CHAPTER ONE

Many great ships were fleeing the harbor of Solitude. Once, this port was filled with ships from all over Tamriel, carrying the finest of exotic goods and bringing in new and exciting stories of adventure and mystery from the lonely corners of the world; now, it was a dying port in an abandoned kingdom.

Recent events incited in Elisif a great interest in the comings and goings of the many ships that passed through the natural arch of her city. Haafingar's port had been the epicenter of all northern nautical trade, even to the other cities along the Sea of Ghosts — it was the port of major beginnings and the catalyst of all major exchange in Skyrim. Captains would vie for spaces to dock along the harbor and fishermen had to weave in and out of the many ships at port to send out their lines. In light of recent events, it now sat neglected, lacking in deck hands and populated only by a few smaller trade and fishing vessels. The few major ships that remained would soon depart, and it would be only with a shadow of a hope that they might return.

Sadly, there was never a time when these great ships interested Elisif more. They were massive, elegant structures that cleaved their way through the waters to their own freedom and possibilities. Elisif wished she might go with them. They fled to the south with the geese, abandoning her like everyone else.

The barest of breezes carried the faint smell of salt to her. Biting her lip, Elisif favored a wreath of wildflowers in her spindly fingers and fought to maintain her courage.

'Go to him,' she thought. 'You must. It is your duty.'

Her housecarl by her side, Elisif traversed the gangplank. Everyone else had long since returned or retired for the day to their dwellings. She was the only one who decided to stay. To have left with them would have felt like a betrayal. She could not say goodbye to him just yet.

On deck was a large wooden coffin, smooth as ice and polished until it shone. It was was swaddled in bouquets, offerings, and gifts from all over Skyrim, bright in their colors and sweet in their scent. The deck was abounding with candles of all sizes, burning low but brightly against the reddening sky. Those who could not send such gifts threw handfuls of flowers from the height of the bridge, coloring the deck in a mosaic of hues and and a soft carpet of petals.

Elisif hoped they would last. Tullius's body had a long journey ahead of him: taking a ship to Cyrodiil was the long way to bring his body home, but it was the safest. It was her wish that he could be drawn by an elegant coach throughout Skyrim so that his supporters could throw flowers in his passing and wish him well onto the next life. Regardless of the outcome of the war, Tullius had many who remembered him fondly throughout Skyrim, and he deserved to be bid farewell by all of them. The journey south would carry consummate risk, however, for Tullius's body to be captured and desecrated by his adversaries; it would only be too easy for the rebels to stage a raid on land and along the roads. Elisif couldn't bear the thought.

Unwilling to take that risk, she sought other means until a volunteer trade vessel — whose captain once admired the great general — offered its aid in returning Tullius's body to his homeland. With no other options, Elisif consented, although she feared that the vessel would be uncouth and the passage rough; instead, she was aboard a sturdy ship that had been given the blessings of her people and surely the gods themselves.

'It's beautiful,' she had to admit. 'Even like this.'

Elisif held the flowers above her heart, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. She willed a prayer to the Divines. "Oh, General," she whispered, placing a hand on top of the coffin lid.

She had lingered long after the rest of her court departed from the funeral ceremony; Tullius had a special meaning to her that the others couldn't even begin to fathom. To her, he was more than the provincial governor or the hand of the Empire: he had been the only person to stand beside her after Torygg passed from the world. She was too well-bred to show it, but she heard the rumors: that she was the Empire's puppet, that Tullius was out to undermine Nordic interests, that the two of them would break Skyrim of its history and pride to the tune of jingling Imperial coins — worse, some darker rumors insisted still that between the two of them existed an unholy union of a sordid love affair.

These rumors, which Falk took measures to squelch, now haunted her every step. He was unable to protect her from their words, and she was unable to protect her own heart.

The truth was more painful than that. Tullius was her friend. The truest of friends. He had given her hope to hold onto after she had lost the most important person in the world. The true self that he hid beneath a mask of sternness and authority reminded her of her husband: strong, noble, and well-intended. Albeit grizzled and war-hardened, Tullius had a face that he showed to his confidants that gave the gift of compassion — something that he would never be credited for. He reassured her that everything would be made right — and she believed him. She thought he could protect her and help her pick up the pieces of her broken world. To some, General Tullius's passing would be the death of a good man and a great leader; to her, it was the death of her last hope.

The salt in the air stung her eyes, and she laid the flower wreath upon his casket.

Tullius was her friend.

Now she was alone.

"My lady, are you well?"

