To the days come and gone - 11th of Sunsdawn – 4 E 202 – Windhelm
Within the next few days, some kind of strange effervescence invaded the city. Their victory in Falkreath, the prospect of an assault on Riften by the end of the month and a complete victory by the end of Summer brought back seemingly long lost strength to the Stormcloaks, fanning the ambers of their determination in a fire burning bright. The trainings proceeded, new recruits enrolled, old ones joined the experimented men on the battlefield to prepare their upcoming onslaught on the south of Skyrim or protect their Northern border from an Imperial attack in the wake of Spring. Still forbidden to join the melee trainings, Eliana focussed back her full attention on her work as an enchanter and an alchemist, crafting with Wuunferth from dawn to dusk, only leaving the lab, up the second story of the Palace, for an occasional walk in the icy streets, a drink at the New Gnisis or a visit to Oengul's workshop to see how the repairs on her family crest proceeded.
"This is old.", the blacksmith had said when she gave him the shield to restore. "Very old. Precious too. At least three different metals: elven allow, bronze and obsidian.", he listed upon merely examinating the soot and dirt covered material. "Where did you get this?"
"It's a family heirloom.", Eliana explained, impressed by the blacksmith's keen eyes. "There were a few warriors in my bloodline but this mustn't have served in like a hundred years."
"Two hundred.", the Nord corrected.
"Do you think you could restore it?"
He seemed to consider the question for a moment then nodded. "I wouldn't be the best blacksmith in Skyrim, otherwise, would I?"
A few days had passed and now the Dragonborn could only watch in awe as the craftsman proudly revealed his work. The estucheon gleamed in the pale sunlight in shades of gold and green on the deepest black, the glorious figure of a radiant oak standing at the center of the ebony circle veined with golden tendrils. A flap had been added on the upper side of the shield so it could rest on the bearer's shoulder to be carried without effort alongside with two strong leather straps perfectly fit to her lean forearms.
"It's... perfect.", she muttered, breath-taken. "How much do I owe you?", she asked, pulling out her coinpurse from her satchel.
"This has already been paid by the Palace.", the blacksmith answered. "A favor of sorts.", he added upon noticing the young woman's surprised look. "The jarl insisted that the payment for any repairs or adornments added to your gear are to be addressed directly to his steward. However, there's indeed something you could do for me."
"I'm listening."
"If you happen to head back to the Palace, could you tell jarl Ulfric his armor will be ready for the celebration."
11th of Sunsdawn – 4 E 202 – Windhelm – The Palace of the Kings
"Jeek of the River, Captain of Jorrvaskr. Athis the Serpentslayer, his second."
The loud and clear voice of the jarl echoed from the war-room in an endless flow.
"The crew of Jorvaskr. Bird the Clearsighted of the Watch. Frodnar and Beryl of the Eyrie. Arya the Tiny of Arenhal."
"Winterfell.", Galmar corrected.
Ulfric let out a downcast sigh. "Tell me again why I even bother doing this?"
"Because it's a thousand years old tradition even you wouldn't dare to break.", the bear warrior pointed matter-of-factly as he stretched his leg to massage his knee. "Honour the fallen, hail the victorious, remember the lost ones..."
"I didn't mean that.", the jarl pointed wearily. "Every year, one whole crew slips off my mind while you never forget any of them. You should be the one reciting them. You've always had the best memory."
"True.", Galmar admitted with a smirk. "But I am not the future High-King of Skyrim. Let's start again from the Crew of Jorvaskr."
Ulfric closed his eyes to regain focus. "Three hundred left."
"Two hundred and seventy two.", Galmar absentmindedly corrected.
"Crew of Jorvaskr. Bird the Clearsighted of the Watch. Frodnar and Beryl of the Eyrie. Arya the Tiny of Winterfell."
Eliana noiselessly traversed the long hall to the slighly opened door and knocked softly on the stone mount. Galmar motioned her to come in but be quiet as Ulfric started pacing the small space between the narrow windows, eyes closed and brows furrowed, not to break his train of thoughts.
"Ansa and Dagmar of Stonecreek and Bran the Builder of Bywater."
He stopped after this name and turned his gaze towards the new-comer.
"Dovahkiin.", he saluted with a smile.
"Forgive me, my jarl, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You will always be welcome in these halls...", he replied, catching a glimpse of a smirk from Galmar. "What does bring you today?"
"A message from Oengul War-Anvil. He asked me to assure you your armor will be delivered in due time."
Ulfric nodded thankfully and Galmar's voice broke the silence.
"See you had your familly crest renewed.", the general noticed motioning the massive shield resting on her back.
"Yes. Oengul did an amazing work.", she said, proudly showing the radiant tree upon the ovale aegis. "However, I'm afraid I won't be able to use it in battle. Yrsarald doesn't want me anywhere near his training recruits and I never used a shield before in my life."
