Imnotlostyet: You're absolutely right that tactically, Ulfric should have "sealed the deal" as soon as possible and not let Cecilia leave Windhelm before the marriage. It's a character trait that he has these bursts of decisive, even cold-blooded action then drags his feet and resists taking the logical next step.
Hermitwitch: I think one thing Cecilia took from Ulfric's tale of the Great War was the sense of betrayal. Technically, she knew they felt betrayed, but she felt herself hearing her grandmother's story told by an eyewitness.
There is no progress without sacrifice. No wheat without threshing the chaff. - Ulfric Stormcloak
8 Second Seed, 4E 202, Windhelm
Cecilia Varo slipped out of the Palace of the Kings shortly after dawn. She had hoped if she rose early, she would catch Ulfric at breakfast – there were so many things they needed to discuss – but he had apparently breakfasted and left the Palace an hour before dawn. Early was relative indeed.
She decided to attend to the one thing in her power at the moment. She could investigate the arrangements Ulfric had made for her wedding dress and ascertain whether the situation was the complete disaster she expected. Whatever Ulfric might know about war, theology, and government, she'd stake her life on him knowing nothing about fashion.
"My Lady Dragonborn!" her usual Windhelm seamstress greeted her with relief. "I am so glad you're here. We've done as much as possible but we really need – here, step in back."
She was pulled back into a curtained recess of the shop, where the seamstress' two assistants helped her change into a white linen under-dress. The ankle-length garment was the simple foundation of most traditional Nord women's dresses.
"We're not making a new dress from scratch," the seamstress explained. "We're taking an old one apart and refitting it." She motioned to a pile of pale and dark blue fabric.
"Was it a wedding dress?"
"Yes. It's the gown the Jarl's mother was married in. That doesn't bother you, does it?"
"No, of course not!" It was a very sensible solution: answering both the demands of haste and symbolism. Cecilia picked up the light blue fabric to examine it. "Is Jarl Ulfric all right with you re-making it?"
"He gave us full use of the Palace wardrobes. We would have used something a bit newer, but . . . there's been too much ill-fortune in the Stormcloak family of late. We didn't want you to wear a gown from an ill-fated marriage."
"Ill-fated?"
"Lady Signy's or Thora's gowns."
Cecilia blinked. The names were not familiar to her. Should she admit to this woman that she really knew nothing of the Stormcloak family? She had heard once that Ulfric had deceased elder siblings. But he hadn't spoken of them or his parents to her. If she read the situation right, he was once the spare child who could be safely given over to the Graybeards. And then, the other heirs had died and Windhelm needed him again.
The seamstress must have sensed her confusion. "The Jarl's sister Thora died ten days before she would have been married, so that dress was out of the question. Signy Steady-Hand's the widow of the Jarl's oldest brother and a Thane of Eastmarch in her own right. I guess you won't have met her – her vineyards are in the Aalto. She only comes up to Windhelm in the winter."
Cecilia decided then and there that there was no point in pretending to be informed. If this amiable woman was ready to tell all, why not ask?
The visit was productive in more than one way. Not only did she make certain her wedding dress would be finished for the wedding, she now knew more about the Stormcloak family than she'd learnt in all her conversation with Ulfric. He was indeed the spare, the youngest of four children. No one in Windhelm had expected Ulfric to come to the throne. Not even – she was shocked to discover - after his older brothers and sister had died! Ulfric was in an Imperial prison at that point, and the old Jarl, Hoag, was training his daughter-in-law Signy to take over the hold. According to the seamstress, Signy had surprised the Empire by graciously stepping down the moment Ulfric was released. (Cecilia wondered if that was exactly true. Political wrangling could be much nastier than was presented to the public.)
Cecilia was in a thoughtful mood as she returned to the Palace of the Kings. Her family life in Cyrodiil had seemed utterly unremarkable, but it was, she now realized, a sort of charmed existence. Before her mother's death, she'd never encountered any deep sorrow, suffered any great pain, or gone hungry. She knew that terrible things were happening in Tamriel, sometimes right on their own doorstep, but she'd always felt safe and shielded from them.
