Faolan Benzita: I think Galmar's harsher side comes out in this story because he's very protective of Ulfric and is (quite correctly) worried that this proposal of Ulfric's is going to bring him no end of trouble.
MilesW1998: Enjoy the rest of Fasendil's Case for the Empire in this chapter.
Marching Knight: Junius Varo seems to be a favourite with a lot of reviewers! Hope you enjoy his ongoing adventures.
There's no shame in such thoughts. A man without doubts is a man without conscience. – Ulfric Stormcloak
5 Second Seed, 4E 202, Sky Haven Temple, The Reach
If she lived to be a hundred, Mjoll would never forget the look on the Grandmaster's face when the Forsworn came to Sky Haven Temple.
The journey from Markarth to Karthspire had been a strange one, but very easy. They'd followed the road most of the way, scaring travelers and locals half to death as they went. Madanach and his followers ignored these once they ran. More Forsworn had joined their group along the way, having somehow heard the news of the prison break, and by the time they reached Sky Haven Temple, they were nearly a hundred in all.
Madanach had agreed to take only a couple of his men up to the temple, otherwise the Blades would never open up the gate. He'd insisted in return that Embla Attius stay down in the valley with the rest of the Forsworn. Mjoll hadn't been happy with that arrangement, but Embla had encouraged her to accept it. They had been at the Forsworn's mercy since Cidhna Mine, why begin worrying now?
"Kaie's promised to show me around Karthspire Camp," Embla added, gesturing to the fearsome woman warrior who'd joined them when they emerged from Cidhna Mine. "I've lived quite a few years in the Reach without seeing a Forsworn camp, so it's a good time to remedy that."
She made it sound like a treat.
Now, Mjoll and Kharjo were standing at the gate of Sky Haven Temple, watching Delphine hesitantly greet Madanach, who was flanked by his massive orc bodyguard and another of the Cidhna Mine Forsworn.
"Grandmaster, is it?" he responded. "Your pups here say you know something of the Thalmor meddling in these parts twenty-six years ago."
Delphine turned to Mjoll and Kharjo. "You told him that?" Her expression was blank, but Mjoll could sense the reproach behind it.
"Yes, Ma'am. We banded together to get out of Markarth alive. Embla Attius is with the rest of Madanach's folk down in the valley." She hoped Delphine would pick up on how badly they needed to co-operate.
Delphine turned her attention back to Madanach. "Not how I expected my Blades to return, but yes, we might have something to discuss. This doorstep isn't the place for it, though."
"It's a better place for me than inside your walls," Madanach replied.
"I'm sure it is, but I won't sit down to speak out here. Your followers far outnumber mine. I'd be looking over my shoulder the whole time."
"You've already posted a sentry," replied Madanach, pointing out Faendal, who'd taken up a position with a view of the entry.
"If you let me talk to my Blades privately, and make certain you're not holding them hostage somehow, we could arrange a proper parley."
"So I should allow you time to make your stories match? No. Mjoll here won her and her companions' lives back in Markarth by promising me a certain piece of information. If you'll tell me the meat of it now, before you hear what she said to me, we can go through the details later. What happened twenty-six years ago with the Thalmor?
"You should tell him, Delphine," Esbern spoke up from the shadows of the gate. "The Thalmor thrive on secrecy. The Reachfolk should know the true face of their enemies."
Delphine frowned. "Very well. I don't know what Mjoll told you, but if it's about the Thalmor twenty-six years ago, you want to know what role they played in the Markarth Incident."
Madanach said nothing, waiting.
"A few months ago, an agent of the Blades retrieved official Thalmor documents that referred to the Thalmor's role in setting up the Incident. You must know how convenient it all was for their plans. And how quickly they discovered Jarl Hrolfdir's promise to Ulfric Stormcloak's militia."
"Whom did they set it up with then?"
Delphine hesitated a moment, glancing at Esbern, who nodded. "They claimed to have made contact with Ulfric Stormcloak soon after the Great War," she said slowly.