Raising her head from the hands massaging her temples, Elisif squinted through the candlelight and smiled up wanly at her Steward. He lingered politely in the doorway of her bedchambers. "Falk," she welcomed, her tender voice touched by strain.

Falk nodded and muttered a word of dismissal to the guard clad in blue standing watch outside her door. "Headaches again, my lady?" he asked, stepping in and closing the door behind him.

Noting the calming murmur of music, Falk darted a quick glance to the far corner of the room. The Bard's College's master vocalist was seated opposite them, her fingers stroking the strings of a great lute and humming a gentle backdrop to the dim room.

Pantea's eyes alighted at Falk's arrival before lowering demurely back to her instrument, unseeing, unhearing, and most importantly, uninterested. As a long-enjoyed guest of the court, discretion was of the utmost importance in retaining such trust and she extended that same respect of privacy to Elisif as she commonly had to her late husband, who once called on her frequently. She continued to play as if she were the only one in the room.

Satisfied, Falk took a seat nearby where his Jarl reclined, many letters and scrolls tucked under his arm.

Elisif dignified Falk's question with an assenting noise, dipping her hands into a washbasin of warm water beside her chair and kneading her knuckles into her temples. Despite her discomfort, she warmed up to his companionship. "Did you close court?"

"After you retired to your room, Erikur complained about the 'propriety' involved in closing court early so often in recent days, particularly during a time of hardship such as this, but he and the other Thanes and nobles were escorted out all the same." Falk gesticulated with edging frustration, but he hid it well. Or so he thought. Elisif suspected there was more to it than that — that Falk had always tried to hide the ribaldry of court from her, the nasty details, as though he thought her too fragile to handle it. It was all in good nature, she knew, but given current circumstances she wasn't in the temper to tolerate it.

She wanted to ask what Erikur had said — all of it — but she was distracted when her temples throbbed in earnest. Pressing her fingertips into her skull, she rode out the pain until it was subdued. When she opened her eyes again she noticed the large stack of stationary atop the table. She gestured to it in inquiry.

Falk sighed, seemingly unwilling to proceed. But his hands were tied, given the spate of correspondence. He nudged the disarray on the table into a stack. "Forgive me, my Jarl, but there are some matters we need to review…"

"No, no," she shoo'd his concerns away. A quick glance out the window confirmed many hours left in the day. "I will be fine. I just needed a more comfortable chair, and more pleasant company."

They both shared a quick smile, but it was lost as soon as Falk spoke again. "Well, as you know," he continued with a wry frown, "there is this list of demands."

With the poise inherent to her station, Elisif drew herself up until her back was straight and her chin was high. She took from Falk's hands an envelope with a broken wax seal, the smallest of the letters but the most significant. She eased the envelope from the letter and handled it without a wrinkle.

"Shall we go over them again?" he asked.

She ran her thumb over the paper. She knew the terms by heart — there were four of them in number. This, however, was the only piece of correspondence that had actually been written in Ulfric's own hand. Similar papers were coming in every day, although mostly she was was inundated by requests, prompts, and demands being communicated from him through his Steward or his housecarl.

The High-King-To-Be doesn't have the time to address me personally, she pursued her lips, but she didn't dare voice her thoughts aloud. None of the men in her castle belonged to her, and she was always afraid of what they might hear. Her own men were gone. The luxury of free speech was taken from her, and it made it difficult to relax in anyone's presence for fear that someone was constantly listening from outside her door.

Elisif shook her head and tried to focus her attention on the matter at hand - without many of her own opinions included. She set the letter aside and folded her hands in her lap. She didn't need it. Her memory, at least, was superb.

"Starting from the top?" she suggested. "Well, the first order of business is to reinstall Talos worship at the Temple of the Divines."

Falk nodded. "Jarl Ulfric made it clear his first order of business was to give the worship of Talos back to the people of Haafingar."

Elisif hid a delicate snort with a not-so-delicate inward curse. "I remember. He mounted the shrine on the alter himself before the city finished burning from the siege. I should hope this qualifies as—wait, what more?"

A new stack of papers were pushed her way. "This came in two days ago. While Jarl Ulfric feels as though the restoration of Talos's statue is a good start, he wants the high priest and priestesses to be punished for their sacrilege of our people's idols. Satisfying the first demand isn't enough vindication, apparently. The acolyte at the temple in Windhelm, the…" Falk referred to a particular letter. "… priestess Jora believes that our own priests require re-education on matters of the Divines and is intent on travelling here within a week. Jarl Ulfric has given her leave from her duties at the Temple - her husband Lortheim taking over in her absence - and has instructed our holy men to provide a space for the itinerant priestess, who considers it her sacred duty to maintain residence in the Temple until such a time as the pantheon is considered whole again."