That, she could see, was a rare luxury, even for nobles. By the time Ulfric was her age, he was a broken veteran of two campaigns, twice a prisoner, and the sole survivor of his kindred.
Pity was not, she reminded herself sharply, the sentiment upon which a healthy marriage should be built. Genuine affection, on the other hand, well, that they had in some amount. They could build on that.
8 Second Seed, 4E 202, Sky Haven Temple, The Reach
"This meeting of the Blades is now called to order, presiding, Grandmaster Delphine . . . what's your family name, love?"
Delphine shook her head at the Dragonborn's grandmother. Embla Attius sat opposite her at the stone table where Mjoll was laying out breakfast. "You are not a member of the Blades, Mistress Attius."
"I'm glad I'm not. Mjoll! Faendal!" Embla called to the young Blades who were in the room. "Come sit down. Let's hear Delphine and Esbern explain why they're here and the Dragonborn is in Windhelm."
Mjoll did not sit down. But she did stop setting the table and waited for an answer. Embla might have better luck getting an answer than she had.
"I think we have a right to know," continued Embla. "I have a right to know. The Blades have been searching for a Dragonborn to follow since Martin Septim died. You find my grand-daughter, work with her to defeat Alduin and now you're done with her?"
"Mistress Attius, we don't know why the Dragonborn went to Windhelm," Esbern replied evenly.
"Then why aren't you going after her? Isn't that where the Blades belong? At the Dragonborn's side?"
"It's complicated," said Delphine.
"Pray tell."
Delphine and Esbern stayed quiet.
Mjoll decided she'd had enough. "Master Esbern. You said the other day it was the Dragonborn's choice to leave us. I know you and the Grandmaster think that should be enough for us. That we shouldn't ask questions –"
Esbern shook his head. "You can ask all the questions you want, my dear. But some secrets are the burden of the Grandmaster and the Loremaster. They are not ours to share."
Embla snorted. "It seems you're wasting your time here, Mjoll. If you and your comrades really want answers, ask my grand-daughter. It's what I'll be doing."
"You assume the Dragonborn wishes to share those secrets," replied Esbern. "I swear to you, she does not."
Embla looked to Mjoll. "He's the trustworthy one, right?" she asked.
"I don't think it's my place to comment," said Mjoll. She wasn't sure of the answer, anyway. Esbern seemed simpler. That might just make him more dangerous.
"We can revisit this matter later," said Delphine. "If the Dragonborn is willing to discuss it. But, Mistress Attius, your grand-daughter is not here to help you and your son. We are."
"Really? You're completely over your head here," replied Embla.
"We certainly are," said Esbern mildly. "The fate that brought us together here is strange. We did not choose to set ourselves against the Silver-Bloods or to ally with the Forsworn King. And yet, here we are."
"We are not allying with the Forsworn," Delphine insisted. "We are not party to Skyrim's politics."
"Aren't you? My grand-daughter is apparently tangled up in Skyrim's politics, and you need my grand-daughter. You won't stand alone against the Thalmor. Haven't they taught you that already?"
"They can't get in here."
"Just like they could never take Cloud Ruler?"
"Not at all. The seal on Sky Haven's gate opens only for the Dragonborn's blood. She left us a few vials, but once we close the gates, she's the only one who can enter."
"Then they'll simply starve you out. I won't be waiting around for that."
"We won't let it get to that." Delphine stood up. "Mjoll, Esbern, let's take this discussion somewhere more private."
Mjoll regretfully followed the Grandmaster out of the room. There'd been no chance to eat breakfast.
"Mistress Embla's not wrong about needing the Dragonborn," Esbern commented once they were out of the room.
Delphine sighed. "I don't deny that. We'll send her a message."
"Needs to be more than a message, I think. Once she hears rumours we've allied with the Forsworn, she will not be pleased."
"I know that."
"Ulfric Stormcloak won't forgive you either."
"I can live without his forgiveness. Once we've finished interrogating this Emissary, you can go to the Dragonborn yourself. Does that satisfy you?"
