his son, not having seen him this happy in a long time. All right, perhaps this was going to work out after all. Which just left the more immediate reason for them all being here.

“So anyway, the Moot,” Madanach continued, and Argis's smile faded as he leaned in, face grim. “You think Elisif'll get in.”

“Probably,” Argis said. “I mean, I think so. We're sure of Idgrod and Brina now. You said you'd wrangled Kraldar. We know Nepos has our back. What about Maven? You said you'd been in touch.”

“Yeah,” Madanach said, shifting nervously as he remembered Maven's predator eyes. “I mean, I think she's in favour? She's got a hold to rebuild, money to make, Imperial friends everywhere. I'm sure she'll vote for the Imperial candidate.”

“You don't sound it,” Argis snorted, knocking back some more wine. “But I'm willing to believe she'll follow the money. It's what she'll want in return that bothers me.”

It bothered Madanach too, but he'd deal with that when he came to it. It was Jarl number nine that bothered him most.

“So tell me about Siddgeir. I know nothing about him but I get the impression our Dragonborn doesn't like him very much.”

Argis lowered his glass, grimacing at the very mention of Siddgeir.

“What has she told you about him?” Argis growled, and Madanach recognised anger when he saw it. Argis didn't often lose his temper but when he did, blood was usually shed. Something about Siddgeir was riling Argis up, and this rarely happened for men Argis didn't even know.

“Nothing, all I know is he's the famously indolent Jarl of Falkreath after his uncle stepped down not long after the war started. Elisif has barely mentioned him. Argis, what's going on, is there something I should know?”

“Yeah. Just a bit,” Argis muttered viciously, staring into the fire. Sighing, he lowered his wine glass to the table and turned back to Madanach. “Look, here's the official stuff. Elisif's not really supposed to see top secret Imperial files, but seeing as her clearance just got raised – well, you know.”

Madanach knew, and he was now very eager indeed to see what Elisif now knew as a result. “Yeah. Tell me about these top secret files.”

“Not exactly secret, but they confirm what all the gossip says,” Argis said. “Dengeir was a good Jarl but a Stormcloak supporter. With Ulfric just turned traitor, only Idgrod and Igmund were backing Elisif, and that was mainly because Idgrod's Hold was hard to defend and too close to Solitude for Ulfric to protect, and because Igmund and Raerek had a personal grudge against Ulfric after the Markarth Incident.”

“They had a grudge??” Madanach snapped, and just because Igmund was out of favour and in exile didn't mean history didn't rankle. Madanach never really got over a grudge either.

“Yeah, I know,” Argis said, rolling his eyes. “So here's the Empire with Ulfric, Skald, Korir, Dengeir and Laila all up in arms, Balgruuf being non-committal and only Idgrod and Igmund backing Elisif and not for reasons she had anything to do with. El wasn't Dragonborn either back then, just a terrified grieving widow with no experience.”

“So the Empire ousted Dengeir,” Madanach murmured, keen mind analysing the situation. Siddgeir not exactly a good Jarl but willing to back the Empire in return for wealth and power, and having no scruples in ousting his elderly kinsman. “What happened to him?”

“Eh, they went the bloodless route,” Argis snorted. “Managed to pay off a few key people in the Hold to declare Dengeir too old for the job, and put his nephew in charge. That's how Siddgeir got the job.”

“These things happen. I take it he's not any good at his job?” Madanach asked, already having a good idea of Siddgeir's general personality by this point.

“Nah, lets his steward Nenya do most of the work. Which normally wouldn't even be something to care about... but he's ambitious, Da. He wants to be more than just the Jarl of a minor Hold.”

“He wants to be High King?” Madanach really couldn't believe that was going to happen. A contest between the Jarl of Solitude who'd sorted out the war and saved the world and could breathe fire, and some no-hoper from the backwoods who'd done precisely nothing during the war? Siddgeir had to know he'd never win that one, surely?

“Worse. He wants to marry Elisif.” Argis sat back, awaiting the reaction that would provoke. He wasn't disappointed. The air had gone chill, Madanach was staring back at him in stunned shock, although that wouldn't last. Magic was rising already and even Argis could sense something of it. Particularly when ice started forming on the wooden mantelpiece and a stalactite crashed into the fire, making it sputter.

“I will kill him first,” Madanach said quietly, dangerously, and this was worse than if he'd roared his fury to the entire palace. Things bursting into flame when his father was furious was one thing, and not exactly that uncommon. But the ice reaction was rarer, and when it did happen... someone usually died.

“Da,” Argis said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “Da, not before the Moot.”

“Fuck the Moot,” Madanach snarled. “Fuck them all, why do we need this charade anyway? She won, Argis! She killed Ulfric, took his city, saved the fucking world while the rest of them sat on their arses and did nothing. She deserves this, Argis, she's Queen by right! Why do we have to sit here toadying up to the likes of Siddgeir??”

Argis flinched back as another stalactite smashed into the hearth, the fire fizzling out entirely and plunging the room into cold and semi-darkness, just a few candles round the edge of the room and the aurora blazing in through thick Nordic windows to provide any light at all. Given the beasts' heads on the walls just visible enough in the half-light to shock, Argis found himself wishing it was full dark.

“Da, this isn't the Reach. And even you had to persuade Matriarchs and clan chiefs to back you.”

“It's not the same,” Madanach muttered, but the rage did seem to have subsided. “That meant something. This is just an empty ritual.”

“Not to Nords,” Argis sighed, hoping his father could at least be persuaded to go along with this even if he disagreed. “Come on, just one more day and then you'll be Reach-King and can tell them all to kiss your witchman backside.”

That did get a laugh from Madanach, and Argis felt warmth return to the room as Madanach's magic got itself under control and a firebolt got the fire restarted. Argis piled on some more wood to help with that, and between the two of them they had the room restored to its usual cozy state.

“Better?” Argis asked quietly. Madanach nodded.

“A little. But tell me more. Does Elisif know this – well, she must do, she'd have had to requisition the files.”

“She does. Doesn't want to talk about it though. In fact, she, er, doesn't think I know, she hid the file away and wouldn't let me read it. I had to slip Brynjolf some coin, distract Elisif and Lydia, and order a few guards to look the other way to get sight of it myself,” Argis sighed. “Still haven't told her I know. It wasn't an official bargain or anything, the Empire knew they couldn't promise Elisif's hand, but they knew Siddgeir was thinking of it and knew he'd need a Jarldom to be a suitable marriage prospect. So they let him believe he was in with a chance, and one of the agents even commented it might not be a bad match politically – Falkreath's resources and proximity to Cyrodiil allied to Solitude's wealth and connections. There was just the sticking point of Elisif's personal dislike of the man, but marriages have gone ahead despite things like the bride and groom hating each other.”

Madanach would object but given his first marriage had ended up that way anyway, he could hardly complain. All the same, for Elisif to hate someone and for him not to know why... not that he was entitled to know everything about her, but this was relevant. Very very relevant.

“What are you not telling me?” Madanach mused. “You still look pensive, bion.”

“I told you Elisif hated him, but I didn't say why. Cause I didn't know why. Cause even the Empire doesn't know everything. It said in his file Siddgeir had been out of favour during the last few years of Istlod's realm, virtually outcast in Solitude. He'd got in a fight with Torygg over something, some woman or other, the file said, and Istlod had had to smooth things over with Dengeir, and Siddgeir told in no uncertain terms he wasn't welcome in the city any more. It's partly why he was so keen to take over as Jarl. Think this is the first time he's been back since.”

“He was in exile after a fight with Torygg, and for that long – but that doesn't make sense, Nords get in fights all the time, even nobles would have patched things up eventually. Over a woman... no.”

Madanach's fingers had clenched into a fist and Argis had a sinking feeling the ice was about to make a re-appearance.

“El told me earlier, the fight was over her,” Argis said quietly. “Siddgeir didn't know she was Torygg's girlfriend, they'd not been going out long. He thought she was some underling he could harass with impunity. Learnt his lesson the hard way.”

Argis did grin at that, and Madanach felt an uncharacteristic burst of warmth for Torygg. Seemed Elisif's ex was worth something after all, if he'd not only assaulted another Nord noble for her, he'd kept right on using all the influence at his disposal to keep Siddgeir away from his future wife. All the same, Madanach would have done a better job. He'd have finished the job, and he still could.

“So this fetcher gropes the lady friend of the High King's son, and thanks to Nord politics, not only is he still breathing, he gets to be Jarl??” Madanach snapped. “He's allowed a say in the next High Queen's rulership, which means the woman he assaulted now has to beg for his approval?? Over my dead body, Argis.”

“Da, don't,” Argis sighed, not least because it might end up being exactly that and he couldn't let his father risk himself over this. “He hasn't done anything yet. I tipped off Lydia and Maro, they're going to make sure no one's allowed closer than three feet to Elisif except you, me, Farkas and the kids. We're keeping an eye on him.”

Madanach grimaced but nodded his approval. “Fine,” he snapped. “But if he causes any trouble, any trouble at all, I am having his head, Argis.”

Argis shook his head, but resigned himself to Madanach not easily backing away from the traditional Reachman method of dealing with a man who'd assaulted his wife. “You kill him, you do it while he's away from Solitude. You do it in such a way none of us are even remotely linked to it, you hear me?”

Madanach growled but nodded. “Trust me,” Madanach murmured. “I'll bide my time. When I'm done, he won't be a threat to anyone again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, the reception proved to be less stressful than Madanach had thought. The children behaved themselves and did not bother their elders or run around being noisy. Nepos was there to talk to, as was Idgrod and Kraldar, and had it been just the four of them, Madanach could have got drinks all round for them all and called it a night well spent. Alas he was obliged to mingle, but even that wasn't too bad. Argis was there, Balgruuf was, if not exactly delighted to see him, civil, and Brina turned to not be quite the insufferable stick-in-the-mud he'd heard. In fact, she seemed quite keen to get to know him better, having heard enough to know he'd been a key player in getting Elisif her kingdom.

It was just Maven that was bothering him. Constantly trying to seek him out and talk to him. She'd done her make-up too, seemed to be smiling too much, was running hands through her hair – dear gods, was Maven Black-Briar trying to seduce him?

Madanach uttered a quiet prayer to Dibella to make him utterly repulsive to anyone over 30 who couldn't breathe fire, but alas, his goddess failed to answer.

“Is something wrong?” Maven purred, moving closer. “You seem a little... uncomfortable?”

“No!” Madanach laughed, voice getting uncharacteristically high-pitched. “I mean, I er, excuse me, I think my daughter needs me...”

Sofie was busy showing her fine silk be-ribboned dress to a suitably impressed Nepos, and Maven spared her a brief glance before turning back to Madanach.

“She seems fine to me,” Maven said, shrugging. “She's adopted, isn't she? You're parenting her alone – you're not married, after all. Your first wife died, I take it.”

“Yes,” Madanach said uneasily. “We separated years ago and then she died. I found Sofie on the streets of Windhelm and she insisted I adopt her. Didn't want to disappoint her.”

“Admirable,” Maven murmured, moving closer. “Tell me, Madanach, have-”

Maven didn't get to finish the sentence, for which Madanach was grateful. She was interrupted by the arrival of the man who Madanach least wanted to see and most wanted to drown in the Karth. Siddgeir.

“Am I interrupting something?” Siddgeir purred, and Maven gritted her teeth, glaring at him.

“Jarl Siddgeir. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Maven said, grimacing, and Madanach did feel his estimation of her improve on realising she hated Siddgeir as well. However, that was overridden by the overwhelming desire to sink his fingers into the man's chest, rip it open with magic and wrench the heart out with his own hands.

“Maven,” Siddgeir nodded. “I was just admiring the palace. Charming place. I see they managed to get all the blood out of the tiles.”

Tasteless as well as creepy, and Madanach kept his magic under control with the greatest of effort, mostly successfully. Mostly.

“I say, is it cold in here or is it me?” Siddgeir asked, just as a line of frost began to form on the nearby stair rail. Maven blinked, glanced in Madanach's direction then noticed the frost herself, and a small smile crossed her face, gone before anyone else even registered it.

“I didn't notice anything,” Maven sniffed. “I daresay the city has changed since you were last here, Siddgeir. Three years since you were last in Solitude, or is it four? Time does fly, does it not? Now if you'll excuse me, Jarl Madanach was about to escort me on a walk around the throne room, weren't you, dear?”

“I was – what?” Madanach said, not having seen that coming at all, but Maven was holding out her arm expectantly, and any excuse to get away from Siddgeir was to be taken up. So he took her arm in his and escorted her off.

“All right, what is this about?” he murmured, as soon as they were out of earshot, making their way towards the north stair. Maven just smirked as she turned to face him, releasing his arm as she appropriated two glasses of wine from a passing serving girl and handed one to him..

“I recognise loss of magical control when I see it, and I knew it wasn't me,” Maven purred. “And as Siddgeir has not a magical bone in his body, that only left you. I must say I'm surprised to see the King of the Forsworn losing control of his magic, however slightly. A magical practitioner of your experience would only have that happen if in the grip of extremely strong emotion. I can only presume the cause was Siddgeir, and I very much doubt you're having a secret affair with him.”

“I barely know the man,” Madanach shrugged, trying to look composed and not entirely succeeding. Gods damn it, Maven was good. “Why should I care?”

“Why indeed,” Maven grinned. “But he's been out of favour for years now, up until the war broke out and the Empire decided it needed all the friends it could get. I believe there was a certain party at which, shall we call it an incident, occurred involving the then Crown Prince of Skyrim and the nephew of the Jarl of Falkreath? I wasn't there but my sons were. There was this extraordinarily pretty young girl there, rumoured to be a new bard or possibly the carer for this retired bard that had come to spend his twilight years in Solitude. Sibbi was interested but Hemming stopped him going for her – a wise move, it turned out. Who could have foreseen young Torygg had already staked a claim and would later marry the girl? Not Siddgeir, sadly for him. Else he might not have pushed his luck too far and ended up with a black eye and lasting dishonour for his trouble. And now he's finally allowed back into polite society, and Elisif's single and very very eligible.”

Madanach's face had frozen into a grim rictus that was only very distantly related to a smile, and already ice patches were starting to form on the wall. Maven just nodded in triumph.

“I knew it,” she purred. “The prospect of him anywhere near Elisif makes you want to kill things, doesn't it? So the rumours are true, then? Are you and she involved?”

“That is no one else's business,” Madanach growled, but he couldn't exactly deny it either. Maven smirked and nodded, sipping her wine.

