I am a little reluctant to get up this morning. Best to get it over with, I suppose. I head to the meeting room.
Around the table stand the participants – General Tullius on one side with Jarl Balgruuf, a well-dressed young redheaded woman, Legate Rikke and Elenwen; and on the other side, Jarl Ulfric waits with Galmar, accompanied by Delphine and Esbern. Arngeir stands at the head of the table. I hope they haven't been standing there all night! I approach the unclaimed seat at the other end of the room and sit down.
"Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin." Everyone sits – well, almost everyone. "I hope that-"
"No." Ulfric interrupts. "You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?"
"That didn't take long." Rikke says just under her breath.
"Hear hear!" Galmar agrees with his leader's argument.
"I have every right to be at this negotiation." Counters the Thalmor. "I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordat."
"She's part of the Imperial delegation. You can't dictate who I bring to this council." Tullius interjects.
"Please!" Cries Arngeir. "If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere. Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn's input on this matter."
"By Ysmir's beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh?" Ulfric says to me. "To think that I would sit down at the same table with that… Thalmor bitch. Either she walks or I do."
"You're right. The Thalmor have no business here." I reply. Skyrim is nowhere near the Altmeri Dominion; nothing that could happen here would affect them at all.
"I'm glad we agree on this." As Ulfric says this, Elenwen's face clouds over.
"Very well, Ulfric. Enjoy your petty victory. The Thalmor will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not think of interfering in your civil war." She rises from her seat and leaves.
"Ha! Skyrim will never bow to the Thalmor! Unlike your Imperial friends here." Galmar says at her retreating back. With that last, the Stormcloaks sit.
"You're lucky I respect the Greybeard's council, Galmar!" Rikke stands angrily.
"Legate! We represent the Emperor here." Reminds the General.
"Sorry sir. It won't happen again." She returns to her seat. All this drama and we have done nothing yet.
"Now that is settled, may we proceed?" Arngeir requests.
"I have something to say first." Ulfric growls.
"Here we go." Complains Rikke again.
"The only reason I agreed to attend this council was to deal with the dragon menace. There's nothing else to talk about, unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce its unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim."
"I knew he wouldn't be able to resist." Rikke mutters. She seems to harbour a lot of resentment for the Stormcloaks.
"We're here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn here to deal with the dragons. Nothing more." The Jarl continues. "I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture."
"Are you done?" Asks the General. "Did you just come here to make speeches, or can we get down to business?"
"Yes. Let's get this over with."
"Are we ready to proceed?" Arngeir says, his eyes reflecting the exasperation I'm starting to feel. Maybe the old man was right – maybe this was a bad idea. Too late to go back now.
"Jarl Ulfric… General Tullius…" The Greybeard continues. "This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn's request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?"
"Yes, let's get down to it." Ulfric begins. "We want control of Markarth. That's our price for agreeing to this truce."
"So that's why you're here, Ulfric." The redhead injects. "You dare to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position?"
"Jarl Elisif, I'll handle this." Tullius says quietly.
"General, this is outrageous!" The young woman cries. "You can't be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!"
"Elisif! I said I'd handle it!" The rugged Cyrodiil settles the fiery girl, then turns back to the other occupants of the table. "Ulfric, you can't seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you've been unable to take in battle, is that it?"
"I'm sure Jarl Ulfric doesn't expect something for nothing." Arngeir says.
"Yes, that would be entirely out of character." Rikke always has something to say.
"What would the Empire want in return?" The Greybeard continues.
"Wait, General! You don't intend to just hand over Markarth to that… traitor?!" The young Jarl cries in outrage.
"This is how the Empire repays us for our loyalty?" Balgruuf asks.
"Enough!" Demands the General. "First, let's be clear. This council wasn't my idea. I think it's a waste of time. You are a traitor to the Empire, and deserve a traitor's death. But I at least will negotiate in good faith." He turns to face me. "Since we're all here at your request, I'd like to hear what you think Markarth is worth."