Esbern shook his head. "No, but I will go and see what can be done."
The Dominion's Third Emissary to Skyrim was now confined within the same make-shift cell they'd used for Justiciar Tanulvie. The loss of that Justiciar was a sore point between Delphine and Madanach. She'd handed him Tanulvie to be used as bait to lure the Thalmor from the road. According to Madanach, it had worked perfectly. Until that is, the Reachfolk lost her.
How could they have lost a tall golden-skinned prisoner in the middle of a fight? Madanach wasn't sure himself. He explained that his Forsworn had the Third Emissary in their custody and the rest of the Thalmor retinue were dead. Then they heard hoofbeats on the road. They retreated quickly. When they regrouped at Karthspire camp, no one had Tanulvie. He'd sent scouts back to determine what had happened; the Blades had yet to hear their report.
Yet, Third Emissary Calerion was certainly a good trade for the very junior Justiciar Tanulvie. The Grandmaster had made a bargain with Madanach to interrogate their prisoner together. By the end of their first session the day before, Calerion was singing like a canary. He'd accepted his fate quickly, then his bitterness spilled out. His only desire was to see Elenwen destroyed.
He seemed to regard Elenwen as having manipulated him into the Forsworn ambush. Since he also confirmed that Elenwen had sent him to Falkreath, the logic of this was difficult to follow. He agreed that yes, he'd ignored her orders to search for the lost Agent Sanyon in Falkreath. And yes, he'd decided on his own to go look for Justiciar Tanulvie. But only because . . . He trailed off, then launched into more incomprehensible rambling about how Elenwen's orders had made it impossible for him to stay in Haafingar, but of course, he wasn't going to walk into her evident trap in Falkreath, but obviously her toady Ondolemar had sent him the message about the missing Justiciar just so that he would be lured to the Reach.
It was too dizzying for Mjoll to follow. However, Madanach had summed it up, after they'd left Calerion in his cell for the night.
"So. His boss Elenwen tried to get him killed by Stormcloaks in Falkreath. He outsmarted her by coming here instead and running straight into our arms. Does that sound right to you, Blades?"
It did. Calerion appeared to have been the victim of some very bad luck, which he should be encouraged to continue regarding as Elenwen's doing. They'd left the interrogation there. Madanach had to attend to his Forsworn. He'd left behind one of his people watch Calerion's cell and make certain the Blades weren't sneaking in behind his back.
The Forsworn warrior on duty this morning looked nervous when Esbern and Delphine entered the room.
"Don't trouble yourself. We're waiting for your King," Delphine told him. "How's the prisoner?" she asked Kharjo.
"Quiet. He's just finished eating his breakfast."
Mjoll envied him that.
Today, Madanach arrived at the appointed time. For the first time since the Blades had encountered him, he seemed weary and grim.
"Those Thalmor took their Justiciar back to Markarth," he announced. "With the help of Thongvor Silver-Blood."
"They're working together?" asked Delphine.
"That should not surprise you, Grandmaster. Aren't we here to ask about how they allied once with Ulfric Stormcloak?"
"Did you discover how you lost Justiciar Tanulvie?" Delphine ignored his own question.
"Yes. Seems she was lying under the corpse of the man I'd assigned to guard her. If we'd had a few minutes to look around, we'd have found her. But we moved out just in the nick of time."
"Where are her rescuers now?"
"My scouts shadowed them back to Markarth."
"So, the Thalmor have now been alerted to our presence here in the Reach," said Delphine sharply.
"The Thalmor already knew or were about to find out."
"That's quite likely. But I was relying on your folk not to hand back the prisoner. This doesn't inspire my confidence in future co-operation."
"Do you have any other options?" Madanach asked. "Other friends hanging about in the wings?"
"We have many friends and allies," said Delphine stiffly.
Madanach laughed. "Well, then, let's proceed inside and talk to our new Thalmor friend."
Calerion was less talkative than he'd been the previous day. His resentment against Elenwen had burnt out and only despair remained. Delphine reminded him that the Thalmor would be very interested to hear of his previous day's statement. He just shrugged and stared at the wall.
