Her first introduction to Windhelm's people involved a pair of Nords snarling insults and accusations at a Dunmer woman named Suvaris. The Thalmor had put Savari in a foul mood, so seeing more bigots trying to stir up trouble did nothing to calm her down.
Savari stepped to one side of the gates and eased up behind, and a little beside the woman as she fervently denied being an Imperial spy. Savari's hands fisted. Words were one thing, but if these men attacked her, the guards wouldn't get the chance to quell the fight; Savari would do so herself; by knocking heads together if necessary. It would be cathartic, really, to introduce one hard head to another to see which was softer.
Fortunately the presence of two guards turned out to be enough of a deterrent to violence in the open, though the men suggested that they 'might' pay her a visit during the night as they stomped off.
Suvaris sighed, then turned a wary look at the Khajiit. "Do you hate the dark elves? Are you here to bully us and tell us to leave?"
Savari made a face. "Absolutely not. I don't hate Dunmer. I was very close to one before… I lost him."
Suvaris' expression softened at the pain in the Dragonborn's eyes, "You've come to the wrong city, then. Windhelm's a haven of prejudice and narrow thinking, unworthy of one such as you."
"No." Savari's tail lashed to the left as she put a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. "Windhelm's attitudes are unworthy for one such as you. You should not have to swallow their words of hatred based solely on your being a different race."
"Hmph." Suvaris grunted, "Unfortunately there's nothing new there. Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff is the worst by far. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Gray Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning. A real charmer, that one."
Savari grimaced. That the people were so open about their prejudices and harassing other races didn't bode well for Ulfric. Either he shared their views, or he was too busy waging his uprising to care for the other people in his city. Active encouragement, or preoccupied neglect. Savari didn't know which was worse.
The Dragonborn entered the Palace of Kings in time to hear Jarl Ulfric and his right hand man, Galmar Stone-Fist discussing putting pressure on Jarl Balgruuf. Galmar stated that Balgruuf was either 'with us or against us.' The black and white views of the bearskin-wearing Nord was concerning to Savari. There was no room in the warrior's mind for anything else.
As she walked the length of the hall, the conversation turned to the reasons for fighting the Empire. Galmar growled that he would die before elves were allowed to dictate the lives of men.
Ulfric retorted sharply, "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil! I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breath. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing! I fight... because I must."
Savari's lungs abruptly felt as though they were being squeezed and she paused to lean against the wall as she struggled to bring her emotions under control. Ulfric, consider yourself lucky that you were able to hold your brothers-in-arms at all. Some of us never got that chance.
The pain seared all the hotter as she was reminded again that none of Daryn's things could be recovered. She had no memento of his, save memories that were both as intangible as smoke, and as painful as a real blade in her chest. That pain was still capable of bringing real tears to her eyes.
She understood Ulfric's sentiments. She even agreed with them, to a point. But she did not agree with the direction of his anger. She understood that the Empire did what it had to do to continue to exist. Breaking the countries apart would only weaken the lands further, and the Empire needed to regroup, gather its strength and throw off the yoke of Altmer rule as one united front; not as smaller, divided lands. Jarl Ulfric's plan to separate from the Empire would result in a higher chance of Skyrim falling, with no allies to support it.
Though she didn't know politics very well, she knew plenty about adventuring! Adventuring had a high fatality rate. Most learned quickly that if they wanted to survive longer than a week, it was always better to go with someone experienced, who could teach you how to take care of yourself. Even more experienced ones, like Savari, understood that you were more likely to survive if you went in a group! Facing the Aldmeri Dominion couldn't be THAT different in some aspects at least. The Empire needed to be whole, and to use the sum of all its parts, just as an adventuring team needed to work with one another, not just alongside one another.
Savari spun and left the Palace of Kings without speaking to the Jarl. She had no doubt that Ulfric had reasons for wanting Skyrim separate. She bet they were even good ones, or at least understandable ones. But she could hear in his voice that he had no intention of backing down, and that his focus was similar to Galmar's - 'with us or against us.'
Returning to Whiterun and Dragonsreach, Savari paced the halls of the calmer, moderate Jarl as she tried to piece her thoughts together.
