A/N Just leaving this here...*runs away cackling*
Elisif The Fair smiled slightly as she looked outside the carriage window, the plains of Whiterun a stark contrast to the mountains that she had become accustomed to in Solitude. She rested her chin upon her hand and smiled a little more as she caught sight of Dragonsreach.
It had been three weeks since the Battle of Windhelm, and in that time, she had spent every single day feeling as though a gigantic weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Despite being initially outnumbered, the combined forces of the Empire and that of the Forsworn had defeated the bulk of the Stormcloak army.
But the costs had been staggering.
Over three hundred Imperial soldiers. Three quarters of the remaining forces in Skyrim all gone.
Elisif closed her eyes for a moment, praying for all those brave men and women to find peace in the afterlife. She opened her eyes again to see the massive red dragon swoop by, the wing membranes almost translucent in the strong winter sunlight. She spotted the two figures holding onto the ancient beings' back and smiled even more.
Six dragons had fallen, all of them fighting on the behalf of their new master. She had heard reports from several sources that the Dragonborn had found all six dead or dying dragons and had absorbed all the souls before immolating the skeletal remains with dragon fire forged from her powerful Voice.
She wasn't certain why she had liquefied the remains until Sybille pointed out that Morgan had been exceedingly quiet when she had returned to deliver the outcome of the battle. Looking back in her memory, Elisif now kicked herself mentally at not seeing how Morgan had been so quiet while speaking.
Then it struck her.
She wasn't just angry. After killing Ulfric, everyone assumed that whatever demons haunted the Dragonborn would be exterminated. But after running through her words, Elisif realised that Morgan was no longer angry.
She was livid.
Her jaw had been tight, those smouldering eyes seemed to pierce straight through her soul. And while she knew that the anger wasn't directed at her, Elisif knew that even she couldn't extinguish the fire within the Dragonborn.
She sighed as the red dragon accelerated into the sky, a deep bellowing roar echoing across the sky.
It had taken three weeks but finally, after all this time, the Moot had been called. The Jarls of Skyrim would convene and a new King or Queen would be selected. Elisif frowned now, her good mood slowly evaporating. The years had not been kind to the Jarls of late, and she worried of the inevitable back room games that would surely be in play.
Myself. Balgruuf will undoubtedly play the neutral party seeing as the Moot takes place in his Hold. Shea has been nominated as the Jarl of Markarth but she is more loyal to Morgan than myself. Windhelm has sent a temporary Jarl but none seem to know who that person is. Siddgeir for Falkreath of course. Riften has Laila. Dawnstar has Brina. Winterhold has Korir.
Elisif crossed her legs and smoothed her dress down, idly picking at a few small strands of loose silk.
She was nervous but also pleased that the war was over and they could rebuild the province. But she never forgot that the Thalmor would not sit by and do nothing. If the past was anything to go by, they would use overwhelming force to subdue the land and its people.
Which is why I must win the Moot.
Jarl Balgruuf pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and fought the urge to reach for his axe. The other Jarls had only been in Dragonsreach for an hour and already were issuing threats, demands and insults. He sighed heavily and stayed in his seat, letting the others blow off steam.
Korir and Brina were standing nose to nose, faces turning red as they yelled at each other. From what he could overhear of their conversation, Korir wished for Brina to reduce the troop patrols and for added pressure on the College of Winterhold. Brina refused of course, having good ties with the mages. Not to mention she was an Empire supporter.
Balgruuf glanced to his right and frowned when he noted Siddgeir and Maven Black-Briar were deep in conversation. He was uncertain as to why Laila had invited her and was acting as her chief advisor but the way that agreements were seemingly being made between two of the most untrustworthy individuals he could think of did not bode well for the votes to come.
He looked to the other side of the expansive table and noticed that the newly elected 'Jarl' of Markarth was deep in conversation with Elisif as well as the new Jarl of Windhelm, a person he had no inkling of her motives not her allegiances. From what he could tell, she had been the sole survivor of a horrific meeting of representatives. The reports he had received told of an uprising of the Dunmer and Argonians within the city, and mass casualties of both sides had resulted in this woman being chosen as Jarl.
Nilsene Shatter-Shield, I pray you have the stomach for what is to come.