Mjoll stared at Delphine. What – what was she – how could that be right? Delphine had never said that to her, only that the Thalmor had orchestrated the whole affair. Mjoll hadn't felt she could press the Grandmaster for details.
"The Liberator of Skyrim working with the Thalmor?" asked Madanach. He sounded as skeptical as Mjoll felt.
"According to the Thalmor's own documents, yes," answered Delphine. "I've no idea how they got his co-operation, but they're very good at manipulating people. I'm not claiming he's a Thalmor agent; the same document said he became uncooperative after the Markarth Incident."
"Can you show me this document?"
"Unfortunately, it's in the possession of the agent who procured it, and that agent is not here. I did have a copy made."
A Blades agent who'd infiltrated the Thalmor a few months ago . . . Cecilia. It had to have been the Dragonborn who'd found this document, Mjoll realized. And now it made less sense than before that Cecilia had gone to marry Ulfric Stormcloak.
"Will you show me that copy?" Madanach persisted.
"I sent my Blades to Markarth to rescue a woman and her son from the Thalmor," Delphine didn't answer him directly. "Mjoll said Embla Attius is down in the valley with your band. What of her son?"
"Her son's a prisoner of the Thalmor in Understone Keep," Madanach replied. Mjoll nodded in confirmation.
"I see. Will you send up Embla Attius in exchange for a copy of the Thalmor's dossier on Ulfric Stormcloak?"
Madanach laughed. "Aye, I'll hand her over to you. I'll make my own judgment on this document, but if you're speaking the truth, perhaps we can become better neighbours than we've been to this point. Your Blades helped fight our way out of Markarth this morning. I'd have liked to rip out Thonar Silver-Blood's throat myself, but your young cat here did a fine job of skewering him instead. Go on inside, get your document, we'll return with the Nord woman."
Once Madanach had left and the Blades were back inside the temple, Delphine turned on them.
"What did you do?" she cried. "You killed Thonar Silver-Blood?"
"In self-defense!" said Mjoll quickly. "It's a long story. Let us report and then judge us."
"I'm listening."
Mjoll and Kharjo ran through the tale of their adventures in Markarth after Faendal had left them. Delphine was somewhat mollified once she'd heard all the details. At least she understood that they'd done what they needed to bring back Embla alive.
"We've finally made enemies of the Stormcloaks," she observed at last. "Thonar was one of their key men, and now we've outed Ulfric, Divines help us."
"It couldn't be helped," said Esbern. "If we kept the dossier secret, the Thalmor would always have a hold on him and Skyrim. You know we couldn't let that continue."
"Ulfric's not likely to see it that way."
"No. He isn't. But this was bound to happen. The World-Eater is dead, and we return to plotting against the Thalmor. Isn't that what we're doing with our prisoner?"
Delphine cracked a small smile. "Right, Mjoll, Kharjo, we've broken our Justiciar's spirit. She's proving to be an interesting source of information. Esbern can tell you all about that. There's something strange going on with the Thalmor in Skyrim right now. Esbern scried a sending by Elenwen to the Thalmor Embassy. She was somewhere in Whiterun Hold ordering the new Third Emissary to go find a missing Thalmor agent in Falkreath."
"The sending was completely unsecured," Esbern added. "They're smarter than that. It may be a trap."
"But we don't know what the trap could be," said Delphine. "Or who it's for. But keep all of this in mind. They're far subtler than the dragons you've faced with us previously."
"Yes, Ma'am. Is there any way of contacting the Dragonborn about this?"
"No," said Delphine. "Not right now."
Mjoll mustered up all her courage to ask the next question. "Is the Dragonborn ever going to come back to us?"
Delphine said nothing. Esbern at last spoke up. "We don't know," he said simply.
5 Second Seed, 4E 202, Winterhold
Legate Fasendil turned to the mage who'd been standing guard at the entrance to this chamber of the cave. "Can you cast that spell now?"
The mage nodded and waved his hand. Nothing happened.
"Let's see if this works," said Fasendil.