"After the celebration, I will find you a trainer.", the jarl offered, a strange light gleaming in his steel grey eyes as his gaze set on the green and gold emblem on the dark escutcheon.
"I'll train her.", a rough voice snapped, bringing him back to reality as Eliana shot the general a dumbfounded look. "You stop me, you stop anything.", the old bear stated. "If you really want to use that thing in battle, that's the only way you will learn. What you say? Got the grit to get this done?"
The young woman caught a glimpse of worry in the jarl's gaze but shot him a confident smile and nodded without an hesitation.
"It would be an honor, General."
"That's the spirit!"
Ulfric seemed to relax a bit, still surprised to see them actually get along.
"We'll get started after the celebration.", Galmar announced.
"Do we have a chance to see you at the Feast, Dovahkiin?", Ulfric risked, finally gathering the courage to ask what had been plaguing his mind all day long.
The young woman bit her lip in hesitation and shot him a sheepish smile.
"Like always, my jarl... I'm torn."
13th of Sunsdawn – 4 E 202 – Windhelm – The New Gnisis Cornerclub
Eliana gave her reflection a contemplative look as Suvaris finished tying the lacing of her dress and gave her an approving nod. Long light blue sleeves, a round embroided collar, the dark blue velvet dress sure was flattering but she felt terribly ill at ease in it. She nervously ran her fingers through the length of her hair, tied to the side in a neat braid adorned with dragon tongue and blue mountain flowers, before a dark skinned hand slapped hers off.
"Don't!", Suvaris snapped. "It's perfect like this, don't touch it!"
"I can't believe you got me to wear a dress...", the young woman breathed in disbelief at the sight of her own image. Last time she had been wearing such fine clothes, it was six months ago, to sneak in a party on the heights of Solitude... "I just... That's not me."
"It is you.", the Dark Elf insisted. "Just a part you worked hard to bury under multiple layers of armor and wool."
The young woman chuckled lightly and let out a relieved sigh.
The last two days, she had spent trying to determine whether or not to participate this celebration, weightening the consequences of either choice, wondering which of her people she would deceive, in the end.
Torn. That was what she felt all her life. Torn between her elven blood and her human inheritance, between Talos and Lorkhar, between North and South, between Winter and Summerset... She had found in Windhelm the perfect reflection of her inner conflict, always torn in two, unable to be one and whole without ending being only the half of herself. The Feast of the Dead, a celebration in honour of the Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor, cristalized every rancour, every bad thought and hardened will between the two people.
As a Nord, she had to be present at the Feast. As an Elf, she couldn't!
If she sided with Elves, Nords would feel betrayed; if she sided with Nords, Elves would never forgive her... If she made the wrong choice everything she had already done – every attempt at conciliating the two halves of the city – would have been done for nothing.
It had taken her the two whole days to think her mess of feelings through, to finally understand there was no right choice she could ever do. She didn't have to be just an elf, she didn't have to be just a Nord... She just had to remain what she had always been. Both.
It was the task that seemed appointed to her, to settle the differences between the two sides through her very own contradictions... If she didn't find a way, no one would.
"You look like a Shield-maiden of Old.", the Elf added with a smile, breaking her train of thoughts. "I'm certain he will find it most fitting."
"Who will?"
"Jarl Ulfric, who else?", Suvaris answered, rolling her eyes to the skies.
Eliana remained speechless, actually dumbfounded by the Dunmer's saying and unable to register what she meant by that.
"Are you two done, yet?", the hoarse voice of the innkeeper interrupted them, from downstairs. "Can I reclaim the use of my only available room, at last!"
"Like if you had any customer waiting to use it!", Suvaris snapped back at her kinsman.
"Actually, I do."
The said customer, a Dunmer shivering from the cold in his light hide armor, gave them a brief nod of thanks before rushing to the warmth of the upstairs room to equip warmer clothing as the two women wrapped their capes around them and headed out, to join the gathering crowd upstairs.
13th of Sunsdawn – 4 E 202 – Windhelm – The Palace of the Kings
Ulfric clasped the last strap of leather securing his chestplace and thoughtfully traced the edges of the bronze filled carving that crossed out the strong steel. The mark left on the metal by the dragon glistening in the candlelights strangely reminded him of a crest he first laid his eyes on only days before, but that kept haunting his mind ever since. The emblem on the estucheon was painfully familiar; he just couldn't figure out why. Still, what intrigued him the most at the moment was the faint yet persistant feeling he had that there was no coincidence in all this... Her emblem slowly creeping its way on his chestplate, like she had made her way to his heart... A sign, maybe? The Gods silently blessing their union?
'Marry her.'
