Mary Muir: Thank you for the great review. You asked some great questions that I'll answer in the endnotes of this chapter, since I think they'll fit better there.
Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, Titus Mede II, and unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire. May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty. – The Imperial Legion's Oath of Allegiance
2 Second Seed, 4E 202, Highmoon Hall, Morthal
Jarl Idgrod insisted her guests stay the night in Highmoon Hall. Elenwen, however, insisted on setting up camp outside the Hall. This suited Varo and his companions fine.
"If you want to go camp out in the swamp, go for it," Varo advised her. "We'll be in here enjoying Nord hospitality." He took another sip of ale.
"I'm sure it's a very nice tent," observed Emilin after Elenwen had stalked out of the Hall. "You know how Altmer do things."
"In style," agreed Varo. His half-Altmer mother had certainly been that way. Curinwe Varo could never understand why a mage should put up with simple Legion-issued tents, and traveled through warzones with more luggage than she could possibly put to use.
"Mages have no sense," he continued. "Just because you can think up ways to carry along your household furnishings, doesn't mean you should."
"Varo, I've seen your saddlebags," twitted Rikke. "You've got enough in there to start your own general goods store."
"I'm a mage, aren't I? But I need all that stuff. You'll see."
Once he was certain Elenwen was not coming back, he pulled out Idgrod's book to show Rikke and Emilin. While they examined it, he recounted Idgrod's vision. Neither of them was impressed.
"So, something terrible will happen if you do something completely stupid," Emilin summed it up. "I'm not afraid of fate, Junius, but I'm always afraid of your harebrained schemes. If you dare set foot in Shalidor's maze, I'll drag you out by your ear."
"I don't believe our future paths are set in stone," said Rikke. "But true prophecies guide us in our choices. We should know that by now, after everything Cecilia's done. If Jarl Idgrod hadn't told you all about Shalidor's maze, would the idea even be in your head to tempt you, Varo?"
"It's not tempting," Varo protested. "Not now, anyway."
"Keep Cecilia fixed in your mind," Emilin advised.
"I always do." He frowned. "I wish I knew what our timeline was there. Can we prevent the marriage or do I have to widow her?"
"You're going to kill Ulfric then?" asked Rikke slowly.
"If no one else gets to him first," said Varo. "Isn't that what Tullius's plan has always been? Strike down Stormcloak and the rebellion falls to pieces?"
"Yes."
Varo gave Rikke a sharp look. "What's eating you, Legate? Did you think we could spare him?"
Rikke shook her head. "No. He's gone too far, and he'll never back down. I've made my peace with that."
Varo wasn't convinced by her assertion. "You know him, Rikke?"
Rikke looked down at the table before her. "Yes. Known him since the War. He fought with us, you know. I can't forget the artless, brave boy who left a privileged life in Skyrim to defend the Empire against the Dominion's onslaught."
Varo took a deep breath. "What happened to him?"
"We were in the Eighth Legion. I was wounded just before the City was cut off and sent north to recover."
"I remember. They sent as many of the wounded away as possible," said Emilin.
"Ulfric was still in the City," Rikke continued. "When the City fell, I thought he must have died, but the Dominion had taken him prisoner. He was in their hands for seven months. I can't even imagine."
"I can," said Emilin simply. "Either they hated him very, very much or they thought he'd be useful to them."
Varo didn't say anything. He knew Emilin was speaking from experience of the first. He'd seen Thalmor dungeons. Unwanted pity for Ulfric Stormcloak crept into his heart alongside the old feelings of guilt.
Junius Varo should have died in the Sack of the Imperial City alongside his fellow soldiers. Instead, he'd lived as Titus Mede's favour to his mother.
"They were keeping him as a hostage maybe?" Rikke continued. "They must have found out he was the son of the Jarl of Windhelm. Anyway, he escaped his prison at last."
"Really?" Emilin lifted her eyebrows. "I didn't know one could do that."
"He had the Thu'um. They weren't prepared for that."
"Why wouldn't they be?" Emilin pressed. "I've heard Nord shouts in battle. The Thalmor aren't stupid. They'd know how to deal with that."
"There are plenty of Nords who can manage some sort of Shout," Rikke explained. "War cries that fray the enemies' nerves and put them off their balance. But Ulfric's a step above that. He was trained by the Graybeards themselves in the ancient Way of the Voice. He doesn't compare to Cecilia, but I've seen him shout open locked iron doors, if that gives you an idea."
"So he escaped. And after that?" asked Varo.