The mage spoke up: "I presume you're talking, but I can't hear anything. And if I can't hear anything, no one further out can."
Fasendil turned back to Cecilia. "Can you hear me, Varo?"
She nodded.
"Good. I do trust my men but I'm speaking to you now in the utmost confidence. Mathis here prepared a very powerful muffle spell for this room. What I tell you now will certainly be denied by any Imperial official you should ask about it later. Though, for my sake, I hope you don't ask."
She kept still. She'd not give her captor any promise.
"You're intelligent enough to know that another war with the Dominion is inevitable."
If this was his top secret information, he'd wasted his time here. Anyone with a speck of common sense knew that, and she'd grown up in a household that took that for granted.
"You probably know that in some ways the war has never ended. Very literally for your father, I imagine. I'm not privy to his assignments, or where he gets them, but the Dominion's complaints about him are a bit easier to access. If their complaints can be believed, he and his companions have been harrying their shipping on the Valenwood coast, even sacked one of their smaller ports. Does that sound right to you?"
Cecilia nodded, but then she picked up the quill to clarify. That sounds like him. But I don't know anything about what he actually does.
"Right. You can't slip up and let out his secrets if he never tells you them. But there's no doubt he's been preparing for the coming war, as we all are."
When? Cecilia demanded.
"I wish I could give you a definite timeline. Sooner rather than later. We can't wait for the Dominion to attack when it feels properly prepared. Many would say we've waited too long already. If we'd declared war two years ago, we'd have avoided civil war in Skyrim . . . and the war here, even if we finally crush the rebellion, has weakened us considerably."
And if you lose?
He seemed to hesitate. "It's difficult to imagine that the Empire could lose Skyrim to the Stormcloaks. If we seriously keep fighting for it, that is. There is a point, however, at which the Empire might just let go. The Legion is tied up on the Dominion's borders, the Navy can't spare any ships, and eventually it may hurt us less to just let go of Skyrim, just as we did Hammerfell. I think that would be a mistake; the Empire can't win the next war without Skyrim. But it could happen if this war drags on."
She thought hard before writing down her next thought. She didn't want to sound as if she was regurgitating Stormcloak propaganda.
Would the war actually be without Skyrim? Ulfric Stormcloak says he would lead Skyrim against the Dominion.
Fasendil nodded when she finished writing. "He's not an idiot. I'm sure he knows as well as you and I that all of us must stand together against the Dominion. And he must believe that he can do that better as High King than a subordinate of the Empire. He's wrong, but I can understand the appeal of expelling the Thalmor and building up Skyrim's strength. If he had another twenty years to do it in, perhaps he'd be successful."
How long do we have? She'd asked that before and he'd deflected the question, but she really needed to know. Two years? Five? Another Decade?
"If we're not at war within five years, I'll be very surprised. But whether we're ready for that – now, that's up to you."
No.
"I'm sure you don't want it to be. But you've already changed this war. The Stormcloaks are fighting for you now."
I haven't joined a side!
"You didn't mean to. But to the people of Skyrim, you've made a choice. And even though I can take you back to Solitude as a prisoner, the Dragonborn's freedom is something they'll fight for."
Then let me GO!
"I can't. There's no good outcome here. By Ulfric's side, you're a threat to the Empire. And in our hands, you're still a threat. But in Solitude you can take the first step towards fixing this mess."
What's that? If it was joining the Legion, she was done with this conversation.
"There's someone who wants to meet you. A visitor who'll be coming to Solitude by the end of the month."
Her eyes narrowed.
"His Majesty Titus Mede II has decided to attend his cousin's wedding in Solitude after all," Fasendil continued. "Privately, he's coming here to try and salvage this province and your presence is required."
Cecilia didn't know what to say. Or write.