“I'll take that as a yes, shall I?” she said sweetly. “Or at least, you'd like to be first in line if you've not got a foot in the door already. Tsk, tsk, aren't you old enough to be her father?”

Madanach narrowed his eyes and the frost travelled a little further in Maven's direction, and at that point even Maven knew when to back off.

“But who am I to judge,” Maven said calmly, inclining her head and preparing to withdraw. “Mara moves in mysterious ways, doesn't she now? And if she can be persuaded to move in ways that benefit you socially and politically, that's all to the good, surely. And speaking of which...” Maven nodded at the stairs behind him as a silence fell over the room. Madanach turned, a little thrill prickling down his back as he realised only one person could have silenced the throng so thoroughly. Their host, Elisif Dragonborn, Jarl of Solitude, Saviour of Skyrim... and High Queen to be.

He was right. There she was, clad in a glittering blue dress owing more to High Rock fashion than Skyrim's idea of a noblewoman's gown, and more to the tastes of Radiant Raiment's owners than either. Sky blue, with the skirts billowing out around her, bodice laced tightly at the waist and the cups both supporting and emphasising what in Madanach's opinion were the best breasts in Tamriel. All offset with matching elbow-length gloves, and delicate gold earrings with sapphires done in traditional Reachman knotwork too, had Argis been in on the design? A gold and sapphire circlet rested on hair falling to her shoulders mostly loose but with the front locks pulled back and pinned into a ponytail. And round her neck was an amulet of Kynareth, the Widow Goddess. An apt choice.

Madanach took in the whole and felt the rest of the room melt away, all his attention focusing on this beautiful goddess making her way over on his son's arm. All he wanted was to take her into his arms and kiss her and keep on kissing her until somehow they found their way into an empty bed and he could disrobe her and start kissing her all over.

“Hello Madanach.” A slightly breathless whisper, belied by a mischievous little smile that told him she knew exactly the effect she was having on him, the damnable minx. Damn that smile, it could make him do anything. He'd always thought her pretty, but the first time he'd realised she'd affected him more than he'd thought was when he'd woken her up that morning in Cidhna Mine and some still-dreaming part of her mind had thought her still in the Blue Palace, being woken up by her husband. She'd whispered the fatal words, calling him her love and reaching up to stroke his cheek with that dazzling smile on her face, and even though it had been meant for another, Madanach for one brief moment had been treated to the sight of Elisif the Fair's full loveliness, and he'd not been able to help himself. He saw it and wanted it for himself, wanted to see that smile again and have it really be for him this time. Wanted to do what he'd not been able to in Cidhna Mine and kiss her until he wasn't sure where he ended and she began.

But in public at least, he couldn't. Not now. Not yet. But she was here and advancing towards him, letting Argis go and approaching, same beautiful smile on her face as she held out her hand. Madanach reached out and took it in a daze, before closing his eyes and kissing it, bowing as he did.

“Jarl of Solitude,” he murmured. “You look beautiful, Brenhina.”

“Jarl of Windhelm. I... it's good to see you,” Elisif gasped, and Madanach couldn't resist smiling a little at that, knowing that he had the same effect on her in turn. He straightened up and was very pleased to see her blushing.

“Likewise,” Madanach purred, and if it had been just the two of them, he'd be leading her off even now to find out in more detail just what in particular she thought was good to see. But alas, this was a public event and it was probably bad form to pin the host up against a wall and ravage her in front of everyone. “Jarl Elisif, if you were to offer me the pleasure of your company later, I would happily accept.”

“Gladly,” Elisif said with no hesitation whatsoever, before realising perhaps it was a little impolitic to be quite that direct. “Er... I mean, of course, you've proven yourself a friend many times over, Madanach. I'd be glad to offer you a little of my time later.”

Madanach inclined his head and stepped back to let the other Jarls come to pay their respects, first Idgrod with a motherly smile and some kind words, then Brina, then Balgruuf gruffly telling her she looked like a true queen... and then the room's social temperature plummeted like a rock as Siddgeir elbowed his way past two servants and Brina's housecarl to greet Elisif.

Elisif's smile faded immediately, and Argis and Lydia at her back were both glaring furiously at him, and already about three Oculatus men were closing in. Siddgeir barely spared them a second glance. All his attention was on Elisif.

“Greetings, Jarl Elisif. May I compliment you on the rather daring outfit? Is this a sign you're no longer in mourning?”

Elisif's eyes had widened, her eyes being drawn to the amulet around his neck, a flashy golden affair that seemed to have a restoration enchantment of some sort on it, and for some reason a gaudy piece of jewellery seemed to have thrown her completely. She'd gone pale, wide-eyed, and looked like she was going to vomit, fingers curling into Argis's arm. Argis for his part was growling at Siddgeir, enraged fury in his eyes and Madanach realised that maybe that was what he looked like when he was angry. By Sithis, he hoped so anyway, Argis looked terrifying.

“Need you to step away from the Jarl, Siddgeir,” Argis growled. “Now.”

Siddgeir just raised an eyebrow. “I'm a guest, steward. And a fellow Jarl. I can converse with my peers without your say so.”

Argis's eyes narrowed and Madanach felt his own magic start to rise as he wanted to scream at Siddgeir not to talk to his son like that, Argis was as much a noble as Siddgeir was. But he didn't need to. Something rose and swirled on the other side of the room, someone using magic, very subtly but definitely there, magic strong as Madanach's own but not his own. Madanach's power always felt like bright light, sometimes warm, sometimes cold, sometimes bright and sparking but always fierce and impossible to ignore. This was something else, something dark and rich and oozing like thick honey, something slow-burning but likely to drown you if you got in its way, an inexorable tendril of something like poisoned treacle. It definitely wasn't him and it definitely was curling around Siddgeir's arm...

“By the Eight – Siddgeir, your sleeve's on fire!” That was Idgrod and while Madanach knew she knew magic, it hadn't felt like her either. All around the Jarl of Falkreath, people were backing off and panicking, and Elisif herself had let out a little gasp and stepped back, hand to her face, and Siddgeir had glanced at his sleeve, glanced again, seen smoke rising and the flicker of flame and promptly started screaming, waving his arm about in a mad attempt to beat the flames out.

“Oh gods, oh gods, help me, please!” Siddgeir shrieked, and Madanach bit back a smile. He had no idea Nord men could hit notes that high. Sadly for him, Elisif's guards had retained their discipline and had managed to extinguish the flames, before hauling the hysterical Jarl off to his quarters, allegedly for medical treatment and a chance to calm down, but doubtless to keep him away from their charge for as long as humanly possible. Argis had detached himself from Elisif's side, loudly announcing he'd better go and check on Siddgeir, make sure he was all right, and Madanach would be astonished if neither a sleeping draught nor a potent laxative made it into Siddgeir's healing tonics. Madanach really was very proud of his son sometimes.

Elisif for her part had closed her eyes, one hand on the stair rail while she caught her breath, before she pulled herself together and looked up, smiling brightly.

“Well, it appears Jarl Siddgeir will be indisposed for the rest of the evening, but I'm sure he'll be fine for the Moot tomorrow!” she chirped, bright-eyed enthusiasm mostly masking the terror within... but not enough to hide it from Madanach, who'd never wanted to go to her side more. “I do hope the rest of you are careful around the candles, we don't want any more accidents, do we?”

The fact that there'd been no candles or torches anywhere near Siddgeir at the time wasn't lost on anyone, but no one was so foolish as to point that out, in fact most were privately rather relieved to see the back of him. Then Maven was approaching Elisif, rather satisfied little smirk on her face and traces of magicka still lingering on her fingers, not enough to be visible to any but a powerful mage but enough to identify her power to Madanach as just having cast a low-powered remote fire spell on something. Madanach decided there and then Maven Black-Briar was either going to end up as one of his best friends or his bitterest rivals. Maybe both.

“Jarl Elisif. My sympathies, some people can be so careless, can't they? Now then, would you care to walk with me? We have a Moot tomorrow, don't we, and I have a few things I wish to discuss before deciding who to vote for. Namely that I am a loyal Imperial citizen who believes Skyrim's future lies firmly with our Imperial friends and who wishes to see Riften flourish. I'm sure you can appreciate my point of view, hmm?”

Elisif actually smiled faintly and stepped down, taking Maven's arm as she did.

“Jarl Maven, I assure you I believe in the Empire as firmly as you do, and will ensure that our friends in Cyrodiil repay our loyalty with all the assistance a dragon-ravaged province might require in these difficult times. I can kill dragons of course, but no one ever thinks of the rebuilding, do they? The destroyed homes, the burnt cropfields, dead livestock and ruined businesses. I fully intend to see the Empire helps us put Skyrim back on its feet, don't you worry, Maven.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Maven purred, and Madanach felt his nerves ease just a little as he realised Maven would have Elisif's back – for now, at least. It would do. He knew how to deal with Nords who cared for little besides coin. It was the honourable ones that generally proved problematic. Men and women with principles sometimes proved very... unpredictable. But he'd see what the future held.

Of course, right now it mostly seemed to hold Jarl Balgruuf glaring at him, as the Jarl of Whiterun materialised at his side.

“Did you have anything to do with that?” Balgruuf said, glowering at him. Oh good, he should have known it would come to this.

“No,” Madanach sighed. “I did not set Jarl Siddgeir on fire. Give me some credit for not ruining Elisif's party.”

“It's true,” another Reachman voice chimed in as Nepos sauntered up, glass of wine in hand, smile on his already slightly flushed face and two rather attractive Reachman guards standing respectfully behind him. “When Madanach unleashes Destruction magic on someone, it's a lot less subtle and rather more charred corpses or entombed in solid ice. Wasn't me either, by the way. I do find murdering the other guests brings the evening down a little, don't you think, Jarl Balgruuf?”

Nepos pointedly didn't look at Madanach as he said this, no doubt remembering many past Reachman tribal feasts that Madanach had presided over in which brutally executing a rival or notorious criminal had been the highlight of the evening's entertainment. But that was then and this was now, and Elisif was not the type to appreciate watching someone she didn't like having their head shoved in a cauldron of boiling water before freezing the surface over, with the obligatory betting ring on the side speculating on if drowning or burns would kill them first.

Balgruuf was looking vaguely disgusted, but in the end he just shrugged.

“Well. Wouldn't entirely blame you if you had. Don't suppose you heard the tale of what happened last time Siddgeir was in Solitude? It was years ago, there was this party at the Bards' College – I wasn't there, but my brother Hrongar saw the whole thing.”

“I heard,” Madanach snapped, really not wanting to talk about this, not with Balgruuf at any rate. To his surprise, the Jarl just nodded, as if he'd expected that.

“Aye, you probably have. Just tell me this, do you and Elisif have an understanding? I keep hearing rumours you two are close.”

“That is absolutely none of your -” Madanach began, and then Nepos cut him off.

“They've got a very close and affectionate working relationship,” Nepos said cheerfully. “Madanach's committed to an ongoing alliance with Jarl Elisif and looking forward to a bright and productive future with her, isn't that right, Madanach?”

Madanach could really throttle Nepos sometimes, and Balgruuf had the nerve to grin.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Balgruuf smirked, before the smile faded. “Rather you than Siddgeir, if I'm honest. You at least care for and respect her. He does not and never did, and I have a feeling the years of exile on her account made him bitter. Tell me, is he going to be a problem?”

Balgruuf was looking knowingly at him, and Nepos was also looking curious by this point, no doubt wanting to know what the plan was, and Madanach really didn't want to have to admit there wasn't one, not yet. Not until he'd found out who'd be the next Jarl if something unfortunate were to happen to Siddgeir anyway.

“Probably yes, but for now I think we can bear it,” Madanach sighed. “Just keep an eye on him and keep him away from Elisif.”

“I'll do that very thing,” Nepos promised, before tilting his head. “Do let me know if he becomes unbearable, hmm? I do hate to see a friend suffer, you know that, Madanach.”

“I know,” Madanach said, grinning back at Nepos and resisting the urge to fling an arm round the man and haul him off for a drink. Not that sort of party, he reminded himself.

“Dear gods, are you... never mind,” Balgruuf said, looking vaguely appalled and clearly deciding that if they were discussing a hit on another Jarl he wanted no part of it. “Just keep Elisif safe and take care of her. She's had enough pain in her life. She deserves to be happy. If that happiness involves having you around, who am I to gainsay her? Just because I don't understand what she sees in you doesn't mean I'm going to stand in the way.”

Madanach raised an eyebrow, glancing at Nepos to see if he'd heard that right. From Nepos's surprised grin, he guessed he must have. Jarl Balgruuf had given his approval to court Elisif – not that it was needed, but it was nice to know he wasn't entirely hated.

“Thank you, I – well, I'll do my best to look after her,” Madanach promised. “Honestly, I'm not sure what she sees in me either.”

That particular sentiment surprised no one, but it was at that point Elisif and Maven finished talking and the ever popular Jarl of Solitude returned to the fray. Balgruuf and Nepos both went to talk to her, leaving Madanach behind to just watch. He should talk to her, and he would, he surely would, later. Only once he'd gone to her side, he knew all too well he'd have great difficulty tearing himself away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Party over, thank Sithis. Kids in bed, praise Namira. Retinue all bedding down in the parlour, a drink in his hand, shirt half open, waistcoat off and sitting back in a chair in his bedroom, and Madanach was just glad it was over. By the gods, he hated socialising – that sort of socialising anyway. Having to be polite and make small talk with people he barely knew and not really able to drink as much as he'd like and no dancing and the prettiest one in the room having to play hostess and politician and not able to cuddle him. It wasn't a proper party. A proper party would have ended with Elisif curled up next to him right now, the bedroom littered with their clothes.

Alas it was not to be, so here he was enjoying a quiet nightcap before turning in. Alone.

Voices outside and Borkul's was one of them. Strange, Borkul sounded pleased about something.

“I know what you want. Could see it in your eyes all evening. All right, Dragonborn, he's in there. Don't think he's asleep yet, don't think he'd mind you waking him if he was.”

“Thank you, Borkul,” and Madanach knew that voice anywhere. The voice of a young woman raised in High Rock by a man who knew the importance of sounding like a noble even if you weren't one. The voice of a Dragonborn, and sure enough the door to his own bedroom flung open to reveal Elisif standing in the doorway, still in her ball gown and jewellery glimmering in the candlelight. She'd changed only the amulet round her neck – Kynareth's replaced with one that looked like the one Siddgeir had had on earlier.

“How dare you,” Elisif said quietly, shoulders rising and falling and she was seething, he could tell. He was either in a lot of trouble or in for a lucky night. Maybe both.

“Why, what have I done now,” Madanach grinned as he got to his feet to welcome her in. Elisif growled and shut the door firmly behind her before striding over to him.

