Typically, love in Skyrim is as earnest as the people who live here. Life is hard and short, so there is little room for long courtship. - Maramal
3 Rain's Hand, 4E 202, Windhelm
It began with a plain white missive sealed in red wax, addressed simply To The Dragonborn, and delivered to her room at Candlehearth Hall.
Lady Cecilia,
Against my better judgment, I have agreed to attend the peace conference at High Hrothgar. There can be no real peace in Skyrim until her oppressors are expelled, but if a short truce allows you to strike down the World-Eater at last, it will be well-done.
Yet, I must still take thought for the aftermath of your victory. Clearly, the great beneficiary of this truce will be the Jarl of Whiterun. You will buy Balgruuf time to prepare against the attack I had already prepared. In the end, the cost of this truce will be paid in the blood of my men and women. Therefore, despite wishing you the best in your fight against the World-Eater, in these negotiations I must push for the best deal for the Stormcloak army.
What concessions are you willing to make, Dragonborn?
Regards,
Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm
The response, scribbled on the back of the original letter and sent posthaste up to the Palace of the Kings:
Jarl Ulfric,
You already know I'm not joining your rebellion, and it's not as though General Tullius or Jarl Balgruuf takes orders from me.
Cecilia Varo
On writing this reply, the author immediately vacated Windhelm.
11 Rain's Hand, 4E 202, Ivarstead
The follow-up, delivered by courier a week later to the Vilemyr Inn, Ivarstead.
Lady Cecilia,
I know well I must abide your decision to stay out of the war. I could lecture you until I turned blue in the face on how much Skyrim needs the Dragonborn's service in her moment of need, and it would not move you. I am only thankful that you have similarly refrained from aiding the Imperial army against us.
I will never demand you fight for me, but I have decided on the concession I must have as a condition of this truce. Cecilia Varo, I am asking now for your hand in marriage, once the World-Eater is defeated. It should go without saying that I have no intention of tying you down to Windhelm after marriage. The Dragonborn belongs to Skyrim, not to me.
A short "Yay" or "Nay" will suffice. I trust your honour to bind you to your decision.
Ulfric Stormcloak
"But he's old," protested Lydia.
Cecilia Varo, Dragonborn, citizen of Cyrodiil and the heroine of this story, nodded emphatically. "Very old. He fought in the War. My parents fought in the War."
"Gross." Lydia threw the letter down on the floor and turned to face her thane who was sprawled out in full glass armour on the only rentable bed in the inn. She'd flopped down there after giving Lydia the letter to read.
"Yes. Really gross. Really, really gross." Cecilia pushed herself up on one elbow and fixed her housecarl with a glare that was really meant for the absent Ulfric. "I'm glad you understand, Lydia. I want you to talk me out of marrying him."
"My Thane! You're considering his offer?"
Cecilia groaned and sat up completely. "What can I do, Lydia? I need this peace. I can't let Alduin feast on the dead till he's satisfied. Ulfric's got me where he wants. He couldn't recruit me to the Cause, but now he'll have the Dragonborn as a consort."
"You could offer to join the Stormcloaks instead."
"I'd rather die."
"My Thane . . ." Lydia – blunt, sarcastic Lydia who never hesitated to speak her mind - seemed lost for words.
"Give it to me straight," Cecilia advised her.
"What are you thinking? You won't give him your soul, so he can have your body? That's rubbish! If he's married to the Dragonborn, it doesn't matter if you never fight for him. Skyrim will flock to his banner! You'd be signing the Empire's death warrant. If you can accept that, why can't you just join the war instead?"
Cecilia shook her head. "I will never take up arms against the Empire."
"So why didn't we join the Legion when we had the chance?"
Cecilia had actually been asking herself this very question for the last two weeks. She'd been angry after Helgen, as she had every right to be. She'd imagined writing letters to the right people in Cyrodiil and having General Tullius drummed out of the service. That had been an idle fantasy, she now realized. In time, she might have taken up arms with the Imperial Legion, just as her ancestors had done in every other crisis. But time had run out on her atop the Throat of the World.