The lower floor quickly proved to be the wrong place for pacing, as Irileth's sharp eyes tracked the Khajiit every step of the way, despite being on good terms with both the Housecarl and the Jarl. It didn't help that Balgruuf's son, Nelkir, made caustic remarks about bootlicking whenever she walked within easy hearing distance. She had a strong desire to give the little brat a swift boot to the bottom for his attitude.
Muttering a few choice oaths in Dunmeri, -she could have sworn that Irileth snorted in amusement at her anatomically impossible descriptions- she swept up the stairs to the upper level and glowered without focus at the map of Skyrim, dotted with red and blue flags.
Normally, the map dominated the table, but today, something caught her eye and she turned her head slightly to look at it properly. It was a book… bound in simple leather; there was nothing to set it apart from many others like it. It was the title that dragged her eyes from their thoughts; "A Plea for Neutrality."
Hardly daring to hope, Savari picked up the book and flipped it open to the first page. The book spoke about how the civil war was nothing but brother fighting brother and how the innocent and the immigrants were the ones to suffer. It ended with a vow to refuse to join either side, and a personal note to a lady love to travel to Korvanjund.
The Khajiit drummed her claws on the table thoughtfully. The ruins weren't that far to the north of the city, and whatever item resided within those ancient walls might be worth investigating… assuming it hadn't been taken yet.
Glad to have a direction, Savari saluted Irileth and was soon on the road.
Korvanjund was… largely empty. There was evidence that a small band of bandits had made their temporary home at the entrance, but to all appearances, the Draugr had made short work of them. The Draugr themselves weren't much of a problem, though things got a bit busy when a number of them popped out of their tombs. She used up a good number of her health potions, but in the end, left the tomb carrying an ancient crown made from dragon teeth.
What would it mean to both sides of the war if the Dragonborn happened to be wearing it?
If they have something to yell about, I would be quite happy to Shout back. The Khajiit smirked. In fact, perhaps a bit of… tail tweaking is in order.
Ulfric sent her a letter via courier the following day after her return from the tomb. The speed of his message just might have had something to do with the grand telling of her adventure in Korvanjund -perhaps embellished somewhat- over a mug of Honningbrew mead in the Candlehearth hall.
With so many men loyal to Ulfric in Windhelm, and the habit of Nords to gather round anyone with a good story of danger and bravery, Ulfric was bound to hear the tale one way or another. A judicious Laas Yah Nir or two sent shivers down everyone's spines, and gave weight to her story as she pantomimed watching for Draugr after using the Aura Whisper. Placing the Jagged Crown triumphantly on her head after she proudly choreographed the final blow that felled Borgas, brought another round of drinks and a hearty cheer from her listeners.
The letter arrived just as she came down for breakfast the following morning:
Dragonborn,
I believe we have met before, briefly, in Helgen. I am glad to hear that you managed to survive. Not many can claim the same.
I am hosting a dinner this evening at the Palace of Kings. Food shall be served at 8 pm. I look forward to your presence, as I believe we have much to discuss.
Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak
Savari's cool blue eyes narrowed to glittering slits. Pretentious boar. Is he seriously just telling me to show up and assuming I will obey him? He didn't even offer me so much as an invitation between equals! We both use the Thu'um. He should at least respect me for that.
Her tail flicked and jerked, frequently darting to the left in disgust. He had watched Daryn get beheaded. He had seen Savari's soul laid bare, and had heard her wail of loss and grief as the axe had come down. Yet there wasn't a word of sorrow over having witnessed the loss of someone who had obviously been close to her.
Well no, of course not, she realized, Daryn was a Dunmer. This city is quite clear on its stance toward non-humans. And he does nothing to discourage it.
The thought put a rush of ice through her veins, chilling her hot anger at his callous disregard and disrespect. Paying for her breakfast, Savari packed her bags swiftly.
The day was young. Young enough that she could get quite a few things done. She headed straight to the marketplace. A polite request to Oengul War-Anvil, and a handful of Septims to pay for the time she would be making use of his forge, was all she needed to get started.
She had the raw materials, stripped from the dragons she had slain, and she fully intended to make use of them. It took nearly half the day, but her new set of Dragonscale Armor was complete.