I had hoped to be able to stay out of this, but it seems instead, I am to make all the important decisions.
"Dawnstar seems like a fair trade." I say – another port, another supply line that is unlikely to be interrupted by the Stormcloaks at least.
"In exchange for Markarth, the source of most of Skyrim's silver? Hardly. Riften seems like a better choice to me. Well-fortified, easily resupplied across Lake Honrich. Plus, all the mead we could drink."
But more land-space equals more places for hidden camps, and drunken soldiers don't fight as well.
"There are advantages to gaining Dawnstar." I say. Doesn't Dawnstar have two mines?
"Not enough to outweigh the loss of Markarth. With the Reach in enemy hands our whole position in Solitude would be threatened."
The Pale also shares a border with Eastmarch. Besides, most of the Reach is vertical; not many people are willing to go up and down mountains in any sort of armour. Which must make me a special kind of idiot…
"You asked my opinion. I gave it to you." I say, sharper than I meant to. I'm a bit grumpy with myself now, for going along with this damned adventurer's lifestyle. Yet I do enjoy it.
"Fair enough." Tullius concedes. "I was hoping you could put aside your loyalties for the greater good," Why did those last three words echo in my mind in a strange accent? "But I see you're thoroughly in Ulfric's camp. Still… having another port would ease our supply situation considerably. Better than nothing I suppose. But Ulfric will need to offer a lot more if he wants me to give up Markarth without a fight."
"The Dragonborn has spoken, Tullius." Ulfric says, victory in his gruff voice. "Markarth will be ours. Now we'll see if there's anything behind your talk of good faith."
"You disappoint me, Dragonborn." Tullius scowls at me. Can't please everyone. "I accepted your invitation on trust in your good name. But it seems you intend to favour Ulfric." Of course it does – he didn't try to cut my head off! "I can see now that this is not a negotiation at all. I know you, Ulfric. If I hand over Markarth, you'll be ready with a new demand. You'll never defeat the Empire and you know it. But you're willing to sacrifice thousands for your own selfish ambitions. Soon enough I'll have you back under the headsman's axe, and this time there won't be any dragon to save you."
"As always the Empire's fine words are worth nothing!" The angry Jarl retorts as Esbern leaps out of his seat.
"Stop! Are you so blind to our danger that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit, arguing about… nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!"
"Is he with you, Delphine? If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue." Ulfric snaps.
"He is with me. And I advise you to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash." The Blade replies.
"Don't you understand the danger?" Esbern continues. "Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades. He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?" With that, he stops pacing behind Arngeir's chair and sits back down in his own.
"I don't know about the end of the world, but this dragon situation has gotten out of hand." Tullius says, much calmer than he was before. "If this truce will help the Dragonborn here put an end to that menace, we both gain. Remember that, Ulfric. Now back to the matter at hand. You know as well as I do that we can't hand over Markarth on these terms."
"Shor's bones, when will these demands end?" Galmar complains. Neither leader has much of a grip on their subordinates, it seems. At least Lydia hasn't interjected with some inane comment, as she has been wont to do throughout the course of our journeys together.
"Let's hear it." Ulfric sighs.
"We want compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten." Tullius says simply.
"You slaughtered the very people you claim to be fighting for." Rikke cries. "True sons of Skyrim would never do such things."
"Damned Imperial lies!" Shouts Galmar, almost over the top of the Legate. "My men would never stoop to such methods, even in retaliation for your butchery at -"
"This is our homeland, Tullius." Ulfric interrupts Galmar's rant. "All the blood spilled in this war is on your head."
Tullius turns to me again. "So, Dragonborn, what do you say?"
"Ulfric should compensate you for Karthwasten." I'm trying to be fair, but it is really hard to judge.
"Well said." The General turns back to the blond Jarl. "For once you'll actually pay for your crimes. You know I can't agree to these terms. The Emperor would repudiate this treaty and I would be recalled." Would that be such a bad thing? Sometimes it is easier to deal with those with whom you have no history – Rikke and Galmar have obviously known each other a long time before they became enemies, at least.