"General Tullius tried to cut off my head, please remember that." If she said it very confidently, Lydia might accept it.
"Bastard."
"Really, this is all his fault," Cecilia continued, warming up to her theme. "Oafish Imperials who don't know Skyrim from the Nibenay . . ." Seeing the skeptical look on Lydia's face, and recognizing that she, Cecilia Varo, was also an Imperial completely out of her depth in Skyrim, she trailed off. "No, that's not fair. It's all the Thalmor's fault. That's what they want us to do. Forget that."
"So if you marry Thalmor asset Ulfric Stormcloak-" Lydia began, but Cecilia cut her off.
"Dormant Thalmor asset."
"That makes it all right then."
Cecilia hadn't shared Ulfric Stormcloak's dossier with many people: only Lydia, Delphine, and Esbern, and she already regretted having shown it to the last two, given their recent falling-out over Paarthurnax. It might not matter now, but if Delphine ever saw an opportunity for the Blades in using the dossier, she'd take it. Lydia, on the other hand, Cecilia trusted implicitly.
"If I thought for a second Ulfric was consciously working with the Thalmor, I'd kill him myself. But I don't. And you don't either, Lydia."
"Hmppph."
"They manipulated him at Markarth, that's obvious, and whatever I decide now, I need to confront him about the dossier. But not while our peace treaty hangs in the balance."
"Very well then. You agree to Ulfric's conditions, defeat Alduin, what happens next?
"Isn't it a bit crazy we're discussing this as if defeating Alduin is just a tiny little detail?"
"Everything's crazy following you around, my Thane."
Cecilia burst out laughing. "Damn right. Lydia."
Two hours later. The Dragonborn was at last out of her armour and pacing the floor of the room in her underclothes while Lydia sat with her back against the door to keep the bard out. This was immensely unfair to Miss Lynly Star-Sung who owned the other bed in this room, but what sort of an inn had not one private room? Lydia was already relegated to the floor when they stayed here. (At her own insistence, though Cecilia had never tried to dissuade her.) One hoped none of the delegates to the peace conference were planning on staying at the inn.
"I won't let Jarl Ulfric have it all his way," Cecilia announced, stopping mid-pace.
"I know, my Thane. You've said that. About a hundred times."
"Don't roll your eyes, Lydia. My grandfather was a career diplomat. I just have to draw on all my diplomatic blood."
Despite Cecilia's boast, the late Falco Attius had not been a very successful diplomat. His last post before the Great War had been an embassy to the Thalmor, during which they'd completely pulled the wool over his eyes. Falco was insistent the Thalmor wanted peace until the 31st of Frostfall, a day after the Blades' heads were gifted to the Emperor.
Going strictly by his diplomatic precedent, Cecilia realized she would probably read this situation wrong, make the worst decision possible, and then have to live it down for the next couple decades.
Killing dragons was a lot easier than diplomacy.
"I can't settle for just a temporary truce," she said at last. "If I do marry the Jarl of Windhelm, I have to be working towards peace for Skyrim."
"There's no peace in Skyrim," Lydia replied firmly. "You can't stop a bunch of Nords from bludgeoning each others' brains out. It's our way of life."
Cecilia began pacing again. "I'll be honest, Lydia. I don't really care about peace in Skyrim."
"Oh dear." Lydia's monotone revealed no shock or concern at this revelation.
"We'll be back to war with the Dominion before you know it and Skyrim can't keep out of it."
"Jarl Ulfric doesn't want to keep out of it," Lydia pointed out. "He's always talking about invading the Summerset Isles once this war's over."
Cecilia snorted. "After he's killed half of Skyrim's fighters. Lydia, I swear, he makes me so, so angry."
"My Thane, turn him down, I beseech you."
