ACT I: SOLITUDE
1.01 Masters of Solitude
It was an exaggeration, likely started by Stormcloak propagandists, that Torygg was torn to pieces by the power of Ulfric's Voice. In truth, and even Ulfric said so numerous times, the Jarl of Windhelm only shouted the High King of Skyrim down to the ground before ending the duel with a strike of his sword.
Nonetheless, that one strike led to the churning of a series of tumultuous events that became impossible to reverse. And all throughout Skyrim, the fields of snow ran red.
It could be blamed on the Nordic passion for bloodlust but many contend that the Civil War was unnecessary; Torygg's death, a waste. The High King's dislike for the Imperials had matched that of Ulfric's and, had the latter only asked, Torygg would likely have seceded from the Empire. High King Torygg respected Ulfric, downright admired him even.
But regret does not bring the dead back to life. And the people of the north now had to look onward, to the future. With Ulfric's subsequent defeat and capture, the Civil War was just about ended. And Skyrim needed a new leader.
Elisif the Fair came out of her revelry as someone coughed softly behind her. She stepped away from the window looking out to the Blue Palace's gardens. There were three people who had entered the room, not counting her handmaiden, Fralia, who led the way.
The first of the three was Thane Bryling, her friend and ally in court. The Thane smiled warmly when the Jarl of Solitude looked her way. Elisif beamed back in response, noting how her old friend's smile took years away from her aged face.
When Torygg died, he left behind no heirs and, had some had their way, a new High King would have been appointed via election by the Jarls. None had deigned to acknowledge Elisif's not-so-inconsiderable claim to the throne, though many secretly believed that the crown was hers by right. Even the people would agree; she was well loved by the masses. She was, after all, Torygg's loving wife. And had it not been for Bryling's staunch support, she may not even have attained her rightful position as Jarl of Solitude, the Capital City of Skyrim and the bastion of Imperial power in the north.
The Jarldom of the Hold of Haafingar, where Solitude is located, belonged to Torygg; as such, it should have only made sense for it to have been transferred to Elisif after the High King's untimely demise. And though it had been a fair while since Torygg's death, the dispute for the throne of all of Skyrim was still ongoing. It was momentarily set aside due to the civil war; but now that Ulfric had been captured…
Elisif looked at the second person to have entered, and she nodded in greeting, if in a somewhat cold manner. She did not bother to see if General Tullius replied in kind as her gaze moved on to the third visitor: a young Imperial soldier who she did not recognize. But before she could inquire his name, General Tullius cleared his throat.
"Greetings, my lady," the General began, "The first Cohort has safely transferred their prize from Castle Dour to the Blue Palace's dungeons. With your permission, I've billeted one Company inside the Palace to help watch over Ulfric for the rest of his... stay. They have been here for a week already actually; they've been making inspections on the Palace's security prior to the Stormcloak's transfer."
Elisif nodded. "You still don't approve of my request? Formidable as Dour may be, the Palace is still a better choice for his imprisonment at least until the festival."
Tullius sighed. "My lady, he is a dangerous man. For every moment that he lives and breathes, rebellion will remain a constant threat to the north—"
"General. For as long as you keep bending over to the Thalmor, rebellion will always be a constant threat to the north."
Tullius pursed his lips, the soldier beside him widened his eyes, Bryling suppressed a grin, and Fralia kept her head bowed behind them.
Elisif maintained her gaze on the General, daring the old Imperial to blurt out a retort. But the latter did not take the bait. Tullius simply bowed and said, "That may be so, my lady. But we must first deal with the problems that need more immediate attending to."
He looked back at Elisif and calmly matched her steady gaze. Insult me as much as you want, said his eyes, but you need me as much as I need you.
And that pretty much summed up their relationship. Elisif needed the General's military prowess to supress the rebellion. Even though four of the six Imperial cohorts currently in Skyrim were comprised almost solely of Nords, they were loyal to Tullius, very much preferring his brilliant leadership over hers, untested as she was in the art of war.
The General on the other hand, knew well enough not to have gone gallivanting into Skyrim like an occupying force. As far as the people of the north were concerned, he was here to protect them from their king's murderer and his vagabond army. Without the people's support he'd have had a hard time keeping order. And that was where Elisif came into his calculations.