"Damn Imperial arrogance." Growls the angry bear-clad Stormcloak.
"Let's hear it." Ulfric repeats.
"We want Kraldar removed as Jarl of Winterhold and an Imperial candidate put in his place."
"What next, Tullius? Shall I just hand over all of Skyrim?" Ulfric complains.
"I guess I have no choice but to let the Dragonborn decide. Although I'm starting to doubt your fairness. So, Dragonborn, what do you say?"
I'm tired and I'm bored, is what I want to say. Instead, I grumpily announce: "Ulfric doesn't need to give up any more territory." Anything to get this to end already!
"As I expected you favour your friends." Tullius sulks. "Don't hand me a mug of sheep's piss and call it Colovian Brandy; these terms are still unacceptable."
"Out with it then." Ulfric sounds bored too.
Tullius glances at me before continuing. "Never mind. I can see that these are the best terms we'll get from this council. So be it. The Empire at least puts the greater good above our own interests."
"It seems we may have an agreement." Arngeir rises from his seat. "Jarl Ulfric, General Tullius; these are the terms currently on the table. Markarth will be handed over to Ulfric's forces. Jarl Igmund will step down, and Thongvor Silver-Blood will become the Jarl of Markarth. Ulfric will allow Imperial forced into The Pale. Skald the Elder will go into exile, and Brina Merilis will assume the Jarlship. The Stormcloaks will pay appropriate compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten. You both agree to this?"
"The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements, as long as the Imperials hold to theirs." He looks at the young redheaded Jarl across the table. "What about you, Elisif? Are these terms to your liking? Speak up! I'm sure General Tullius is waiting to do your bidding."
"I have nothing to say to that murderer." She says instead to the General. "General, you've proven yourself to be a good friend to Skyrim. I continue to trust that you will do your utmost to safeguard our interests." She talks as though she is the High Queen.
"Thank-you, Jarl Elisif. I appreciate your loyalty. These terms blatantly favour the rebels; everyone here knows that. But the Empire will accept them, until the dragon menace is dealt with. After that, Ulfric… there will be a reckoning. Count on it."
The Stormcloaks leave the table.
"Come on, Galmar. We have a lot of work to do." With that, the pair leaves. For some reason, Tullius, Rikke and Elisif stay, even though what I know is coming next doesn't concern them.
"Giving up Markarth is a heavy price for this truce, Dragonborn. I hope it was worth it." Balgruuf says.
"Jarl Balgruuf, I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn's plan?" Arngeir asks the man.
"Yes, I'm ready to do my part. Just say the word, and my men will help you spring this trap." He replies.
"But the difficulty remains – how to lure a dragon to Dragonsreach at all?" The Greybeard continues.
"Well, that's an excellent question." Tullius says. "You haven't overlooked that little detail, have you?"
Must not glare at Tullius, must not glare at Tullius, must not – damn.
"Ah, I believe I can be of help here." Esbern pipes up. "I anticipated the problem. While you were arranging this meeting, I was busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore… but the important thing is that the Blades recorded many of the names of dragons they slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine's map of dragon burial sites, I believe I've identified one of the dragons that Alduin has raised up."
"How does that help us?" Lydia asks.
"Don't you see?" Esbern cries. "The names of dragons are always three Words of Power – Shouts. By calling the dragon with the Voice, he will hear you, wherever he might be."
"Why would he come when called?" I'm sceptical.
"He's not compelled to, but dragons are prideful by nature and loathe to refuse a challenge. You Voice in particular is likely to intrigue this dragon, after your victory over Alduin. I think it very likely that he will be unable to resist investigating your call."
"So what's this dragon's name?"
"Ah, indeed. I'm no master of the Voice like these worthy gentlemen, but it is written here in this scroll. Od Ah Viing. 'Winged Snow Hunter', as I read it." Esbern tucks the parchment back into his bag as I somehow learn the Words without even seeing them.
