I do not own Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, or any of the characters and/or plot lines associated with it.

Hey guys. So, this chapter's pretty short, like under 3,000 words, which is typically the minimum for me when I'm writing chapters, but I figured what the hell, I just finished up my first college finals, and I just got back home for winter break, and I don't feel like writing another one hundred words, so I just left it the way it was.

Hope that doesn't make any of you mad... I still love all of you!

Reviewer Responses:

Guest: You could say she's shook. I'd be shook. I'd be so shook, I could be a mixed drink.

P: Vilkas is the best. I love him quite a lot. And thank you for your strength; I needed it this week.

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"And here we have the town square," Jordis said, gesturing with both arms.

Hainin cast a disinterested look around. "Why do they call it a square when it's not actually a square?" he asked.

Jordis let out a patient breath through her nose. "I don't know," she responded. "That's not part of my expertise."

"Huh." Hainin looked at Nazir, who sighed to himself, but nodded in agreement. Hainin grinned, and turned to Jordis. "Nazir and I are going to take a look around for ourselves, if you don't mind."

"I can't tell you what to do," Jordis responded dryly.

Without waiting for further comment, Hainin grabbed Nazir's hand and they raced away from Jordis and Vilkas, who was studying the ground.

He glanced up when they disappeared, however, and looked around. "Where -?"

"To kill someone, maybe," Jordis replied, tilting her head as she took him in. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Yes," Vilkas answered, but his gaze was focused on the Blue Palace, barely visible in the distance. "How long do you think the Moot will take, Jordis?"

"Well, that's hard to say, sir," she said, frowning. "I suppose it all depends on how quickly everyone can agree with one another, and, knowing that everyone in that room is a Nord, it will probably take a while."

Vilkas attempted a smile, but it wasn't very convincing. He was worried, if he was being honest. He didn't know why, exactly, but within the time since Cry had left Proudspire, something had… changed. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't like it.

"Would you like to talk about it, whatever it is?" Jordis asked, and Vilkas glanced at her. "Housecarls aren't just assigned to protect. We can offer advice, too."

"You're not my housecarl," Vilkas said, and she smiled.

"That doesn't mean I wouldn't protect you. You are my Thane's husband, so I serve you, too, in a sense."

It was Vilkas's turn to smile. "What a strange feeling, to know someone is in your employ, but only because they want to be."

"It's part of my constitution," Jordis explained with a shrug. She then glanced around. "There really isn't much else to see."

"You can go back to Proudspire, then, if you like," Vilkas told her.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "I think I'll be able to find my way back."

"All right," Jordis responded. "I suppose I'll see you later, then."

Vilkas nodded to her, and the housecarl turned and started back through Solitude. He watched her go, and then turned towards the Winking Skeever. Something similar to anger burned in his chest, and he started towards the inn.

Inside, Brynjolf and Ziris were just finishing their late breakfast. Brynjolf was gazing towards the door, not paying attention to it, really, but that didn't stop him from noticing when Vilkas stormed through it and stalked right over to the table where he and Ziris were sitting.

"Vilkas…" Brynjolf started, standing up from his chair. "Easy, lad. You don't want to do anything stupid."

"Oh, I can think of at least four stupid things I wouldn't mind doing," Vilks growled, moving closer.

Brynjolf put up his hands, smiling. "I imagine that you know what happened."

Vilkas didn't back down. "Yes, I know. And I know that you've been bothering my wife since we left Whiterun."

"Bothering her?" Brynjolf asked, glancing at Ziris to gather her reaction. She was watching the two of them, still seated, and her eyes were narrowed, though he didn't know if it was because of Vilkas, or himself. "I… spoke to her, once, but she didn't want to talk for long, so I let her go."

"She didn't want to talk to you at all!" Vilkas exploded. He then leaned up and shoved a finger in Brynjolf's face. "You leave Cry alone, understand? She doesn't want anything to do with you, so don't try to convince her otherwise. She has too many things to worry about without you adding to that list."

Brynjolf pushed his finger away. "Fine," he responded dryly. "I won't "bother her"."

"You best keep to that, or you'll have me to answer to," Vilkas said, darkly, and then he turned and stalked out of the inn.

When he was gone, Brynjolf lowered himself back into his chair with a sigh. He didn't look at Ziris, but it didn't take long for her to put her hand down, rather sharply, on the table.

"You spoke to her, when she didn't want you to?"

Brynjolf glanced at her, and saw the fire in her eyes. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, other than the truth.

"Two nights ago, I caught her outside of the inn in Dragon Bridge," he said. "She didn't want to talk, it's true, but I just wanted to clear the air between us." He hesitated. "I think we did, so we don't have anything else to worry about."

Ziris continued to glare. "Is that really all you talked about?"

"Yes," Brynjolf replied, patiently. "We also took a walk through the city, yesterday, but we didn't discuss much."

"What did you discuss?"

Brynjolf looked away. "As I said, nothing important."

Ziris let out a breath through her nose, but didn't respond. Instead, she pushed her chair away from the table with an angry scrape and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Brynjolf called after her.