She entered the hall a little bit early for the meal, but most of the guests were already there. The milling crowd turned to face her when the door opened and boomed shut behind her. As the echoes of the closing door faded, there was a wave of silence, and then whispers filled the hall.
The Jagged Crown was perched on her head, fully visible to the room at large. But, as she had planned, it was not the most prominent of items. Decked from head to toe in dragon scales, the Dragonborn looked every inch a dragon slayer; the crown was reduced to little more than garnish. Though her weapons remained in their holders, there was no doubt in anyone's eyes that she was both powerful and dangerous.
I am not a cat to be crossed, her armor said.
She looked neither right nor left as she made her unhurried way to the far end of the room; her cool blue eyes were all for the man sitting on the throne. Well, less sitting and more… slouching. In this moment, Ulfric didn't look like a leader; he looked like a pretender.
If he is trying to give the impression of a bored teenager who had been told by mother and father that he has to go to a stuffy event, then he is succeeding with flying colors. Savari kept the thoughts from her face and eyes. Does he inspire Nordic songs about his slouch, or the way he props a bored chin on his palm? I'm sure they're quite inspiring to his fellow Nords.
The man watched her come, and she could see emotions and thoughts chasing back and forth across his face. If she was reading him correctly, her armor was making him reevaluate his arrogance from the letter. The flicker of embarrassment in his eyes mollified her anger a bit. However, the thoughtful and determined frown that he only partially succeeded in hiding behind his hand, told the Khajiit that he had a few thoughts that he wasn't yet letting go of.
She gave him a slight bow, a gesture between equals. "Greetings Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. I am Savari, the Last Dragonborn."
"Welcome, Dragonborn. Please, enjoy the festivities." Jarl Ulfric inclined his upper body slightly. She noted that he did not rise to his feet, nor did he clasp her hand in friendship. The snub did not escape her notice, though she pretended that it did.
As she mingled with the other guests, something she was not entirely comfortable with but made do, she was well aware that Ulfric was watching her. He spoke frequently to Galmar in tones too low to be overheard, but her ability to read people gave her enough information to guess. Galmar was earnest. Ulfric doubtful. She suspected that the Jarl was doing some rapid fire editing to his plans.
Plans which, of course, involved the Jagged Crown. She was no fool. She knew the crown was what he really wanted, though if he were smart, he would try to butter her up with grandiose tales of Skyrim's freedom in an effort to get her to join his cause. If he had any common sense -something she was not entirely sure he had- in his thick, Nord skull, he would see her as an asset at the very least.
Not that she was interested in being an asset to the man's foolhardy attempt to rule the land.
Jarl Ulfric finally called everyone to the table, gesturing for the Khajiit to join him at the head. He sat with Galmar at his right hand, and Savari at his left. Left hand seat… the position of a Thane, should a Thane be in attendance. Since no one looked particularly put out, Savari assumed that Ulfric didn't have a Thane.
A subtle, and interesting complement. Insult then compliment. It was a tactic often used to keep others off balance. It was mildly amusing to see him trying it on her.
As dinner was served, Savari ate heartily, but drank sparingly. Although she enjoyed the occasional mead or brandy, she wanted all of her wits about her tonight.
Conversations were cheerful and lighthearted; sharing stories of the past. Perhaps only Ulfric and Galmar noticed that while she listened attentively and replied enthusiastically to others about their own stories and tales, she kept her own counsel more often than not.
This thought was confirmed when Ulfric and Galmar shared a swift glance, and then Galmar rumbled in his deep voice, "Tell me, Dragonborn…. How did you come by that crown?"
Subtle. Savari snickered to herself. Subtle like an anvil to the face.
The table went silent with a speed that said that most everyone here wanted to hear it from the source.
Letting a fierce grin pull at her whiskers, Savari launched into the story, giving plenty of details of battling the Draugr and dodging the deadly traps. As she recounted striking down Borgas and taking the crown, her story was hailed with hearty cheers and an enthusiastic toast from her audience. As usual for Nords, it was the tale that made the crown special, far more than the fact that it was an ancient artifact.
The party slowly wound down, and many of the guests staggered out into the cold night, warmed by spirits and good food.
Once the crowd was down to a few stragglers, Savari approached the Jarl as though to bid him good night.
"Savari, before you go, I would like to speak to you. Privately." Ulfric spoke before Savari could get a single word out.