Galmar's word echoed though his mind again and again. Marry her. Make her his Queen. Have her rule Skyrim by his side. There was no denying the political advantage to be gained, she would legitimize his claim on the throne and unite the people behind the crown when time would come to face raging odds... but having her by his side as an officer was enough for that. Still, the rumour had begun spreading throughout Skyrim – all thanks to Tullius, he assumed, who had seen there an occasion to ruin the Dragonborn's reputation – and the idea slowly made its way, bringing hope to the people, even in times it seemed there was none. Maybe it was their duty not to disappoint them.
A knock on the door broke his train of thoughts.
"Come in."
"Ulfric. It's time.", Galmar stated.
The jarl took a deep soothing breath and nodded.
"Thank you, Galmar. Any news from the Dragonborn?", he risked, tying up the sheath of his ceremonial sword to his side.
"Not a one. However, Lortheim just passed by to bring you this.", he added, holding out a small package wrapped in blue linen.
Ulfric hastily unfolded the fabric to reveal a delicately carved trinket Galmar immediately recognized. He had seen him spend countless hours working on the motives and carvings in the claw of the dragon they defeated it now seemed an eternity ago, without ever being able to get a proper look at the trinket or as much as an explaination on this new hobby. Now, at last, he could see, and he understood... The bone-carved pendant seemed to pulse with energy, each groove on its surface emanating a faint yet comforting light. The bear-warrior observed his friend for only a few moments before he knew for sure who this gift was destined to.
Much to Ulfric surprise, Galmar soon burst out in a thunderous laughter.
"I told you to get yourself an Amulet of Mara! But I guess an Amulet of Akatosh is more fitting for the two of you, after all!"
The jarl let out a nervous laugh.
"I will not propose tonight, Galmar."
"But you plan to.", the housecarl stated more than he asked.
Ulfric said nothing, unsure what to answer.
Would he able and willing to make her his wife? Yes. She was young and beautiful, clever, fierce, stubborn to the extreme, strong... Still, many secrets clouded her past... Helgen, her death sentence, her scorn for the Empire and sheer hatred of the Thalmor, the scar that marked the underside of her chin... Secrets it was not his place to uncover and motivations it was not his place to question... He knew few about her, but what he knew wasn't forged. She was a mage, a fighter and an honorable woman with a knack for witty remarks. Worshiper of Kyne, shield-sister of Talos and herald of Akatosh… She deeply cared for Skyrim and for him. What else could he need to know to fall for her?
But tonight was not the night to give in to such thoughts. There would be a time, when Solitude would fall, when the Moot would gather, when Skyrim would be whole again and safe from the Empire and the Dominion... when such a day would dawn, he would request her hand in marriage.
13th of Sunsdawn – 4 E 202 – Windhelm – Valunstrad
Outside, a huge assembly was gathered up in the courtyard and around the warm braziers lit all along the high stone walls.
At the center of the alley formed by the many tables – soon to be adorned with tankards full of mead and plates full of stew and salted fish, sweet rolls and honey nut treats – placed there for the occasion, a huge ox was slowly roasting. Valunstrad alone could host up to a hundred guests. The late or unexpected comers would most likely find mead, food and songs at the Candlehearth whose open doors let flow an endless vacarm of laughs and music even at this early hour. However, soon and for an instant of eternity, Windhelm would be silent again, all hearts and souls turned in unison towards the past, towards the glory of the fallen heroes, towards the memory of the dead...
Eliana watched mesmerized as the golden light of the torches and braziers, the fresh air of the closing hours of evening, the heavy smell of mead and meat, the indisctinct tumult of the conversations and the faint yet clearly recognizable scent of encense and flowers brought back vivid memories of the place no living should ever see. No place on Nirn was closer to Sovngarde than Valunstrad at this very moment.
'A cup, Dragonborn, to death and glory!'
'If it is our lot to end, we'll live in song if not in soul!'
'You fought bravely, Dragonborn. Your fate yet inescapable, you chose to stride this path and embraced your destiny like only true heroes do. Your purpose is served… Your legend begins… What more do you want?'
'I want to live...'
Eliana felt her heart race as the reason why appeared on the threshold of the Palace of the Kings. The conversations died out and all gazes turned towards the jarl. He advanced to the center of the Avenue and took place at the main table, his most faithful men - Galmar and Yrsarald - by his side. One person was still missing though. Ulfric scanned the crowd, hoping to find a familiar face. A wave of warmth surged through his veins when he caught her, standing in the crowd, amongst and she shot him a warm smile.
Calm and calculating... Noble and confident... Regal... The whole of him exhaled power and pride as he fully embraced the traditions, his duty as a leader, as a king.
The crowd rose up as a single man when he rose his glass and his voice echoed, loud and clear, through the night.
"Tonight, we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious deads."
"HAIL!"