She had known Emperor Titus since childhood. Not well, but as a friendly, grandfatherly man who'd pat her head and express wonder every single time at how tall his battlemage's daughter had grown. She'd met him only a couple times in her adult years. Their last encounter had been at Regulus Umbranox's installation ceremony as Count of Anvil. Both the older Count Umbranox and Cecilia's mother had died that spring in the influenza epidemic that had hit the Gold Coast, and the Emperor had personally given her his condolences. (There were rumours the Thalmor had unleashed this particularly lethal epidemic, but Cecilia's father scoffed at those: Valenwood, he said, had seen more deaths than Cyrodiil from that flu, despite the Dominion's assertions to the contrary.)
But she couldn't say she knew the man, and the farther away from Cyrodiil she got, the less the Emperor's actions made sense. In Cyrodiil, she'd accepted the need for the White-Gold Concordat because her own father had been at the Emperor's side when he negotiated it. But in Skyrim, she had begun to wonder. Twenty-seven years was a long time to wait for the Empire to get its act together, while the Thalmor wormed their way into everything. It wasn't even clear that the Empire's own officials were committed to another war. The East Empire Company and other merchant interests certainly weren't.
What was the vague promise of war worth to Nords whose families were dragged away by the Thalmor in the middle of the night? If there was something planned, something substantial, good! But there had been nothing to reassure Ulfric and his followers of that.
Or had there been? She suspected that once Ulfric had made his mind up, he wasn't a good listener. She had no idea what overtures the Empire had made to the Stormcloaks before Torygg's death brought about war.
If she ever got back to Windhelm, she'd have to ask him. About Torygg, about his militia before Torygg's death, about what he'd done in Markarth. She had to know it all. Because she couldn't stand aloof from Skyrim's politics. She'd tried that, and she'd ended up here.
Fasendil wanted an answer.
I do think I should meet with the Emperor. she wrote. But if you take me to Solitude, something dreadful is going to happen.
"What's that?"
I don't exactly know. But I came up here because of what the Thalmor are doing at the College. They seem to have some plan for a dangerous magical artefact that's in the College's keeping. I need to search a Dwemer ruin in Eastmarch for another powerful artefact, or else . . .
She feared Fasendil would dismiss this as an excuse, but he seemed troubled.
"I've heard reports that the Thalmor are indeed searching Skyrim for artefacts of power," he commented. "What's this thing at the college?"
No one really knows, but it's an orb the scholars there are calling the Eye of Magnus. They think it may be a Dawn era artefact.
"The Eye of Magnus . . . I don't know anything about Dawn magic, but that's exactly what the Thalmor claim to specialize in. What does the Arch-Mage say about this?"
He said I should go get the Staff of Magnus. But he's not the one who sent for me in the first place. That was the Psijic monks.
"By the Eight!" Fasendil was now well and truly alarmed. "The Psijics have shown up again?"
Cecilia nodded vigorously.
"Well, this is bad. I don't know . . . " he trailed off and stared at the wall. "Forget the Emperor and the war for now. Write me the whole story of this orb. I can't decide correctly unless I know exactly what's at stake."
Was he suggesting he might let her go if the threat was great enough?
It will take a long time to write she warned him.
"It's worth waiting for."
This would be a tale strong enough to change her fate. Mentally, she repeated the old invocation of writers beginning a work.
Come to me, Akatosh, for without you, my resolution falters, and my pen is still and dry, though all the seas were full of ink, and the sky my parchment of dawn.
She began to write, beginning with her first visit to the Ruins of Saarthal.
6 Second Seed, 4E 202, Breezehome, Whiterun
Varo had refused Cipius and Rikke's offer of a Legionnaire to watch over him. He was getting attached to the Whiterun guards who'd taken over his care. They were more talkative than Legionnaires would be around a high-ranking officer. He was building up a broad knowledge of Whiterun and Skyrim via local gossip: Belethor down at the general goods store was a sleazy little man, but he'd have good prices for the father of the Dragonborn. One of the guards's cousin was out fighting dragons, though really, there weren't many left to fight, so his parents suspected he was now just skiving off work. There was a Redguard in the Dragonreach cells – not an ordinary Redguard, but one of those wild men from the desert; he'd marched in here with his curved sword and threatened people, which Jarl Balgruuf had not taken well.