The people loved her, and not just in Solitude; she was well admired by the common rabble in all of Skyrim. Not only that, her title alone held sway over the people of high standing. She had influence over the Nordic people on both ends of the social order and that was what made her a necessary, though reluctant, ally. There are many nuances to waging a war, and most battles are not fought in the battlefield. Strange as it sounded, Elisif was the General's best soldier.
Eventually, Tullius looked away. He cleared his throat and indicated at the Imperial officer. "This is the Company's new Captain, Jon Battle-Born. He'll be reporting directly to you and your steward for the duration of the festival."
The young officer bowed at Elisif who looked at him in mild surprise. "A Battle-Born?" remarked the Jarl, "You carry quite a name, Captain. The Battle-Born are both cursed upon and revered in Solitude for their unwavering support of the Empire. I hope you can deal with the pressure; a different sort of battle is waged in Solitude's court, and it is a battle you'll be thrust into eventually if you intend to stay in the Palace."
Jon bowed again and said, "I think I'll be busy enough keeping an eye on the prisoner. I won't allow myself to be distracted from my duties, my lady."
Bryling snorted. "I don't think you fully understand what it means to be a Battle-Born. Nowadays, by your name alone, half of Skyrim would follow you into war while the other half would wish you dead. Especially with what your family did to House Gray-Mane…" The old Thane let her voice trail away but her eyes remained on Jon.
The latter flinched but did not look away. "It was a clean feud... as clean as feuds could be anyway. They sided with Ulfric and we sided with the Empire. We supported Solitude, my lady," he looked purposefully at Elisif, "We supported you. And we won the fight; we routed House Gray-Mane's forces in the siege of Whiterun."
"Oh no one doubts your honor for fighting a fight. The two strongest Houses in Skyrim coming to a head… it was inevitable that one would fall. Fortunate for all of us that it was you Battle-Born that remained standing. But it's not your victory that stains your name. It's what happened afterwards."
This time Jon looked down. He knew that Tullius was staring at him with eyes demanding that he not say another word. But he didn't need to say anything. The guilt was obvious in his face and even Bryling felt a pang of regret for bringing the sore point up.
The city of Whiterun was the perennial stronghold of House Gray-Mane. And it was forces aligned with House Battle-Born that took it by storm. The Gray-Mane family was arguably the strongest Stormcloak supporter in the north, and the surprise siege of their city stronghold was what had caused Ulfric to come out of his bastion at the east.
Except Ulfric never arrived to the besieged city's aide. He was ambushed and captured by Luther Oranius who had accurately anticipated the Stormcloak's move to relieve the siege.
The siege itself was a glorious fight. Olfrid Battle-Born, the patron of the family, was lauded for his victory by Nords on both sides of the war. But what no one had anticipated was the massacre that quickly followed their victory. In the following week, the Gray-Mane would lose more men and women than from the siege itself.
The Captain sighed. His family name, however tainted, he still felt obligated to defend. He regarded Bryling and spoke steadily, "I am not a politician; neither am I a diplomat. Tell me; what could my father have done? If he stood in opposition then we'd have been no different from the Stormcloaks. We'd be waging a war doomed to fail."
"I was there at Whiterun's plaza when it first started, and I can tell you without a doubt that every single Battle-Born in attendance that day felt the pain of guilt and remorse stabbing their heart. I was there."
He exhaled and looked away. Everyone in the room fell silent, each lost in thoughts of past loves, lives shattered, and deaths unanswered. Surpisingly, it was Elisif who broke their revelry as she regarded the Captain with a gaze that held new-found respect.
"Remorse is the root of virtue," she began, "with it come resolution and eventually, absolution. For a soldier, you are not what I expected, Captain… perhaps it would be wise to not make enemies of each other for that is what our true foes intend of us."
"Wise words, my lady," Tullius spoke up and both officers bowed deferentially at the Jarl.
The latter simply nodded and said, "Yes well, thank you for today's report, General. As for you, Captain, I'm sure you're eager to return to your men."
Jon smiled briefly. "In truth, I have yet to see them and I dread our first meeting. They are a seasoned bunch and I don't know how they'll react to having someone as green as I am as their commander, never mind my participation in Whiterun's siege."