"He came back to us, but he could barely lift a weapon," answered Rikke. "He was recovering slowly from his time in prison. Then the war ended and he was devastated by the Concordat. I stayed in the Legion, Ulfric went back to Skyrim and the next thing I'd heard he'd raised his own militia and taken Markarth back from rebels in the Reach."
"Now that's where I first heard of Ulfric Stormcloak," commented Varo. "The Forsworn were ready to negotiate with us, but Stormcloak simplified everything immensely. Seemed like a good ending, till we found out what the fool Jarl had promised him."
"You're supporting the White-Gold Concordat now?" Rikke asked skeptically.
"Well, on paper. And for the common people's sake. If I run around Tamriel wearing Avelina's old Amulet of Talos," he pulled out the amulet to show Rikke as he spoke, "that's my head I'm risking. But if I encourage the average peasant to keep worshipping Talos, that's their blood on my conscience."
"Understood," said Rikke, putting her hand to the chain around her own neck. "But Ulfric couldn't live with our dishonesty."
"So he killed his own king to soothe his conscience?"
"He killed Torygg because he's a power-hungry ego-maniac. I thought I understood him; Torygg's death was proof I didn't anymore."
2 Second Seed, 4E 202, The Palace of the Kings, Windhelm
Ulfric returned to the Palace of the Kings in the early hours of the morning. He knew he would be up in a few more hours to see the troops off to Whiterun, but he hoped to snatch some sleep in the interim. His hopes faltered, though, when he entered his bedroom and found Cecilia Varo sitting in his chair by the fire. She was reading a book, which she closed quickly and slipped into the side of the chair.
"Who let you in here?" he asked.
"The door wasn't locked."
His guards had no orders to restrict her movements, and he probably should leave it so, irritating though her intrusions were. He had no secrets hidden within this room.
"I was waiting for you," she added. "Is that not allowed?"
He gave her a weary smile. "No, it's allowed. You want to hear what happened out there?"
She nodded. "If you have the time, my Jarl."
He pulled a second chair close to hers, and sat down. They were sitting nearly knee to knee. "We spent a few hours waiting and watching for trouble. Some Nords and Dark Elves got into a fight, and when Ralof tried to break it up, Rolff Stone-Fist chucked a stone at his head."
"Is Ralof all right?" she asked, alarmed.
"Aye. He has a cut above his left eye, but he's walking and talking fine. Rolff's in the Bloodworks. The rest of the mob I gave a good tongue-lashing. We'll have to see if this lesson sticks."
"I hope it will. Will Galmar mind about his brother?"
"I doubt he'll be surprised. I'll have to figure something out for Rolff. Can't keep him locked up forever, and he's a bloody menace left on his own."
"Why not send him to Mixwater Mill? Gilfre's desperate for labourers."
"Clever. I'll consider it, my Lady."
She was beaming now, and he turned his thoughts from the Gray Quarter to winning her co-operation in more things than loathing Rolff Stone-Fist. Carefully, he reached out to take her hand in his. She didn't pull back. Success, he supposed.
"What can I do not to back you into a corner, my Lady?"
Her face registered her surprise at the question. "I – I just wanted a breathing space, for myself, for this country. You could all put aside killing each other so I could kill dragons, but you couldn't put your war aside a second more."
"No. I could not. That truce did not save lives. It cost them. It gave both sides two more weeks to prepare for a long siege."
"By that logic, you should have begun your siege long ago."
"Aye. I waited too long, hoping Balgruuf would join us. I've never rushed to war, my Lady. More than two decades have passed since the Thalmor first pushed their way into Skyrim, and all that time I waited, holding them off from my own lands, but keeping peace with the Jarls who bowed down before them. Two decades, two weeks: the time to wait is over. If we fall now, we fall. And then you may pick up the pieces as you will."
"Do you think you'll fall?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head. "I have too many promises to keep. And now there's the one I've made you."
He bent towards her and, experimentally, touched his lips to hers. It was not a great success. She did not pull back, but sat stock still.
He sighed, and drew himself back, letting go of her hand. "How difficult is this going to be?"
"I don't know. I can't know yet. I have to ask you something, my Jarl."
"Ask away."
She pulled out the book she'd been reading when he came in. It was a thin volume bound in red leather. "I found this in the basement of the Thalmor Embassy."
"What were you doing there?" he asked sharply.
"Searching for information on dragons. I didn't find any. What I found. . . ." she broke off and handed him the book.
Upon its spine was the name Ulfric Stormcloak.
His hands trembled as he opened the book.
