Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warnings for violence and death.

Fighting One Queen for Another

There were days when Falk Firebeard hated his job and today was one of them. First Sybille had made pointed references to his relationship with Bryling at court, then General Tullius told the Steward he'd see Elisif when he was good and ready before making his usual demands for all the surplus food Haafingar had managed to find, and finally Styrr, the Priest of Arkay, had brought grim news from the catacombs of Solitude. He'd fobbed them all off with the usual Steward's platitudes, learned from observing Raerek and Proventus Avenicci at past Moots, and went to stare broodingly at the accounts without actually doing them.

"Falk?"

Elisif's voice, soft and sweet, drew him from his brooding. Falk looked over his shoulder at his kinswoman, clad in her formal robes with her ruby-set copper circlet confining her shoulder-length red hair, and sighed. "What is it, your Grace?"

"Gytha's back. Balgruuf has agreed to my request."

The Steward rose to his feet hurriedly, nearly knocking over his bottle of Black-Briar Mead. "But I haven't been able to speak to the General about it," he said in some surprise.

Elisif's eyes glittered like a young girl who'd managed to pull off a bit of mischief. "Since the General has been giving us the run around, and since my duty as High Queen is to handle the diplomatic part of ruling Skyrim, I sent Gytha to carry a message to the Jarl of Whiterun."

Ah, Gytha. For all the young woman claimed to be a poor nobody with the manners of a goat, for all she'd lived as a virtual vagrant in Dragon Bridge for much of the past year, Falk knew a freelance agent, perhaps of noble birth on the bar sinister side, when he saw one. Her manners were too refined, almost High Rock in their delicacy, and she had the discretion that the nouveau riche Erikur decidedly lacked except when she was putting the arrogant Thane in his place. Within less than a week, she had established herself as a person of good standing in Solitude, showing that she wasn't too proud to run simple errands, and boosted Elisif's self-esteem considerably. Bryling spoke well of her, noting her honour in making sure her retainer Belrand had a funeral worthy of a hero who'd helped save Solitude; Falk's only objection was that Elisif put herself at risk by attending when a token would have been enough.

Hmm, perhaps an impoverished noble bastard? Falk rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully as Elisif looked at him expectantly. The Great War and the Silver-Bloods' rise to power in the eastern Reach had eliminated many of the local noble families, those who had been spared by Madanach. It would explain the accent and her manners, as many of the Reach Nords had intermarried with western High Rock nobility to secure the Druadachs, which was how the Count of Evermore had taken a Nord wife to sire Elisif.

"I suppose she's the one responsible for Commander Maro insisting on speaking to you before General Tullius?" he asked quietly, showing his Jarl that he had his own information network. Such was how things happened in High Rock – everyone of note had their own agents – and he knew that once she broke through her grief and inexperience, Elisif would realise this.

"Oh yes. She was wise enough to pick up the message on the way back to Solitude instead of carrying it to Whiterun," Elisif confirmed. "Poor woman looks a little ragged though."

Falk sighed as he ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "I wish I could allow her to rest, but Styrr came to me earlier. The ritual that Gytha and Belrand interrupted… It brought Potema half back into this realm. She's haunting the catacombs and according to Styrr, Gytha is the only one who can banish her because there's a link between them."

Elisif's lips thinned with fear. "I sent her to bed, and if I recall my magical studies correctly, Potema is best confronted in daylight."

"Indeed," Falk agreed. Elisif was thinking past her grief and hatred of Ulfric. This would make things easier when he stepped down at the end of the war. "Let her have her rest."

The Jarl sat down on the guest's chair at his desk. "I know about you and Bryling. And if word gets out, I'll back you."

A secret for a secret. Falk sighed in relief. "I intend to step down once the war is over, your Grace. There is still a conflict of interest."

"Nonsense, Falk." Elisif's tone was firm. "Gytha's a lovely woman and a skilled agent, but I suspect that she hasn't been half as educated as one of her rank deserves to be, so I doubt she can stand in as Steward."