“You know damn well what you've done,” Elisif snapped. “You had the nerve to turn up at my palace in that, with your calves on show and that leather clinging to your backside and the gloves and... and then I barely got to talk to you! I've had to watch all evening and not be able to do anything about it!” Elisif was prodding his chest with each heated word and at the close, she pushed him back on to the bed and began climbing on top of him, and this was glorious, this really was, an angry, horny, sexually frustrated Dragonborn pinning him down and about to savage him. He couldn't have planned this better.

“I'm sorry, Thuri,” Madanach purred, settling back on the mattress as that amulet dangled just above his face, getting in the way of being able to admire her cleavage, which was a little irritating. It didn't even really go with the outfit, why was she even wearing it?? “If it's any consolation, you look absolutely divine in that outfit and I have been admiring it and you all evening. I have been positively pining.”

Genuine pleasure for a brief moment and then a gentle smile from her.

“Really?” Elisif whispered and Madanach nodded.

“Really. By the gods, I missed you, please fuck me.”

Elisif smiled, delighted and relieved all at once, and then kissing him with a fierceness that never failed to thrill, and Madanach kissed her back, loving having her back in his arms... but really not loving that damn amulet in his face. Growling, he broke off the kiss.

“Elisif, can you take that necklace off? It's in the way.”

Elisif gasped a little and for a moment she almost looked heartbroken, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived.

“You don't recognise it?” she said, confused. Madanach shook his head although now she mentioned it, the design did look familiar. Had he seen it in Windhelm?

“Siddgeir was wearing one too, are they a new fashion or something? I can tell there's a restoration enchantment – Elisif, you don't even use Restoration spells. You know two healing spells, that's literally it.”

Elisif bit her lip, looking strangely emotional. “It's an Amulet of Mara, Madanach! Surely you've seen one... well, maybe you haven't.”

Mara, of course, now he knew where he'd seen the design, the shrine in the Unity Temple looked like that. Mara, goddess of love and family. That was rather sweet of her.

“Cariad, I know you love me, you don't need to wear an amulet proclaiming it,” Madanach murmured, stroking her face. Elisif closed her eyes, looking like she was about to cry.

“You don't know, do you?” Elisif whispered. Madanach shook his head, beginning to feel very uneasy. Something was going on and that something was clearly important but also just out of reach. As if there was some very important gap in his knowledge somewhere.

Elisif closed her eyes before viciously yanking the amulet off and tossing it on to a nearby dresser.

“It doesn't matter,” Elisif sighed, rolling off him and lying down beside him. “Forget I said anything. We can talk after the Moot, right?”

“Of course we can – Elisif, what is this about? That amulet – is it some sort of sign you're free to love again?”

“Something like that,” Elisif said wearily. “Just an old Nord custom – look, don't worry about it. We're already together, it's not like we don't know we're interested.”

An old Nord custom – Madanach really needed to actually do a little research into old Nord customs. He kept forgetting Elisif was a Nord, but despite being raised abroad she still was one at heart. Truth be told, it unsettled him a little... but for her, he'd at least try and make an effort.

“Siddgeir was wearing one earlier,” Madanach murmured, something nagging at him. Siddgeir not-so-subtly announcing he was looking for love? Must be something like that, because Elisif had shuddered, almost visceral loathing on her face.

“Yes. I know,” she growled. “Madanach, if he so much as touches me, I swear...”

“If he lays a finger on you, I will have Borkul smash every bone in his hand,” Madanach promised, trailing a finger down her cheek. Elisif did manage a smile at that.

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Madanach, can we... I know it's late and you're probably tired and we don't have to do anything, but if you could kiss me or get me off or something, and then could I stay with you tonight? I just feel so much safer when you're here.”

Of course she could, although that Elisif didn't entirely feel safe in her own palace did concern him. But he was here for her, as always, and kissing Elisif was never to be turned down. So he did just that, and that led to a little bit more, and despite the minor security panic the following morning when the Jarl of Solitude's bed was found empty and the Jarl nowhere to be seen (the panic abating only when a weary Steward of Solitude tersely told the Oculatus agents hammering at his door to try the Jarl of Windhelm's suite), neither found cause to regret it in the slightest.

Notes:

I have never liked Siddgeir, can you tell? ;) Creepy fecker. And yes, Madanach has no idea what an Amulet of Mara means to Nords. Well, why would he, he's spent his entire adult life on Forsworn camps or in prison or married and paying very little attention to his people's love lives. So of course when Elisif shows up with one, he's got no idea what she's really asking... and she's too tired and embarrassed to enlighten him. Which may prove to be a bit of a mistake on her part...

Chapter 49

Summary:

The morning of the Moot joins and it should be straightforward, with only one real contender, everyone exhausted from a war and dragon attacks, and having to go some to be more popular than the one who saved the world and can breathe fire. But the Jarls of Skyrim are an argumentative lot, and nothing is straightforward as pointed questions, old grudges and Jarls with agendas of their own are all doing their best to ruin Elisif's day.

(Trigger Warning for brief flashback to non-consensual groping.)

Notes:

Readers. Dear, loyal readers who have made it this far and did not scream abuse at me for including the Forsworn and Madanach as the lead love interest. :D (And they did. Oh gods, they did. Not sure what they expected to achieve because I've written the damn thing now, I ain't changing it.)

Yes you read that right. I've finished it! This is the last chapter, plus an epilogue. It's done! Elisif's adventures are over! (For the time being. I can't entirely rule out a sequel but it'd be a long time coming.)

Thank you so much for reading, if you made it this far, well done and I hope you enjoyed it!

Half past eleven. Nearly time for the Moot, due to kick off at noon, as per tradition. Elisif's day had started well, snuggled in Madanach's arms, but the Oculatus had been hammering at her door all too soon, and while Borkul had been able to stall them for a bit, she'd had to leave in a hurry, just thankful Argis had had the servants store a set of her daywear in Madanach's wardrobe. What they'd thought of that request, Elisif had no idea, but judging from the knowing smiles and kind words as they brought her breakfast, she had a feeling they didn't mind.

So she'd let them feed her and bathe her and dress her and arrange her hair and make-up in a fashion suitable for a Jarl who might be Queen by the day's end. And now she was standing in the hall of Castle Dour, Argis and Lydia by her side, watching all the other Jarls who were all here with their own housecarls, each standing on their own in silence, the conviviality of last night, however artificial, discarded entirely as they prepared to get down to business. Even Madanach wasn't looking her way, just standing next to Borkul awkwardly, folding his arms, shifting his weight to one leg, scratching his nose, scratching an ear, shifting his weight, scratching his nose... wait.

Once Elisif might not have noticed anything. Once she'd have been either too overwhelmed to notice or too naïve to think anything of it. But there it was again. The exact same movement as before. He was regularly repeating the exact same sequence of movements, utterly inconsequential ones on their own, but no one would keep doing the exact same thing over and over. What was Madanach doing... and then she had her answer as arms that weren't Argis's or Lydia's slid round her waist.

“Hello cariad,” Madanach murmured in her ear. “Good illusion, isn't it?”

Neither Argis or Lydia appeared to have noticed a thing, and Elisif could feel magic of some sort enveloping her. Clearly he'd cast something to conceal them as well.

“You are impossible,” Elisif breathed, turning to face him with a smile, the nerves abating a little. “May I take it you've cast one on me too?”

“Yes,” Madanach grinned. “Well, sort of. I cast the illusion on you. Nepos is handling the one of me. Borkul is in on the whole thing. Argis is aware I was thinking of something like this. Did you want to slip away for a few minutes? You looked like you wanted to ask me something this morning.”

Because as soon as she'd got her courage up to talk to him about what was bothering her, the Oculatus had been practically breaking the door down. Leaving Elisif resigned to never being able to ask him what had been gnawing at her for days. Except he'd noticed and smart witchblade illusionist that he was, had engineered a chance to talk. Elisif seized it.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Can we talk?”

Madanach inclined his head and led her away to a quiet corner, a pillar hiding them from the rest of the room.

“All right, what's on your mind,” Madanach murmured, leaning back against the pillar and holding his arms out. “Nervous about the Moot? Don't be, I think you have it in the bag.”

Elisif closed her eyes, knowing she was worrying about nothing most likely, but unable to stop thinking about it now the Moot was finally upon her. She opened her eyes, knowing she had to ask him.

“What if I don't?” Elisif whispered. “What if I lose? Or we can't agree on anyone? Or... or if they say they'll only back me if I tear up the treaty? Madanach, I... if there's no other candidate, I might have to agree to that!”

He'd gone very still in the shadows, the room distinctly lacking in proper windows and while the centre was well-lit, the corners were not. She couldn't really see his face properly, but she knew he'd gone from relaxed to wary, confirming her worst fears.

“Madanach, what if I can't keep my promise?” Elisif whispered, her heart breaking at the thought of losing it all now. “I promised you Thonar, a pardon and your kingdom, but what if I can't give you that? What if Titus Mede doesn't make me his heir if I don't win? Madanach, please don't leave me, I'll try my best but what if I can't-?”

He'd stepped forward and placed a finger on her lips to quiet her, and then next thing she knew, arms were sliding around her and he was holding her close like always. Elisif hesitated, not sure exactly what this meant but it was a far better reaction than she'd hoped for.

“Elisif,” he murmured and she swore he was trying not to laugh. “Beloved, beautiful Elisif, is that what you were worried about?”

Elisif swallowed her breath and nodded, hesitantly returning his embrace and wondering if she'd just embarrassed herself completely. Probably yes, but he didn't seem to mind. She felt him kiss her cheek and let her go, but he still held her hands in his.

“Elisif cariad, when I made that bargain, I'd only just met you. Sure, I found you attractive, sure I didn't think you were lying to me, but you were a helpless prisoner reliant on my goodwill to survive. I was hardly going to place my trust in a Nord Jarl until she'd shown some proof of her loyalty, hmm? So yeah, I insisted on terms for my aid. But that was months ago, creenama. Everything has changed since then, and you didn't just pardon me, you gave me Ulfric's throne. Meanwhile one of my oldest friends has got the Reach, and I've got two new children in place of the two the Nords killed. Cariad, even if you lose the Moot, even if that treaty withers on the vine, it doesn't matter, not now. You got me further than I ever expected. And whatever happens in that room, whoever the next High Queen or King is, I will still love you and consider you my friend. And if the other Jarls have the bad taste to nominate someone else, you, me, Nepos and possibly Balgruuf can set about making their lives merry hell until they reconsider, how about that, hmm?”

Elisif could barely speak as she realised it was going to be all right. Madanach loved her. Madanach would still want her anyway. True, on an intellectual level she'd known he'd likely not abandon her completely if things didn't go her way, but she'd not actually asked. She'd not entirely believed he wouldn't turn on her if things didn't work out. But it seemed he had no intention of doing any such thing.

“Really?” Elisif whispered, moving closer, and Madanach was drawing her into his arms again, cheek pressed to hers as he held her tight.

“Really,” he promised. “You mean the world to me, Elisif. Politics be damned, I'm not losing you now.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, clinging on to him and fighting back the tears, because she was damned if she was going into the Moot with ruined make-up. Madanach said nothing, just squeezing her tight and kissing her forehead. Elisif began to wish she'd told him last night what the Amulet of Mara meant. She'd felt nervous enough wearing it for him as it was, finding out he didn't know what it meant had left her too unnerved to say anything more, too ashamed to speak out in case he backed away or felt manipulated or something. Maybe she should have said after all. Except perhaps she should have had this conversation first, in fact bugger the Amulet of Mara, maybe she should just talk to her lover about these things instead.

“Madanach, I've been thinking about, you know, us and...”

She didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. Out in the main chamber, the clock was striking twelve and the call for the Moot was being issued.

Elisif couldn't help but swear, and Madanach chuckled.

“You're adorable when you swear, you know that?” he smirked. “Come on, we'd better get back to it before someone works out my body language is on a thirty second loop. Talk to me later, yeah?”

Elisif could only sigh and nod, hastily darting back into place and stepping forward to lead the way as the illusion faded. Here was hoping this would be a nice straightforward Moot and then they could all go home.

She had a feeling she wasn't going to be that lucky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elisif stepped into the banqueting table of Castle Dour, Argis quietly wishing her luck and Lydia patting her arm before falling back, housecarls stepping away to let the Jarls go into seclusion, weapons all left at home as tradition dictated, the nine Jarls gathering in peace to choose their High King or Queen.

Elisif took the seat at the head of the table, the other Jarls seating themselves in order of the approximate geographical location of their capitals relative to Solitude. Idgrod to Elisif's right, Brina next to her, then Kraldar, with Madanach at the end, directly facing her. Then Maven, Siddgeir, Balgruuf and finally Nepos sliding into the seat at her left, smiling cheerfully at her.

“Hello! Goodness, this is all very exciting, isn't it?” he whispered. “I can't believe I'm actually here! Me, voting on the Queen of Skyrim!”

“I can't believe I'm here either,” Elisif whispered back, smiling a little to hear him casually refer to there being a Queen, not a King. Nepos smiled but his excitement stilled for a few brief seconds as the depths of cunning that had made him an effective right hand for Madanach showed themselves for once.

“Oh, I can,” Nepos said quietly. “When I first heard you'd escaped with Madanach, I knew. I already suspected you were Jarl Elisif, but when I realised he'd brought the jailbreak forward, and that he wanted your things brought with him and therefore you, I knew. If anyone belongs here, it is you, Brenhinama.”

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, by this point knowing not to play coy. Nepos only looked like a harmless old man, after all. In reality, he was as bright as Madanach and a lot calmer. And he was backing her to the hilt. His good opinion was worth having.

The room fell quiet as Rorlund from the Temple of Divines stepped forward.

“Blessings of the Eight Divines upon this gathering,” he intoned. “In the names of Kyne the Most Holy, Lady of the Skies, Shor, Lord of Sovngarde and Father of Mountains, Mara, Dibella, Arkay, Stendarr, Zenithar, Julianos and Akatosh the Dragon-Father, He who Breathes Winter into being, may this Moot be hallowed and blessed. May agreement find you all, respect be in your hearts and the wellbeing of Skyrim never far from your minds. I remind you all that blood may not be shed on the sacred ground of the Moot or the Divines will curse the sacrilege forevermore and Sovngarde be ever denied you. In the names of the Eight, I wish you luck. When you have a new King or Queen, take their Hold colours and pass them to the guard just past that door so they may be hung on the Solitude Bridge for the people to see. Then the victorious Queen – or King – may proceed to the Temple of the Divines to be crowned. Gods guide you, my Jarls.”