He mustered the courage to glance to the side of Elisif and gulped down a wad of saliva when he saw the unamused expression of the Dragonborn. She had said nothing since she had entered, giving only small nods of greeting and the occasional handshake when she met the others.
And she was simply sitting there, drumming the table with her long fingernails and staring at the wood as though lost in her own thoughts. He noted that her lover, the mysterious vampire, was standing to one side with the Companions, the latter invited to help keep the peace between the various soldiers that the other Jarls had brought with them.
Serana had said little about Morgan's mood, although she had told him not to mention anything about her need to be there. In her mind, being a Dragonborn should not mean that she should have a say in the Moot. However, she did say she would follow the ancient traditions regardless of her personal opinion. Balgruuf knew that Serana must have had a hand in Morgan's decision but he wisely acquiesced to Serana's advice.
I have no desire to piss her off more than she already is.
"For the love of Talos, can we move this along?"
Balgruuf managed to hide the smirk as the Dragonborn's patience finally expired. She had laid that wicked blade of hers in the table and was now standing up, placing her hands on the table. A few eyes managed to meet her gaze, but only a few.
"I understand that the Moot is one of the most important traditions that this land has, but the sheer ignorance that many of you are displaying is beginning to make me think that Alduin had the right idea after all."
This statement caused many gasps and even a few threats directed at the powerful figure that had saved the land twice over. Morgan pretended that she hadn't heard anything and pressed on.
"The civil war is done with. Whether anyone supported the rebellion is not a pressing issue right now," she said with a glance to Rikke, who dipped her head in acknowledgement.
"So what would you suggest we do?" Siddgeir's nasal tone spoke up, his lip curling into a sneer.
"Grow some balls in your case," Morgan retorted, causing a mixture of gasps, laughter and general muttering to break out once more.
She smirked briefly before pointing to the various Hold guards.
"These men and women will have seen how fractured this land has become. The Thalmor presence, the disappearance of the people over the years. The influx of refugees from elsewhere, only to be turned away or shunned. The Stormcloak rebellion ended what little resistance Skyrim could have offered against the Thalmor."
Morgan shook her head.
"You all played right into their hands and offered your land on a silver fucking platter," she finished, raising her head once more.
"And what would you suggest? You are a little whore with tainted blood," Siddgeir spat as he stood up. "This is not your home."
There was a moment of silence before Morgan started giggling. Several people exchanged nervous glances when they realised that this was not mirthful laughter in the slightest. It was much darker, more vicious.
"You really are a clueless prick. You sat on your fat arse for years, not knowing that your father fed Ulfric information about your Hold. Half of Falkreath are loyal to Dengeir, the other half loyal to anyone but the little shit pretending to be Jarl. And when Falkreath was returned back to your control, your father suddenly goes missing and you force more taxes on the people within."
Morgan smiled nastily, her fangs fully extended for all to see.
"If you weren't so full of shit, I would have bitten you ages ago."
Everyone looked at Siddgeir as he sat down, his limbs trembling with a mixture of anger and humiliation. Then they looked back to Elisif, who politely cleared her throat.
"I believe that a recess is in order. An hour perhaps? Allow everyone to calm their nerves so that we may elect a High King or Queen within this Age."
Morgan smiled at her before stomping out of the main hall. And every mortal in that room released a gigantic sigh of relief.
Serana wrapped her arms around her love's waist and kissed the back of her neck once.
"I may be old but I believe that is not how the Moot is chosen. With random insults and threats," she grinned.
Morgan snorted.
"People argue, then fight about it. Then argue some more. I saw enough politics within Bruma to see how this is going to go."
"My little dragon is so cynical," Serana chuckled. "The politics are a necessity for mortals. It makes them feel safe in the knowledge that they are doing what is right. The infighting is there so they can hide their fears and weaknesses from the others."
Morgan nodded.
"I know, I know. It's just… I just pray that it isn't Siddgeir who gets the vote. Even Korir isn't that bad, he cares about Winterhold even though half of it lies in the sea."
"Just relax and hold off on the stabbing," Serana joked again, spinning the smaller woman around and pulling her into her embrace. She looked down at her little dragon and smiled.