The tale of the Redguard caught Varo's attention. "Why was he threatening people?"
"He said he was looking for another Redguard. A woman. He obviously didn't mean her any good, so no one spoke to him. These foreigners need to leave their feuds back home. No offence, sir."
"None taken. I'm starting a whole bunch of new feuds here. Could you find out what this desert warrior wanted, though? I lived in Hammerfell when I was a kid, and it's rare for them to leave the Alik'r."
The guard promised to do so, then asked a whole bunch of questions about Hammerfell and whether he'd ever used a curved sword. No, not as a child. His mother had said it would throw off his forms to keep switching sword types. (Later, during the Aldmeri occupation, yes, but he wasn't allowed to talk about that.)
The great downside of having the Whiterun guards as protectors had yet to manifest. Around noon, the cheerful guard gathered up the tray from lunch, and on his way to the wash house out back, let in Heimskr, Priest of Talos: the last person Varo had expected or wanted to see.
Since their last encounter had consisted of Heimskr yelling at him for blasphemy, he didn't even bother trying to sit up. If he lay very still, Heimskr might decide to leave him to his sleep. Seconds passed, more seconds . . . The man was just standing there over his mattress. He opened his eyes to glare up at him. Heimskr stared back.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" he at last asked Heimskr.
The priest shook his head. "No, I do not think I am the one with something to say."
"And I am?"
"Do you not wear his glorious sign upon your person? Did he not defend you in your moment of need?"
Varo sighed. "Blabber-mouth Nords." Those guards who'd helped the temple's healer couldn't keep their mouths shut about his amulet, and all of Whiterun was now probably talking about it. The story would get back to Solitude and eventually to Cyrodiil, shocking no-one. The Thalmor would complain, there'd be an investigation to see if he was violating the Concordat, he'd deny it, and with no proof on their part, the investigation would be closed. This wouldn't be the first time something like this had happened. But it was so degrading and tiring.
Since Heimskr wasn't going to leave him alone, he'd better face him in a less vulnerable position. He pulled himself up in bed, leaning on his left hand. The axe-shaped amulet's outline was plain to see beneath his night shirt. "Do you really think he saved me?" he asked Heimskr.
"Are you not a child of man? Does not Talos cherish each one of us?"
"I'm a child of elves too," Varo pointed out with a smile.
This was obviously a revelation to Heimskr. "You –" Varo could feel the priest's eyes examining his ears. They were perfectly rounded, which probably reassured the man. "Though your blood be mingled with theirs, you still worship Talos Stormcrown."
"That's not something I'll ever admit to you," said Varo. "I've denied Talos before the other gods. What right do you have to contradict me?"
"Your own heart shall contradict you. You carry a heavy burden, my friend. Let Talos lift it from you."
"I'm afraid I can't. It's too precious a burden: it's the lives of those I love, the fate of the Empire, the freedom of its men and women. I couldn't drop that burden, even for my god."
"There is no freedom in the tyranny of the Empire-" Heimskr began.
"No, stop. I've had this discussion a thousand times. You've made a brave choice, and I honour you for it, but I cannot do as you do."
"If you know it's the right choice –"
"I didn't say it was the right choice. It may be for you. As it was for my wife."
"Your wife?"
"At the end of the war, my wife Avelina was Legate of the Seventh Legion. She was a fine soldier, and she loved her Legion. She should have stayed on in the service. But all commanding Legion officers were required to take an oath renouncing the worship of Talos. She refused. I didn't. And so she turned her back on her old life and began a new one raising my child while I wandered around Tamriel."
The words spilt out from his mouth, unintended and raw. Talos could not lift the burden, but his priest could listen.
He and Avelina had only just married when the Concordat was signed. It'd nearly torn them apart. Everyone including Avelina had expected him to react angrily to the conditions. In fact, he'd been with the Emperor when they were drawing up the Concordat, and assented to it then. In turn, Titus had made him certain promises, promises that would sustain him through the long years that followed.