It takes me a couple of seconds to recover, and as I do, the rest of the participants of the council rise and leave the table.
"I hope this truce gives you what you need. It won't last." Rikke says before hurrying after the General.
I see Delphine approaching me, but I'm not in the mood to talk, so I hurry from the room and out into the brisk cold air. Surprisingly, the sun is still a couple of hours from its midday peak. Unluckily, Delphine managed to catch up.
"There's one more thing." She says. "We know about Paarthurnax."
"Turns out he's a dragon. But he helped me." I say grumpily.
"That's fine – we needed his help. Now we don't, and it's long past time for him to pay for his crimes. And he's not just any dragon – he was the right hand of Alduin. He committed atrocities so infamous they are still remembered, thousands of years later. He needs to die – he deserves to die. And it falls to you to kill him. Until he's dead, well… I'm sorry, but we would dishonour our oaths as Blades if we continued to help you." With that, she leaves, catching up to Esbern a little way down the mountain. Huh.
I give them a head start, then head off down the mountain myself.
The journey to Whiterun is very quiet. The only living things we see between Ivarstead and Honningbrew are butterflies and goats. It's past noon when we enter the city, so I head off up to the market to sell off the excess loot I've picked up since my last visit to a shop. The Jarl won't be back from High Hrothgar yet – the rich tend to travel slowly – so instead I head down to the forge and talk to Adrianne.
"Got some good pieces out here if you're looking to buy. More inside." She says as I approach.
"Need any help around the forge?" I ask.
"Yes, actually. How about you smith me an iron dagger? Here's everything you need to make one. Go ahead." She doesn't actually offer to show me how – good thing I already know the basics of smithing. Soon, after a little work at the forge, I hold in my hand a brand new, slightly dull dagger. I head back over to the smith.
"Here's an iron dagger." I say, offering it to her. She takes it and inspects it.
"Not bad, but it's a little dull. How about you sharpen it up? Just need a bit of metal and the grindstone over there."
The grindstone is behind me, and after a little use, the edge of the blade shines sharply.
"I've sharpened the dagger." As if she didn't watch me do it. Why do I say these dumb things sometimes?
"This looks good." Adrianne says after running her finger over the edge. "You put time into your blades, they'll serve you well when you need them. You want to keep helping? How about you make some armour? Let's start by tanning some leather on the rack." She hands me a deer hide.
I'm not entirely sure how to do this, but Lydia seems to have some experience, so she shows me how, and soon I hold a heap of leather in my hands. I thought making leather took days?
"Here's that leather you wanted."
"Ah, good. A lot of weapons and armour need leather for straps, fittings, that kind of thing. Let's see if you can make a hide helmet. Here's the rest of what you need."
A few minutes later I hold a helmet in my hands. Seriously, why is the process so quick? Am I concentrating so hard I'm missing chunks of time? Looking at the sky, I see that I am – the sun has moved to mid-afternoon.
"Here's a hide helmet."
"I should hire you to be my assistant at this rate." Adrianne says appreciatively. "Let's improve the fit – take this leather to the workbench over there."
I'm unsure why I need to use the workbench until I see etched into the metal surface measurements for all types of body, for all types of armour. Fitting the measurements for the average male, I use the extra leather to lengthen the straps and extend the circumference of the helmet itself.
"I've tempered the helmet." I say, for want of a better word.
"You have talent!" Adrianne cries upon seeing my work. "Keep working at your craft, and you'll be a fine smith one day. Why don't you keep that dagger and helmet? Maybe you'll remember me when you're making Skyforge Steel, huh?" I smile my thanks, wondering why she said she needed help then insist I keep my creations, and head up to the inn. There are a couple of hours left until nightfall, and I didn't see the Jarl come through the gate, so I while away the time until dark cutting as much wood as Lydia and I can carry.
Together, we manage to carry 600 gold worth of wood for the innkeeper, but we still have to pay full price for the room!