Status: Asset (uncooperative), Dormant, Emissary Level Approval
Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran
Asset. How dare they? "You've read this?" he demanded.
"Yes." Her face showed no emotion, but she was watching him closely. He looked back down at the page and tried to read line by line, rather than let his eyes race over the page.
Background:
Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape.
There were more words but he could not read them. His stomach rose up in protest.
(the city had in fact fallen before he had broken)
(the city had in fact fallen before he had broken)
(the city had in fact fallen before he had broken)
And then he was on his hands and knees in front of the fire, vomiting. The journal lay on the floor where he'd dropped it. Cecilia was still sitting in her chair, watching.
Even after he'd emptied out the contents of his stomach, he continued to retch violently.
"I'll get help," said Cecilia suddenly.
He put up his hand to stop her. "No. Don't move."
Then he collapsed on the floor, face down in his own sick. He felt Cecilia's hand on his back.
"Please, Ulfric, let me get help."
Funny, he thought, as he got back on his knees. She'd never called him by his name before. A few moments ago, he would have taken it as a good sign for their alliance. And now it didn't matter because she had delivered the final blow, the coup de grâce the Thalmor had prepared for him so long ago.
"Read me the rest," he growled. "Now."
And so she read as she knelt beside him and he stared into the fire.
After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact.
She paused in her reading, then asked, "Contact was made?"
His head swam, but he answered promptly. "Yes. I was stupid enough to trust . . . someone whom I never should have trusted. Keep reading."
Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant.
Dormant. Thank the Nine! If the document had boasted of still having their hooks in him, he could not have borne it.
As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made - obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.
She stopped reading.
"Is that all?" he asked.
"Yes."
(the city had in fact fallen before he had broken)
"Why are you doing this?" he demanded.
"Doing what?"
"Do you think you can control me with this . . . information? Has that been your plan all along?"
"What? If I wanted that, I'd have used this ages ago."
(the city had in fact fallen before he had broken)
"Ulfric?" she'd grabbed his hand. "Talk to me."
"What do you want to hear?"
"Did you know?"
He pulled his hand from her, then lifted his sleeve to clean his face as best he could. "Some of this, yes. But not-" he couldn't say it.
"Did you know it wasn't your fault?" She had unerringly fixed upon the most important thing there.
"But it was my fault. If I didn't help them - if this document is correct and this isn't another of their infernal schemes - it doesn't change what I did. I still gave them information that I knew would result in my comrades' deaths. A simple accident of dates doesn't change that."
"You held out long enough," Cecilia insisted. "You can blame yourself, but I won't."
He looked her full in the face. "You're still young. And innocent. And may the gods never take that from you."
And then she'd thrown her arms around him. It was awkward; she was holding on to him tight, her face nestled in the crook of his neck, and everything smelt of vomit, which was now on her as well. There was nothing romantic or pleasant about it, but she was solid, something he could hold on to back.
He didn't know how long they sat there on the floor like that. His mind was far away, wandering down the corridors of a Thalmor prison, re-examining every little detail that could collaborate or contradict the dossier.
allowed to escape
How could that be? There were things they never could have faked. Could they? Could they have sacrificed their own people just to make him think he'd won his freedom? No, what was he thinking, of course they could have. The jailers he'd struck down, plainly it was Elenwen who'd ordained their deaths.
He should have realized. No matter how naïve he'd been, he should have realized the moment they showed their hand in Markarth. He knew then, after he'd been thrown into prison, that he had been played by the Thalmor, but he had never imagined the extent of it. Perhaps he still did not see the full picture, the full extent of misery that bitch had prepared for him.
"I have to wash before I see my troops off," he said at last to Cecilia.
She didn't move. "That's what they want," her muffled voice spoke beside his ear. "Unending war in Skyrim."
"I know that. I've always known that." He patted her back. "I told you, I waited so long. And their power only grew. But what did that document say about a Stormcloak victory?"
"That it should also be avoided."
"Yes, one way or another, this needs to end. That is what we are doing at Whiterun. There is nothing in those pages to sap my will or shake my intention."
She did let go of him then. "I can't – I won't follow you," she said simply.
"I know that. Cecilia," – if she was using his name now, he'd use hers in return – "I knew that when I asked for your hand. Keep that book for me. I'll have to read it closely, but not yet."
"Yes, of course."
"Has anyone else read it?" he asked suddenly.
"Delphine has."
Ulfric swore.
Some Very Detailed Notes:
So, reviewer Mary Muir pointed out something interesting that I've noticed too.
