Note: Another Ysraneth tale! Triggers for cannibalism and crack one-night stands. Two-chapter one-shot because I want votes on who the Stormcloak/Imperial match should be. The only no-no is Ulfric/Elisif.
…
Ysraneth was many things – Thane of Three Holds, Alduin's Bane, Dragonborn, Eater-of-Thalmor – but in all the time he'd known her, Balgruuf had never seen her nervous. Worried, yes, and even stunned; but never, ever showing something like fear. The half-Bosmer Nord was staring up at High Hrothgar from the Great Porch, a red draconic head by her side as Odahviing sprawled on what had been his favourite place to brood but was now a glorified dragon-perch, and twitching. "What if she realises she can do a lot better than me and runs screaming from the Great Hall?" she was asking the amused dovah nervously.
"Opinions about your dietary choices aside, I know that you are perfect for Lydia and she for you," Balgruuf observed warmly as he joined them. "I will be proud to call you kinswoman, Ysraneth."
He recalled the first time he'd met the huntress: clad in rough fur armour, a recurved hunting bow on her back with precious steel arrows, she'd stumbled into his hall a year ago to warn of Alduin's attack on Helgen. The long, dun-brown scalp-lock, inverted teardrop face, slanted forest-green eyes and beige-olive skin were still the same, perhaps just a trifle more lined, but now she wore handcrafted armour of the finest dragonscale and a mighty dragonbone bow. The quiver of tanned Altmer skin was the only original piece of equipment she maintained.
Balgruuf never regretted embracing the huntress as Thane and assigning Lydia to her, even after her… ah… unorthodox dietary preferences became public knowledge. Ysraneth made a lot of noise about the Green Pact and Meat Mandate but only went out of her way to eat Altmer – and of those, she only focused on the Thalmor. Bless her heart, she apologised to Irileth constantly for finding Dunmer too 'ashy' for her tastes like it was a big insult; his huscarl simply shook her head in amusement. Gregarious, kind and generous to a fault, Ysraneth had fallen head over heels with Lydia on meeting her, and his niece with her. Given some of the stories about his Dragonborn ancestor Olaf One-Eye, Balgruuf was rather relieved that this one had few territorial ambitions despite her half-joking claim she was going to take over Falkreath.
Oh, she had her faults, and cannibalism was the least of them. Ysraneth had let her hatred for the Thalmor override her judgment a few times, she truly couldn't comprehend the point of displaying trophies unless they were useful, and she was as opinionated as Olfrid and Vignar, his two old Thanes. Balgruuf chuckled as he recalled her physically standing up during one Holdthing and literally banging their heads together; it had cost him (well, her) a pair of fine dragonbone daggers for the weregild.
"Thanks," Ysraneth said sincerely. "It's just that… shit. I'm a glorified huntress with a taste for fine dining. And now I'm getting married into a Jarl's family."
Balgruuf smirked at her. "You're the only one I know who could call eating Thalmor 'a taste for fine dining'."
"Hey, they think of themselves as superior. You'd think they'd be flattered," she observed dryly.
Odahviing, hitherto silent, nodded agreeably. "They are quite delicious," the dragon said. "I got to eat a few more recently."
"Today's main course came from Northwatch Keep," Ysraneth explained, expression briefly grim. "The bastards were holding Thorald Grey-Mane."
"Good. Good…" The Thalmor had unleashed terror upon Tamriel during the Great War. Though cannibalism was abhorrent to most civilised beings, it was pleasing to know that Ysraneth's dietary choices were scaring the shit out of the Altmer and that the Empire could spread its hands and claim 'freedom of religion' from the old agreement between Tiber Septim and Valenwood…
"Okay, we got a few Bosmer dinner guests and one Breton who apparently likes the taste of Altmer," Ysraneth added, rubbing her long nose. "It was either leave her to chew on Markarth's dead or invite her for dinner here."
"…Servant of Namira?" Balgruuf's education at the Bards' College had taught him about most of the major Daedric cults.
"I think so. Creepy, that shit. She wanted me to bring around a Priest of Arkay but I brought around the head of the Justicars instead in return for her help in handling some Forsworn." Ysraneth shuddered. "I don't mess with the Aedra but I certainly didn't want to piss off the Daedric Prince of cannibalism."
Balgruuf, familiar with moral compromises on a daily basis as Jarl, nodded slowly. "Does Lydia know this?"
"Maybe. I don't know. I didn't want to push." Ysraneth looked up at High Hrothgar again. "Sometimes I think about saying 'Fuck it all' and returning to High Hrothgar. Arngeir was a bit frosty the last time I was there because I was working with Delphine and Esbern, but I was able to shut those two down right smart. They want to kill all the dragons and I'm like, 'Hey, if they're minding their own business like Odahviing or helping humanity like Paarthunax, they're fine'."
Odahviing slitted his eyes as the Dragonborn scratched his horns idly. "There are enough joorre who dare to threaten the lands Iiz-Raan-Aaz guards as her own to feed a hundred dovahhe, not to mention all the Kriisfahlil," he observed.