"Elenwen's been on this case a very long time," Esbern observed at last, as if to himself.
"She's been an emissary for less than four years," said Calerion dully.
"And yet she's managed Ulfric Stormcloak since the Great War."
Calerion let out a derisive laugh. "Managed him? Does it look like she's managed him?"
"According to the dossier she authored, yes."
"How did you get – never mind. When your spy broke into the Embassy, no doubt. But you're beyond gullible if you believe everything the First Emissary tells Alinor about the situation out here."
"You're saying she's lying about her past contact with Ulfric Stormcloak?" Esbern asked.
Calerion shut up again and would say no more.
Madanach was surprisingly cheerful, however, when they exited the cell. "Your document's authentic," he told Delphine. "He let that slip."
The Grandmaster agreed. "But it's true that Elenwen might be exaggerating her influence on Ulfric Stormcloak," she cautioned.
"Doesn't matter to me if he's selling out Skyrim to the Thalmor or not."
"But you do see now that the Thalmor are the enemies of your people?" Delphine insisted.
"Find me an outsider who isn't. The Blades never had any love for us."
"This isn't about ancient history."
"True. You're no real threat right now."
"And the Thalmor are," Delphine pointed out.
"Perhaps."
"There is no fair dealing with the Thalmor," said Esbern. "But I think you know that."
Madanach chuckled. "A very good point. Did you know or did you guess?"
"We had reports of their operations in the Reach," Esbern replied. "They always did fund insurgencies within the Empire."
Mjoll at last understood. Madanach's uprising in the Reach had been backed by the Thalmor in the first place. He wasn't merely angry at the Thalmor for using Ulfric Stormcloak against him. He was ascertaining how unreliable an ally they had made.
"Those funds are not as substantial as they're rumoured," Madanach told Esbern. "But it seemed a good deal, back then, to make common cause with the Dominion. Might have stayed a good deal, if your Emperor hadn't clawed back his Cyrodiil territories. Our brave little kingdom's fate was sealed at White-Gold. Just like yours was."
"They set Ulfric Stormcloak on you," Delphine concluded.
"It's doubtful he needed much setting, but I can read the lesson here: Anyone who thinks he's using the Thalmor is deluding himself. Well, Blades. Are you willing to set yourselves against the Stormcloaks? Or do you think you can somehow work yourself back into Ulfric's favour?"
"We have never been in his favour," replied Delphine.
"Good, because you certainly won't be from now on." Madanach's smile showed all his teeth.
8 Second Seed, 4E 202, Whiterun
After interrogating Saadia and eating his breakfast in The Bannered Mare, Junius Varo collected one of his enthusiastic local guards to accompany him down to the Whiterun barracks.
"Healed up already?" Legate Cipius expressed disbelief when he entered the mess room.
"Certainly not. Go back to Breezehome," Rikke ordered.
"The surgeon recommended gentle exercise," Varo replied truthfully. "I've been strolling around town."
"He has, Ma'am." The city guard backed him up. "He had breakfast at the Mare, then walked down here. Nothing strenuous."
"And now I've just dropped in for a short chat with my two favourite Legates," Varo continued. "In private, if you have the moment."
Cipius chuckled. "I don't suppose we could say no."
Rikke rolled her eyes but ushered him into a side room.
"I found the Thalmor's contact in Whiterun," Varo announced as soon as she'd shut the door.
Cipius whistled. "That was quick work!"
"The Jarl's men are incredibly useful gossips. Cipius, do you know Saadia at the Bannered Mare?"
"Redguard woman? I think I may have seen her there."
"She was the First Emissary's contact here."
"Should we detain her then?"
Varo shook his head. "I think she's prepared to work with us if we shield her from the Thalmor."
Cipius looked towards Rikke. "Does that make sense to you, Rikke? Spycraft isn't my forte."
"Nor mine," said Rikke. "But since Varo's here on a personal mission from the General, I think we can give him any lee-way he asks for."
"Thank you," said Varo. "Now, on to the next issue: Elenwen is in the city."
"What? Where is she?"
