Thanks Catali7 for my first review here. I actually agree with Galmar myself. Ulfric's pushing his luck. But then he has a history of doing that, and it sort of works out? (Until it doesn't.) Cecilia's precisely half-Nibenese, a quarter Nord, one eighth Breton, and one eighth Altmer, though given how Elder Scrolls genetics work,that's like 99% human. Lots of blood mixing in Cyrodiil, though, I figure.
You know what's wrong with Skyrim these days? Everyone is obsessed with death. – Jon Battle-Born
25 Rain's Hand, 4E 202, Whiterun
Jarl Balgruuf the Greater came to the gate of Whiterun to see off the Dragonborn. He did this because the occasion demanded it of him, because his people were watching, but most fundamentally, because he was a good person.
There were some faces conspicuously absent from the throng that had gathered around the gate. Balgruuf's own brother had refused to attend, and none of the older Battle-Borns were there, a sign that gossip had begun to spread throughout the city.
A short moment of comedy preceded the drama of farewell. After an unasked-for and unnecessarily long performance of The Dragonborn Comes, the bard Mikael bent over to kiss Cecilia's hand, and she pulled it back very quickly before he could.
Then it was Balgruuf's moment to say something. What he really had in his heart, he could not say, so instead he wished her a safe journey, and then embraced her. "May the gods watch over your battles, friend," he added, as always, and meant that truly.
Irileth briefly inclined her head to the Dragonborn, but said nothing more.
Cecilia Varo looked around her. She seemed so young and vulnerable and sad, surrounded by her crowd of well-wishers. A memory came unbidden to Balgruuf's mind: Legate Attius standing in Talos Plaza the day the White-Gold Concordat was announced. So different from her daughter, but with the same look of quiet misery on her face.
Avelina Attius had been happy again after that, he reminded himself. And so had he been, and Irileth, and so many of those heartbroken soldiers who couldn't believe that they'd defeated the Dominion just to sign over everything they'd fought for. The world was always ending, and always beginning anew.
"Thank you," said Cecilia at last. "I don't deserve any of it, but thank you, all of you. I will always consider myself a daughter of Whiterun."
The crowd cheered, although some of them seemed to have picked up on the oddly subdued tone of this parting, and were looking puzzled. Cecilia seemed as though she might say something more, but then shook her head, and turned her back to the crowd.
"Let's go, Lydia," she called to her housecarl.
And so the Dragonborn departed Whiterun, accompanied by five of the Companions: Farkas, Vilkas, Aela the Huntress, Ria, and Njada Stonearm.
There was a short sequel to this scene. Ten minutes later, Lydia came running back to grab something she'd forgotten in Breezehome. Jarl Balgruuf was still at the gate, talking with the citizens, and Lydia stopped to speak with him on her way out of the city.
"My Jarl, thank you so much for making me her housecarl," she told Balgruuf breathlessly.
"You've well fulfilled our trust," he replied warmly.
"We'll trust you to keep protecting her," said Irileth.
Lydia assured them she would, before she ran back to join her thane.
25 Rain's Hand, 4E 202, The Thalmor Embassy, Haafingar
Tanulvie, our uncomfortable Thalmor newcomer to Skyrim, had barely unpacked and reconciled herself to barracks life when she found herself assigned to field duty. She was going to Markarth, Elenwen informed her. And she'd be going without any soldiers, out of uniform, by hired wagon. It was not, Elenwen was quick to emphasize, an espionage mission, but she should hide her identity, anyway. Thalmor patrols had been going missing too often in this land. The safest route to Markarth was to play the part of an ordinary traveler with money enough to pay for transport. As she was new to Skyrim, no one would recognize her as Thalmor along the way, even if they were suspicious of all Altmer.
"Once you arrive in Markarth, you will contact Chief Justiciar Ondolemar at his headquarters in Understone Keep. You won't be carrying any documents, so I trust you to carefully commit to memory my instructions for him."
"Understood, Mistress Elenwen." Tanulvie did not fear forgetting. Her teachers had trained her well in the art of certain recall, preparing her for jobs such as this.
"Very good. I have sorted out several documents for you to memorize." Elenwen waved her gloved hand at a tall stack of papers. "But I am giving you my personal instructions now. The most important aspect of your mission is to tell Ondolemar to begin an investigation into a woman who may live in Markarth or elsewhere in the Reach. Her name is Embla Attius, although she may also be called Embla Snow-Child. She is an elderly Nord woman, eighty-five years old, if she is still living. She originally hailed from Solitude, but she has lived much of her life in Cyrodiil and was married to an Imperial diplomat who is now dead. It is of the utmost importance that we locate her, dead or alive. If she is alive, Ondolemar must take her into our custody. It should not be a problem, since the woman is an attested heretic. Will you recall all this, Justiciar?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Good. Tell Ondolemar that Embla Attius is the maternal grandmother of Cecilia Varo, the so-called Dragonborn. We know now that when Cecilia Varo first came to Skyrim, she was supposed to go to Markarth to join her grandmother there. How she ended up a prisoner at Helgen we do not know, although she probably came north through the Pale Pass from Bruma. Ondolemar should determine whether Cecilia Varo has since made contact with her grandmother or any other relatives in the area. There is also a son of Embla Attius, Pavo by name, who may be in the Reach, if he accompanied his mother back to Skyrim." Elenwen paused. "This is in the strictest confidence, Justiciar Tanulvie, and for no ears but the Chief Justiciar's. Assist him then in his investigations, however he orders you."