"Nowhere important," came her retort from over her shoulder.

Brynjolf huffed, and crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn't handle these women and their mood swings. It was too much for him.

"Brynjolf." He glanced up at his name, and saw Nazir crossing the inn towards where he sat. He took Ziris's vacated chair. "Where's your lady?"

"Off sulking," Brynjolf answered with a shrug. "She's not happy that we're here."

"So tell her she can go home," Nazir suggested.

"I would, but I doubt she'd leave," Brynjolf responded. "She'd probably think I wanted her to go because of Cry."

"Do you?"

Brynjolf looked at him. "Do I what?"

"Want her to go because of Cry?"

"No, not at all," Brynjolf told him after a moment. "Why would I?"

"Brynjolf," Nazir began, and then he smiled at him. "We both know that Cry isn't bad to look at. Even I think so, and the only thing I've ever been attracted to is a mouthy Imperial." He tilted his head. "No one blames you for being attracted to Cry."

"But I'm not."

"Brynjolf," Nazir said, again, and the thief didn't try to argue, this time. "It's all right. You can admit it. To me, at least. I understand."

"Do you?"

"Hainin told me he loves her," Nazir explained, and then he shrugged his shoulders. "It seems to be an effect she has on men, one that she doesn't realize she has."

"And it doesn't… bother you?" Brynjolf asked, frowning.

Nazir shrugged again. "Not particularly, since I know he'd never act on it, because, believe it or not, Hainin does, in fact, like men more than women." He exhaled. "I imagine, however, that it might be more difficult for you."

"Maybe just a bit," Brynjolf agreed, and then he settled his head down on top of his arms. "What is it about her?"

"I don't know," Nazir replied honestly. "I mean, she's obviously very beautiful, but so is Ziris. They're just beautiful in different ways." He exhaled. "I wish I could help more."

"Me, too," Brynjolf sighed, and he raised his head, pushing his chair away from the table. "I guess I'd better go sulk somewhere, too. I'll be seeing you."

Nazir watched him walk off, and then the Redguard moved out of his own chair and returned outside of the inn, where he found Hainin lurking.

"What are you doing?" he asked, coming to a pause next to where the Listener was poorly hidden behind a barrel.

"Hush!" Hainin hissed, and then he grabbed Nazir's arm and pulled him around the barrel to hide with him. "Look!"

He pointed, and Nazir followed his finger in time to see Cry come around the corner into the main square of Solitude, looking downcast and worried. She glanced around for a moment before moving right past where they were hiding and ducking into the inn.

"What was that?" Hainin asked sharply, rising, and Nazir did the same.

"I don't know, but she didn't look happy, did she?" He frowned at the door of the inn for a moment, and then his eyes went wide and he sucked in a sharp breath. "You don't think…?"

"What? No!" Hainin responded immediately. "Cry would never. Brynjolf might, but not Cry." He hesitated. "Besides… she looked too upset to have been hurrying away to a romantic rendezvous."

"Perhaps we should go inside, just to make sure," Nazir suggested after a moment of silence during which they both gazed at the door.

"Good idea," Hainin agreed immediately, and he darted towards the door.

Nazir followed, and hurried into the inn after the Imperial, quickly ducking behind a pillar in order to avoid being seen.

"What do you see?" he whispered to Hainin, who had a better view of the rest of the inn.

"Cry's just sitting at the bar, alone, drinking," he said, sounding relieved. "Maybe the Moot didn't go very well."

"It's possible," Nazir replied. "Should we go speak to her?"

"No!" Hainin said immediately. "I don't want her to know I was spying on her."

"You were?"

"Just… for a little while." He shrugged absently. "I saw her leave the Palace, and I thought she looked pretty distraught, so I followed her, to see where she would go, because I didn't think that the Moot could've been that short."

Nazir hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder what happened."

"She'll tell us, I'm sure, once we see her at Proudspire," Hainin told him. "Come on; she obviously needs to drink in peace for a little while."

Hainin moved towards the door of the inn, again, and Nazir lingered behind to gaze at Cry for a moment longer before following.

Cry, who'd noticed the two assassins hiding behind the barrel as she'd entered the inn, heard them leave, and she shook her head to herself before taking a rather long drink of mead.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the King's Moot?" the barkeep asked, giving her a once over.

"We took a brief recess," Cry mumbled, more to the mug rather than to him. "Things got a bit ugly."

"Ah." The barkeep looked away, feigning disinterest. "Any idea when we'll have the final decision?"

"Tomorrow at the latest," Cry sighed, picking up her mug and moving away from the bar. She'd gone as far from the Palace as she could, without leaving Solitude, and the last thing she wanted to do was talk about why she'd gone as far away as possible.

After Ulfric had put her name out into the open, absolute chaos had broken loose. It had only been quelled when Jarl Vignar had smashed a vase against the table, and shouted that they all needed a break for an hour or so.