Savari favored him with a slow blink, then gave her head a tiny dip and flicked her tail to the right in acknowledgement. Idly, she wondered if punching him in the jaw would be worth the response of the guards. It would certainly be a release from the cold simmering anger at the way he still seemed to treat her as someone he could give orders to and could expect them to be obeyed. She had a brief,childish urge to spin on her heel and walk out, just to defy him.
Ulfric, to his credit, did not make her wait too long; he gestured her into a side room, largely dominated by a map that was identical to Balgruuf's.
"I'll get straight to the point." Ulfric put his hands on either side of the map and leaned slightly over it while looking across the table at her.
For a moment, she had the ridiculous impression that Ulfric was like a dragon crouching over something of value. Which was silly, of course; dragons had no interest in mortal wealth. But he had that subtle suggestion of the danger and aggression, even at rest, of a wild beast. Coupling that with a kind of possessiveness to a map that spanned the width and breadth of Skyrim, he did resemble the domineering and controlling mindset of Alduin's lackeys. The realization made her a little cold inside.
"Dragonborn, I want you to join my army."
Savari held back a burst of scathing laughter with an effort of will. Not a 'please' or an actual request in sight. Just a straightforward statement, bordering on a command to obey. I had hoped that my status had risen in his eyes, but it seems not to be the case.
Daryn would have known what it meant when her whiskers abruptly pressed themselves flat along her muzzle and jawline, but Ulfric didn't seem to notice them, or if he did, did not understand. "Join… your army?" Savari allowed doubt to slide into her voice, much as she sometimes did while haggling over the quality of an item at a booth in the marketplace.
"You are the Last Dragonborn. Your name has power among the Nords. You stand before me as a powerful symbol to the nation, and many would flock to your banner simply for what you are." Ulfric's eyes were gleaming with something akin to greed, and that same possessiveness in straddling the map, was now aimed directly at the Khajiit. It set the fur on her shoulders prickling as that gaze traveled over the dragonscale armor she was currently wearing, before coming to a stop solidly on the Jagged Crown.
"And the fact that I am a Khajiit? What of that?" She queried, her voice low and steady.
"You are the Last Dragonborn," Ulfric repeated, "Your race is… inconsequential." If he noticed the way her eyes narrowed slightly, he did not comment on it. "You were given your powers directly from Akatosh. I do not think you can receive a higher recommendation than that."
And the Gray Quarter? The abuse your people heap upon non-humans? Do you think me so blind that I cannot see that all I am is a singular exception to a rule? You will only use me like a weapon of war, for your war, to use against the 'enemy' you have chosen to fight. And afterward? What use does a man have for a weapon once it has served its purpose?
Savari took a slow breath, "Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, are you aware that Alduin, the World Eater has returned? The war you fight has brought him back. While your men throw themselves against the Empire, they die by the hundreds, if not thousands. Every soul that ascends to Sovngarde only serves to make the soul devouring dragon stronger."
She saw a flicker in his eyes, an unease and horror that was there and gone again in an instant. "Alduin is still flying around, resurrecting his followers. Our people in Sovngarde are safe enough for now."
"You cannot possibly know that," Savari growled, "That black dragon can pass through the barrier between worlds whenever he chooses. Who's to say he doesn't fly back and forth, faster than a horse can run, to devour souls in between bringing more of his kind back from the dead?"
"Dragonborn, you speak of things that happen beyond the planes where mortals can go. The war is here; now. There are Thalmor dragging people from their homes as we speak. We must throw off the yoke of elven rule, or they will be sending good Nords to Sonvgarde by the hundreds anyway." Jarl Ulfric looked impatient by the direction of the conversation. "I need you to help Skyrim gain her freedom."
Savari pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly, "Reports say that the scattering of people being taken are confirmed Stormcloaks. Ulfric, you need to listen to me. Your movement is what is causing the problem. They are taking your supporters; the people who yell the loudest about Talos. No one actually cared much about the Talos worship until you started stirring things up. The Empire could have regained its strength, paid lip service to the Altmer, and then thrown off the yoke at a later date when it had recovered. Because you stirred things up, the Thalmor are on a manhunt…. and the Empire is forced to help them. You made things worse for everyone. And now? It's obvious that you don't need me. You don't even want me, save as a chess piece. You want the Jagged Crown."