"Oh? You are newly promoted then?" It was Bryling who spoke up. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped forward to examine the young Captain. "Which Company?"
"2nd Skirmisher, Emperor's 3rd Legion."
Bryling hissed. "The Forlorn Hope. Luther's old Company." The old woman whirled around and rounded on Tullius. "So eager were you to replace Luther with one of your own cronies, eh? A Battle-Born, no less. No disrespect meant to you, lad—" and she nodded at Jon, "—but your grandpa Olfrid Battle-Born and Tullius here are so close to each other's backsides you'd think they're sleeping together! Luther's already dead and you're still spitting on his grave—"
Tullius turned red. "Enough—"
"Oh, but it's never enough is it?" Bryling persisted, "I won't outright accuse you of murdering Luther but I can tell you for sure that everyone in the whole damn army is thinking it. And how long do you think you'll last once the war is over, Tullius? Your very own soldiers can just as easily turn on you as you've done to Luther."
The General breathed in deep before looking back at the Thane. "Luther got himself killed by his own vice."
Bryling sneered. "Tell that to his men who you so conveniently ordered to stand watch over Ulfric. They stayed their hand and obeyed your order to let Ulfric live, and now see where they find themselves. I suspect it can only be pure torture for them to be guarding the one and only Stormcloak of all people. It just wasn't enough that Oranius is dead; you just had to take it out on his friends too."
Tullius' voice was barely controlled rage. "I gave the 2nd the job because they're the best veterans I have in the army. They may hate it but I know that they'll obey my orders and not touch Ulfric. I cannot say the same for the rest of my soldiers."
"Hmph. How can you trust a General who does not even trust his own men?"
"When a General assumes his soldiers' trust, he becomes their property."
"And thus the great Tullius has spoken," Bryling muttered. Before the General could react, the Thane motioned at the handmaiden, Fralia. "Kindly lead the Captain and the dear General out. I'm sure they've a lot to attend to."
Fralia bowed and moved to the door, waiting expectantly for the officers to follow. Tullius nodded curtly at the Jarl before purposefully ignoring Bryling. With a whirl of his cloak, he marched out of the room followed by Jon, who was filled with various thoughts of apprehension, and the handmaiden, whose head remained bowed but whose eyes followed the Captain's every movement.
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Whiterun Hold was a massive expanse of tundra and open grassland that catered to numerous farms and steadings. These, in turn, catered to the ever hungry stomachs of the Nordic people. Considered as the food basket of the north, the Hold provided the vast majority of the province's grain and dairy output, immediately marking it as vital territory when the war broke out.
Add to that the fact that it was situated almost dead center of Skyrim (it bordered 6 of the province's 8 Holds), one would have thought that it would have become pockmarked by scars of battle after two years of warfare. But before Ulfric's capture, the only large-scale battle that had occurred within the Hold was the siege of Whiterun, the Hold's main city once dominated by House Gray-Mane.
Of all the races in Tamriel, the Nords knew the pain of hunger the most. It came with living in a harsh winter land. Despite their incessant need for warmongering, they were not about to let their own people starve no matter their political affiliations. As such, the war for control over the farms was not a war of swords and shields; it was instead a war of words and allegiances.
Each farm was controlled by a clan. So it was all simple really: Those who supported the Empire sold food to the Imperials, and those who supported the Stormcloaks, like the Gray-Manes did, sold their harvest to the predominantly Stormcloak east.
But most of the clans remained neutral at the start of the war. Perhaps because of the Hold's tenuous position, or for fear of loss of profit, most farm owners continued to sell to both warring proponents all the while trying to resist the mounting pressure from their clients to pick a side.
Eventually, the majority of the clans would be swayed by the powerful Gray-Manes whose shadow they had been safely living under. But with the city of Whiterun's fall, their loyalty came into doubt. And with Ulfric's ensuing capture, they quickly and proudly displayed Imperial banners all around their farms for passersby to see.
It was one such banner that the bard had been looking at. He was deeply mesmerized, as he so easily was in Thorald's opinion. The former was transfixed at the banner's numerous meanings and unsaid declarations.
"Fear is a powerful weapon," the bard spoke up, "And with cowardice so often comes conformity."