Cry, however, had no intentions of going back. The last thing she needed was to hear the jarls argue about her. How was it that she, who hadn't even wanted to go to the Moot in the first place, was suddenly in the running to be the High Queen of Skyrim?

She sat down heavily at a table for two.

How would that even work? she asked herself, taking another deep swallow of mead. She didn't have a castle to act as her outpost. Would she take over for one of the current jarls, since the High King or Queen was always the jarl of whatever city they were stationed in, too?

I didn't want this, she thought wearily, placing her head down on her arms.

"Funnily enough, I was seated exactly the same way not ten minutes ago."

"Having a bad day, too?" Cry asked, and she heard Brynjolf settle down in the chair opposite her.

"I wouldn't say that," he sighed, "just a rough late morning." He tilted his head as he took her in. "Why do you think your day is going to continue being bad? Clearly you must be done with the Moot, if you're here." He glanced at her mug. "Although, from the deep drinking, and the lack of celebration, I'm going to assume that it didn't end well."

"It hasn't ended at all," Cry muttered. "We're just taking a break. Someone said something idiotic, and it caused an explosion of sorts."

"Ah, so you all parted ways to gather your thoughts?" Cry nodded, lifting her head at last. "How long do you have until you have to go back?"

"I'm not going back."

Brynjolf frowned. "That bad?"

"You could say that," Cry answered dryly. She finished off her mug and pushed her chair away from the table. "Well, since we both know how you and I plus a bar and alcohol ends, I'm going to head home. Hopefully, they won't come looking for me."

"Wait, you're not going to tell me what happened?" Brynjolf asked before she could walk away.

"You'll hear about it soon enough, I'm sure," Cry told him from over her shoulder, and then she was out of the inn, and on her way to Proudspire, where Vilkas waited for her, and she could easily vent to Vilkas, and count on him to comfort her in return.

Indeed, there he was, relaxing on their bed in the single bedroom of the house, reading a book. He glanced up at her arrival, took one look, and immediately set the book down.

"What's happened?" he asked, starting to climb off the bed. "Did they vote?" Cry shook her head, and Vilkas hesitated a few steps away from her. "Then…?"

"We took a recess, but I'm not going back," Cry told him. She stepped forward, placing herself in his arms. Vilkas didn't argue, merely held her close, resting his chin against her head. "Ulfric did something incredibly stupid, Vilkas."

"What did he do?"

Cry explained it all to him. By the time she was done, Vilkas was standing stock still. His hands, which had previously been stroking up and down her back, were nonmoving.

"I don't know what went through his mind," Cry concluded. "He must have been planning to do it prior to the start of the Moot, but I don't understand why."

"So… there's a chance that you may be voted High Queen," Vilkas said.

Cry frowned into his shoulder. "I'm an option, yes, but… I honestly don't believe anyone will vote for me."

"Jarl Elisif will, and so will Ulfric, simply because they refuse to vote for one another," Vilkas told her. "Vignar may vote for you, too, as a joke. Or perhaps because he knows of your leadership skills." Cry didn't respond, and Vilkas let out a breath. "It's extremely possible you may be chosen to be the next High Queen of Skyrim. You understand that, don't you?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Cry demanded, suddenly very angry. She pushed away from him and stalked across the room, glowering at the floor. "I didn't even want to go to the damn Moot, and now I'm in the running to be the overarching ruler of the damn country!"

"Cry -"

"Vilkas, I - I can't be High Queen," she said, covering her face with her hands. "I wouldn't be able to do it. I'd… I'd ruin everything, for everyone." She cursed darkly and kicked at the chair in front of the dressing table. "Why did Ulfric have to do that?"

Vilkas didn't have an answer for her, and so he didn't reply. Cry was silent for a moment, her shoulders moving up and down rather rapidly.

At last, she lowered her hands, and looked at him. "What am I going to do?" she whispered, her eyes red from crying.

"Can you take your name out of the running?" Vilkas asked, taking a step towards her.

"Only the person who put your name in can retract it," Cry answered, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, "and Ulfric is too stubborn to do that, especially since it means he won't have to vote for Elisif."

"You think that's the only reason he did it?"

Cry nodded, and allowed him to pull her back into his arms. "Why else? He wants to be High King, right? Why would he risk losing that, other than to ensure his own pride, by blatantly refusing to vote for Elisif? And the only way he could do that would be by voting for someone else: me."

Vilkas exhaled, and squeezed her a bit tighter. "Cry, listen to me. Whatever happens, we will get through it, all right? You and I, together, because I would never leave you alone to deal with anything, especially not something like this."

Cry slowly relaxed, and actually reached around to return his hug, her love for Vilkas shooting sky-high. "Thank you," she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder.

I know that this is incredibly unlikely, but I'd like it if, if I ever get married, my husband was as great as Vilkas.

I don't plan on getting married, but if I do, I'd like for my husband to be like Vilkas.

Okay, that's all.

P.S., final chapter next week, and then some fun trivia about this first part of the final story in the tale of my Skyrim-verse, and then a two week break for the holidays! Fun stuff!