"You picked up she was of noble birth too?" Falk asked, quickly changing the subject. He had never intended to be permanent Steward, only stand in until Torygg and Elisif could handle the duties of the throne themselves before returning to his mercantile business. "I suspect she's from the families wiped out by the Thalmor and the Silver-Bloods in the Great War and its aftermath."

"I honestly thought she was an adventurer who'd picked up some graces," Elisif admitted, looking chagrined. "Oh my, she must have been dreadfully insulted by my attitude!"

"If she had been, she would have vanished after Belrand's death," Falk reassured the young Jarl. "If she's a survivor of the troubles in the Reach, which is something I can hardly ask after without being incredibly rude, she'll be no friend of the Stormcloaks."

"Enemy of my enemy?" Elisif asked quietly. "That… makes a lot of sense. I'm trying to win her loyalty. I need to appoint a Thane, not rely on those inherited from Torygg and Istlod – no offence to Bryling meant, you know what I mean – and she'd be perfect."

Falk nodded in agreement. Elisif was trying to work through her grief and while Gytha no doubt had her share of faults – a certain discomfort in fine clothing being one of them – she would be a good counterbalance to Erikur's blatant opportunism and Empire-toadying and Bryling's criticisms of the Empire. "I will go through the armoury and see what enchanted goods can be spared," he suggested thoughtfully. "If it can't be used, Gytha will find a way to sell it and therefore raise the coin for Proudspire Manor all the more swiftly."

Paying for services in enchanted armour, weapons and jewellery was a tradition in High Rock, and while it might imply to some adventurers that the patron's treasury was short of hard coin – often a problem in the wake of the Great War – someone of Gytha's background would understand the cachet better than a simple mercenary.

"Of course, Falk." Elisif smiled in relief and rose to her feet. "I'll leave those details to you. Make sure, if possible, some of that equipment involves protection against magic and the undead."

"I will, your Grace," Falk promised.

"Thank you." Elisif left his room and Falk turned away from his accounts. The sooner appropriate gifts for Gytha's service were arranged and Potema dealt with, the sooner he could return to the books.

Oh for the love of sweet Akatosh, Gytha thought as Falk delivered the news that she was to crawl through a catacomb on her own and deal with a half-resurrected Potema. I should have refused Taarie's offer.

But trapped as she was in the Jarl's expectations – and owing the Wolf Queen for the loss of Belrand – she had no choice but to smile and nod. Falk Firebeard had managed to scrape together a mismatched set of light armour – mostly Imperial and leather – that gleamed with enchantment, a dwarven bow that shone deep reddish-orange with the promise of setting arrows alight, and an elven sword that held a blessing on it to banish the undead. She supposed it was something.

Now armoured awkwardly and having traded most of her looted goods to Beirand, who insisted on giving her a good price, for better arrows, she stood before the door of the catacombs hoping that her meagre magicka could power the spell Styrr had given her. Otherwise the Wolf Queen, from the Priest of Arkay's dire promises, would walk out wearing her corpse.

Not something to make me feel better, she thought as she opened the gate and entered the bowels of Solitude.

This close to the lands of the living, the draugr and skeletons she encountered were weak, easily dispatched with a swing of the axe. That didn't make her feel better, it just meant that things were going to get worse the further she descended.

Of course, her worst fears were realised, especially when Potema started to taunt her. And a couple vampires, no doubt looking for an easy meal in the wake of the Wolf Queen's ascension, decided to join in the festivities. Gytha flailed her sword around, making an idiot of herself and killing the undead through more luck than skill.

She eventually reached the heart of Potema's power to find the Wolf Queen's ghost, clad in ragged robes not unlike Elisif's, sitting on a throne surrounded by loads and loads of undead. "Not bad," she observed scornfully. "But can you survive my inner council?"

Three waves of draugr, most of them bigger and nastier than what the necromancers raised in Wolfskull Cave, followed – and Gytha ran out of magicka turning them back. Her elven sword ran out of enchantment and so she fell back to the iron war axe she was familiar with, hacking at the undead until they fell though their pitted weapons left numerous minor wounds on her bare flesh. Somehow she prevailed, Potema shrieking and fleeing through a door to her remains.