"At the moment, I don't know. But she'll be behind the inn an hour from now, expecting to meet with Saadia. I want you to cover for me so I can surprise her there."
"Cover how?"
"You need me for a very important meeting about strategy and whatnot. Then I'll slip out and sneak up to the inn. Keep the meeting with imaginary me going for an hour. My guard will stand outside the door. That's all I ask."
"If that Thalmor bitch harms you, it's our necks on the line," Cipius objected.
"She won't," Varo reassured him. "I'm not expendable. Not this week, anyway. She needs me to balance out Stormcloak."
"All right. Just let us get some of our paperwork," said Rikke. "Or we'll be twiddling our thumbs for a whole hour."
An hour later, Junius Varo was crouched behind the woodpile of the Bannered Mare, reasonably sure that he had been unobserved on his way up from the Barracks.
Elenwen arrived at her rendezvous exactly on schedule. Varo had expected nothing less. She was wearing a long green travel cloak, rather than her Thalmor uniform, but she was still a tall unfamiliar elf in a hostile town. She must be using some heavy illusion spells to walk around Whiterun unremarked.
"Hello, coz." He stood up from the shadows.
Elenwen froze. But she recovered quickly. "Good. I asked to meet with you."
"You could have knocked on my door at any time."
"Could I have?" They were keeping a precautionary eight feet between them.
"You could have. And I might have slammed the door in your face. But if you were so desperate to see me, why all this cloak and dagger business with Saadia?"
"Why are you conspiring with Galmar Stone-Fist?"
"I am not conspiring with him." He held up his aching right hand. "That's Stone-Fist's work, three whole fingers gone. Next time I see him, I'll return the favour in kind."
"Nevertheless, you sent Emilin to him."
"I sent her to negotiate those poor children's safe exit. She took it into her head to go off to Windhelm while I was drifting in and out of consciousness."
"Why?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yes. I would like to know." Elenwen's voice was brittle, but her expression was unreadable. "It's unnerving, watching you throw away your reputation. And for what?"
"You really think my reputation's in trouble?"
"General Tullius has already been informed of Emilin's departure."
"By you. Thank you so very much for your concern."
"But why do it?" Elenwen now sounded truly frustrated. "You've made no secret you want to kill Ulfric. But why make it so obvious?"
"Wait." Varo stared at her. "You think I sent Emilin to kill him?"
"Didn't you?"
"No!"
There was a very long pause. Not a muscle moved in Elenwen's face.
"Elenwen, what did you do?"
"I told you. I alerted Tullius."
"You thought I sent Emilin to kill Ulfric. And you'd do anything to keep Ulfric Stormcloak alive. You-" He took a step forward, raising his left hand.
"I haven't done anything to harm her," said Elenwen quickly. "I did, however, warn the Stormcloaks of your little gambit."
"Did you?" He didn't know whether to believe her, but he couldn't fight a battle on the sickening hunch she'd done something awful. Not in his weakened state, not in this political situation. Trinimac's blade, be at Emilin's side now. His hands were tied. "You have contacts in the Stormcloaks?"
"No, but the Aldmeri Dominion will not be made a party to assassination." (That was the most absurd thing he'd heard all year.) "Had I not sent a warning, we might have been blamed for escorting you to Whiterun in the first place."
"Escorting!" He laughed bitterly. "Elenwen, I'm warning you now. If you've brought Emilin any harm, there is nothing that will hold me back, not the Concordat, not the Legion, not the Emperor himself."
"I won't rely on your loyalty then," she said stiffly.
"Elenwen, how did you get into the city?"
"The walls are not well-secured, are they?"
He knew that to be true. If the Stormcloaks had some decent battlemages and were much less stupidly honourable, this siege would play out very differently. "That's not an answer."
"I've no reason to share my information with you. Certainly not while you're in communication with Ulfric Stormcloak."
"I'm not-" He stopped himself. There was no point in arguing. "Well, I'm certain we can identify who's been shielding you within Whiterun." The Thalmor were very good at identifying folk with relatives back in Dominion lands. There weren't many Altmer or Khajiit around here, she'd probably forced herself on Bosmer hosts.