Elisif's hand fluttered near her breast. "I noticed the altars undergoing restoration at the Temple."

"My lady…" Falk added, "With one of Windhelm's priestesses here, it is doubtless she will send word back to Ulfric concerning affairs of the city. She is most likely a spy."

The growing shadows of the shortening day depressed the atmosphere in the room. She glanced at her reflection in a nearby mirror and noticed how gaunt her face had grown. In that moment she thought of Torygg and clenched the pendant in her hand. If only my husband could see me now.

As with many Nordic Jarls, Elisif's spiritual beliefs concerning Talos were a source of speculation, rumor, and gossip, even more so due to her relationship with the Empire and proximity to the Thalmor's base of operations in the province. More than the other Jarls, her reputation had to be pristine. She had to live up to the White-Gold Concordat down to the most subtle of wording and believe it with all her heart — or be very convincing in her charade thereof. Perhaps it was easier for her because she was born after the resolution of the Great War; after all, she had been born into an obliging family and grew up during an era where Talos was a repressed idol. To breakaway from Talos was not as painful a separation for her as it was for others. It was not out of malice or any personal deficiency: it was simply a factor of time.

In contrast, Torygg prayed for the day that the ban of Talos worship would be rescinded. He was barely a man at the time of the war, and as a royal heir, he was instructed in all manner of history, military and otherwise, statesmanship, and piety. Talos, although his military strategy outdated, was still regularly studied by lords and kings all over Tamriel, and his legacy was more closely-regarded in Skyrim than even Cyrodiil. Torygg had always been devoted to the hero-god of his people, even though worship had been furtive for half his life. He believed he was as close to Him as the other divines. The night before their wedding, Torygg came to her: he felt to be wed without the blessing of Talos sacrilegious and he had given her a golden Amulet of Talos to be sewn clandestinely into the bodice of her wedding gown. He had one to match, also hidden in the many layers of his nuptial clothing. As they said their vows the following day in the Temple of Divines, Torygg found peace that all of the gods were represented, even if one of the alcoves was empty.

For her husband's sake, if nothing else, Elisif wanted to see Talos restored to his former reverence. She gave the pendant a hard squeeze. Still… To have Him returned at Ulfric's hands felt like blasphemy — he was using Talos as a symbol of war, not as the beloved figure Torygg held close to his heart. And if this Jora's intent was espionage…

It would all break Torygg's heart. It certainly broke hers.

Settling her thoughts, Elisif waited for a moment before prompting his advice further with an, "And? What course of action should I take?"

"With all due respect, my Jarl, that would be a good place to start," he pointed to her chest.

Freezing, Elisif realized that she had been toying with the necklace hanging just above her heart. It was becoming a nervous habit; she didn't even realize when she did it. Taking it into her palm, she tilted its face until it caught the waning light. It was crafted in traditional style, in keeping with the ancient jewelry worn by Nordic queens of old. The gold chain was delicate but the face was heavy, and it was studded with flawless diamonds. It was among one of the many pieces of royal jewelry she owned, and one that Torygg had given to her after they married.

"The priestess of Talos will doubtless preach humility and monitor the things you say, the things you do, and the things you wear. I'm afraid that you must be doubly careful in these times about how you present yourself, my Jarl." He paused. "And even if Jora's true purpose here in Solitude is merely spiritual, it will not hurt to exercise caution."

Elisif squeezed her necklace again for comfort. "Oh." The necklace slipped out of her fingers and fell heavy over her heart. "Oh I see. Yes, of course." She undid the clasp at the back and replaced it in her jewelry box.

"I have already sent word to Temple, and a space has been prepared for our guest. You needn't worry yourself on the arrangements, although… it may not hurt to spend more time at the temple upon her arrival."

She nodded, seeing the sense there. "Yes… of course, you are right."

Falk loosened the letter from her hands, glancing at it. He took a steadying breath.

"This next demand is…"

"—a public apology to the family of the executed gate guard Roggvir, a formal pardon from the throne of Haafingar, and payment of compensation for the family's loss and torment."

This one stung; while all the demands on the list rang true of conqueror's entitlement, this one was purely spiteful in nature. She went to grab at her necklace again and felt its absence, so she settled for clenching her hands together in her lap.

"Tomorrow," she acquiesced. "Tomorrow is the scheduled date."

Falk made such a disagreeable noise that Pantea, for the moment, stopped playing in consternation. She realized her mistake when he turned to look at her and then dutifully returned to her instrument.