"Your wife taught your daughter, then," commented Heimskr.
That was mostly true. Naturally, Cecilia had learnt her prayers and theology from her more present parent. He felt a bit of guilt there. So many of his mother's beliefs and traditions ended with him, and yet they were too much to inflict on an ordinary Imperial child. "Be grateful she did. If I'd taught her, I'd have filled the Dragonborn's head with a lot of elvish nonsense."
"Talos has guided her," said Heimskr. "When first she knelt before his shrine here, I told her that he would. He does not fail his chosen. He delivered her from the bonds of Skyrim's oppressors-"
"She knelt at your shrine?" Varo interrupted him. "In front of everyone?"
"Yes, the true daughter of man fears not. The Dragonborn proudly shows forth her faith, even unto the unbelieving."
But his daughter couldn't do that. He couldn't let her.
Setting out for Whiterun, he hadn't thought much past retrieving Cecilia from Stormcloak, but of course he knew what followed would be difficult. Everyone would stake their claim on the Dragonborn. Some, such as the Thalmor, he could help her avoid. Judging by Heismkr's testimony, they'd accuse her as a public heretic, but the Empire would never hand her over to their custody. As long as she learnt again how to shut up and hide her faith.
It was harder to foresee what Titus would want with her, or what the Legion and the Elder Council might demand. Even the Blades might rise up again to demand their Dragonborn. Harder still, he did not know if he should shield Cecilia from all these demands or convince her to submit to them. If she had the opportunity to unite Tamriel behind the Empire, how could he not encourage her to take it?
He was loyal to the House of Mede, and the Medes weren't Dragonborn. His own daughter was. Would they move to co-opt her power just as Stormcloak had? Titus had a few unmarried young relatives who'd be very keen to cement their rights as successor to the Ruby Throne. Would he be expected to co-operate with that?
His track record for integrity was not very good. But he was better than that, he hoped.
Lost in his thoughts, he'd quit listening to Heimskr. But now the guard was back with the clean dishes, and it was time to move the priest – now enthusiastically telling a tale of Talos and his Red Legions - out of Breezehome.
"Thank you for your words of comfort, but I'm going to sleep," he announced, glaring at the guard to do something.
Thankfully, the guard got the message and began to usher Heimskr out.
"I will pray for you," Heimskr proclaimed before he exited.
"Thank you," said Varo in all sincerity.
6 Second Seed, 4E 202, Valtheim Towers, Whiterun
The Stormcloak-led caravan called a halt for lunch at these massive stone towers that dominated the landscape of the White River's gorge. The children, of course, wanted to climb up to the bridge, but the Stormcloak soldiers currently manning the towers refused to let them in. Emilin too would have liked to climb up there , but she wasn't pushing her luck. Her Stormcloak escorts were already wary of everything she did.
They'd left Whiterun Camp early this morning. It was a large group. Aside from the Stormcloak soldiers, there was Olfina Gray-Mane, a few older men and women, and sixteen of the Whiterun children, destined for fostering in Eastmarch and the Rift. They had three wagons loaded with supplies and passengers and were moving painfully slow. Galmar's messengers would get to Windhelm with news of her coming long before she did.
The children had been scared at first, and some of them were still quiet and homesick, but most of them now regarded the current expedition as a holiday. Their natural leader appeared to be a Redguard girl named Braith, who reigned over her friends with a mixture of threats, bravado, and should the first two not work, well-delivered punches. Braith was currently trying to climb the stonework of one of the towers, while a Stormcloak guard yelled at her to get down.
"She never listens," said a soft-spoken Imperial girl sitting beside Emilin.
"I can see that." Emilin turned her attention to this child. "What's your name?"
"Lucia."
"Nice to meet you, Lucia. My name is Emilin. How are you enjoying our adventure?"
"It's very nice. Better than it was in Whiterun."
"Whiterun seemed like a good place to me."