Gytha stopped long enough to pick up a fine ebony war axe from the corpse of the biggest draugr there, one who'd worn the crown of a king, and went through the door. Time to end this for Belrand's sake.

It was almost over before it began, Potema's ghost a weak frail thing after she'd expended so much of her power in raising the draugr. Gytha picked up the skull, crowned with a copper and ruby circlet like the one Elisif wore, and staggered towards the entrance with what loot she could carry. The old kings had been buried richly, which made for good pickings – or so Belrand had told her.

Dusk had come by the time she reached the Hall of the Dead and handed the skull to Styrr. He sat her down, insisted she drink a healing potion and one to cure diseases, and went to sanctify the remains so Potema never could rise again.

When he returned, the Priest's expression was alight with the strange fervour all clerics had, an emotion Gytha really didn't get because she was fairly certain the gods had better things to do than talk to mortals, and sank wearily into the seat facing her. "It is done," he intoned solemnly. "Inform the Jarl that Potema is banished forever and aye."

She nodded and stood up. At least the Blue Palace wasn't too far away.

When she entered the Blue Palace, she saw Commander Maro and Captain Aldis talking quietly with Elisif and her huscarl Bolgeir. The trio looked in her direction, Elisif half-rising from her throne, as Gytha announced, "Potema's dead… deader. Styrr says she won't be coming back from… wherever evil undead queens are from."

Then she collapsed.

"You want to borrow my agent for what?"

Elisif couldn't help her voice rising as Commander Maro made his unreasonable (in her mind) demand that Gytha perform a particular mission for him. An incredibly dangerous, no doubt impossible one.

"To eliminate the Dark Brotherhood," Commander Maro repeated, strong jaw set stubbornly. "We're talking about an agent who made one of Elenwen's most effective Thalmor Justicars disappear, snuck through Jarl Balgruuf's household – the most difficult to infiltrate because Irileth is probably one of the best counter-covert specialists in Tamriel – and defeated Potema the Wolf Queen. Astrid and her murderous band of thugs will be small potatoes compared to that."

Elisif gripped the front of her robes, trying to hide her nervousness. "I can't order her to do that," the Jarl told the Penitus Oculatus agent bluntly.

"I know." Maro took a deep breath and released it explosively. "I'm willing to make it worth her and your while, Jarl Elisif. Three thousand septims for her and both your names given to the Emperor."

"I doubt Gytha would appreciate the last," Elisif muttered, now understanding what the woman was – a covert agent of supreme skill, a hero who fought in the shadows like the Blades of old.

"You're planning to make her Thane," Maro pointed out dryly.

"Because so far as Solitude is concerned, she's an adventurer and occasional trouble-shooter," Elisif reminded him. "Many Jarls use such people to solve, ah, problems that cannot be approached openly."

"I only ask that you put the request to her," Maro said quietly. "A lot of septims have been moved recently between particular individuals and a high Imperial official known for being… unreliable… entered Skyrim through Dawnstar. Half the Imperial succession lies in Haafingar, Jarl Elisif, and hiring the Dark Brotherhood to eliminate the lot of us would allow a particular individual who has no business being there to ascend to the Ruby Throne."

Maro was speaking to her as he would any member of the Elder Council, frankly about the dangers and why particular actions had to be taken. Elisif sighed, looking towards the guest room where a sorely injured Gytha was recuperating under Sybille's expert eye.

"I will ask her," the Jarl of Solitude conceded. "But my court wizard says it will be a week or two, even with magical healing, before she's ready to take on any more duties."

"That works for me. It will allow me time to put things into place for the Brotherhood's elimination." Maro paused, expression considering, before adding, "I have other agents I can call on to perform this mission. But I would rather the rewards for success go to the rightful High Queen of Skyrim before anyone else."