"He's trying to humiliate you, my Jarl." His grip increased such that the paper crinkled violently up the center and spider-webbed across the page.

Elisif shot out to stay his hand, gentling his grasp and smoothing the paper herself. She felt very conscious of her position and felt unease wash over her. Her new household guard might not be listening to Falk, but they were certainly listening to her, and she didn't want to take any chances.

"I am prepared," she said lowly, sending him a meaningful glance.

This didn't seem to settle Falk peaceably; in fact, the look on his face indicated that discussion on this matter wasn't over. A glimmer of an idea smoldered in his eyes, and he eased the tension in his jaw. "Very well," he began, wiping his face clean of emotion. "The arrangements have already been made, after all. Now…

"This next stipulation is unique from the others in the sense that it prevails inaction…" He consulted the parchment. "Given the outcome of the civil war, Haafingar is hereby banned from building its own standing army. We cannot raise an army even to ensure the Hold is defensible. Nevertheless, like all the other Holds, we are expected to conscript a quota of able-bodied warriors to the Stormcloak force to replenish their numbers; however, unlike the other holds, the men we raise are to be sent to our neighbor, Hjaalmarch, for training and stationing. We keep none for ourselves."

Elisif was very aware of that. She tried not to think too deeply on the matter; she didn't need another headache.

"How are we doing on recruiting?" she ventured.

Falk gave her a flat look and Elisif grimaced.

"I worried that was the case."

Troublesome, she grit her teeth. Now that the Empire is gone, we have no real force of our own…Without them, there was no real program dedicated to finding reliable young men and turning them into warriors outside of the City Guard. Given the recent war and the overwhelming criticism for Ulfric in Hjaalmarch, finding enlistments willing to put aside their lives to join Ulfric's cause would be difficult.

Not that she wanted to supply her new conqueror with the men he would require in order to fracture the peace Skyrim had worked so hard to achieve, but she had very little choice. Ulfric knew that — he had to. Given that a portion of his army was stationed in her city solely to make sure she was compliant and miserable, he could ask anything of her that he wanted.

Falk's steady voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"I will find a way to meet this demand," he assured. "Bryling and I have agreed that we need a strategy, and that's her main focus at the moment. I am to meet with her tomorrow morning to discuss her ideas. Solitude will pay its debts, even just to keep itself in the hands of its rightful ruler."

"Good," she replied, relieved. Falk always had a way of gaining control over situations, even impossible ones. It was one of the reasons he was the Steward and a close friend. She was concerned that she would have to take this matter in hand, and since she had always relied on Tullius to handle military matters, she had no idea how to go about recruitment. She trusted Falk and her Thane to address this need, since Falk worked closely with Captain Aldis and Bryling was an accomplished warrior, and had the respect of many throughout the Hold.

With that matter resolved — for her, anyways — Elisif's relief did not last long, as she knew the next demand was riding shortly on the coattails of the last.

"There is one last matter."

There it is. She was ready for it, she had heard it before, but she still had to take a deep breath to calm herself before it came.

"In penance of Haafingar's support of the Empire in the civil war and their resultant actions, the throne of Solitude is required to pay, in reparations to the victor's sovereign, a sum of… well…"

Elisif held up her hand. "Yes, I recall. I don't need to be told that figure again."

Hearing the last demand out loud was like waving a bit of garbage underneath her nose; Elisif and Falk screwed their faces up in matching expressions of disgust. Her court would have to attack these issues one by one, otherwise the sum of Ulfric's expectations would surely overwhelm them. Even in the history of war, Ulfric's demands were extravagant and vindictive—quietly, she thought they were nearly as disagreeable as the treaty that started this whole rebellion. They were very clumsy in hiding their intent. They were bold. They were presumptuously-worded. They were meant to frustrate Solitude so that it could not regain its strength, punitive rather than peaceful.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "At least it's concise."

'Concise' wasn't the word that Falk would have used, but it was perhaps the most polite. Solitude was going to be bled dry before this business was over, and the rest of Skyrim would soon be condemned if Ulfric went through with his destructive ambition.

"I've been doing my best to generate ideas concerning how we will erase this debt," he groused, "but this is beyond our ability to pay, and I do not have complete access to the treasury of Solitude. Although I have not received a deadline, it clear that Ulfric will not be willing to wait indefinitely for his payment. Clearly incurrence of this debt is meant to sanction our fiscal flexibility, but Ulfric is also hurting from the war. Of this we can have no doubt. He needs the money to rebuild, acquire weapons and supplies, and pay his army — which has since grown exponentially after his recent conquests. And it's my assumption that he's going to want it sooner rather than later.