Tanulvie laid her arm across her chest in salute. "Instructions received and understood, Mistress."
"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion," Elenwen intoned the solemn words of parting. "Auri-El watch over you."
"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion," Tanulvie replied as required.
And then she could leave, taking the papers to study and learn in a quiet corner of the Solar, away from Elenwen's forbidding presence. Her interview with the First Emissary had gone better than she feared. Of course, she had no desire to travel Skyrim alone, but a trip to Markarth by wagon should not be a worry for a trained wizard of the Thalmor.
She did hope the Dragonborn wouldn't take this moment after her victory against Alduin to come visit her Nord grandmother in the Reach. That would be unfortunate timing. Thalmor wizard though she was, Tanulvie had no desire to stand against this powerful mage with a grudge against the Dominion.
She was therefore very happy a few days later, after she'd set out to Markarth, to hear that the Dragonborn was heading to Windhelm, on the opposite side of Skyrim from the Reach. Since she was new to Skyrim's politics, she did not take much notice of the accompanying rumour which was sweeping the country like wildfire: the Dragonborn was going to Windhelm to marry Ulfric Stormcloak.
30 Rain's Hand, 4E 202, Windhelm
The news of the Dragonborn's coming went ahead of her, as she and her honour guard took their time traveling the road to Windhelm. They were waylaid by admirers at every inn, farm, and fort along the way, and for once, Cecilia Varo lingered at long meals, called camp early, slept in, and lived life as someone who wasn't in terror of the world ending should she not be prepared to save it.
Ulfric Stormcloak thus had ample warning of her arrival, and was waiting at the gate into Windhelm to welcome her. There had been no official announcement made yet, but the small knot of soldiers waiting with him were in his confidence, and thus bursting with excitement.
Ralof was nearly walking on air. After all, it was he who had rescued the Dragonborn from Helgen. "I couldn't have believed it would end up like this," he was saying to a group of spell-bound Stormcloaks. "It goes to show, the gods do reward kindness to strangers."
That was a good moral to draw from these events. It was not the one Ulfric would have drawn himself. His ran more along the lines of the gods rewarding those who seized every opportunity they were given. Time and time again he had seen the way forward and taken it. With regret sometimes, but never remorse, he'd pushed forward for Skyrim's sake. Today was no different, waiting here to greet the woman he'd won in a diplomatic deal.
At last, the Dragonborn was approaching. She and her party did not hurry across the causeway, so he had a fair amount of time to watch her draw near. Before the conference at High Hrothgar he had never really focused on her appearance, and there she had been sitting at the table, her eyes downcast, doggedly avoiding his gaze. Now she was marching into Windhelm with her head help up high. As he stepped forward to welcome her, she met his eyes with a frank, clear gaze he had never seen from her before.
She was small, compared to most Nord women, clad in green glass armour from her head to her toes. Her eyes were a pale blue, evidence of her Nord ancestors, but she was olive-skinned like many a Nibenese. As she halted before him, she reached up to remove her helmet, letting fall a mass of dark brown ringlets that reached down to her shoulders. Her housecarl took the helmet from her.
"Welcome to Windhelm, my Lady." He reached out and took her gauntleted hand in his.
"As promised," she replied, a small nervous smile appearing on her face.
"And these must be the mighty Companions of Ysgramor," said Galmar, breaking into the awkwardness at just the right moment.
The Dragonborn lifted her hand from his to introduce her comrades. Most of them Ulfric had already met; the Companions were active from one end of Skyrim to another. He was pleased that they had given his betrothed the honour of their company. He could not have planned a more fitting and memorable escort for her to enter the city.
"We will repair to the Palace of the Kings, and give you some time and space to rest and refresh yourself," he spoke after all the introductions were made. "My people all wish to meet and thank the Dragonborn, so I have made arrangements for a feast tonight, but I will not resent it if you choose to only make a short appearance, then retire early."
"I'm well-rested enough," replied the Dragonborn. "And the Companions would murder me if I didn't let them stay up for the Feast."
"Hey don't badmouth us to the Jarl," Aela retorted.