With those words he saluted and left, Captain Aldis remaining behind with mouth pursed in concern and Bolgeir looking nearly as worried.

"Or he hopes that your best agent and Solitude's staunchest defender softens the Dark Brotherhood up enough for him to finish them off and gain the credit," Aldis noted dourly.

"Bolgeir is my staunchest defender and you are the first line of defence," Elisif told him gently. "Gytha has mobility and skills that both of you lack but you have strengths that she doesn't have."

Aldis nodded, still looking worried. Bolgeir, a kinsman from the Nord side of her family, preened a little at the praise. Elisif had learned long ago that men liked being honoured and flattered, though in this case the praise was true.

"I'm glad you're making her a Thane," the captain of the guard finally said. "If anything happened to you, I think half of Solitude would vote for her as Jarl."

Nord loyalty was easy to win and difficult to lose if you know what you were doing. Elisif struggled in doing so, maybe, but Gytha's lack of pretence certainly aided her in gaining the friendship of many prominent people in Solitude.

The Jarl took a deep breath. "If something does happen to me, support her or Bryling, whoever has the most support amongst the people. Don't you dare let Erikur sit on this throne." The good queen always prepared for the worst to happen so that her people were cared for. "If anything happens to me, have the Jarls support Balgruuf for High King."

A look of satisfaction passed between the men. "It will be so," Bolgeir promised softly.

Elisif sighed in relief. There was always the risk of Stormcloak assassins and who wasn't to say Ulfric had made a deal with the particular person Maro warned of, Skyrim's independence in return for a dead Imperial succession?

She nodded and made her farewells before making her way to Gytha's guest room, where she found the agent sitting upright and alert despite having staggered in, Sybille having vanished to… whatever she did in Castle Dour's dungeons at night. "Judging by that expression, you're about to command of me the impossible again, my Jarl," the Reach Nord noted with a weary sigh she didn't bother to conceal. "What is it now? Singlehandedly win the civil war and present Jarl Ulfric's head to you on a silver platter by next week?"

Elisif sat on the end of the bed, smiling apologetically at the green-eyed woman. "This is… a request. But it is an important one." The Jarl of Solitude outlined everything Maro had told her, reasoning which was no doubt old news to the covert agent, and watched the lines around her eyes deepen with worry.

"Commander Maro shouldn't dismiss the Brotherhood so lightly," Gytha finally observed. "To be honest, Jarl Elisif, I got lucky with Potema and that Thalmor. I literally just walked in and up to Jarl Balgruuf while everyone was having dinner. I'm a vagrant who wore a borrowed outfit because an elf offered me a few coins for it a few hours after I was kicked out of Dragon Bridge because Faida fancies Commander Maro's son."

The raw conviction in her voice made Elisif wonder if everything they'd assumed about Gytha was wrong, a collection of misunderstandings and mistakes that led everyone to think she was a skilled covert agent, but then she shook her head. Maybe she saw herself that way because she'd lost family to the Silver-Bloods. "I know your clan was eliminated in the Great War or just after," the Jarl told her agent gently. "By either the Thalmor or the Silver-Bloods."

Those green eyes, luminous like sunlight through spring leaves, widened in the tell-tale sign of Elisif hitting the mark. "The Silver-Bloods," she finally admitted. "Father owned Kolskeggr Mine, the richest source of gold in the Reach, and his brother Ainethach owned Sanuarach Mine, the richest source of silver outside of Cidhna. Now the Silver-Bloods rent Kolskeggr to some Imperial and his Orc friend while Uncle Ainethach, the last I heard, only hung onto his mine because Jarl Igmund's father vouched for him."

"High King Istlod said that much of Ulfric's 'purge' was really the elimination of Silver-Blood rivals," Elisif agreed sadly.

Gytha shrugged; the wound was so old and so deep that the pain of it didn't even register anymore, Elisif suspected. "It's old bones under the river," she said, referring to the Reach proverb about a wrong against someone being buried for so long that the years removed all trace of it. She obviously didn't believe justice for her clan would be done, something that nearly made Elisif weep.