"Now, to handle this matter, I would need your permission to have unlimited access to the treasury. During the reign of Torygg's father, High King Istlod needed to grow his power in order to keep his kingdom together. He had greater access to funds, law, and military strength than any other High King in recent history. As a result, the only person who can access treasury for matters of this grandeur is the one seated on the throne of Solitude. Now that Torygg is dead," he said slowly, "that person is you, my Lady."

Slowly this news sunk in. It was true that Falk had been handling her affairs, but nothing had required coin of this nature before. She never had to make any decisions of this magnitude.

Elisif pressed her lips together tightly in thought. She hadn't noticed it before, but Falk was beginning to look a bit… wan and dark under the eyes. She had attributed it to the candlelight, but now she was not so sure. Suddenly, Elisif had to wonder how many times her friend had worked through the nights to make arrangements, how full his schedule was making appointments to accommodate their normal obligations and the added ones following the war, and how he was always, without fail, able to make just enough time for her to soothe her fears and give her the advice she desperately needed.

Taking the paper from Falk's hands, she mustered a smile to put him at ease.

"Let me handle this," she offered, "right now, you focus on meeting Ulfric's third demand."

Falk's haggard eyes widened at this — it was unprecedented in their relationship. "My—my Jarl, are you certain about this?"

"Yes," she answered, although with a slight waver in confidence.

He appraised her with eyes on the verge of alarm. "With all due respect, my lady, this task is staggering, even for those of us with lengthy careers in the court. I do not think that it can be undertaken alone. Consider that your experience—"

"I am aware of what's been said about my age and inexperience!" she interjected, feeling her pulse jump. She was used to hearing such things out of the mouths of strangers, but she was not going to hear it from the man she called friend — especially not one she just offered to help. As soon as her anger spiked, the sudden shock in her friend's eyes sedated her again. Cheeks coloring hotly, she amended gently, "I will come to you with questions and assistance should I need it."

Falk reservations still showed clearly in his eyes, and Elisif's confidence wavered. "Please."

With a sigh, her Steward resigned. "By your will, my Jarl." Having covered the fourth and final demand, he let himself go mute.

In thanks, Elisif slunk back into her chair with a restrained huff of gratitude, finally allowing herself to relax. Conversation died from the room, allowing the sweet allure of the quiet music to remedy the chill in the room. They held their silent companionship together for a time, loosening the cork of a cooler of wine and drinking the tension away. Even with the fine spirits, fine company, and fine music, a darkness had drawn itself over Solitude. Not even the finest amenities the world had to offer could chase off the trials that were to come and the tenuous hold they had on a peace soon to be broken.

Suddenly Falk shot to his feet and collected a majority of the papers on the table, leaving a copy of the demands and the rest of the wine. "Thank you for your time, Jarl. Our conference has yielded beneficial headway that I'm sure will go over well with the court tomorrow. I need to arrange a few things for my meeting with Bryling in the morning, as well as prepare documents concerning our progress meeting these demands."

Elisif set her delicate glass down as well, taking up her share of paperwork. "Yes, of course."

"We will discuss this topic more at a later time." Falk paused in the doorway, his fingertips upon the handle. "Try to get some rest, my Lady," he added kindly. Then he was gone.

Slumping back into her chair, Elisif glanced across the room, the warm sheets and soft pillows seducing her to the soft melody of Pantea's lute. But with a heady rush she realized the enormity of the task that was now upon her, and sleep fell in importance. Her stomach joined her head in an anxious spin, and took an unsteady look at the list. She peered at the final lines, hoping there might be some answers there. The task she was to undertake rang bells in her mind, and she tried to focus through the noise.

Discarding the list — she had it memorized, anyway — she turned her thoughts toward the more immediate matter at hand: tomorrow's speech.

A written copy of it was among her desk's stationary, but that too she had memorized. She felt nudged to look it over a final time, but she couldn't invoke the will to do so, even thought it would be one of the most difficult speeches she would have to deliver. Falk's advice suddenly looked very appealing, if unrealistic.

With a groan, Elisif sought comfort in her glass of wine.

Sleep would be a difficult task.

EDIT: It's been nearly two years since this chapter was posted, and it was riddled with mistakes. Now that I am picking up this story again, I cleaned it up a bit to make it more readable. Please offer your feedback in the review section! I am always eager to hear from those reading my stories, and welcome constructive criticism as well as any opinions you have. Enjoy!