The gathered Jarls murmured a response back before Rorlund withdrew, leaving Elisif alone in a room with the leaders of Skyrim, even her guards withdrawing. By the gods, this was it. The Moot was on. Now what?

Well, according to Torygg, Ulfric had started his Moot off with a rant about how it was a disgrace that they could only hold the Moot under the auspices of eight, not nine, Divines and how it was an insult to Skyrim that her finest son could not stand witness to the choosing of her next King. Elisif hoped no one here was going to try that. Mostly because she was fairly certain Madanach, definitely not going to Sovngarde anyway, would have great difficulty not defiling the sanctity of the Moot with bloodshed if that happened.

Right now though, she had other worries. Namely the fact that literally everyone else was watching her.

“Right,” Elisif said, feeling her throat drying up. “Er. Hello. I mean, welcome to the Moot. We all know why we're here so, er, did anyone want to nominate themselves?”

No response, just eight Jarls staring back at her – well, seven Jarls and one Reachman King in Rags who looked like he was trying not to laugh. Elisif narrowed her eyes at him, dearly wishing he'd stop that. He wasn't supposed to be thinking she was adorable, he was supposed to be hailing her as Queen!

“Fine,” Elisif sighed. “In that case, seeing as I have the backing of the Empire, negotiated an end to the war, and dealt with the dragon menace, I'm putting myself forward as candidate for High Queen. If no one else is putting themselves forward, how about we proceed to the voti-”

“Wait.” Balgruuf, and Elisif wasn't entirely surprised. She knew he'd say something – it would be a bit of an anticlimax to get in entirely unchallenged.

“Balgruuf? Are you standing?” Elisif didn't think so but she had to ask.

“Hardly,” Balgruuf snorted. “But the first thing you'd do would be to sign a Hold away. I think the rest of the table deserves to know that before we vote.”

The room had fallen very quiet and Madanach in particular was looking rather frostily at Balgruuf.

“It's hardly a secret, the negotiations have been going on for months,” Madanach growled. “You'd have to be a fool not to know.”

“Aye, but I don't recall it ever being discussed among us before,” Balgruuf growled. “We already lost a god, we have to lose a Hold as well?”

Madanach was definitely gritting his teeth at this point and even Nepos seemed a little on edge, but it was Maven who stepped up to the challenge.

“Well, I don't see a problem, Balgruuf, after all it's not like it's yours.”

“You don't share a border with him!” Balgruuf snapped, and Madanach could take no more.

“Look, if you'd just let her use your palace in the first place, she wouldn't have needed to ask me for help, would she?” Madanach growled, fist clenching on the table, and Balgruuf had turned on him, barely bothering to hide the hostility.

“Don't tell me you hadn't planned that out weeks in advance!” Balgruuf cried and Elisif could feel her throat tightening as she realised this was what she'd feared most, the Moot spiralling out of control and her allies at each other's throats... and then she was aware of Nepos tugging gently at her sleeve.

“Get their attention,” Nepos said quietly. “Then let me deal with this.”

Elisif nodded, keen for anyone to defuse things and seeing it was Nepos's Hold, he had every right to speak.

“That's enough!” she called, raising her voice. “Balgruuf, Madanach, stop it at once! Jarl Nepos has something he wants to say, seeing as we're discussing his Hold.”

“Oh, I bet I can guess what his thoughts on the matter are,” Balgruuf muttered, but he sat back and indicated for Nepos to speak. Madanach did likewise, looking positively smug.

“He's Jarl of the Reach. Let him speak,” Madanach said calmly, clearly looking forward to this. He wasn't disappointed.

“Thank you, Madanach. Now then, Jarl Balgruuf,” Nepos said smoothly. “I am an old man who never expected to be Jarl of the Reach, and who no doubt never would have been had the previous Jarl not lost the Jarl of Solitude in his prison, an incident which led to her running away with the Forsworn.”

Low chuckle from Madanach, who was acknowledging the truth of this to an almost impressed Maven. Balgruuf barely shot him a filthy look before turning back to Nepos.

“Yes, I know the story. Your point being? It's a rare Jarl of Skyrim who'd be willing to sign his Hold over to another people, after all.”

“He's not signing it over to another people, he's bringing it home to them,” Madanach snapped. Balgruuf barely spared him a glance, still waiting for Nepos to finish.

“Look, Balgruuf, it's not a surprise you've little love for the Forsworn and frankly I can't say I entirely blame you, but consider this. Right now, you have a hold in the centre of Skyrim, and if this treaty gets passed, you will have a nation of unruly Reachmen on your western border. Is that perhaps your objection?” Nepos folded his hands, still polite as ever.

“Hardly,” snorted Balgruuf, before political reality forced him to concede that yes, it was a little bit of a worry for Whiterun.

“Well then, consider this,” Nepos said calmly. “If the treaty doesn't pass, say for example if Jarl Elisif's not elected Queen after all and someone else spikes it, instead of a nation of unruly Reachmen on your western border... you'll have a Hold of unruly Reachmen on both your western and eastern borders.” He leaned back, satisfied look on his face as Balgruuf processed this and recalled too late that he already had Madanach's troops on his eastern border as well as that unprotected border with the Reach, and that Talos only knew what sort of thing the Reachmen might come up with if screwed over, wasn't that why Ulfric had come down on them as hard as he had when he'd invaded?

Balgruuf finally turned to Madanach, grimacing at him but already wearing the air of a man who'd lost this one.

“You are a barbarian,” he snapped, and Madanach's smile barely even flickered, in fact he was grinning at Kraldar and Maven in turn, almost basking in the attention. Balgruuf grunted in disgust and turned to Elisif and Nepos again.

“Fine, but he better not cause any trouble for my Hold, or I will hold you accountable, Elisif,” Balgruuf snapped.

“Acceptable,” Elisif heard herself say, heart pounding as she realised this was it, she'd actually gained her first vote for High Queen! “Don't worry, Balgruuf, I've not forgotten the service you did in risking your city against the dragons for me. I won't stand by and let my allies suffer, even if that means telling off my other allies.” A pointed look for Madanach at this point, who had the nerve to pout.

“Much appreciated, Jarl Elisif,” Balgruuf grunted. “In that case, Whiterun stands behind Elisif of Solitude as High Queen.”

“Thank you,” Elisif gasped. “I accept your fealty, Jarl Balgruuf.” And that was it. Done. First vote in the bag. And then the second, as Nepos, perhaps feeling that as he'd stepped up to help Elisif out, he might as well go all out and cast his vote for her, and she had two Jarls behind her.

“Thank you, Jarl Nepos,” Elisif said. “I'm obviously voting for myself, but clearly three votes isn't enough. What about everyone else, what do you think?”

She'd been studiously avoiding looking at Siddgeir the entire time, Balgruuf being enough to keep him out of her direct line of vision, and Maven and Madanach on his other side would hopefully be enough to intimidate him... but alas it turned out not to be.

Siddgeir was rising to his feet, something in his hands... jewellery? It looked like there was a chain... oh no. No no no, not here, not now! It had been bad enough last night.

“Before anything goes any further, I have a question,” Siddgeir said calmly, too smooth for Elisif's liking by far. “It's the matter of the succession. It hasn't escaped my attention that most of those at this table are on the older side, and only four of them actually have children. It's also occurred to me that Jarl Elisif is unmarried and childless, but also young enough to take a second husband and acquire some heirs that way. I think we can all agree there's no point voting for anyone who's going to leave the succession in the air and force us through another war when they die. And so, Falkreath's conditions for its vote are these.” Siddgeir let the Amulet of Mara in his hand fall loose, visible to all, before placing it around his neck and smirking expectantly at Elisif. “My apologies for springing this on you like this, Jarl Elisif, I was hoping to discuss it last night but alas I was indisposed. Jarl Elisif, as I'm the youngest male Jarl here and eligible for marriage, I propose this. You agree to marry me, and Falkreath will be your most loyal supporter.”

And if I don't? Elisif hardly needed to ask. Siddgeir wasn't the type to openly rebel but he'd do his best to sow dissension. Talk her down behind her back until even her own allies started doubting her, questioning her decisions, implying she was in thrall to the Reachmen, until she was worn down enough to give in, or be easy prey to a dethronement, a High Queen with no real power or respect, all the heroism of the Dragonborn Queen forgotten. He'd make her pay if she refused him.

But she couldn't forget that night all those years ago, hot alcohol-laced breath on her face, protesting she had a boyfriend, she wasn't interested, please, but backed up against a wall as darker impulses lurked in his eyes, and unable to get away, scared to fight, scared to run, no one coming to help or even looking her way, scared most of all at how angry Torygg would be if he found her with someone else, even though she didn't want any of this. Hand on her breast, and knee shoving her legs apart, anger in Siddgeir's eyes as he'd told her to stop struggling, she should be pleased a noble thought she was worth his time.

Torygg had saved her that time. He'd torn Siddgeir off her and laid into him with a ferocity she'd hardly seen before or since, and once they'd been separated and Torygg had furiously ordered his guards to throw Siddgeir out of his city, Elisif had sobbed in his arms, scared he'd leave her over this. He hadn't. He'd held her tight and told her he loved her, and then he'd stood up to his father the next day and insisted Siddgeir was banned from the Hold. She'd not expected Istlod to give in, but he had, and not long after that, Torygg had asked her to marry him. Whatever she'd learned since, she'd believed at the time he genuinely loved her, and she still thought that was true up to a point.

But Torygg was gone and no one was riding to her rescue now, even though Brina was protesting you couldn't hold someone to ransom over a marriage proposal and Balgruuf was thundering at Siddgeir on how dare he defile the sanctity of the Moot with his own personal lusts, and Madanach... was it her or was it cold in here?

She looked Madanach's way and realised with a vague sense of horror that the wall behind him was covered in ice, and the ceiling too, in fact there was a whole line of it racing in Siddgeir's direction and several sharp stalactites poised like a dragon's teeth right over Siddgeir's head.

Slowly her eyes met Madanach's, and she realised they were glowing with barely-controlled frost magic, and his face was twisted in a vicious grimace that was in its own way more frightening than any dragon, and Elisif slowly realised that Madanach had used every bit of control he had to stop himself killing Siddgeir, and it wouldn't take a lot to push him over the edge.

She had to do something. But she had no idea what.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madanach for his part had realised what was up as soon as Siddgeir started talking succession issues, and from anyone else, it would have been a valid point. Madanach's rational side obviously knew it wasn't even that outrageous a demand, plenty of alliances involved a marriage to seal the deal, he'd come to power among the Reachmen thanks to his first marriage in large part, it wasn't a killing matter, not really.

His irrational side thought no such thing, in fact he could feel the rage building up as Siddgeir kept talking. And then he'd revealed the amulet, an Amulet of Mara again, why did this keep coming up? A token of love, a sign of affection? Courtship, had to be, but what linked Siddgeir's ambitions and Elisif wearing one in private with him last night?

“Kraldar,” he murmured to the Jarl of Winterhold. “What's up with the Amulet of Mara? Elisif had one on after the party last night as well.”

Kraldar looked up, astonished. “She wore one of those – and in private, goodness it would have to be, every noble in north Tamriel would descend if she wore one of those in public. She wore one for you??”

“Yes,” Madanach growled. “Apparently. What does it mean? Why's Siddgeir got one?”

“It's a Nord custom,” Kraldar said quietly. “Life's short and hard, we can't waste time on long, lengthy courtships. If we want to get married, we wear an Amulet of Mara, and people who are interested can use that as an excuse to talk to us, offer their hand. Or we can wear one for a lover if we want to move things to the next level. Mara's mercy, you had no idea, did you?”

Madanach slowly shook his head, turning back to the conversation just in time to hear Siddgeir give his ultimatum and something in him snapped. Heedless of Kraldar staring at the wall and ceiling in shock, of Maven and Idgrod both starting upright, of Brina shivering and Nepos's horrified expression, all Madanach could think of was rending Siddgeir apart, a vague recollection that Dibella wouldn't be pleased if he got blood all over the Moot being all that was holding him back, and underlying all of this was the heartbroken guilt that if he'd known about the Amulet's significance, he could have proposed last night, had Elisif as his already, given Elisif the perfect way to decline with grace. But he hadn't known any of that, which meant Elisif wasn't promised to anyone officially, and by Dibella, no, she wouldn't, would she? Slowly, Madanach looked up, just about controlled enough for that at least, and met Elisif's eyes. She looked terrified... and disgusted and outraged and furious, and had she been just an ordinary Nord and Siddgeir some creep in a tavern, he'd likely already be dead by now. But a Queen had limits and Elisif was just finding them out now.

No. Absolutely not. He does not get to blackmail you over this. Slowly, Madanach rose to his feet, barely even needing illusions to look more frightening at this point.

“Elisif,” he growled. “Seeing as we're all talking terms for our support, it's about time I stated mine, hmm?”

Elisif was looking pale and frightened but the longer she kept watching him, the stronger she seemed to get and after a few seconds she seemed to rally. Pulling herself together, she nodded.

“Speak, Madanach.”

“Thank you,” Madanach said, feeling the rage die a little now that he had the room's attention, even Siddgeir falling silent, although he'd not stopped glaring at Madanach. Let him, Madanach could live with some Nord Jarl despising him. Of course, now that he had his opportunity to speak, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. He did know one thing though. He wasn't a good man, but he was a better man than Siddgeir and he'd be damned if he'd offer for Elisif's hand for anything other than the best of reasons. And yet he'd been forced to this. Making Elisif an offer she couldn't refuse to get her away from Siddgeir. All the same though, there was more than one thing he could offer.

“Elisif, Windhelm recognises it would still be in the grip of Nord rebels if not for you, and it thanks you sincerely. We want to offer you our support and we will... but only if we can remain certain of your leadership and can be assured you won't fall under the influence of anyone untoward. Not to put too fine a point on it, we want a High Queen we can respect. And Elisif, if you say yes to Siddgeir, my respect for you will wither and die, and Windhelm's support will be gone. My support relies on nothing less than you promising to me you'll only wed someone you truly care about.”

Elisif's eyes had widened throughout all this, face flushing as she realised what he was up to, and then she glanced around at the other Jarls, virtually all of whom except Siddgeir were nodding in agreement. It seemed Madanach had struck a chord. Elisif turned her attention back to him, seeming to see something in his eyes that reassured her, and then she nodded once, before getting to her feet and turning to Siddgeir.

