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"Are you touched in the head, boy!?" Jarl Makin shouted from across the table from me, Jarl Arren Free of Dawnstar. I was shocked by Jarl Decimus' words, but by no means did I intend to insult him over it. I respected the older Imperial man too much to do that, and knew full well that he was also one of the most powerful Jarls in the Fatherland. Dawnstar had been decimated by the Solstheim War; it still was healing. In the wake of that conflict, Eastmarch, Whiterun, and Falkreath had emerged as the superpowers of the land, and while both the other Holds boasted much larger forces, Falkreath had a vast seam of wealth from its numerous land holdings gained during the war, as well as its lush forests. In fact, I'd wager that Falkreath was the wealthiest Hold in Skyrim, usurping Riften, Haafingar, and even Markarth in income, or so I would guess. The Holds and their Jarls were ever secretive of their coffers, save to the High King, but it was no small secret that trade was doing poorly across Skyrim and Tamriel, and the mines of Markarth grew ever less extravagant. Snowborn had never liked Decimus, and while I didn't know the reason for this hatred, I didn't care to find out. Jon was my best friend, but he could be as stubborn as he could be rude, and so, I often left him to own affairs, knowing that once he had formed his own opinion of someone, it was rarely changed.
"Watch your tongue, Silver-Blood." Decimus said back, his voice calm even as his eyes shined bright with anger.
"That coward didn't even come! If he'd rather bury his head in the snow, then he'll be no King of mine!" Jarl Makin growled, and I saw Decimus clench his teeth before Irgwyn spoke up.
"Jarl Kinzelus has made his opinion known, and you shall respect it, my Jarl." Jarl Irgwyn's voice was calm, but bore steel beneath the words. I smiled at her tenacity, even as the half-drunk Jarl of Markarth responded.
"Har! Does your woman fight your battles now, you little Imperial shit?" Jarl Makin's voice was gruff and hoarse and angry, as he stood up, his great form towering over all, being just a few inches shorter than the Eastmarch Jarl, who was still seated, along with everyone besides Decimus, who also rose.
"You will watch your tongue, or I'll cut it out, and feed it to you, Makin." Decimus' voice was angry now, and I saw the challenge render in Makin's eyes.
"I'd like to see you try, you milk-drinking son of a whore!" Makin's voice was practically a roar at this point, and Trevelyan began to speak before Decimus crossed the chambers, standing just a foot away from the taller Nord.
"Care to reiterate that, Silver-Blood?" Makin's mouth opened, and I could almost hear the threat being formed in his breast, before the doors opened, and Legate Jory walked in, his bright half-helm being held underneath his arm.
"Terribly sorry, my Jarls, but I thought it best to tell you... Jarl Dengeir is approaching the city. He has a small party with him, but it's definitely the Winterhold Jarl."
"And so the plot thickens." I said aloud, before drinking from my wineskin.
I, Jarl Irgwyn Black-Briar of Riften, watched as Jarl Dengeir of Winterhold strode into the Kingsmoot chambers, his usual, confident grin playing across his lips. He was a handsome man, probably the handsomest in the room, with dark blonde hair and grey eyes. But, unlike Decimus' grey iris', which looked like the sky during a storm, Dengeir's were so bright they appeared almost white, and his high cheekbones complimented them perfectly.
"My Jarls!" He said loudly, bowing before us all. I saw a smile play across Decimus' lips from besides me.
"We were told you weren't coming, Free-Winter." Snowborn said bitterly, and Dengeir didn't bother looking him in the eyes as he responded.
"I wasn't." He sat down besides me, locking his gaze with mine as he quietly said "Milady." I smiled at my old friend, before Trevelyan spoke up.
"What changed your mind?"
"Nothing of your concern, my Jarl." Jarl Dengeir looked at Decimus and nodded to him, which Decimus returned. "Now, what did I miss?" He asked, and Jarl Irri responded.
"You were nominated High King by Jarl Kinzelus." My friend, whom I had voted for as High Queen, said, and Dengeir's face lit up.
"Oh, was I? Well I thank you my good man." He said to Decimus, who stifled a laugh at the Winterhold Jarl's nonchalance.
"So was Snowborn, myself and Jarl Irri." Trevelyan said.
"Well, I vote for myself. Does that decide anything?" Jarl Dengeir said from besides me, and Snowborn piped up, his scowled face glaring at the Winterhold Jarl.
"It makes it a tie vote, in all ways."
"Oh. Well that's not good." Dengeir said.
"Agreed." Jarl Arren said.
"Well, I'll tell you all right now why your votes are wasted on these others," Jarl Makin began, standing up once more. "Jarl Kyrtis Trevelyan the Second is a tried and tested battle commander. He led the northern assault on the isle of Solstheim during the war! And he saved the eastern passes from falling to the Dark Elves!" Jarl Makin's voice was a boom, but Jarl Snowborn's seemed to command much more respect as he responded.