Thorald gave him a sidelong glance. "If you break into another song, I will bash your empty head in good and proper." The Nordic warrior then turned to face the third of their company. The latter was also transfixed at something in the distance; although, instead of looking at the Hold's farmland which had opened up in front of them, the Daedra was staring up to their right, where the mountain ranges thrust upwards to meet with the misty sky.
"The Throat of the World," Vaermina half whispered with eyes in a glaze. "All paths you follow will lead you to the same place, Nord. And that place will be there, amongst the clouds."
"Right now, I prefer to be surrounded by clouds than present company," Thorald muttered back as he glared at his two companions who were lost in their own worlds, "Now if you two are done sight-seeing, it's time to move on. The city gates will be closing soon."
"Ah, but all gates are open to one such as I," said the bard, "My talents can open many doors to us, you see. With but a strum of my harp I can gain us access to any place where people long to be freed from the boredom and monotony of their otherwise cheerless lives. Music is the magic that we bards cast."
Thorald glared at him. The bard, who called himself Sven, was carrying their entire load: two full packs of food and various basic necessities. He also had a simplistic harp carefully wrapped and hanging around his shoulders.
"Where did you acquire all those anyway?" Thorald asked Vaermina while gesturing at the packs.
The latter only shrugged. "Sven's mother. She was most generous."
Thorald frowned for a moment before realizing what she meant. "By the gods. You have no shame do you? You not only ensorcelled this sorry sod to carry your baggage but you also stole from his mother?"
"And for whose sake do you think I did all that for? You're the one in need of food, not I. As for dear Sven here…" Vaermina smiled sweetly at the bard, "He was gracious enough to lend me a hand in carrying your unconscious and brutish form out of town before more of the Thalmor arrived."
"And I don't suppose your witch magic had anything to do with his generosity?"
"I always try to help people in need," Sven spoke up, "We of Riverwood are a kind people, as befitting our protector Mara who watches over our village. When I saw the poor lady and yourself in dire need, I thought it only proper to offer my helping hand."
Vaermina smiled again. "And for that, we are grateful. Mara will surely be smiling at your kindness."
The Gray-Mane shook his head. "And tell me, Bard, how does the Goddess of Love protect your village?"
"Well… she has a centuries-old statue that stands close to our village. It really is magical, you see. It has never been sullied or scratched—"
"Truly?" Thorald began, "I seem to recall someone saying that they blew the statue to—"
He was quickly cut off by Vaermina who laid a hand on Sven's shoulder. "Come, friend bard, we waste time and the city beckons to us. Tell me, have you ever been to Whiterun?"
"Of course, many times! I would be more than happy to show you around. Why, I know the city just as well as I know my own village. I've even performed a few times at Dragonsreach, I'll have you know. My music is very much appreciated in all of the Hold… beyond even!"
"Really!" Vaermina replied in exaggerated interest. She gave a sidelong glance at Thorald. "Please do tell more." She coiled her arm around Sven's as they started walking onwards.
The bard began prattling on about nobles and ladies that he had supposedly waited on during the length of his apparently illustrious career as a bard. They ignored their companion who remained unmoving, watching them walk away.
He was tempted to bolt and just run towards the other direction. But he doubted if he could shake off a Daedric Prince as easily as that. Besides, he had to find Olfina, his sister, and Whiterun was the first step in deducing her whereabouts.
Before long, and after a sigh and a shake of his head, Thorald Gray-Mane began following the entwined couple up ahead. Just a few more yards and he'll be standing once more in front of the gates of Whiterun.
Looks like I'm going back home, brother.
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The Palace garden was now a den of shadows when Elisif had her second major visit of the day. It was her handmaiden, Fralia, who led the way once more. And behind her were two robed women, an elf and a Breton.
Elisif nodded at Sybille Stentor, her court wizard whose magical prowess was believed to be rivalled only by Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold far to the east. The Jarl wasn't sure of how to describe her relationship with the court wizard. The latter held no political preference and mostly stayed out of the 'war of succession' pervading Skyrim. One thing that Elisif can be sure of however was Sybille's sole focus and unwavering determination in keeping the Hold of Haafingar free and safe from demonic trickery.
And the wizard was part of the reason why the Blue Palace was widely considered as the safest and most protected fortress in all of Skyrim. Aside from Castle Dour of course, but Elisif had no control over that place.