"You saved this land and its people so many times and yet you asked for nothing. And now your voice is needed instead of your blade. You have the chance to vote for any of the candidates. From what I read of Nordic culture, you may even nominate yourself."
Morgan snorted again.
"Fuck that."
Serana laughed.
"You never know what the future may bring, my love," she muttered as she captured her lovers lips with hers.
"Well, now that we have all taken advantage of the respite, is everyone ready to decide who will lead Skyrim into a new age?" Jarl Balgruuf stated as he glanced at each of the potential rulers of Skyrim.
He noted with trepidation that Laila Law-Giver was absent, Maven Black-Briar standing her her place. Having noticed his gaze, Maven smiled like a sabrecat.
"Laila is unwell at the present moment. I believe that your court wizard is tending to her as we speak. Have no fear, I shall act on her instructions and not my own."
There was a few seconds of muttering before Balgruuf spoke again.
"I believe as the neutral host, I speak first."
He cleared his throat and slowly breathed in.
"I, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, relinquish my vote for High King."
A few more seconds passed and then Elisif stood up, her shimmering white dress sparkling in the soft torchlight.
"I, Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude, put my name forward for High Queen of Skyrim. I shall defend this land and its people with my heart and soul, this I swear by the Nine Divines."
She ignored the gasps at the last few words of her speech and met the gaze of the Dragonborn, managing not to smile as Morgan gave her the slightest wink and nod of approval.
Siddgeir shot to his feet, puffing his chest out.
"I, Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath, put my name forward for High King. I shall bring this land back to its former greatness."
Maven stood next.
"I, Maven Black-Briar, put Laila Law-Giver's choice for the next High King to be Jarl Siddgeir."
Shocked muttering erupted throughout the hall as Maven sat back down, Siddgeir nodding to her once when she gave him a firm nod. Balgruuf blinked and cursed Lalia for her decision as Jarl Korir stood up.
"I, Jarl Korir of Winterhold, place my vote to… Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath," he breathed out, not meeting the eyes of anyone and ignoring the yells that spilled from many upset onlookers.
Nilsene Shatter-Shield stood up, her arms shaking slightly.
"I, Jarl Shatter-Shield of Windhelm, place my vote to Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath," she managed to stammer before sitting down quickly and draining the entire contents of the goblet in front of her.
Balgruuf closed his eyes. If one more vote went to Siddgeir, he would be elected High King.
Brina Merilis stood up.
"I, Jarl Merilis of Dawnstar, place my vote to Elisif the Fair of Solitude. Long may she reign."
Four votes to Siddgeir, two for Elisif. It all falls to Shea and the Dragonborn should the Forsworn leader choose Elisif. If not, then Talos help us all.
"I, Jarl Shea of Markarth, place my vote to… Elisif the Fair. She helped us in our darkest hour. It is only right that we return the favour, for the gods are on her side."
Elisif smiled gratefully as the younger woman gave her a firm nod and smile before sitting down.
And every single pair of eyes turned to the last candidate to be included in the Moot. They stayed silent as the Dagonborn slowly rose to her feet, most of her face hidden by the twin curls of hair that framed her face. Yet her blazing eyes were easily visible. A cold wind blew through the hall and every mortal shivered as a few guards searched for the open door or window that had caused the cold draft.
"I, Morgan Aurelius of Bruma, The Last Dragonborn and slayer of the World Eater Alduin, soldier of the Empire and sire of the Lady Serana, place my vote for High Queen to be…"
She gave everyone the chance to breathe before finishing.
"Jarl Elisif the Fair. She has the knowledge to rule, the stomach for the politics and the honour needed to govern this beautiful land. My blade, and my support, is yours Your Highness," she said, bowing to Elisif before sitting down, a soft smile on her face.
As expected, yelling ensued and it took several minutes for order to be restored. Siddgeir was still screaming however, spittle flying from his lips and his hand already resting on the hilt of his blade. Balgruuf regretted not having disarmed everyone but tradition stated that the Jarls never need part with their weapon…especially after past Moots had resulted in bloodshed.
"This is an outrage! Half of these 'Jarls' have no right to be ruling at all! Not to mention this vampire bitch in our midst! Your mother should have choked you the second you were…"
Morgan had stood up, wisps of black smoke encircling her slim body, her blade on the table glowing a soft red as she growled.