"I've always wondered why some of the NPCs in the game don't have closer bonds due to the Great War, more than just the housecarl/jarl thing with Balgruuf and Irileth and Ulfric and Galmar. I would have expected Balgruuf, Brunwolf, Ulfric, Galmar and Irileth to have something of a group bond from serving in that war together. Rikke had a bond with Ulfric and Galmar from the Great War, why wouldn't she also have a bond with the other veterans?"
Balgruuf especially doesn't talk about Ulfric with any fellow-feeling. I conclude that even though they all served in the Great War, they didn't necessarily serve together. I think this interpretation makes a lot of sense if you look at the canon accounts of the war. The Eighth, which was defending the Imperial City at the time of Ulfric's capture, was nearly wiped out, whereas Titus II is described as breaking out from the City and "linking up with reinforcements marching south from Skyrim under General Jonna". If Ulfric had information about the Imperial City defenses, I have to conclude he was already part of the Legion(s) defending the city, *not* one of the Nords who were just then arriving with Jonna.
So, leaving some story spoilers for later, here's the timeline I've worked out for this fic:
4E 162: Ten years before the Great War, forty years before the fic: A group of high-ranking officers within the Imperial Legion are accused of jeopardizing the Empire's peace with the Dominion, due to their hawkish attitude towards the Thalmor. It's a political mess (orchestrated from behind the scenes by Thalmor operatives) and the highest-profile casualty of the affair is Chief Imperial Battlemage Curinwe Varo who is forced to resign her position. Other Legionnaires, including Curinwe's right hand woman Emilin, resign in protest or are forced out of the Legion. The Mede family is privately friendly over the next decade, but officially Curinwe is in forced retirement.
4E 171: Great war begins. Irileth and Avelina Attius (Cecilia's mother) are already in the Legion. Young Junius Varo was training to be an Imperial battlemage and is assigned to the Imperial Guard on account of his mother's influence. Curinwe Varo, Emilin and others take up arms again, but as a volunteer group of elves and elf-friends: the Old Guard.
Ulfric and Rikke are in the first wave of volunteers from Skyrim, who are sent to round out the Eighth. They meet Galmar who's a bit older and already serving in the Eighth.
A couple years into the war, Avelina Attius (who's half Nord) and Irileth accompany General Jonna to Skyrim to recruit more troops.
4E 174: The Dominion's Asssault on the Imperial City. With the possibility of an upcoming siege, civilians and wounded were probably being sent out of the city, and that's where I have Rikke leaving as one of the wounded. However, the Dominion army moved very fast when they did strike and there were certainly a lot more people trapped in the City other than active soldiers. According to the Thalmor Dossier, Ulfric was captured during this campaign. My fic has teased a bit of information about how that happened, that he was captured in the same incident as Curinwe Varo died, and Emilin was captured. There'll be more later.
Titus Mede II fought his way out of the Imperial City, with Junius Varo at his side. General Jonna's reinforcements from Skyrim were too late to reach the City before its sack. In the reinforcing army were Irileth, Avelina Attius, and now, Balgruuf. Once Rikke's recovered, she joins Jonna's legions.
Galmar was in the Imperial City when it fell, and how he survived will be in the fic later.
A lot of the characters met each other during the war, particularly in the aftermath of the Battle of the Red Ring, but didn't become close (Balgruuf met Ulfric after Ulfric's imprisonment, and they didn't get along). Others (such as Junius Varo and Ulfric Stormcloak) have probably passed each other on the street, but there was nothing memorable about each other. And others remember each other, but wouldn't have known each other by name. (Emilin in this chapter mentions having heard Nord shouts in battle. That was young Ulfric.)
Answering a few more questions about Junius Varo:
Looking forward to hearing more of Junius Varo. I'm kinda wondering why he hasn't written to his daughter to suggest a meeting at a neutral location outside Windhelm. And can the emperor really just call someone back into army service 20-30 years after the war ended and their service ended? It galls me that he has to take orders from Tullius.
Varo actually served in the Legion until about six years ago, though his service was a bit irregular, with the Emperor alone sometimes knowing what he was doing. His personal history is so wrapped up with Titus Mede II's, there was never any doubt he'd obey.
As for his attitude towards solving the problem with his daughter, he's a very flawed person in his own right: Hotheaded, high-handed, and self-righteous. Although she loves him dearly, there's a reason Cecilia never wrote him about her issues in Skyrim. He does things for her, not with her.
Next chapter has Ondolemar, among other people.