Sybille Stentor was responsible in maintaining and improving upon the intricate magical wards that dotted the Palace. The wards themselves had existed for a long time, ever since the construction of the city after the old one was destroyed. And as court wizards came and went, they each added their contributions to the Palace's magical defenses until it became as it was now: an almost indefensible stronghold of divination capable of detecting the barest trace of poisons and deflecting the strongest of magical attacks. And as easily as they kept enemies out, the wards also kept enemies locked in.
Enemies, for instance, like Ulfric Stormcloak.
There'll be many who'll be trying to free the Stormcloak leader. But they'll never get past the Palace's wards. And on the festival, in front of the Palace where he had once dueled Torygg, he will be executed… killed in a symbolic place and at a symbolic time.
Elisif glanced at the second woman, the elf, and she inadvertently clenched her jaw. "Ambassador, to what do I owe the… pleasure?"
First Emissary Elenwen of the Thalmor bowed deeply, lingering for a second in the bent position. She then stood her full height, at least a head above everyone else in the room, before looking down regally at the Jarl.
"Greetings, Queen Elisif—"
"I am not a queen yet. And save your honeyed words for those willing to listen to them. What do you want, Ambassador?"
"Only a moment of your time, my lady, to warn you of a grave issue that seriously affects both our offices." When Elisif made no reply, Elenwen continued, "I have taken the liberty of asking your court wizard to join us as she will be integral in dealing with our problem. I am sure her—"
"Cut the crap, Elenwen. What do you want?" Sybille interrupted in a frank manner. Elisif smiled inwardly, liking her wizard more so than a moment ago.
Elenwen nodded unfazed, but she raised her head higher, making her gaze seem more condescending to his shorter audience. "Our want involves the one whom your people have come to calling the Wolf Queen."
Sybille raised a brow. "I'm surprised that even one such as you has bought in to these unfounded rumors. The Wolf Queen has long been dead, Ambassador. She exists only in the gossips of superstitious guards and peasants."
"I agree with you of course, it is but a rumor. But I am certain neither of you can deny that a murderer is on the loose. And, after considering what the murderer's managed so far, you also cannot deny that this killer must hold at least some measurable skill in the magical arts."
"True indeed," Sybille replied, "But we have close to nothing that could lead us to uncovering the killer's identity. Most of the murder locations had magical traces but nothing substantial enough to form a trail we could follow."
"So you agree our killer has talent… enough perhaps even to overcome the Blue Palace's impressive wards?"
The court wizard immediately shook her head. "No matter how talented this killer is, he or she has yet to penetrate the Palace's defenses. Any unauthorized magic that intrudes within the wards' boundaries would immediately be expunged, not to mention alerting myself and my cadre of mages in the process."
"Perhaps. And what if there exists a gap in your magical barrier, a loophole wherein a person could easily slip through. Or what if the killer were to take a non-magical route to infiltrating the Palace? After all, your wards could only defend against magic but not against a crude blade."
"That is where my palace guards come in," Elisif said, "They are the best. Now why don't you tell me what the point of all this chatter is, Ambassador. I'm sure your spies have already told you all you need to know about the Palace's wards."
Elenwen nodded somberly. "Very well," she began, "I have reason to believe that there will be an attempt to free Ulfric Stormcloak from his bounds. As to when, I am not sure but it will obviously be sometime between now and the coming festival."
"There have already been many attempts—"
"I believe this one to be the most threatening. I believe it will happen while the Stormcloak is in the Palace, within the protection of your wards. And I believe that our murderer, the 'Wolf Queen', is in the middle of it all. And I also believe that she just might succeed."
The whole room fell silent. After a long while, Sybille spoke up, "You have… quite the beliefs, Elenwen."
"Indeed. And it would behoove you to take them seriously."
"And why are you suddenly so interested in this Wolf Queen?" Elisif demanded.
"My interest is purely a desire for retribution. The murderer deemed to take a visit last night… Four of my guards are dead and one of my Justicars was badly injured."
"The embassy was attacked…? That sounds quite unlike our murderer. And who could her target have been?"