The Dragonborn laughed and tossed her hair. Her eyes then met Ulfric's, and she looked away again. There it was, that flash of someone different, someone more lively than the meek, gentle woman he'd met so far. He was marrying the Dragonborn, but it remained to be seen who Cecilia Varo was when she wasn't the symbol he planned to rally Skyrim around.
The walk from the Front Gate to the Palace of the Kings felt like the longest in Cecilia's life. The streets were packed with people out to catch a glimpse of Skyrim's savior, so they moved very slowly past Candlehearth Inn, past the Temple of Talos, up the steps to the Palace gate. The Companions gleefully cleared the way ahead of her and Ulfric who walked side by side, followed by the Stormcloak soldiers. Thankfully, he did not take her hand again.
The cheers were mostly "All Hail the Dragonborn!" and "Praise her!" so she concluded the common folk did not know of the betrothal. She wondered when Ulfric planned to announce it, perhaps at tonight's feast? She wouldn't mind if that was his plan. They might as well get it over with. The same went for the wedding, to be honest. A quick simple wedding would be easier to navigate than some grandiose long-planned ceremony. And he'd promised he wouldn't keep her tied down to Windhelm, so the sooner they were married, the sooner she could get back to her business.
She knew what would be expected of her as the wife of a Jarl. She wouldn't try to escape Windhelm; she'd make this town her home base as Whiterun had been before. (Whiterun was way more convenient for that purpose; life just wasn't fair.) And then . . . it would be up to the gods whether she bore him children. She had her doubts because she'd never heard a breath of gossip that Ulfric Stormcloak had any bastards, and if a man got to his age without a wife or children , well . . . maybe she should stop making assumptions and meet her new life as it presented itself.
He was good-looking, in that rough-hewn Nord fashion. And despite being ever so old (forty-six), he was well-preserved, in peak health. She didn't have to worry about being prematurely widowed, except of course that she did, given his chosen path of fighting the whole world till he reached Sovngarde. Worried might be the wrong word. She might actually be relieved if General Tullius drove a sword through Ulfric's heart one day. And then she felt terrible for thinking that as she walked beside her future husband. With such contradictory thoughts whirling inside her head, she reached the Palace of the Kings.
There were more people to greet her there. The Steward Jorleif was so warm in his welcome that she began to wonder if he was counting on not paying her any more bounties. The court-wizard Wuunferth showed up for approximately one minute, the minimum he needed to say hello, certainly at Ulfric's behest. She didn't really blame Wuunferth. She'd made a mess of the Butcher investigation, locking the poor old man in jail while the real killer struck again. The other citizens of Windhelm hadn't blamed her for that. They had also been taken in by Calixto Corrium's façade. But she should have known better; she'd had the skills to investigate that amulet herself, and because of her complacence, two women died whom she could have saved.
At last, Ralof came forward to shoo off the court members and servants surrounding her. "I'll show you to your quarters, Dragonborn, Companions."
"And Lydia," added Lydia.
"Yes, and the Dragonborn's housecarl, my apologies," Ralof continued without missing a beat. "Follow me."
Cecilia looked over to Ulfric who nodded. Cecilia gratefully turned to join Ralof.
"You know, you owe my thane an apology," Lydia spoke up as they followed Ralof into a passage off the Great Hall.
"I- what?" Ralof stopped on the first step of a staircase.
"You called her ugly the last time we met, " continued Lydia mercilessly.
Ralof's face turned beet red. "I did? I don't recall that. Why would I say that? She isn't ugly. At all."
"You were very drunk," said Cecilia. "In Candlehearth Hall. I told Lydia not to mind you."
"I'm sorry! I truly don't know what came over me!"
"Were you wearing that creepy dragon mask?" Aela asked Cecilia.
"No, I didn't have it then. Might have been my helmet struck him oddly."
"I'm so sorry!" Ralof was spluttering. "Please forgive me."
"Of course I've forgiven you. Lydia's just needling you."
"How long are we going to be stuck in this tiny passage?" Vilkas called out from the back.
Ralof recovered himself enough to start walking again, though he cast more than a few nervous glances at Lydia while he was showing them to their rooms.
Notes:
Yes, Ralof called me ugly in my Stormcloak play-through of Skyrim, and I'm still not over it. I also messed up "Blood on the Ice" during the first playthrough in the worst way possible: Not only did I imprison Wuunferth and let another murder happen, I basically watched Calixto stab Hillevi Cruel-Sea to death because I didn't realize I could attack him yet. So Cecilia's got my terrible experiences there, and probably a lot of guilt/trauma over that.
So, storywise, Cecilia has some things to say soon to Ulfric (whom she apparently thinks is either gay or infertile), questions about the Thalmor and the Markarth Incident, particularly. Her long-suffering father is on a boat to Solitude, and my Thalmor wizard is heading for the Reach, woefully unaware of the dangers that await her there. Elenwen hasn't heard that the *Blades* are now head-quartered in the Reach, after all.