"Aye, I cannot deny any of that. But where he led the northern assault, I led the southern invasion of Solstheim. No one led more men into more battles during the war than me, and no one dealt more death to the Elves than I." He continued, his eyes burning with anger at the remembrance of the war. "And when we returned home, to find Skyrim on the brink of invasion from the Dark Elves, it was Trevelyan that protected Eastmarch from invasion from the durges, that is true, but he turned around after the war and offered them all a home, an asylum away from justice. The Dark Elves in Windhelm eat better than the orphans of the countryside, orphans who will never see their parents again, because they were killed by the same cravens who now live in Windhelm! That man," Snowborn pointed a finger at Trevelyan, "Cares more for the Dark Elves than he does for the Fatherland! He cares more the Dark Elves of Morrowind than he does for his own people!" Jarls Arren, Irri, and even Decimus applauded at that, and Trevelyan angrily rose, shouting back at Snowborn.
"The Dark Elves of my Hold were persecuted before me! They are still people, Snowborn! They deserve the same rights as us!" He shouted, and I saw Irri process the words, understanding, although possibly not agreement, shining in her eyes.
"You murdered your own father." Decimus said to Trevelyan, and Trevelyan's eyes shone brightly with fury.
"He was a racist and a craven!"
"And he was your father." Decimus said once more, before continuing, still seated. "I did not fight during the Solstheim War, my Jarls. My brother, Regillus, and my father, Marcius, led the armies of Falkreath north, and I acted as regent in their stead. I cannot say who was the better commander out of you two claimants, but I do not doubt that you both have earned your place in Sovngarde. But I cast my vote for Dengeir because he has done something none of us can lay claim to. He has turned what was once a pile of snow and stone into a thriving city. Winterhold was nothing in the days of the Dragonborn, and the failed Winterhold Rebellion only weakened it. The Northern Wolf did what he could, but he was a King, and he had only so much time he could devote to Winterhold. But when Dengeir became Jarl, he turned Winterhold around, truly and wholly. The coffers grow every day from the mines and docks, and the town grows even as we speak. And the College has never had more acolytes than it does now. Dengeir is a leader. More importantly, he is a leader worthy of leading. And if we must pick our new High King or Queen based on their virtue as a warrior, than Dengeir still is a worthy candidate. During the Solstheim War, it was Dengeir and his Winter Legion that lifted the siege of Dawnstar, which, had he not, would likely have ended the war in favor of the Dark Elves. And he personally led the Royal Navy against the Solstheim Flotilla outside of Eastmarch. He is a war hero just as worthy of praise as either of you two, my Jarls." Decimus finished his speech, earning a grateful nod from Dengeir, and Irri opened her mouth to speak. I expected her to defend her claim, but instead, she said something that very much shocked me.
"I change my vote. I cast it in favor of Dengeir Free-Winter of Winterhold." Her voice rang out, and chills shot up and down my spine as I chorused her.
"I change my vote in favor of Dengeir Free-Winter as well."
"Then it's decided." Decimus said aloud, before Makin angrily growled, his voice like that of a bear.
"No. It is not."
"I will never bend the knee to that smug twat! Markarth will never bend the knee to him! My family will never bend the knee to him!" I, Jarl Arren, listened as Jarl Makin shouted, and Trevelyan rose besides him.
"Nor will me or mine!" Trevelyan shouted, and I saw Snowborn think the same.
"I am the Jarl of Whiterun, and Whiterun will never bend to Winterhold! Nor to Eastmarch!" Jarl Snowborn roared.
"You'd defy the Kingsmoot!? You'd defy the laws of Talos himself!?" Decimus shouted, rising to his feet from besides me.
"Aye. To the death, I'd fight for Whiterun against him," Snowborn pointed to Dengeir, who was still seated, "And anyone who supports him!" Snowborn turned, and marched out, the door to the chambers flying open.
"I bend the knee to King Kyrtis II of Clan Trevelyan, and none other." Jarl Makin growled, and with a nod from Trevelyan, the two began walking out, before Trevelyan stopped, and turned to us all.
"Farewell my Jarls. I pray war does not end your lives, but if that is our fate, then I shall see you all in Sovngarde." With that, Trevelyan and his zealous supporter walked out.
I sighed loudly, turning to Decimus.
"What will you do?" He asked me.
"I'm sorry, Decimus. But Snowborn is my friend, and in truth, he's always been my King, even in the days of Argyle. It grieves me to think we might meet as enemies, but it may be so." I stood, and was about to walk out after my King, but Decimus caught my hand, stopping me.