"It was I, obviously. I am after all here as an ally of your Emperor. It was only a matter of time that this Imperial-hating murderer would set his or her sights on me. Fortunately, I have long been prepared for that moment and I was able to get away unscathed although I cannot say the same for my dead men."
"You saw the killer then?" Sybille asked.
"No. The attack was swift and the killer never got past our perimeter. Those who saw the killer were the same four guards who are now dead."
"But you mentioned a Justicar—"
"So I have, and you will have all the time to interrogate him once he is released from our infirmary. In fact, I will assign him to head the detail that I am sending here to help stand guard over the Stormcloak… his punishment for letting the murderer get away."
Elisif frowned at this. "Which brings us to the next most glaring question: How are you certain that the palace will be attacked and that Ulfric's release is the main goal?"
The First Emissary did not answer immediately as she looked through the window and at the now darkened sky. When her gaze returned to the other two, that mocking demeanor had once again returned. "I have my sources and at this point I am not ready to tell who they are. You have my word however—"
"You expect us to simply believe your bold suspicions without giving us evidence?" Elisif bristled, "If you want any sort of vengeance for your dead men then you will tell us—"
"My secrets…? And if I do so, would you then share yours? I would be more than forthcoming with information should you do the same. I can only wonder how many Talos worshippers you secretly hide from the Embassy. In fact, I'm sure in this palace alone…" She gave a cursory glance over her shoulder. Behind her, Fralia stiffened but her head remained bowed, her face hidden under her cowl.
"I will say this," Elenwen continued, "We are together in this matter for our goals are one and the same: the safety and security of the Palace. I will be sending Justicar Rulindil and some men to your attention very soon. I sincerely hope you will give them permission to roam your halls freely."
She turned around to leave, bumping Fralia on the shoulder as she made for the doorway. And when she was long gone, Sybille let out a weary sigh. She gave a slightly sympathetic look at Fralia before turning her attention to the Jarl.
"Quite a woman she is," the wizard muttered, "What do you think she's up to?"
"Something sinister no doubt. But there's definitely more to all this than just a simple attempt at freeing Ulfric."
"You think she knows who or what this 'Wolf Queen' really is?"
"Perhaps. But I think the little 'breach' in their perimeter last night may have been a lot more than she had let on. Whatever happened there, it must have been worthwhile enough to make the Ambassador to want to get her hands on the murderer."
"Plausible," Sybille nodded, "Whatever the case, her suspicions of a possible attack on the Palace likely has merit considering she came here to voice them out personally. I'll see to my mages and the palace guards."
"Very well. In the meantime, we need to interrogate that Justicar who survived before they have time to fabricate a story."
"Sound," Sybille nodded again, "Shall I send some of my mages?"
Elisif thought for a moment before shaking his head. She gestured at her handmaiden, "Fralia, go fetch our new resident Battle-Born. Tell him I have a job for him. If our murderer intends to infiltrate our Palace, I think it best that we get our Imperial protector involved."
The handmaiden quickly bowed and made for the door.
"And Fralia... Talos guide you."
The handmaiden hesitated briefly before bowing again and making her leave.
"I must say," Sybille said softly when Fralia left, "You play a dangerous but impressive game, Jarl Elisif."
"What do you mean?"
"You entertain the Thalmor and the Imperials both in this same room all the while surrounding yourself with Talos-worshipping servants and lackeys. You hold the grudging respect of Elenwen and Tullius and also that of the common people. A tenuous balance all of it is and yet you manage to maintain, at the very least, neutral relations with every single being in Skyrim."
"If everyone respected me I would have been queen by now. It is not a matter of getting as many people to like me as possible; it is more of getting the right people's approval. And what of you, do I have the approval of my own court wizard?"
"You and I, we remain as we always have been. I assist you in all things magical but I shy away from your political machinations. I have learned from a young age to minimize my dealings with mortals as much as possible. I have long given up trying to understand my fellow men. In truth I find it easier to deal with otherworldly beings as I now do as Solitude's head wizard."
"You would prefer the company of demons and other such creatures instead of people?"
"As I've said, people are difficult to understand and almost impossible to trust. But as for unnatural beings who roam these lands like our 'Wolf Queen'… there is always only one thing that needs to be understood about them."
"And what thing is that?"
"Why, how to kill them, of course."