"Oh. Yes. It is. But –" Lucia lowered her voice, "I don't have any family. So when Miss Olfina said we needed to go, I was glad."
"You're an orphan?" asked Emilin.
Lucia nodded.
"And where have you been living?"
"Around town," said Lucia vaguely.
"I see." The memories were rushing back. Cold, hungry, unloved. Emilin knew what that was like. "I'm an orphan too, Lucia."
"Really?"
"I didn't have a home till I was fourteen. I used to beg for my food." Or steal it, but she wouldn't tell Lucia that. It might sound like a suggestion.
"And now you don't have to?"
"Not for a very long time. You won't either now."
"I hope so," said Lucia. "Everyone says the Stormcloaks are scary, but they seem really nice."
After they'd finished lunch, and Lucia had gone off to play with the others, Emilin asked Olfina about the girl.
"She's a beggar with no family," Olfina confirmed. "That's why I picked her for this group. It's not really what Galmar wanted – I was supposed to pick children with families in Whiterun – but the poor girl needed some help."
"Are there are a lot of children like her around?" Emilin asked.
"Yes. More than can possibly be helped. With the war and these dragons . . ."
"You've done your best though," Emilin assured her.
"I'm trying. They're good kids, aren't they?"
Emilin stared at her. "Braith," she mouthed.
"Braith's a strong girl," Olfina replied enthusiastically. "I can't wait to see her grow up. She won't take nonsense from anyone."
"Olfina, the girl is a bully."
"Well, a little bit, maybe," Olfina conceded. "But she has a good heart."
"Does she?"
"Nord kids need to be strong. A bit of scrapping and wrestling is good for them. It's how I grew up. See this scar here." Olfina pointed to a white line beneath her chin. "That's where Thorald hit me with a rock when we were little. I gave him much worse, though."
"You're close to your brother?" Emilin asked.
"Yes, he's only a year older than me. He, Jon Battle-Born, and I, the three of us were really close. Then our families quarrelled, and Jon and Thorald were stupid about it, and they quit hanging out together."
"But you and Jon?"
"Why quit talking to someone you've been friends with your whole life, just because of politics?"
Jon Battle-Born had returned to Whiterun, but he'd left with hope. Olfina had told her Uncle Vignar straight out that she was going to marry Jon one day. Vignar Gray-Mane had then had some choice words, Olfina told Emilin, about how long Jon had dallied and delayed in Whiterun. If he'd gone to the Bards' College in Solitude, the way he always said he would, he wouldn't be part of this fight. As it was, Jon had a duty to his family, and he'd be risking his life every day against the besieging Stormcloak army.
But if he survived this fight, Vignar had promised his blessing on the marriage. He could talk Olfina's parents into approving the match, he reckoned, and he was looking forward to seeing the Battle-Borns' faces when the betrothal was announced. With no children of his own, he'd put aside a large sum of gold from all his years in the Companions. Enough to send them to Solitude together, if that's what they wanted as a wedding gift.
Olfina was overjoyed. She somehow didn't doubt Jon would survive, and Emilin hoped that this love would never be crushed or disappointed, the way her own had been by war.
6 Second Seed, 4E 202, Whiterun Hold
Elenwen had at last decided she understood the situation here in Whiterun, and it was under control. She'd come here to make certain Junius Varo wasn't defecting to the Stormcloaks, and if he was staying loyal to the Empire, to observe whether his presence would shift the balance of this war. His actions in Whiterun had been everything the Thalmor required. He'd changed what was probably going to be a short siege into a long one, and even stirred up the anger of the Talos-worshiping heathen.
She could return to the Embassy now and make certain that the meddling Third Emissary Calerion had been sent off to Falkreath. She'd dismantle any of his organization he left behind and open up a more secure exchange of messages with her family in Shimmerene to find out what was going on back in the Isles. On their way back to the Embassy, they could take a brief look in Labyrinthian for the mask Emilin had pilfered, although she didn't have much hope for finding it so quickly.
She was ready to order they leave their cave hide-out when Amirion and Naryon returned from their latest scout of the plains. But they looked shaken, and there were scorch marks on Amirion's robes.