Name after name, crew after crew, the Five Hundred were paid an ardent homage. Past and present were but one. Stars were slowly lighting over horizon, northern lights were dancing like burning emerald ribbons above the city, the logs were cracking in the hearth, sending ambers like fireflies high in the darkening skies. Ulfric's voice echoed through the cool air of the falling night, each name ringing through the fabric of time itself, from past to present and to Sovngarde.
"Jeek of the River, Captain of Jorrvaskr."
"Hail!"
A few voices on the side of the Avenue rang louder than the rest. Eliana turned her gaze to notice a few familiar figures clad in carved armors standing there. A red-haired woman, with lupine grey eyes, standing side by side with a grey-haired one-eyed warrior and two very alike strongly built raven haired Nords. The taller leaned to his brother and motioned to the young woman. The younger twin scrutinized her wolfishly before an elderly warrior clad in the same wolf-carved armor snapped him back to the present. The man briefly turned his attention to her and gave her a saluting nod Eliana immediately answered to before they both turned back their attention to the jarl as the last name died out in revered silence.
"Remember those who fought and bled and died for this land, for our freedom throughout history. Remember those we lost to the Season Unending or to the Dark Wings. Remember the sons and daughters of Skyrim who paid the ultimate price for their homeland and kinsmen. Remember the children of Eastmarch who now walk amongst the Heroes of Sovngarde."
A seemingly endless list of names followed, each one of them saluted by families and friends in mourning. Some of the names were unfamiliar to her, but soon, Eliana recognized people she had fought alongside with, names she heard once, called out by an Imperial Captain in Helgen, shield-brothers and sisters lost within the depths of Korvanund or the flames of Whiterun, archers, swordsmen and civilians lost to the breath of the dragon or the unforgiving embrace of Winter.
"Gilfre of Bywater, Friga Shatter-Shield and Alessa Aretino."
The jarl took a deep breath and rose his glass for the last time.
"May they join the Hall of Valor where we might reunite for the Feast of the Dead."
"HAIL!"
"And as we remember the Heroes of Old", he added thoughtfully, "remember the ones who still walk amongst us today."
Eliana felt her heart skip a beat when their eyes met through the distance.
"To the woman who fought and triumphed of the World-Eater himself. To the one who now stands on the edge of past and present as she succeeded where we failed for centuries", he added, turning his glance towards the large group of Dark Elves gathered amongst Nords for the very first time on such a night, "and made Windhelm whole again."
He couldn't help but smile as he saw the young woman grow pale then heavily blush at his words.
"To the symbol of our Skyrim's unity and of times of peace to come. Dovahkiin.", he called out. "Approach and kneel before your King."
Her breath stuck in her throat, Eliana watched in disbelief the crowd part on her way. A single push from Suvaris gave her the impulse and she did her best to ignore the insistent gazes following her as she walked up the aisle of honour to meet the jarl at the center of the courtyard.
The copper locks framing her face, the flowery ornament adorning her braid, the most flattering way her dress suited her, Ulfric felt his heart race in his chest, his gaze lingering on every single detail about her in reverence as she closed the gap between them and bended knee before him. The soft clear sound of metal shrieked through the air and the flat of a blade laid on her shoulder.
"I wish to honour you, Eliana Evergreen, Dragonborn and the truest citizen of Windhelm. For you have the heart of this fierce land, born of our legends, forged by fire and ice. And when we are put to the test, you are the one thing we must always be. Brave. By my right as a jarl, I henceforth name you Thane of Eastmarch, Shield-maiden of Windhelm and protector of Skyrim. May you defend the Realm if the days grow dark."
Eliana looked up to him in utter disbelief as he held out his hand to help her stand.
"Rise now, Shield-maiden of Eastmarch."
Well! Lots of things to say about this chapter and I don't have much time to write this author note before I head to work, so I'll try to keep it short!
First things first! As you now must highly suspect, Eliana's shield is no mere escutcheon ! ^^ Can't wait to hear (or more like 'read') your theories about this, but don't worry, it will all be quite clearly implied a few chapters ahead! :)
Second things second ^^
The Feast! Here is the first part of a night to remember ^^ Hope you liked it! As promised, old friends return ! Farkas and Vilkas say 'Hi!'
"Hi!"
By the way! About the Companions questline! Since Skjor survived at Gallows Rock, Vilkas and the others did not run into their bloodlusty quest of revenge against the Silverhand... So... the original events will be slightly (A LOT) changed ^^ But this doesn't matter for now ^^
Third things third : Thane of Eastmarch and wedding plans! :3
Can't wait to read your reviews about this chapter! :D
I also want to thank you for keeping reading this after all this time ( The Dragon and the Bear is one year old! Happy birthday!) and I wanna thank the new readers who came along throughout this very year! You guys are amazing and this year with you has been amazing! :)
Hope this will carry on! :) I don't think I can reach the end of this story before another year goes by so... we'll all have to hang in there, but I promise you good epic times ahead!
Basically : I love you! Stay tuned and, please review ;)