"I'm honestly hoping the Thalmor will get the fucking picture to stay on their islands and leave everyone alone," Ysraneth agreed softly. "If I can get the dragons to pin them down, Valenwood and Elseweyr might be able to free themselves without me needing to leave Skyrim."
"Or at least buy us time," Balgruuf murmured. It always surprised him how much she understood of the bigger picture. If only Olfrid and Vignar had half her insight.
"My Da was a noble in the days before the Thalmor took over," Ysraneth confessed softly. "Not that noble really meant much in Valenwood. It just meant you were a better hunter than others. Our only real dynasty was the Camorans… and thanks to that Daedra-loving prick, they died out."
"You'd be a better Jarl than you think," Balgruuf found himself saying. "If you take over Falkreath and Idgrod joins us, we could keep the balance in Skyrim as neutrals."
"Nenya's already dropping hints because Siddgeir's beggaring the Hold," Ysraneth observed flatly. "Damn fool. And Dengeir's off his nut with dementia now and Thadgeir's too much of a pushover…"
She punched him in the shoulder. "Bastard. You've talked me into it."
"My niece deserves a Jarl. And your house is nicer than Siddgeir's." Balgruuf didn't bother trying to hide his triumphant grin.
"You just want to make yourself related to one more bloody Jarl." Ysraneth paused and then added, "Unless you're trying to humour Irileth with her Cannib-Jarl pun."
"I'd forgotten that," Balgruuf laughed. "Should I tell her?"
"Wait until I pull it off. And given I intend to make Falkreath Hold a sanctuary for Bosmer escaping Valenwood…" Ysraneth rolled her broad shoulders under her armour. "Let's get this over and done with."
Balgruuf grinned. "I am not going to tell my niece you just said that."
"You're all heart, Balgruuf. Thanks."
…
Maramal knew better than to comment on the meat roasting on a spit, the amount of Bosmer wearing golden leather and unnerving grins, or the dragon perched on the roof of Jorrvaskr. Ysraneth, as a huntress, wanted to get married under the newly regrown Gildergreen. The priest wasn't going to argue with the Dragonborn who had an unnerving habit of eating people.
Guests from all over Skyrim were gathered in the centre of the Wind District. Ulfric, Tullius, Elisif, Kodlak… Lucia, the couple's first adopted daughter, stood proudly holding the Bonds of Matrimony rings. Whatever Ysraneth's dietary faults, she clearly had a big heart.
As the niece of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, Lydia descended from the stairs to Dragonsreach, accompanied by her family. She wore the dragonbone plate Ysraneth had forged for her under the watchful eye of Eorlund and her sculpted face was serene, alight with the love that could only come from Mara's grace.
Ysraneth stood under the Gildergreen, wearing her dragonscale leathers, looking a little nervous. At least one spouse was always convinced the other would run away once they realised they could do better; but Maramal expected that of Lydia, not the Dragonborn.
But that they truly loved? Aye, Maramal could feel it.
The ceremony was brief but significant. Maramal had to cough pointedly to make sure the post-vows embrace remained suitable for public decency and Odahviing's triumphant Shout nearly knocked off the steeple of the Temple of Kynareth. He'd barely pronounced the blessing when everyone started running for the food and drink.
Maramal sighed and shook his head. Nords had no appreciation of the sacred.
…
"Mmm, I see what all the fuss is about," Anoriath announced, chowing down on a bit of Thalmor. "Finally, a use for Altmer."
"Thalmor," Ysraneth corrected. "I got no quarrel with the Altmer who mind their own damned business."
"Okay, okay…" Anoriath sighed, then blinked. "Hey, is Galmar helping himself to a slice?"
"Hey, offer's open for anyone to try it," the Dragonborn told her fellow hunter.
"Yeah, well, Eola's giving me creepy vibes…"
"Eola! Quit staring at the guests. They're not dinner!" Ysraneth yelled to the priestess of Namira in Breton.
Eola grumbled but nodded. Ever since Ysraneth had helped her get the Ring of Namira, they'd been odd friends. Lydia didn't much like her, so Ysraneth kept it casual.
(In another life, they could have been something. Maybe that was what made Lydia dislike the woman).
"Hey, Yssie, can I liven this party up?" asked a roughened, all-too-familiar voice. The Dragonborn turned to face the Breton guise of Sam… a.k.a. Sanguine.
"Nothing illegal, non-consensual or involving kids and animals, okay?" she countered.
"I was thinking more of sticking a Stormcloak in bed with an Imperial and seeing what happens."
"Arrange for me to see it with fried Thalmor bits and it's a go." For a Daedric Prince, Sanguine was pretty cool so long as you kept him within reasonable limits.
"Done!" Sanguine faded into the crowd and Ysraneth grabbed Lydia's hand.
"Shit's about to get frisky. Want to get out now?"
Her wife grinned, having joined her on the night of shenanigans with Sanguine, and nodded. "Let's go," she agreed.
Running away, holding each other's hands and laughing like errant children, Ysraneth knew that it might just be okay in the end. She'd won the war. She got the girl. Wasn't a perfect happy ending, because those only happened in books, but it was good enough for her.