"We found the baggage Varo left behind, Mistress Elenwen" Amirion announced. "It was cached away in an old badger's hole and trapped with an explosive rune."
"Was any of it salvageable?" she asked calmly. There was no point complaining that Varo had taken proper foresight with his baggage.
Amirion shook his head. "After the baggage was lost, we proceeded using invisibility spells towards the Stormcloak camp to find out what was going on with all those people who exited the city yesterday."
"And did you?"
"Yes, we found a Stormcloak straggler, who we took aside and questioned. According to him, Varo negotiated a day-long truce to get the children and elderly out of the city."
"I see. They're all back to fighting now?"
"Yes. They are."
"And you disposed of your straggler?"
"Yes. There was no safe place to hide the body, but it'll look like a fatal fall, not a killing. He told us something disturbing, though. Galmar Stone-Fist met with Varo's Bosmer and now she's gone off to Windhelm."
Elenwen had thought she understood the situation here in Whiterun, that everything was all under control, but she'd been wrong.
"Was Emilin taken prisoner by the Stormcloaks?" she asked.
"No, she just walked into the Stormcloak camp while the truce still held, met with Galmar Stone-Fist, and this morning she set off for Windhelm with a Stormcloak-led caravan."
What was going on here? Did Emilin think – did Varo think? – that she could negotiate peace with Ulfric? She couldn't. This war had gone too far for that.
Or was Emilin going to Windhelm to kill the man? She could perhaps succeed in that, and if she did, the Stormcloak rebellion would crumble. It had always been one of the rebellion's regrettable weaknesses that there was no leader prepared to step into Ulfric's place. None of the Stormcloak Jarls or generals had Ulfric's sway over Nords' hearts. Elenwen's foremost duty in Skyrim was making sure Ulfric Stormcloak did not die, a duty she'd almost failed at Helgen.
Chaos engulfed her from all sides. If she did not return to the Embassy, she could be unseated by her power-hungry subordinate. But if she let Varo's assassin slip through to Ulfric, the retribution from Alinor would be terrible.
She made her decision quickly. "Emilin can't reach Windhelm," she decreed. "Amirion, Naryon, Urena," she addressed her mage and two soldiers, "Follow that caravan and kill her. Amirion, I am giving you complete discretion how to complete this task, only it must be done before she sets foot in Windhelm."
Amirion was an old hand at this business, a mage who'd served the Thalmor for nearly two centuries, but with no ambitions to rise above this sort of dirty practical work. Elenwen wished there were a lot more like him. He raised his arm to his chest in salute. "Instructions received and understood, Mistress Elenwen."
"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion. Auri-El watch over you."
"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion," he echoed.
They set to work packing. As for Elenwen . . . she'd have to rely on Second Emissary Arinye and Chief Justiciar Ondolemar to hold the front against Calerion and his minions. She could not return to Haafingar yet. It was high time she visited Junius Varo and confronted him about his plans.
End Notes:
Cecilia's writer's prayer to Akatosh is from the Foreword of the Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition.
I've written a few things more or less related to this story since the last chapter. Under the category of "More related", there's a second report from Valiitha Direnni, the Blades/Thalmor double/triple agent, this time concerning the marriage of Elenwen's parents, back in 4E 16. (Check my profile here for the fic.) I'm finding Direnni a useful viewpoint for an exploration of the rise of the Thalmor, focusing on the mysterious figure of Cecilia's great grandfather, Lord Andanyon. a right bastard who may or may not have murdered his sister, helped the Thalmor rise to power, orchestrated the Night of Green Fire, and yet somehow ended up at odds with the Thalmor bringing up a half-breed child. Cecilia will soon be looking for answers as to what lies in the gap in between.
Less related, I wrote my version of Breton fairy tale mentioned in lore but never expanded on: Hearts' Day: The Legend of the Lovers. (Also, here under my profile.)
Questions/reviews are much appreciated and always answered.