“Siddgeir, your kind offer is appreciated, but I'm afraid the answer's no. The plain truth of the matter is Windhelm's support is of far more value to me than yours, and I can hardly jeopardise the peace process in the Reach at this stage, can I?” Elisif sighed, face closing up and if she'd looked frightened before, she certainly didn't look it now. She had her arms folded, staring down Siddgeir, not like a fearsome Nord warrior queen but as something even worse for Siddgeir – a slightly bored and rather annoyed young woman who viewed him about the same way as a dog viewed its fleas.

“You... what?” Siddgeir spluttered. “You're... turning me down??”

“Yes,” Elisif said calmly. “For some reason, I don't see the appeal in marrying a man who shoved me against a wall and groped me the first time we met.”

Madanach hadn't expected her to outright say it, and judging from the rest of the room, neither had anyone else. But it had got everyone's attention, as all the other Jarls turned to Siddgeir, expressions ranging from disgust to disappointment to utter fascination.

“I... well... look, I didn't know you were Torygg's girlfriend, it was all a misunderstanding!” Siddgeir protested. It didn't save him.

“That shouldn't matter!” Brina snapped from across the table, firmly in the disgusted camp.

“Shame on you,” Idgrod added. “Harassing that poor innocent girl like that!”

“Innocent – she's a Dragonborn!” Siddgeir cried.

“Not back then she wasn't,” Nepos said cheerfully. “Your power only manifested itself this year, didn't it Elisif?”

“That's right,” Elisif replied, treating Nepos to a sweet smile that contrasted all the more fiercely with the scowl that found itself going Siddgeir's way a second later. “Back then I was just a young girl at a party who'd made herself look pretty because her new boyfriend was coming later.”

“But... what... I...” Siddgeir pulled himself together and glared back at her. “Fine. Have it your way. I'll just have to vote against you instead.”

“You can't vote against her if no one else is standing, you can only abstain or nominate yourself,” Balgruuf tersely explained to Siddgeir.

For a brief moment, Siddgeir actually seemed to be contemplating running himself, glancing around the remaining uncommitted voters – only to realise Madanach would never back him, Kraldar would vote whichever way Madanach did if he wanted all that rebuilding money from the Reach to materialise, Brina and Idgrod were both glaring sternly at him and would likely slap him for even asking for their votes, and Maven was casually examining her nails and not looking at Siddgeir. Still, she was his best option.

“Maven,” Siddgeir began. “Maven, I have a lot of friends in the Empire, I can help rebuild your Hold...”

“Thank you, but I already made arrangements with Elisif regarding assistance with the disaster relief effort,” Maven said, shrugging. “And promises are only worth something if they can be honoured. I very much doubt your connections with the Empire are better than Elisif's.”

Madanach couldn't help but glance at Elisif, wondering if Elisif had told her. But Elisif looked confused too. Which meant there was no way Maven could know for sure... but she did have eyes everywhere and who knew what she'd heard. Still, Madanach would take support where he could get it.

Siddgeir meanwhile saw his last hope draining away as he finally realised what his ego had prevented all this time – that Elisif wasn't a frightened young girl anymore, she was a dragonslaying warrior now, and the Jarl of a Hold considerably richer than his, with considerably more friends and connections than he had. Unfortunately for him, said ego wouldn't let him take that lying down.

“You... you bitch!” Siddgeir roared at Elisif. “I'll ruin you, I swear it, how dare you make me look an idiot, how dare you tell everyone...!”

Idgrod gasped Siddgeir's name in shock, Brina was on her feet now shouting that that was enough, Madanach could already feel his magic reacting as the ice re-appeared, just waiting to bite into this son-of-a-bitch Jarl, and then Balgruuf got to his feet, and Madanach promptly forgave the Jarl of Whiterun everything.

“All right, you're done, Siddgeir,” Balgruuf snapped, grabbing Siddgeir by the front of his clothes and hauling him towards the door, and despite Balgruuf being in his fifties, it appeared he was still in good shape, and fitter and stronger than Siddgeir too.

“Wait, what, you can't do this to me!” Siddgeir cried, struggling but to no avail. “This is the Moot, you can't shed blood in the Moot!”

“Haven't spilled any yet,” Balgruuf growled. “But you do not talk to a Jarl of Skyrim like that and expect to go unpunished. Elisif, this is your city, what do you want done with him?”

“Just throw him out, we'll record his vote as an abstention,” Elisif sighed. “Tell the guards on the door I want him out of this city by sunset.”

Siddgeir was still screaming that they couldn't do this to him, he was a Jarl, even as Balgruuf bundled him out of the door and cheerfully repeated Elisif's instructions to a waiting Argis, who sounded positively delighted to see them carried out. That was Madanach's boy, that was. Madanach idly wondered if Siddgeir would still have all his teeth when he left the city.

The door closed and Balgruuf returned, kicking Siddgeir's chair into a corner and enjoying the extra space on that side of the table. Maven and Nepos also seemed to enjoy spreading out a bit too. Madanach however was more worried about Elisif. She wasn't looking at anyone, just staring at the table, probably realising she'd just told the entire room Siddgeir had once sexually assaulted her and was now regretting it deeply. Probably she thought everyone would now see Elisif the victim, not Elisif the fire-breathing hero.

Madanach couldn't go to her, not like he wanted to, the illusions out in the hall had taken long enough to sort out. But he could do something. A little trickery, a little courage spell and the illusion of his voice whispering in her ear that he still loved her and she would be all right.

Elisif glanced up, surprised, then her eyes met his and a sad little smile crossed her face as she mouthed 'thank you' at him then straightened up.

“Does anyone who's already voted for me wish to withdraw their vote?” she asked, sounding a little bit nervous and Madanach hoped no one actually did because she looked like she might cry if that happened.

And then the Jarls of Skyrim all collectively amazed him and Elisif both.

“Withdraw it?” Balgruuf snorted. “I'd have reconsidered if you'd said yes. But for standing up to him, you've only got my deepest respect. I'm still behind you, Elisif.”

“As am I,” Nepos added gently. “Don't you worry about a thing, my dear, I've got the Hold next to his, I'll make sure he can't try anything untoward.”

Elisif looked up and gasped then actually took Nepos's hand and squeezed it.

“Gods bless you, Nepos, you're a dear sweet man,” Elisif told him, and for the Steward of the Forsworn and the High Queen to be of Skyrim to be smiling at each other and holding hands like old friends wasn't something Madanach would ever have seen coming at one time, and he'd have regarded it as rank treachery if it had. Now he just watched and thought it was adorable.

“You've got my vote as well, dear,” Idgrod spoke up, taking Elisif's other hand. “Well done for telling him where to go, he's had it coming for years. I always knew that boy was no good. It was a sad day for Falkreath when he ended up as Jarl. Just thank the Eight Nenya knows her business. In the mean time, Hjaalmarch is more than pleased to stand behind you, Jarl Elisif.”

“Thank you!” Elisif gasped, letting Nepos go and taking both Idgrod's hands in hers. “Your support means a lot to me.”

Both women grinned at each other for a moment more before Elisif let Idgrod go, her eyes instinctively falling on the next Jarl in line, Brina Merilis of Dawnstar.

“I don't know Siddgeir that well but I can't say I care for the man,” Brina sniffed. “You did well getting rid of him. Only he may prove to be a problem later, do you have a plan for dealing with that?”

“Not yet,” Elisif admitted after only the briefest hesitation. “I need to talk to my advisers first, explore our options. Honestly, it all depends on if he's planning to fall out with the Empire as well as me. I'll have General Tullius send people there to find out – if he stays loyal to the Empire and doesn't start actively fomenting rebellion, we might be able to just leave him be. And if he decides to spit in the Empire's face as well... well, I suppose that would sort the problem out for me.”

“You're relying on the Empire a little too much, Jarl Elisif,” Brina said, frowning a little. “And I say that as a loyal former Legionnaire. If you would be a leader, you need to be able to flex your own power when necessary.”

“Believe me, if he gives me a reason to dethrone him, I will,” Elisif promised. “But I'll only flex my power when it is necessary, Brina. I can't just execute Jarls because I don't like them.”

“I think you'd have just cause in his case,” Brina said, but she sounded like she approved. “But I agree you should only fight when it's needed. And for what it's worth, I think you did well earlier. Just be aware you've made an enemy in Falkreath.”

“I don't think I ever truly had a friend there,” Elisif said bitterly. Then she cocked her head, slight smile on her face as she kept her eyes trained on Brina. “But did it gain me a friend in Dawnstar?”

Brina had clearly been caught a bit on the hop by that and it showed. Then she sighed, accepted the inevitable and nodded.

“You already had one,” Brina admitted. “I think you'll make a fine High Queen. The Pale backs you, Jarl Elisif.”

Elisif actually gasped at that and whispered a breathless thank you back, and Madanach counted up the votes and realised the same thing that was occurring to Elisif – with Whiterun, Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, the Reach, the Pale and Windhelm all behind her, and Falkreath abstaining, the crown was now hers even if the other two abstained. Which Kraldar wouldn't if he wanted that mine investing in and Saarthal resettling, with a portal link to the Reach once Keirine had figured out the stabilisation technicalities.

But the voting wasn't quite done yet. Elisif turned to Kraldar, who automatically turned to Madanach, and it occurred to him he'd not officially voted for her yet. Best get that taken care of.

“Actually,” Madanach interrupted. “Before we do anything else, can I say a few words? Just need to, you know, get a few things settled before I cast my vote. Don't worry, Elisif, it's nothing bad.”

The ice his magic had summoned had faded when Siddgeir had left, and Madanach's magic was safely back under control now, but even so, the room was getting a little restive and everyone was watching him carefully. Including Elisif, who looked a bit surprised but indicated for him to speak.

“All right. Three things and I'll make them quick,” Madanach promised. “First, thank you for not agreeing to marry Siddgeir. I imagine you'll probably remarry eventually, but whoever it is, make sure they respect you. That's all I ask.”

“You could stand to be asking a lot more of me, you know, but thank you,” Elisif said, her voice sweet and gentle as always and that smile a genuine one, and by the gods, Madanach loved her. But now was hardly the time. They had business to get on with.

“Maybe I'll ask later,” Madanach said softly. “Second thing I wanted to say was Eastmarch wholeheartedly backs you for High Queen. I go home and tell them I voted for someone else, they'll be calling for my head.”

That did get a few chuckles from some of those present and Elisif blushed a little at the praise.

“Well, you go home and tell them you're one of my most loyal supporters and I'm very grateful for the backing,” Elisif laughed, before tilting her head, curious. “So if that was your official vote, what was the third thing? You can't have conditions to add now.”

And here was the nervewracking bit. He couldn't say everything he wanted, not here, not in front of all these Jarls. But he'd say what he could and let her figure it out.

“Only this,” Madanach said, lowering his eyes because if he had to look at her through all this, he'd lose his nerve, he knew. “That I know now what you were trying to say to me last night. And I'm sorry I didn't realise. Must have taken you a lot of courage to do that, and I just ignored it completely, and I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive an old Reachman for not knowing a lot about Nord customs.”

“I think I can manage that,” Elisif said, but she sounded rather nervous all of a sudden. “Madanach, where is this going exactly?”

Means I want you to marry me, High Queen who gave me my life back. But the Moot was neither the time or place to have that conversation.

“Just that if you wanted to revisit that conversation later on, I will happily listen,” Madanach told her, and the little gasp from Elisif followed by a shy smile and her cheeks flushing pink told him all he needed to know.

“I might do that,” Elisif said softly and for a few brief seconds no one spoke as the two of them just smiled at each other – or at least they did until Brina coughed and brought Elisif's attention back to proceedings.

“Right, yes, the rest of the votes, of course,” Elisif said, shaking herself down and recovering her composure and smiling rather breathlessly at Kraldar. “Jarl Kraldar, you were going to cast your vote?”

Kraldar recollected he had been about to do that very thing, yes, and soon Elisif had another Hold at her back. Which meant seven Holds in favour, one abstaining, Elisif was High Queen now regardless of what happened next... but Maven Black-Briar, Jarl of Riften, hadn't voted yet and no one could ever discount Maven's influence.

“Before I cast my vote,” Maven said smoothly. “I did have one question. I don't know if the answer will affect my vote, but I'm more likely to get an answer here than elsewhere.”

“I'll do my best,” Elisif promised. “What did you want to know?”

“Simply this,” Maven said. “I noticed it last night and I noticed it today as well. There do seem to be an awful lot of Penitus Oculatus soldiers around, don't there?”

Madanach could feel his blood chill and he glanced at Elisif to see how she was taking this. Commendably calmly, it turned out.

“They've maintained a presence in Haafingar since the Emperor's planned visit and are remaining here to keep an eye on Imperial security arrangements in Skyrim, Maven,” Elisif explained, which as far as non-committal answers to difficult questions went was quite a good one... if you weren't dealing with Maven, that was.

“I'm sure they are,” Maven purred. “And I would certainly expect to see a Penitus Oculatus presence in and around Castle Dour given the sensitivity of the Moot's proceedings. However, there do seem to be an awful lot more of them than I would have thought, and they mostly seem to appear when you enter a room or just prior to your entrance. I was also very surprised to notice them all over the Blue Palace.” Maven leaned forward, lips curving into a questioning little smile despite the fact she probably already knew exactly what the answer was. “Elisif, the Penitus Oculatus do not handle the Empire's security per se, they handle the Emperor's security and that of members of his immediate family. I find it hard to believe the Jarl of a Hold in one of the provinces would need an Oculatus protection detail, still less be granted one. Even if she is the next High Queen. Is the Emperor truly that afraid of someone assassinating you and a war breaking out again?”

Silence as five Jarls started pondering the implications of this and thinking to themselves that there had been rather a lot of Oculatus people in the Blue Palace, hadn't there? Madanach was personally hoping his nerves weren't showing, Elisif's were all too obvious, and Nepos was staring at him, looking personally betrayed, and he wasn't the only one. Kraldar was now tugging at his arm.

“Madanach, what does she mean?” Kraldar was whispering. “Is she implying Elisif's part of the Imperial family?? But she's not even Imperial, and she can't be his illegitimate daughter, I remember her father was that bard, Varnyr Silvertongue, she even looks a bit like he used to.”

“You knew her father?” Madanach had to ask, and at least it deflected the other question.

“Oh yes, he was a very popular bard in his day, but hardly a nobleman – Madanach? Madanach, do you know something about this?”

“It's not my business to tell,” Madanach said quietly, just as Elisif finally recovered her breath and sat up, staring Maven right in the eye.

“I didn't request the protection detail,” Elisif said firmly. “I had it assigned to me. Had it been my choice, I'd have relied on the Haafingar Guard and my own agents. But they're here and they're doing their job, so I can live with their presence.”