"Please, finish that sentence."
Siddgeir blanched but glared at Balgruuf.
"I demand a recount!"
"Are all members satisfied with their votes?" Balgruuf asked.
Not a single person came forward to change their vote and Balgruuf nodded.
"All voters have chosen."
"Trial by combat!"Siddgeir spat. "I put my name and honour forward to face any 'members' of this Moot. To the death," he finished, drawing his blade smoothly and smirking in triumph.
There was a moment of silence before Elisif stood up.
"As you can see, I am not dressed for combat although I would normally have taken you up on your challenge. However…"
She turned to face Morgan.
"Dragonborn. You saved this land. Not once, but twice. You asked for nothing in return, no favours or demands for your heroism or sacrifices. So it pains me to ask you of this but…as joint elected for the position of High Queen, would you fight in my stead as my Champion?"
Morgan stayed still for a moment before picking up her deadly blade and unsheathing it, gasps ringing out as the observers stared at the craftsmanship, not to mention the razor sharp edge and tip. She smiled at her blade before bowing to Elisif once more.
"I am honoured and I accept," she said simply.
Balgruuf clapped his hands once and gained everyone's attention.
"The combat will take place in the anti chamber, the place where Numinex was captured. Ten minutes."
Siddgeir raced back to his allotted chambers while the rest moved to the combat area. Morgan stayed behind and smiled as Serana and Aela approached.
"Four votes each," Serana remarked. "Interesting outcome although I sense that Nilsene in particular may have been coerced into her decision."
Aela nodded.
"And for Siddgeir to use the combat option may have worked if you hadn't been here. Although Elisif fighting in that outfit would be pretty amusing."
"She did kill Elenwen," Morgan reminded her friend with a grin.
Aela smirked.
"In a long dress? Which clung to her every curve? If she did fight, Siddgeir would be too distracted on the meat in front of him."
Serana rolled her eyes.
"Meat, meat, and mead. Honestly, how you haven't transformed into a pie is beyond me."
Morgan giggled as she walked up the steps, smirking wider as the vampire and werewolf behind her verbally sparred. She pushed any thoughts out of her mind as she reached the doors, however. She had a fight to win.
Siddgeir entered the chamber, his steel plate armour polished and bereft of scratches and nicks. He stomped towards his opponent and sneered at her.
"Ready to die, bitch? I kill you and Elisif's vote means nothing."
Morgan smiled as she spun her blade with a wrist flick before settling into the most aggressive battle stance she knew of. The blade in her hand felt light, her hair pulled back into a long ponytail to aid her vision.
"All talk and no action. Just like between the sheets I would wager."
Siddgeir roared and sprang forwards, swinging his sword as hard as he could. He yelled when that wicked edge of the Dragonborn's blade cut through the stomach plating and bit into his rib cage as she darted past him. He spun around and swung again. That blade slashed into his right thigh, the chain mail parting as though a knife cutting through soft butter.
He stared as a torrent of blood spilled from the wound but he continued on, eyeing the vampire. He charged again, managing to deflect her first attack. And hen she moved again, her figure a mere blur. And then he screamed as his ribs shattered from an immense pressure. He glanced down, blinking at the set of legs that were wrapped around him, the unnatural strength of her thighs crushing the lightest armour in his arsenal.
Then he felt a set of lips whisper in his ear.
"For Sithis."
A sharp, horrendous pain in his head.
And then darkness.
Cheers erupted as Morgan vaulted off her opponent, her blade slicing his head clean off with a single stroke, and landing quietly. The torrent of blood that had once held Siddgeirs head spilled over the now headless corpse that slumped to the ground before beginning to twitch sporadically. She did not even glance at the body, walking over to the next High Queen of Skyrim.
Morgan knelt down and offered her blade, a few drops of blood dripping from the tip.
"I emerge victorious, Your Highness."
Elisif took the offered weapon, marvelling at how light it was before looking down at the woman who inspired her more than most people had ever done.
"By the victory of my Champion, I lay claim to the position of High Queen of Skyrim."
"Do any oppose?" Balgruuf spoke up.
When none answered, he smiled before going onto one knee, the entire room of onlookers following suit.
"All hail the Queen!"
"Hail the Queen!"