"The Silver-Bloods openly support the Stormcloaks, because they know that if Ulfric wins, they won't just own the Reach they will have the literal power of life and death over its people," Elisif told her fellow Reach Nord flatly. "That Imperial official Commander Maro spoke of might just be funded by them – I can see Ulfric supporting a corrupt Emperor in return for Skyrim's 'freedom'."

Gytha's eyes narrowed. "Ulfric's too… how do I put this? Too straightforward. Yeah, he's a murderous son of a bitch with a mean streak a mile wide, but he doesn't have the Silver-Bloods' particular brand of nastiness. Thonar Silver-Blood is more than capable of arranging matters like this without ever troubling the Jarl of Windhelm's ears with something that might make the Butcher of Markarth feel the teeniest bit dishonourable."

"You know the Jarl of Windhelm?" Elisif asked cautiously.

"I've travelled all over Skyrim, my Jarl. Windhelm's a rundown shithole where half the populace is either trapped in a slum or locked outside the gates and the other half either worships Ulfric like he's Talos returned or looks over their shoulder in fear of not being deemed 'Nord' enough." Gytha shook her head in disgust. "Dawnstar is a shabby collection of cottages, two mines and a Jarl that's stripped it bare because he considers Ulfric the heir to Tiber Septim. Winterhold is an inn, the Jarl's hall, a shop and a cottage with a ruler who keeps on trying to run the only reason his Hold exists out of town. Riften's as corrupt as they say: Jarl Laila's useless and Maven should just marry into the Silver-Bloods because they're both nasty, corrupt pieces of work, except the Black-Briars stand by the Empire."

Elisif stared at the woman who called herself a vagrant, astonished by the succinct summary of the damage Ulfric had done to the east side of Skyrim. Perhaps she wasn't Steward material, especially if her family had been killed while she was likely only a child and so she wasn't properly educated, but she had an understanding of human nature that her other Thanes sorely lacked.

"Commander Maro needs time to put things in place to set up the mission for you, if you want to take it," she finally said. "If you do so, you have my full permission to engage in any actions you see fit."

"Destroying the Brotherhood will remove one of Maven's weapons," Gytha pointed out. "If you annoy her, she sends the Thieves' Guild to ruin you. If you piss her off, she sends the Brotherhood."

"I refuse to live in fear of a petty provincial mead-maker," Elisif said decisively.

"I'm not sure if you're naïve, crazy or brave," Gytha noted dryly. "Still, eliminating the Dark Brotherhood would definitely help your plans."

She fell silent, obviously thinking, running that brilliant agent's mind through the variables. Elisif assumed that she lived as a vagrant to protect herself from the Silver-Bloods; she still had rights to Kolskeggr and the corrupt mercantile family would want to eliminate all heirs to make sure they could keep their greedy little mitts on the mine. A harsh life, one that had forged her into the perfect spy.

"How much coin can you spare?" Gytha finally said. "I will need a lot of muscle to do this and the only way I can find people willing to take on the Dark Brotherhood will be to approach the Companions of Jorrvaskr."

"Commander Maro promised three thousand septims," Elisif told her.

"That might be enough. If I recall correctly, they demand half the coin upfront, so I'll sell all that enchanted stuff you gave me to raise the deposit." Gytha settled back into the pillows, looking exhausted. "Hell, I might get a discount because they do weird shit for glory, that lot."

"Thank you," Elisif said sincerely, pulling the blanket up a bit over the woman. She was truly beginning to like Gytha as a person because she didn't see an Imperial puppet, she saw Jarl Elisif the Fair, the rightful High Queen of Skyrim. If not for her fellow Reach Nord, she'd still be sunk in mourning for Torygg, willing to do whatever General Tullius told her.

"Don't thank me until it's done," Gytha mumbled before falling asleep.

Elisif patted her shoulder gently and rose to her feet. She might have a few pieces of jewellery she could sell to help Gytha fund the hiring of the Companions.