“I'm sure you can,” Maven purred, smiling. “But you didn't tell me why you have one.”

Silence, and now all eyes were on Elisif for her response. Madanach clenched his fists, hoping he wasn't giving away anything and wishing he could help, but honestly this was her secret and hers alone to reveal. Whether she'd do it or not, he had no idea, but they all would find out eventually. Maybe now was the best time.

Elisif said nothing, pursing her lips and clearly thinking this one over, eyes never leaving Maven's. Then she just shrugged and turned away, staring at the centre of the table.

“All right. Fine. I suppose you all have a right to know, and you're likely going to find out sooner or later. The protection detail was ordered by Emperor Titus Mede himself, after I met with him in Windhelm after we'd liberated it from the Stormcloaks. Apparently, he approved of my methods.”

Half the table immediately glanced Madanach's way, which was a little insulting if he was honest.

“Don't look at me, he hated me on sight,” Madanach said, shrugging. “He only put up with me because he thinks the Forsworn might have a few dirty tricks he can use.”

That appeared to surprise no one, and by this point Madanach wondered whether it was even worth feeling insulted any more. But they only glanced his way briefly and then all eyes were back on Elisif.

“Why's he giving you a protection detail?” Balgruuf asked, voice low and gentle and more than a bit concerned, words echoing off the stone walls of the chamber in the silence that had fallen. “Elisif? Is he that worried about Skyrim's future?”

“Not Skyrim's,” Elisif said softly. “Not just Skyrim's. He has an Empire to worry about, no heirs, he's an old man with time running out... and he believes the Empire's lost its way since the last of the Dragonborn Emperors died. Since Tiber Septim's line died out. He asked for my help.”

Not a word. No one speaking. Confusion on Kraldar's face, Brina murmuring 'surely not' under her breath, Idgrod breathing heavily but not looking too surprised, Nepos's face a mask, Balgruuf was staring at Elisif in shocked silence and Maven... she was positively amazed.

“I knew it,” Maven breathed and now it was Balgruuf's turn to round on her.

“Know what, woman??” Balgruuf demanded. “What's Elisif signed up to?”

“It's either marriage or... no it can't be marriage, he was at that meeting and the room's not currently experiencing a blizzard,” Maven mused, shooting an amused grin at Madanach. “And Mede's in his eighties, he knows an heir fathered now would still be a child when he died. No, he needs an heir in her twenties, one who's already an adult and just needs a few years to get some leadership experience and a few heirs of her own and then she can take over when he dies... and we have a Dragonborn Empress again.”

Little gasps from around the table as everyone turned as one to Elisif, who was staring guiltily at her hands, face scarlet, not even attempting to look anything other than mortified at being found out. Madanach felt rather sorry for her, but right now he had other problems, because the one other Jarl not staring at Elisif was staring very accusingly at him.

“You knew!” Nepos scolded. “You knew, and you never told me!”

“I don't have to tell you everything!” Madanach protested. “It wasn't anyone's business but Elisif's! I'm not going to betray her trust and risk the message getting leaked!”

“Betray her trust?” Nepos snapped. “We've known each other over forty years, Madanach!”

“Oh so you definitely are a Forsworn agent then, that's comforting to know,” Balgruuf muttered darkly.

“It was national security, Nepos!” Madanach sighed. “All right, look, I'm sorry. I just didn't want anyone to know before Elisif was ready for people to know, and it's not even official yet anyway and I don't even know if Elisif's actually said yes yet.”

“So it is true!” Maven gasped, delighted. “I knew it!”

Madanach risked a glance at Elisif, who'd gritted her teeth and was now glaring very hard at him, and Madanach revised his plans of asking her to marry him tonight. From the look on her face, it was far more likely she'd be ordering his balls nailed to the Solitude Bridge.

“You'd have had to tell them anyway?” Madanach offered, hoping it would placate her. Elisif shook her head and narrowed her eyes but mercifully did not order a ceremonial castration and trophy display. Not yet anyway.

“Emperor Titus Mede offered to adopt me as his heir if I was able to become High Queen and get the Reach treaty through,” Elisif sighed. “I told him I would think about it.”

“Don't think about it!” Balgruuf interrupted. “Say yes, woman! I mean...” He stopped as he realised he'd just given an order to the Imperial Heir, not to mention his new High Queen and quite possibly he should be a touch more respectful. “Er... Elisif, it'd be an honour to have one of our own on the Ruby Throne – Talos, do you have any idea how Skyrim would react to this? Never mind Tiber Septim, Skyrim might just make you the next Divine.”

“Oh gods, no,” was Elisif's immediate and panicked response, and Madanach remembered right then why he loved her.

“It's not compulsory, is it?” Madanach asked, amused. “Becoming a Divine just because you can breathe fire.”

“Hardly,” Brina told him. “But Imperial Heir, by the gods... I almost can't believe it.”

“It's still not official,” Elisif sighed. “The official announcement's going to have to come from the Emperor. But yes. I... could well be the next Empress. Which means I might have to resign the throne when that happens. I don't really know what happens after that. I guess there'll be a new Jarl and another Moot. I hope... I hope you're all all right with that.”

“All right with it? All right with it?? Good gods, Elisif, you'd be the best thing to happen to Tamriel in years!” Idgrod cried, tears in her eyes. “Couldn't have happened to a better person.”

“I'd have to agree,” Nepos added, patting Elisif's arm gently. “Maybe Himself could possibly have mentioned this a little sooner, but you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, looking around to see a table full of Jarls all looking very very proud of her. Or pleased at any rate, especially in Maven's case. Talking of which...

“Does this mean I have Riften's vote?” Elisif asked. Maven nodded, predatory grin firmly fixed in place.

“Of course!” Maven laughed. “Riften is completely behind its friends in the Empire, you know that. And... I believe that's the voting done. Which means you just became High Queen of Skyrim.”

“Oh,” Elisif whispered. And then... “Oh! I mean, I'm High Queen! Madanach, I'm High Queen!”

Madanach could swear the room had gone a bit blurry, and he was smiling and couldn't stop, and he never ever thought he'd be this pleased to hear about a new High King or Queen of Skyrim. But he was. He'd not been this happy in weeks. Or months? Years? He couldn't remember. About the only other times he'd felt like this were the births of his children... or with Elisif in his arms.

“Yes you are,” he breathed. “I'm so proud of you.”

Elisif beamed back, apparently too pleased to even think what to do next, at least until Nepos gently prodded her and told her she should go and hand the Solitude banner over for display on the bridge, let the people know.

“Right, yes, of course!” Elisif gasped, getting up and practically skipping over to the table in the corner with nine labelled banners rolled up on it. It didn't take her long to pick out the red and black one for Solitude and soon she was knocking on the outer door and whispering “the Moot's done, can you take this... thank you so much...” and then peering out from behind the door to wait for the reaction.

Madanach had a feeling he knew what the reaction would be, but he made his way over to join her anyway, standing at her shoulder and listening out as the guards on watch secured the banner to the bridge, the city's chatter dying away as the huge crowd assembled in Solitude's marketplace realised the Moot was over and fell silent. Then the banner unfurled and the Wolf's Head of Solitude was revealed for all to see, and there was a moment while the city held its breath... before erupting in a cheer as mighty as any dragon's Thu'um, a thundering scream of approval that echoed and shook the entire city.

“Oh! I wasn't expecting...” Elisif whispered, and then after a few moments the shrieking subsided a little, only to be replaced by several thousand people all taking up the chant of “EL-I-SIF! EL-I-SIF! EL-I-SIF!”

“I think they like you,” Madanach purred, deciding he no longer actually gave a flying fuck for pretending Elisif wasn't his dearly beloved and put an arm around her, and to his surprise she didn't seem to mind. In fact she'd barely reacted at all, just staring out at the scene of an entire city chanting her name.

“They like me!” Elisif whispered, her voice breaking and Madanach realised there were tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Yes,” he whispered, drawing her closer and cuddling her. “Of course they do. Why wouldn't they? You got me to like you and I couldn't stand Nords. They're all primed to worship dragon-slaying Nord heroes in the first place, of course they've all gone mad for you.”

“Oh,” Elisif whispered, and then she was clinging on to him, part laughing, part crying, tears drenching her cheeks and his but smiling, just smiling ecstatically and Madanach held on to her tight, loving his beautiful High Queen more than ever.

“Lovers. Knew it,” Maven could be heard to sigh in the background.

“Hey. She's happy. Leave her be.” Balgruuf, for once actually sounding like he approved of Madanach. Madanach suspected that wouldn't happen again for a while.

“Lovers, eh? Now that would explain a lot. Still, it gives me a little more confidence in this Reach becoming a separate province business,” Brina mused. “Much more palatable for the new King to marry the High Queen.”

“Indeed but do we have to have all this... affection in the process?” Maven asked, sounding utterly disgusted.

“Oh let them, it's nice to see more love in the world,” Idgrod said calmly. “But we could start heading downstairs and leaving them to it.”

“Aye. Good idea,” Balgruuf said, sounding a little relieved himself, and with that the other Jarls started filing out.

“Oops. I think we traumatised Maven,” Elisif whispered, still clinging tearfully to Madanach's robes.

“Ach, she'll get over it,” Madanach murmured, nuzzling Elisif's neck before leaning in to kiss it. “I love you, you know.”

“I do,” Elisif whispered, before stepping back a little and looking up at him. “By the way, earlier, when you said you wanted to talk about what happened last night...”

She was blushing a little, but clearly determined and honestly this was a conversation long overdue. So Madanach stroked her cheek and acquiesced.

“I didn't know about the Amulet. I'm so sorry,” Madanach admitted. “I didn't realise... were you really hoping I'd propose?”

Elisif bit her lip and nodded. “Yes. No. Sort of – I don't know! I just... I saw Siddgeir wearing one and felt physically sick at the thought, and I realised it was only the fact I was technically still in mourning that was keeping everyone else away, and I just... I just wanted to hide but I couldn't and Torygg wasn't here to protect me this time and you couldn't because no one knows about us, except I think word is getting out and...”

“Elisif,” Madanach murmured, placing a finger on her lips and hushing her. “Stop. Breathe. Start again. Do you really want me as a husband and not just to keep unwanted suitors at bay?”

Elisif hesitated and then nodded, still looking rather breathless.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, of course. I'm just so tired of being alone, and pretending, and having the Oculatus in a panic because I'm not in my room in the morning and it's unseemly to invite you in there. I just... I just want you there, Madanach. Without having to worry about if it's all right or what people think. I want a relationship I don't have to hide. I want... I want a husband again. And babies. Lots of babies! And... and I can't imagine doing that with anyone else now. If... if that's all right?”

Madanach held her, bittersweet emotions threatening to drown him as he realised he wanted to give her all that... but time was not on his side.

“I'm nearly sixty, Elisif. I could die, probably will die, when any kids we have are still young. I can spend the rest of my life with you, but you won't have that with me.”

“Torygg was a young man in his prime, and he still died,” Elisif whispered back. “With the right healthcare, you could live another twenty years maybe. And you've got so many kids already, any we have will have plenty of older siblings to help look after them if anything happens to you. And Madanach, I'm Queen and likely to be Empress, I might not live to a ripe old age either if an assassin gets lucky.”

“I won't let that happen,” Madanach growled, holding her tighter.

“It only has to happen once,” Elisif reminded him and Madanach didn't answer, just kissed her cheek and clutched her to him. Not if he could help it, it wouldn't.

“Not with the best battlemage of the Reach by your side and in your bed,” Madanach said fiercely. “I'm not letting you die, I swear it.”

“Is that a yes?” Elisif asked, coquettish little smile starting to appear. Madanach thought about it and then took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “If you'll have me.”

Elisif stared back at him, face still wet from earlier, and then she was smiling again and that was it, that was the same smile from Cidhna Mine except brighter, happier and meant for him this time, really his and not just Torygg's leavings.

He'd just about managed to process the fact he was grinning stupidly back at her before she was kissing him and Madanach closed his eyes and surrendered to the moment. He'd done it. They'd done it. The Reach was going to be free. He was going to marry Elisif. Skyrim wasn't at war and the world was safe, and everything was going to be all right.

I got away. I got away from that prison and it's going to be all right.

“Yes. Yes it is,” Elisif soothed as she held him and he realised he'd said that last bit out loud. He just held her tighter, not sure what happened now or if he'd even be any good as a husband... but maybe it was different when your wife wasn't a power-hungry witch who hated you for never giving her a son.

Slowly he became aware the cheering was dying away, only to be replaced with Nords (and indeed Reachkin voices – Madanach would know those harmonies anywhere) all starting to sing, and although it seemed only a few of them at first, it wasn't long before the entire city seemed to have taken up the refrain.

Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.

“They're singing your song,” Madanach murmured.

“That bloody song,” Elisif whispered, tears in her eyes again. “They didn't need to do that, that's not why I'm Queen!”

“Oh, I think it helped,” Madanach grinned. “Shall we go and say hello to your waiting public, give them what they want?”

Elisif nodded. “All right then. But you're coming with me, Troth-Plighted.”

Madanach hadn't heard the Nordic term before but even he wasn't so dense as to not work out what that meant. Consort of the High Queen. Possibly even Imperial Consort one day. This was going to take some getting used to. But for Elisif's sake, he'd do it.

As the crowd below sang of the darkness passing and the legend yet growing, Madanach followed in said legend's wake as Elisif the Dragonborn Queen opened the door and stepped out into glorious sunshine, hand raised to salute her people and tears of joy on her face as she looked out on her city and realised she'd done it. Skyrim was safe, the war was well and truly done (except for all the rebuilding and making sure everyone was fed and safe and well, dear gods, the bards never ever mentioned that part), the dragons were, if not defeated, at least reduced to a manageable menace, and the future no longer felt like a looming shadow. Being High Queen no longer felt like a cage. It wasn't Torygg's ill-fitting legacy any more. It was hers, her triumph, her victory... her people, her city and her nation, all celebrating on her behalf.

Leaning out over the edge of the Solitude Bridge with the wind in her hair and the man history would remember as Madanach Saoirseach, Ahmul-se-Dovahkiin and First King of the Reach, holding her hand and gazing fondly on, Elisif Dragonborn, Jarl of Solitude, High Queen of Skyrim, and the woman who would go on to found an Imperial Dynasty to rival the Septims, saluted her people and knew the world was hers.

Notes:

I could have written more but that seemed like such a high to go out on. May have had tears in my eyes when they announced she was High Queen. I have no idea what the Moot and the various rituals surrounding it and the coronation of a new Queen would involve, but I did my best. Canon doesn't give us a lot to go on there.