The Nord flinched. It was a tiny one, but the Khajiit's eyes caught the subtle movement.
Savari turned to walk out of the side room that Ulfric had led her to. "The crown is not on the table for negotiations. And quite honestly, neither am I."
She caught movement in her peripheral vision and her dagger was in her hand, pointing at Galmar's right eye. "Galmar, ahziss shurh'do rakiit [my brave warrior], I respect you for your loyalty to the Jarl. And I can even respect that you would be willing to risk your life to take the crown by force. But I have destroyed even dwarven centurions in battle." With Daryn's help, she added silently. "Take some kindly advice…. Bandits? Violent thieves? They tend to be a bit of a trigger for me."
She turned slightly and met the bearskin wearing warrior's gaze with icy savagery. There was no give. No compromise. If Ulfric's second made the attempt, she would not hesitate to paint the room with the man's blood. And she let him see that fact.
Though his expression did not change, she saw his throat work as he swallowed, a split second before he backed off a few steps.
"Good man." She turned back to Ulfric, who stood glowering at her from across the map. "You do not wish to hear this. I understand. I have had to come to terms with some very hard truths too. But I am not a bow to be strung and fired at some enemy until I break or until thousands lay at my feet. I will not be used as a figurehead for a civil war that only serves to make things worse for everyone. And I will not legitimize your claim to the position of High King by simply handing over a prize that I claimed through long, hard, and dangerous work that was ultimately mine, and mine alone."
She strode out of the side room, turning to smile briefly and bid good night to the few remaining guests in the hall. The sound of Ulfric's boots pursued her and she spun to face him, light and quick, with her mace in her hand. He had a sword in his own.
Gasps from the guests brought all attention in the room on the pair as they faced one another.
"Don't do it, Ulfric." Savari's voice was low, but carried well in the silence that had fallen in the hall. "Challenge me, and I will not hold back. We will fight in a proper duel, and I will do my utmost to kill you. And as with 'proper Nord tradition," killing you in a duel makes me the victor, with no one allowed to arrest me. I am not King Torygg."
She watched his knuckles tighten on the sword he gripped, his expression furious. "You call yourself Dragonborn, yet you do not use any Shouts. You show no taste for battle. Are you an imposter, Khajiit? Or merely a coward? You do not use the Thu'um, yet you parade about openly claiming yourself to be the Last Dragonborn. Prove yourself then! Show me that you can speak Words in the dragon tongue to back your claims!"
Savari favored him with a slow blink of disdain, gripping the reins of her fury with both hands. The cold anger at being ordered about had risen to a hotter flame at the man questioning everything from her birthright to her honor. And yet, even her hot temper recognized his words for the child's dare they were.
I will not strike the first blow, she told herself sharply. Make him be the offender. Out loud, she sneered, "Maybe your insults have value to someone who respects your opinion, Ulfric. However, I do not hear insults. I hear farts. And we both know where farts come from."
She spun on her heel and strode for the double doors leading back to the streets of Windhelm. She got two steps. The sharp intake of breath behind her was her only warning. But it was enough.
"FUS RO DAH!" Ulfric Shouted behind her.
The Khajiit was ready, however, and braced herself. The concussion wave blasted along the long tables, sending food, plates, candlesticks and cutlery flying to the far ends of the room. Standing next to the tables, the wave clipped her and rocked her on her feet. Had she not been Dragonborn…. Had she not been created to withstand the unbridled fury of the dragon tongue... the power of the Shout would have lifted her bodily into the air and thrown her the length of the hall.
Well all right then. Challenge to a duel accepted. A feral grin split her muzzle, baring every sharp, white fang in her head.
Since she hadn't walked far before Ulfric had unleashed his Thu'um, when she turned back to the Nord and Shouted back, he got the full brunt of it.
"ZUN HAAL VIIK!" The Disarming Shout ripped the sword from Ulfric's hands with enough force to pull all five of his fingers out of joint.
The blade went flying toward the back of the room. Dimly she heard metal strike the stone wall far behind the man, and closed in on him swiftly, that feral grin still on her face. Ulfric gasped in shock and pain, hunching over his wrenched fingers. He took a precious secord to pop the joints back into place, pain bleeding the anger from his face.