"Farewell, Arren Free." He said simply, and I nodded at him.
"And you, Decimus Kinzelus." With that, I left the chambers, catching up to King Jon I Snowborn, as he mounted his horse, his Whiterun Guardsmen close about him. I kneeled before him, and raised my head as I spoke. "My King."
He smiled at me, his eyes warm, as I saw the darkening sky above him begin to rain once more. "You honor me with your loyalty, Arren."
"To the death, your Grace." I responded, and he motioned for me to rise.
"Get your riders and your mare, and prepare to ride hard and fast to Dawnstar. We must be quick about this. We have only days before the full might of the different Holds rise up to support whoever they've cast their lot with." He said, and I nodded at him, right as, from around the corner of the building where the Whiterun force had stabled, Jarl Makin and some fifteen mounted, armored Markarth Guardsmen rode out, astride their warhorses.
"What a small pack of dogs. And without their leashes." He growled, his mighty claymore in hand.
"Blood will be shed in the coming weeks, I assure you, my Jarl, but that can wait." I said, before he spat on the ground.
"Denounce Snowborn now, Arren, and for the love I bore your father, I won't gut you." Makin growled, before my King, still astride his horse, drew his bastard longsword from it's sheathe.
"Prepare to die, Silver-Blood!" He shouted, spurring his horse forward, towards the Markarth cavalry, his Whiterun Guardsmen right behind him. Before the tip of King Snowborn's sword was even in reach of Makin, the Silver-Blood Jarl's claymore bore into Snowborn's chest, throwing him off of his saddle. He was dead by the time his body hit the ground, and his Guardsmen were quickly met with a similar fate. Not knowing what to do, I covered my mouth, shock in my eyes, as I turned and ran to where I'd left my men.
I needed to get out of Solitude. I needed to warn Whiterun and Dawnstar.
I needed to get out of Solitude.
I, Jarl Decimus Kinzelus, bowed to the new High King of Skyrim, Dengeir Free-Winter. Besides me, Jarls Irri and Irgwyn did the same, just as Legate Jory and four Royal Army officers did the same behind us. I heard Dengeir chuckle, and he bid us rise.
"Well, this is not at all how I expected this day to go." He said, and I smiled.
"I meant every word I said, my King. You're the leader I trust." I said, and he smiled, as we walked out of the Kingsmoot chambers.
"I thank you, my friend, but I-"
Suddenly, the King was interrupted by a frantic Royal Army soldier running up to us.
"My Jarls! Legate Jory! Your Grace!" He shouted, panic in his voice.
"What is it lad?" Legate Jory shouted from besides me, running up to the man.
"It was the other Jarls, milord! Jarl Trevelyan and his men left the city after the moot, but Jarl Silver-Blood, he... Well he slaughtered the Whiterun men, milords! All of them, even Snowborn!"
I held back a gasp, before asking him a question, questions shooting back and forth in my mind. "What of Jarl Arren and the Dawnstar men?"
"They fled, milord! Jarl Silver-Blood escaped with his men as well, but it didn't seem that they were pursuing the Dawnstar force. They were making for the southern road to Markarth, and Jarl Arren was headed on the ghost road east to Dawnstar." The soldier said, catching his breath.
"They're making to rally their forces." Legate Jory said from besides me.
"War will come now, no matter what. Jarl Makin just carved that in stone with the blood of Snowborn." I said. Dengeir nodded.
"How quickly can you rally Falkreath's forces?" He asked me. I answered almost immediately.
"Right away. If I can get back to Falkreath in good time, I could have them back here by weeks end." I said.
"And Morthal could be rallied in three days time." Irri said.
"I can send a rider to Riften, instructing my sister to have the Riften flotilla sail up to lay siege to Windhelm. Eastmarch has more men-at-arms than Riften, but its fleet is nothing compared to ours." Irgwyn said, and Dengeir nodded his agreement.
"I'll sail to Winterhold and rally my men from there. Together, we'll close shut the jaws around these rebels." Dengeir said, and I smiled at his plan.
"But, your Grace, should you not stay here, and cement your throne?" One of the officers of the Royal Army behind Legate Jory asked.
"I can only cement my throne if half the Fatherland isn't in open rebellion, lad. Legate Alecsxandr?" He asked of the young Nord besides me.
"Yes, your Grace?" He said immediately.
"You seem a bright young soldier. I want you to lead the First Battalion down the south road into Markarth, and take the city for the crown. The Second Battalion will set sail east after me to help me break Windhelm's forces while the Third stays here and defends Solitude. With any luck, this war will be over by the time I return." Dengeir said with a smile. His confidence radiated from him in droves, inspiring us all.
But even with his charisma, I knew his wish was not to be. This war would drag on and on, well into and through the winter.
And many and more would be the casualties.