Saoirseach - Liberator. Ahmul-se-Dovahkiin - Dragonborn's Husband. Brenhinama - my Queen.

Read on for the Epilogue, aka summing up all the bits that happen after this which I couldn't quite get into their own chapter.

Chapter 50: Epilogue

Notes:

There were some final little plot ends that couldn't quite fit in the main story. I make no apologies for telling rather than showing. But this is what followed once Elisif had finished waving to her adoring public.

There is little to be told after that. The ceremony in the Temple of Divines was something of an anticlimax after the howling welcome the citizens of Solitude had given their new High Queen. But Elisif didn't mind. She liked the ritual, the swearing of the sacred vows to protect Skyrim and its people, the presentation of the ring, oh and the ritual crowning, involving the actual Jagged Crown, really hers now and let no one take it from her!

The obligatory speech, mercifully short, but she did announce that her first official act would be to ratify the Windhelm Accord that would formally establish the Reach as an independent Imperial Province... and that while this wasn't a treaty provision, discussions behind the scenes had convinced her the best way of ensuring ongoing friendly relations with the new kingdom would be for the High Queen to wed the new Reach-King and so she was taking Madanach of the Reach as her husband.

The Temple hadn't known how to react to that... until in the third row back, Kodlak Whitemane and the rest of the Companions, including Cicero and Eola, all up in Solitude to see their honorary Shield-Sister Mooted, had all risen to their feet and started applauding, and then Argis had joined them, grabbing Farkas and making him do the same and glaring at the rest of the Solitude Court until they did likewise, and then slowly the applause had spread out across the entire Temple.

And then it was all back to the Bards' College for a party, the rediscovered Tale of Olaf One-Eye and the first ever burning of his effigy where an actual dragon had leaned down from the roof and started the fire. And then Elisif found out what had happened to her discarded Amulet of Mara as Argis had quietly asked Lucia if she had those things he'd told her to look after, and Lucia had produced her little purple satchel with the flowers embroidered on it and retrieved from it one small box and a golden necklace, which she handed over to Argis. Argis had thanked her, donned the necklace and told her to go track her pa down.

Said father was enjoying a pint and a catch-up with Kodlak and Vilkas, who'd decided Farkas needed checking in on and the Moot wouldn't be a proper Moot without mead drunk and songs sung and Solitude was too formal a city to know how to do these things properly, so the whole of Jorrvaskr had turned up to help out.

A good thing indeed, because that meant they got to witness the Steward of Solitude coughing nervously, waiting for Farkas to notice the Amulet of Mara, then announcing that seeing as they had a child together, they couldn't keep on embarrassing the High Queen by openly living in sin in her palace, and Steward's Husband sounded a lot better a title than Steward's Bedwarmer. Then he'd gone down on one knee and presented the ring and quietly added that he loved Farkas dearly and could he possibly spend the rest of his life with him?

Farkas had stared for what felt like hours until Vilkas had nudged him in the side and told him to say something, idiot, your boyfriend just proposed.

“You mean it?” Farkas had whispered. “Really?”

Argis nodded. “Really.”

Farkas had glanced at Lucia to see what she thought of all this, and saw his little girl gazing hopefully up at him, and that was what decided him in the end. Not that he wouldn't have said yes anyway, but knowing his daughter approved sealed the bargain.

“All right then,” Farkas had said gruffly, wiping a tear away as he realised Argis really did love him and really did want him around, even if he was just a half-educated mercenary and not a courtier or political type or anything. Argis would later tell him that was the point, he had enough of politics from his father. But right now, Argis and Farkas were kissing, Lucia was squealing in delight and then it was congratulations all round from an emotional Kodlak and Vilkas congratulating one groom and then warning the other he'd better be a good husband, and then High Queen and Reach-King arriving to do the same thing for Argis, and Sofie and Lucia being promised they could be flower-girls, and Aventus being promised he would never be required to bear flowers at any wedding ever, not even his father's, and then Cicero and Eola arrived to offer their own best wishes, largely involving Eola patting her brother on the back and congratulating him while Cicero squealed and bounced and fawned over Farkas. Somehow Cicero and Farkas had managed to become quite good friends, with Cicero cuddling Farkas and cooing over him and Farkas not minding one bit. It was nice to have someone around who'd never called him ice-brain and would often trill that Farkas should not worry if he was not intellectually gifted, humble Cicero wasn't very bright either and it had never done him any harm. Farkas suspected Cicero was a lot smarter than he let on but he didn't object.

Siddgeir turned out to be less of a problem than anticipated, due largely to rather recklessly riding home from Solitude with just his housecarl and the night closing in. That route had long been dangerous for travellers with lots of unexplained attacks at night... and when Siddgeir didn't return to Falkreath and a panicked Nenya sent word to Solitude demanding an explanation, Elisif had no choice but to investigate.

The blood trail led to a nearby cave across the river, and they found Helvard's body just outside. A joint ReachGuard/Haafingar Guard party eventually found Siddgeir's remains in a captive pen deep inside a Falmer hive. He'd dashed his own brains out on a rock rather than submit to whatever they'd had in store – given they'd already carved bits off him and even the ReachGuard weren't sure if it had been before or after he'd died, Elisif didn't blame him. And so there'd been a burial with honour, Elisif finding it in her to be magnanimous now he was safely dead, and now she needed to find Falkreath a new Jarl.

Her choice had not pleased her husband to be. Or her steward.

“Him?? Right next door to my lands? That used to be his lands?” Madanach roared. “Are you serious??”

“Yes,” Elisif said firmly. “Honestly, Madanach, this is Falkreath, the place is tiny, he's not going to be able to raise an army to take the Reach over.”

“What if he finds necromancers willing to raise the dead in Falkreath's cemetery?” Madanach snapped back. “An undead army of Nord warriors is all I need!”

“He's a Nord!” Elisif cried. “Nords don't hire necromancers to fight their battles, they're not you!”

“She has a point,” Delphine smirked from the shadows. They were gathered in Castle Dour's banquet hall to have this particular discussion, the place having rather more private meeting rooms than the Blue Palace did. Lydia was watching the door, Delphine was leaning up against the wall near the bridge exit, and Elisif was facing off against her own husband, the newly-enthroned Reach-King, with Argis at the head of the table looking like he was getting a headache.

“I didn't ask you,” Madanach snapped, but Delphine, used to Madanach's tirades by this point, just shrugged.

“I work for Elisif, not you. And I can tell you that Igmund, were he to be put in charge of Falkreath, wouldn't have the resources for war. He doesn't have the men, he needs his High Queen's permission to approach the other Jarls for aid against foreign powers, and he doesn't have the coin to hire mercenaries to carry out covert harassment. I can make sure my people are watching in any case. If he tries anything, we'll find out. And then he gets the joy of an irate High Queen hero demanding to know why he's troubling her husband's land.”

“He still thinks it's his by right,” Argis sighed. “Be hard to talk him out of it. Oh and don't forget, Da killed his father. Personally. Head on a spike for ages. Think it only came down when Ulfric took the place over.”

Elisif hadn't heard that particular bit of information before, only that Hrolfdir had been killed by the Forsworn. She'd not known Madanach had actually been the one to do it, and the slightly shamefaced demeanour he'd just gained confirmed it.

“Goodness' sake, Madanach, you are not making this easy for me!” Elisif sighed.

“Good!” Madanach snapped. “I don't want it easy, I want someone else over there. Someone Reach-friendly! Are you sure Nenya can't be Jarl, she's doing well looking after the place!”

“No!” Elisif hissed. “She's an Altmer, I can't put one of them in charge of a Hold! Everyone will think I'm putting a Thalmor stooge in place! Also they live for centuries and take decades to have and raise kids, having them rule humans just doesn't work logistically.”

Madanach muttered under his breath before sinking into a chair.

“Are you sure there's no one else,” he sighed. “No one in Falkreath with a bit of education and a brain who'll do? What about Dengeir? He's still alive.”

“His paranoia is getting worse, and what's more he's a Stormcloak,” Delphine told him, shaking her head. “He's already insistent the Empire are ruining Skyrim and that the Thalmor are behind everything. He's one of the people already insisting Nenya's a Thalmor agent – she isn't, by the way. He'll never agree to serve you as Jarl. More likely he'll start fomenting rebellion, and there's those who might agree. Not everyone's in favour of the Reachman settlements in Windhelm and Winterhold, you know. Kraldar and Brunwulf will not thank you if their Holds start rebelling and decide to unseat both Jarls and put Korir in charge of both.”

“Those are peaceful settlements,” Madanach protested. “Witchmist Village is nothing but a spa resort and vineyard, producing among other things some interesting alchemical remedies and that jazbay liqueur you like, Elisif.”

The same jazbay liqueur that if taken in quantity could induce hallucinations and had once had Cicero staggering in to her bedroom at night swearing purple dragons were eating her curtains, yes, Elisif knew it all too well. All the same, it was cutting down bar fights all over Skyrim, due to people being either too mellow or too comatose to hit anything, so she supposed it was worth the trouble. As was Saarthal – now the Eye of Magnus and the Draugr were gone, it was starting to thrive again as a joint Nord-Reachman community. The Nords got to restore the halls of their ancestors, the former Eye chamber was now home to a permanent teleportal point connecting the place with Markarth and the College, and the combination of Reach raw materials, Nord smiths and College/Reachkin wizardry was leading to a boom in arcane manufactured goods, and not just weapons either. Coin was being made and the tax revenues were high and the people who lived in Saarthal seemed happy. But Elisif could also see resentment lurking beneath all that too, and the last thing anyone needed was another war.

“But Riften is stable and so is the Pale, and Balgruuf's reported no trouble in Whiterun,” Elisif said thoughtfully. “Even Vignar Grey-Mane's accepted the situation, although Eola tells me he won't stop complaining. She also says that's all he's minded to do though. We're in no immediate danger of a rebellion... but Delphine is right, Madanach, I can't offer a Jarldom to a man who's repeatedly stated the Empire intends to enslave us all and that Skyrim's Dragonborn Hero has sold her country out. But I can be magnanimous towards a man exiled and stripped of his Hold on my account.”

“His incompetence got you jailed!” Madanach snapped.

“Where I met you, so it's not turned out too badly, has it?” Elisif sternly told him... and that did turn out to be the key to calming him down. Madanach looked away, laughed to himself, and smiled ruefully.

“I suppose not,” he admitted. “Fine but he renounces any and all claim to the Reach on behalf of himself and any descendants he has.”

“I can make that a condition,” Elisif said, starting to smile. “Although I'm afraid you're probably going to have to pay him weregild for his father's death. Not for his Hold, the Empire took that off him and justly so. But coin for his kin – Madanach, you do owe him for that.”

Madanach scowled, but assented. “I suppose. Some coin, a trade deal of some sort to show no hard feelings – oh and I think Keirine's still got his family shield somewhere. Nice piece of kit, that. Still got the old green and gold rams horns emblem on it – those are collectors' items now, you know. I'll get her to enchant it somehow, ceremonially hand it over, sorry for killing your da and all, here's his shield.”

It might just work. Maybe. Particularly as Raerek had died in exile over the winter, which meant Nenya would likely remain steward. Elisif just had one last point to make, and so she turned to Delphine.

“Delphine, tell Madanach what you found out about his court mage.”

“What, Calcelmo??” Madanach scratched his head, frowning at this. “What's he got to do with this? He doesn't care about anything unless it's got cogs and gears.”

Elisif just smiled and indicated for Delphine to speak.

“Well, it turns out that's not true,” Delphine smirked. “Turns out he also quite likes pretty Redguard former housecarls, namely Igmund's super-loyal bodyguard Faleen. My people were able to find out he's got quite the thing for her. Misses her horribly apparently. So we did a little digging and were able to find out Faleen has a real weakness for poetry, and so Brynjolf wrote a deeply passionate and poetic love letter on Calcelmo's behalf to give to her, and now she's quite keen to return and speak to him. She won't leave Igmund but she did give us a letter for Calcelmo inviting him to come see her. We haven't delivered it yet... but if she was to find herself returning to Skyrim as the housecarl of the new Jarl of the Hold next door to Calcelmo's, we'd be happy to pass it on to him. Faleen and Calcelmo hook up, Faleen persuades Igmund to leave the Reach alone because her boyfriend lives there, diplomacy gets that bit smoother and everyone's happy.”

Elisif turned back to Madanach triumphantly to see his reaction. He clearly hadn't expected that... but it clearly had had the desired effect.

“That's... actually really sweet. Who would have thought it? Old Calcelmo with a crush,” Madanach grinned. “All right, Dibella forbid I make my court mage miserable. I suppose it could be worse.”

And so Igmund was invited to Solitude with Faleen, where Elisif offered him Falkreath on condition he kept the existing steward on as she was an Altmer in her fourth century who worshipped Julianos, god of magic and wisdom, and who knew what she was doing, whereas his late uncle had clearly made a few, shall we say, misguided errors of judgement while serving under Igmund. Such as allowing the true High Queen of Skyrim to get unlawfully arrested in his city. Which fact, repeated often and angrily enough with the implication he was lucky she was even talking to him and indeed was only being this magnanimous because she'd met her husband that way, did wear Igmund down sufficiently to consider it. Faleen's urging to take it, it was better than living in exile in Evermore, and the local tribes of the Western Reach were starting to petition the count to stop giving hospitality to the Nord oppressors who'd until recently been ruling their eastern kinsmen, also helped. That, and the return of his father's shield, buffed up and shined and enchanted almost beyond recognition, along with a hefty payment of gold and gems and the offer to purchase Falkreath's timber for the Reach's various rebuilding projects. In the end, Igmund was hard-pressed to refuse, and the thought of burying Raerek's ashes in the cemetery at Falkreath was a soothing one. And then he met Nenya.

“You're Nenya?” Igmund managed to get out. “My new steward?”

“Yes sir,” Nenya said demurely, lowering her eyes. “I've served the people of Falkreath for many years, both under Jarl Siddgeir and Jarl Dengeir before him. Many in Skyrim aren't fond of my people, and they have cause, but I'm glad they've accepted me as one of their own. All the same though, it's better to have a Nord in charge. People are... reluctant to accept change.”

“I can imagine. Hear Dengeir's been giving you grief,” Igmund said gruffly, actually showing sympathy for the elf. “Well, don't worry about him. He's been going senile for years. Falkreath needed a younger man. One who can treat people with respect and not get into a fight over the future High Queen.”

Nenya did smile at that, her nerves seeming to lift a little. “Why, thank you. I must say, it'll be easier to take the sting out of his accusations with a Nord Jarl to tell him off. I'm glad you'll be all right working with an Altmer.”