Savari drew her mace back to strike the final blow.
"Enough!" Suddenly Galmar Stone-Fist stood between the two combatants, a battle axe in his hands. She would have struck him down with the same savagery that she planned for Ulfric, but Stone-Fist was holding his axe defensively, not offensively.
Still, Savari's tail was lashing as she warned him, "Galmar, this is a battle you are not to interfere with. Get out of the way, or join Ulfric in the consequences of challenging the Dragonborn to a duel to the death."
"I am not challenging you Dragonborn. I merely ask that the duel be called off. We have much to do, and cannot afford to let hot tempers put ourselves into a position that we cannot come back from." The Nord's gruff voice was muted to a soft rumble.
This time Savari let the disdainful bark of scornful laughter burst from her mouth. "He struck the first blow. By your own people's battle rules, it's not over until one of us yields or is dead." But she took a slow, calming breath, "I have proven that I am Dragonborn. If he acknowledges that I am the true Dragonborn, AND agrees to put aside the civil war nonsense until Alduin is taken care of, then I will allow the duel to be resolved with no further violence."
"Civil war nonsense?!" Ulfric spit out in outrage.
Galmar turned to Ulfric, "She has not killed you yet Ulfric, but she has brought you a step away from Sovngarde, and that's far too close for my tastes. She also has many good points. The war can wait. Continue to press, and Alduin will be the only one who benefits in the end."
Ulfric straightened, giving the Khajiit a furious glare. She met it, and eventually the Nord was the one to drop his gaze. "Very well. You are the Dragonborn, and I acknowledge my defeat here. I will issue orders to my Stormcloaks that we will not make any further large moves against the Empire until Alduin is defeated. But know this: the delay is only temporary."
Savari dipped her head slightly and flicked her tail to the right in acknowledgement, before leaving the hall with quiet, cold dignity.
I suppose I could have called them up to discuss the crown in High Hrothgar, she thought wryly as the cold and the dark of night enveloped her. I suspect making him walk the seven thousand steps again would have done wonders for his attitude…
Savari was no fool. She would not stay in Windhelm tonight. Regardless of Ulfric's supposed honor, it was too much of a risk to sleep in the city where the Stormcloaks were at their strongest. It was far too likely that one of them would think to come for the crown anyway.
She stopped back at the Candlehearth Hall a final time, taking her still packed bags from the Inn's owner before quickly and quietly disappearing through the gates of the city.
The night was cold and clear, with the land well illuminated by Nirn's moons. Her boots hesitated for only a heartbeat before she turned west along the road. Kynesgrove was much, much closer to the south, but that was kind of the problem; it was too close to the city to risk it. Nightgate Inn was several hour's walk to the West. She would arrive rather late at night, but it would be safer and quieter.
.
Savari did not approach General Tullius; her emotions were still too raw to trust herself in his presence. She carried weapons, and it was all too likely that she would use them on the General. She also wasn't sure whether he would remember her, or whether he would think to try to put her to death again.
She was still mulling over the question of how to possibly handle Imperial interest in the crown when a courier caught up with her in Whiterun. "I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver - your hands only."
At the Khajiit's raised eyebrow, he pulled out a letter and pressed it into her hands, "Legate Rikke paid a pretty sum to get this into your hands safely."
The Khajiit thanked him and pressed a few more coins into his hands in thanks, though he initially tried to decline.
Savari,
It has come to my attention that you have acquired the Jagged Crown, and that you have declined to side with the Stormcloaks. I have also heard whisperings that you and General Tullis have… met in less than friendly circumstances. I also suspect that your views of the Empire are less than stellar.
I could almost accuse Legate Rikke of having a Divine level gift of understatement, Savari thought dryly.
If you would find a safe place to put the crown where it will not be seen publicly, General Tullius will dismiss the rumors of the crown and the Empire will not try to relieve you of it. I wish you success in your dragon hunting endeavors, Last Dragonborn.
-Legate Rikke
Well! That was a much better deal than Savari had expected. Her respect for Rikke rose a few notches.
The Khajiit put the crown in a chest in Lakeview Manor's cellar and left it there.