Lydia said this with such sincerity and gravity that Cecilia almost agreed to this request. Could she call Ulfric's bluff here? He believed enough in the Dragonborn and the threat of Alduin to enter a truce. If she refused him this concession, were there others he would take instead? She'd avoided being drawn into these discussions, but hadn't there been talk in both Solitude and Windhelm about trading control of holds? She could turn Ulfric down, then really push for him to get the Reach. Couldn't she?
She'd prefer if Ulfric did not get the Reach. At least not while Thongvor Silver-Blood was lined up to become Jarl.
"I'm going to die with my boots on, Lydia. Against Alduin or the Thalmor, I don't know which. And if it's not Alduin, there's worse I could do to prepare for the latter than become the Lady of Windhelm."
Lydia sighed. "Do what you will. I am sworn to follow you, wherever your path takes you."
"Thanks Lydia, I do appreciate you. And who knows, maybe the Jarl won't be so keen on marrying me once he knows all about me."
The banging on the door started up again. Lynly Star-Sung wanted her bed very badly, and Cecilia was at last ready to let her have it.
13 Rain's Hand, 4E 202, High Hrothgar
The great powers of Skyrim arrived at High Hrothgar at last. Cecilia and Lydia had climbed up the Steps the day before. So they could look down on the others huffing and puffing up the final steps, Cecilia claimed. So that they could avoid any chance of meeting Ulfric Stormcloak on the path, both Cecilia and Lydia understood.
The first to arrive at the conference were Delphine and Esbern. It was a frosty meeting. Cecilia had been mostly just flummoxed when the Blades demanded she kill Parthuurnax. In the time since, she'd dreamed up many angry, indignant speeches to set them straight. But meeting them here, she realized that she was not actually very good at confrontation and Delphine kind of scared her. She mumbled a few words, then fled to the Greybeards' dormitory.
Lydia came to fetch her an hour later. "The Jarl of Windhelm has arrived, my Thane."
"I'm not going to talk to him. If we're seen talking privately, it'll make the others suspicious. Lydia, just deliver my message. Tell him I say, "Yay."
The next week was the most important of Cecilia Varo's life. And this story will skip over it completely, because everyone already knows the tale of how the Dragonborn lured the dragon Odahviing into her trap, how she took to the skies to enter Skuldafn, and in Sovngarde united with the great warriors of old to shout down Alduin the World Eater.
This is the tale of the cosmically much less important things that happened after. It is not a romance, although marriage and love do both figure in it. And while our heroine is the Dragonborn, and Ulfric Stormcloak is committed to play a role, it's as much the story of a greying middle-aged Imperial battlemage and his lifelong one-man-war against the Thalmor . . . but we're getting ahead of ourselves.
Next up: 22 Rain's Hand, 4E 202, Dragonsreach. Not exactly the worst day in Jarl Balgruuf's life – he was in the War after all – but not one of the best.
Notes:
Here's a fic about politics and families, starring a Dragonborn who, as Dragonborns go, is not exactly hitting it out of the ball park. She's defeated Alduin, which is really the important thing, but it would never have crossed her mind to tangle with the Thieves' Guild, join the Companions, destroy or join the Dark Brotherhood, become Arch Mage, or do every random quest the NPCs wanted help with. Her preferred battle style is to hang back and let others do the heavy lifting while quietly firing spells from a corner.
Also, because this first chapter may be a bit deceiving, she isn't the sarcastic irreverent free spirit she imagines herself. Ulfric Stormcloak evidently thinks she's a pushover and . . . . But I'll save the character development for the next chapter, as well as the introduction of some other main characters.
Your author is a huge nerd, so the title is actually taken from a history book: Eiko Ikegami's "Bonds of civility: aesthetic networks and the political origins of Japanese culture". The appropriateness of the borrowing is questionable, but the phrase was stuck in my head. I think Elenwen (slated to appear in this fic) would appreciate it.