“Ach, nothing against Altmer,” Igmund laughed. “Especially not pretty ones. It'll be a pleasure working with you, Steward Nenya.”

Nenya actually blushed and whispered a breathless 'likewise!' Elisif retold the whole thing to Madanach later, and neither of them could work out what she saw in him, but neither was surprised when a year later, Igmund and Nenya got married. The lack of children might have proved a problem for the succession, but it unexpectedly resolved itself when Calcelmo and Faleen tied the knot and had a son a year after, a little boy called Raerek who grew up into a tall, lithe Redguard spellsword with golden brown skin and striking gold eyes, and who Igmund eventually declared would be the next Jarl. Faleen and Calcelmo had never been prouder.

Elisif's steward was next to get married at the Temple of Divines, with two grooms meaning two groomsmen, except one of them was actually a woman, namely Elisif herself being Argis's nominated right-hand for the service. Madanach sulked over this for weeks until Elisif finally told him he could help with the stag night if he wanted. Half the Reach promptly turned up and Argis's stag night turned from what was to have been a few quiet drinks in the Skeever to a legendary party that took over the entire city. In the aftermath, Elisif brought in a new Weights and Measures (Alcohol) Act that placed strict limits on what size container beverages could be sold in and what could be mixed with what, and no one under any circumstances whatsoever was to sell drinks mixing jazbay liqueur with Reach jenever. Farkas's stag night organising committee promptly moved it to Jorrvaskr quickly before Jarl Balgruuf adopted similar legislation, a move he had no trouble doing after the incident involving Cicero, three shots of Flying Mammoth Jazbay Brandy and Clan Grey-Mane's cow.

Legendary stag nights aside, Argis and Farkas were happily married in Rain's Hand 202, with Sofie and Lucia as flower girls, Elisif and Vilkas giving away the respective grooms, and everyone agreeing they were a lovely couple.

Elisif's own wedding was a month later and was a rather grander affair with half the nobles in Tamriel attending and a gift pile in the Blue Palace that took up most of the foyer and which Elisif was almost certainly going to have to slip some septims to Brynjolf to get rid of on her behalf. The dress was a sheer grey number with white gold thread and diamonds and amethysts sewn into it and the train needed four guardsmen to carry. Needless to say, no stag nights were had, or hen nights, in fact both parties spent the run-up to the ceremony feeling quietly terrified by all the attention. Titus Mede himself turned up about a week beforehand, being shown around the city, seeing the sights, congratulating Elisif on everything, and then officially announcing the day before that he was adopting Elisif as his heir, which led to the Oculatus scrambling a bit as they had to cope with the Emperor himself escorting Elisif down the aisle.

But once there, she looked into Madanach's eyes and felt it all melt away as she said her vows, heard his, exchanged rings and then they kissed and nothing else mattered, nothing in the world.

And on the 17th Last Seed, 4E 202, a small party of soldiers rode up a mountain path to where Elisif had one last goodbye to say.

“Nearly there,” Lydia called as she led the way. “It's just round this bend.”

“Are there any more sabre cats?” Eola called from by Elisif's side. “That last one was a bastard to kill.”

“But it is dead now!” Cicero cooed. “Very very dead!”

“Yes, we know,” Vilkas sighed. “You didn't need to stab it thirty times to do that.”

“Oh I don't know, they're pretty tough,” Ria mused. “Cicero only had his daggers.”

Aela, scouting ahead with Lydia, just shook her head and walked on, her own arrows having dealt more than their fair share of damage before Cicero had leapt from his horse, daggers outstretched, and carved into the beast's back. The poor animal had barely had time to react, and Cicero still had blood all over his armour, but that didn't stop Cicero pouting and looking hopefully at Elisif to settle this. Too bad that after now having to hear court cases week in week out for real, she was disinclined to sort out her friend's disagreements.

“It's dead and that's the main thing,” Elisif said. “Let's move on. That shrine's just round the corner.”

Sure enough, tucked away under a ledge, there it was. The long neglected Shrine to Talos, although judging from the offerings, not that neglected.

The Oculatus fanned out to keep watch, and the five Companions who'd all volunteered their services sat around behind the Oculatus line, just in case any trouble arrived. So far, no sign of anyone but the birds.

Elisif took the warhorn out of her backpack, dismounted and made her way to the Shrine. Lydia stepped back to give her some privacy, and Elisif knelt at Talos's feet, placing the horn there.

“There,” Elisif said softly. “Don't know if you're really a god or not, but Torygg thought you were. So he wanted you to have this. It's his father's. He never left any kids of his own, and Divines know Madanach doesn't want any of Istlod's stuff hanging round if he can help it.” A hand couldn't help but go to her own stomach at this point, currently concealed by steel plate armour that fit right now, but possibly not for much longer.

“Just tell Torygg I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered. “And that I'm going to be all right. Tell him Madanach's a good husband and a good father, even if he is a complete barbarian.”

A moment's hesitation and then Elisif sat back and looked Talos's statue straight in the eyes.

“I gave the Reachmen their land back,” Elisif said calmly. “I have no regrets. I'm not sorry. Because you should never have taken it from them in the first place. I don't know where I stand on your worship being legal, because a lot of people still believe in you. But I don't.”

She got to her feet and turned around, making her way down the hill to where her people were waiting... only to see drawn weapons, cast mage armour, arrows at the ready... and ten Thalmor agents standing in a group.

“Well now,” the lead Justiciar smirked. “We'd been tipped off Talos-worshippers were using this shrine. We had no idea the rot went all the way up to the High Queen herself.”

Given she'd married someone who'd rant all day about how Talos could kiss his Forsworn backside if you let him, and had just told the Talos Shrine she didn't believe, this struck Elisif as grotesquely unfair. But she somehow didn't think the Thalmor would believe her.

“Laas Yah Nir,” she whispered, glancing around and seeing no signs of life but her own people and the Thalmor in front of her. Good.

“Justiciar,” she began. “I think there's been a horrible misunderstanding.”

“Too right there has,” the Justiciar, Lorcalin was it?, laughed. “We thought you were a friend of the Thalmor. Turns out you're not. The Ambassador will just love to hear how the Emperor's daughter is secretly worshipping Talos.”

“Then let's make sure she never hears it,” Elisif growled, drawing Dawnbreaker. “Kill them all! Leave no witnesses!”

Cicero and Aela's bows had already fired and Eola's magic was already crackling through the air. Moments later, battle was joined and Lydia was already snapping orders to the Oculatus as they closed with the Thalmor. Elisif had her sword and shield out but quite honestly her soldiers and friends were winning this one easily and no one was even getting close to her. Until Lorcalin somehow broke through, blood dripping from wounds but still standing and absolutely furious.

“Nord bitch!” he snarled. “The Aldmeri Dominion will find out about this!”

“Not from you,” Elisif growled, raising her shield. Already some of her friends were turning, and Lydia was sprinting forward, and Eola's hands were raised to cast... and it was all too late to stop the ice spear from leaving Lorcalin's hand and hitting Elisif square in the stomach.

It wasn't the pain. It wasn't the cold. It wasn't anything that might happen to her – she'd suffered worse. It was the sheer panic as she fell to the ground, hand clutching her stomach as all she could think was 'not again, not again, I can't go through this again'.

It was small comfort that Cicero had just pounced, slicing Lorcalin open, nor that the last of the Thalmor had also fallen and Eola was telling everyone to leave this with her, she'd sort the corpses out – raising them and walking them away from the scene and then disposing of the ashes was going to be time consuming, but hardly hard, especially as Eola had it on good authority there were some necromancers living at the top of the hill in the old keep.

Which left Lydia and Aela kneeling by her side and staring at her, with three Oculatus behind them.

“Are you all right, my Queen?” Lydia gasped.

“It's an ice spear, she's taken worse damage than this,” Aela frowned. “Why's she shaking?”

“I don't know but drink these,” Lydia said, reaching for potions. “And one of you get a horse, we need to get her a healer now.”

Elisif barely remembered the trip back to Whiterun. There was just a blur of hard riding, then being carried into the city and the guards immediately sorting out a stretcher to the Temple of Kynareth. A perk of being Queen, Elisif supposed. Then lying in a private bed in the temple, being stripped of her armour and everybody being cleared out by Danica's priests... and then Madanach, summoned from either Dragonsreach or wherever he'd been entertaining himself in the city, and she could barely hear Sofie desperately wanting to know if she'd be all right, before Vilkas took charge of both children and herded them to Jorrvaskr, much to Madanach's evident relief.

“Elisif, what happened? Are you all right?” He was holding her hand, stroking her hair, looking horrified like she'd never seen him and it occurred to him last time she'd been injured to the extent of needing treatment, she'd been unconscious... and he'd not been her lover then.

“Frost magic,” she whispered, her free hand drifting down to frostbitten flesh on her stomach. “Hit me here. Madanach, I'm sorry!” Fear gave way to misery as Elisif burst into tears, terrified of what had happened to her, terrified of consequences beyond her own health... terrified she was having a miscarriage. Again. Two months into a pregnancy, and literally no one but Madanach and some of the temple priests and some Forsworn healers he'd sent for knew for sure yet... and already it could be over.

Madanach tightened his grip on her hand and leaned over, kissing her cheek and resting his forehead against hers.

“It is not your fault,” she heard him whisper, grief catching in his voice already. Then he was lifting his head and beckoning Danica over.

“Ice spear to the abdomen, temperature of thirty five below freezing, Danica, she's pregnant, is there any chance...?”

“Maybe,” Danica said quietly. “You're the father, yes?”

“Obviously,” Madanach growled. “Can you save it or not?”

“Depends. Do you have the Dragonskin gift? I know most Bretons do but not all.”

Madanach nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything. His four biological daughters had inherited it too, but they'd been trueborn Reachfolk. Argis hadn't and he told Danica this.

Danica pursed her lips and ran some diagnostic spells over Elisif and then she smiled.

“Yes. There's still a heartbeat. Stand back and let me work.”

Madanach did, and Elisif had nearly collapsed from relief on hearing this. So she lay back and closed her eyes, and eventually Danica confirmed that not only was Elisif going to be fine, by the grace of Kynareth she still had her baby.

“But no more gallivanting round the countryside and tangling with rogue mages, you hear?” Danica scolded. “You're fortunate this little one appears to have its father's magic resistance and a Nord's tolerance for cold.”

“Yes Danica,” Elisif said meekly. “Sorry, Danica.”

Danica's expression softened as she patted Elisif's hand.

“Don't be. It's not your fault. You just concentrate on keeping healthy and let the gods worry about the rest. Now. You've got your husband and two worried children wanting to see you. Let's not keep them waiting.”

Danica stepped away, and then Sofie was pouncing, tearfully cuddling her and wanting to know if she was all right, and Aventus rather gruffly shuffling up and informing her everyone was saying she might die, by which Elisif inferred he'd been worried but didn't want to admit it. She cuddled them both and whispered she was going to be fine, and then she saw Madanach settling himself in a nearby chair, hopeful little smile on his face.

“Everything's all right?” Madanach asked. Elisif nodded.

“Yes. And... we should tell them, you know.”

“Tell us what?” Sofie asked, surprised.

“Yeah, Da, what's up?” Aventus asked. Elisif exchanged looks with Madanach and smiled.

“Did you want to tell them?” Elisif said, finally able to smile again. Madanach just shrugged.

“It's your secret to tell.”

“But they're your kids,” Elisif pointed out. Succession rules stopped her formally adopting them, also she was a bit too young for kids their age to be calling her Mama. So first-name terms it was, but Elisif didn't love them any less for all that.

“All right,” Madanach sighed. “Kids, how would you feel about a little brother or sister? Actually, don't answer that. Sometime next Sun's Dawn you're getting one, so get used to the idea.”

“You are so full of tact and empathy, aren't you?” Elisif sighed, sinking back into the pillows but at the same time, what if the kids weren't OK with it?

She needn't have worried. Sofie gasped, squealed and promptly hugged her, while Aventus was high-fiving his father then cuddling him.

“You're really gonna have another kid?” Aventus asked, impressed.

“Yes,” Madanach said proudly. “And don't look so surprised, I'm not completely decrepit, you know.”

“Totally never said that,” Aventus said quickly. Then he fell quiet and looked up at his father. “Um... Da... if you're going to have real kids with Elisif, what happens to us? I mean, we're still your kids too, right?”

Madanach made a surprised little noise in his throat before holding his son to him.

“Of course you are,” Madanach murmured. “You and Sofie both.”

Elisif couldn't help but sniffle a bit and snuggled Sofie and they all stayed like that for a while until Elisif found herself yawning, and Madanach decided Elisif needed sleep and shepherded the kids back to Dragonsreach. Two days later they were on their way back to Solitude, where more healers descended, and Elisif was left with no choice but to write to Titus Mede then make the official announcement, at which point any chance of privacy, space or self-sufficiency evaporated for the remainder of the pregnancy.

But seven months later, when Elisif, after a gruelling twelve-hour labour and much cursing at Madanach for doing this to her, was finally delivered of little Maia Jordis Eithne Wolfeagle Elisifsdottir ap Madanach (but mostly just Maia), Elisif held her little girl in her arms, equally tearful husband snuggling alongside her, and felt like the happiest woman alive.

Notes:

OK, so the epilogue did acquire something of a plot in the end. :) But I was running out of creative juice to get all the events as fully fleshed out story events, so an epilogue it was. I do hope you liked it.

Stag nights and hen nights are the big boozy parties young people tend to have prior to getting married - bachelor/bachelorette parties by any other name. Reachfolk strike me as the type to be able to make extremely strong liquor out of virtually anything, and Nords will drink large quantities of virtually anything without falling over, the two together is a recipe for... something. (A lot of clearing up and some detailed new alcohol-serving legislation apparently.)

It occurred to me Elisif doesn't really have a surname - The Fair's really a personal descriptor not a name, and Dragonborn has a very specific meaning, it's not necessarily hereditary. So she and Madanach came up with one for their children - Wolfeagle, a mix of the Wolf of Solitude and the Reach's Red Eagle. Little Maia grows up just fine, is also Dragonborn and despite looking like a true Nordic warrior-queen, she actually becomes a very accomplished battlemage. Empress Maia goes on to become a force to be reckoned with, as you would expect from someone who learnt magic from the King in Rags, spycraft from Delphine, dirty fighting and discreet stabbing from Cicero, how to swing big heavy weapons at people from her Uncle Farkas... and the Thu'um from Odahviing.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Elisif the Dragon-Queen