"Shielding? As an Emissary of the Dominion, I have the right to enter any city of the Empire."
"Which is why you're sneaking around town under a Chameleon spell?" They were going in circles with this conversation. Each time around, though, his suspicion grew stronger that Elenwen had done something to Emilin. Why else would she be so focused on his doings and yet so careful to avoid him these past days?
"Since I have arrived, I've identified multiple public violations of the White-Gold Concordat."
"Just try arresting anyone here . . ."
"I am an Emissary of the Aldmeri Dominion, not a Justiciar. I arrest no one. I will, of course, pass on my observations to the Commander of the Justiciars in Skyrim. Did you know that renegade priest is preaching that Talos saved your life from a Stormcloak axe?"
"Talos?" He snorted. "Emilin saved my life."
"Heimskr has been in and out of your lodgings a couple of times now."
"I really need better guards."
"And the alleged amulet of Talos you wear?"
"Alleged, that's the right word."
She nodded. "Very well. I've given you notice of the Dominion's concerns. Was there anything else you wished to talk to me about?"
"Keep away from Saadia from now on. She's under Legion protection."
"I have no interest in the woman except to deliver my messages."
"Deliver them yourself. I've told Legate Cipius you're in Whiterun."
"I believe I will present my credentials to the Legion, then. And to the Jarl."
"Suit yourself. I have a siege to break." He turned his back on her. She was going to make more trouble in Whiterun, but it'd be better to have her out in the open than creeping around the shadows. And when he found out what she'd done about Emilin, he'd know exactly where to find her.
8 Second Seed, Windhelm, 4E 202
Ulfric Stormcloak was a man of action. But he knew some problems were best waited out. He'd not told Cecilia that her father was injured at Whiterun, waiting instead to hear the result. Then late last night, after Cecilia had left his side, he'd received another message from Galmar. Junius Varo was recovering from his injuries, but he would be on bedrest for a while. This was news Ulfric could relay more easily to Cecilia.
The rest of the message, though . . . He'd read Galmar's letter three or four times, pondering what this could mean. After all these years, Curinwe Varo's Bosmer scout wanted to meet him? Now? Just at the moment when her comrade Junius Varo wanted Ulfric dead? Attached was a letter from Rikke (of all people) pleading Emilin's case to Galmar. It had worked. Galmar had read Rikke's letter, spoken to Emilin, and then decided to send her on to Windhelm. He wrote that it'd be Ulfric's choice whether to meet with her. But Ulfric knew he couldn't keep this woman away if Cecilia wanted her here.
He avoided Cecilia for most of the morning. But when he returned to the palace for the noon meal, she was in the front Hall, waiting for her.
"Oh, there you are," she greeted him. "Do you have time to eat luncheon with me, Ulfric?"
"Certainly."
"I wasn't sure you'd be back, but I had the servants set out a meal for just the two of us. Is that all right?"
"Yes. I can see you're determined to get me alone."
She groaned. "I've been waiting here nearly an hour, wondering if you'd show up. I'm sure all the guards were silently pitying me."
"I'm sorry. I should have let you known my schedule."
"Do you really have a schedule?" She sounded genuinely surprised.
"I can't run a Hold if no one can find me," he explained. "I may never quite keep to it, but yes, I have a schedule."
"Noted. I miss schedules."
She was an Imperial through and through.
To his surprise, the promised luncheon was not laid out in his quarters, but in the old dining room upstairs.
"In here?"
"Isn't that what this room is for?" asked Cecilia, pausing at the threshold. "For the family to dine together?"
"Yes. But I've never had much use for it." In his childhood, of course, it'd been used all the time. But since becoming Jarl, he took his meals in the Hall with his men or ate in his quarters. This room was reserved for the occasional formal private dinner.
"Well, I expect to use it a great deal," she told him. "It's not drafty here, have you noticed?"
"These rooms are the heart of the Palace. Everything as comfortable as it could be for the Jarl's family."
She laughed. "Come winter, you'll never pry me out of them!"
That was an unlikely domestic future, he thought. As he reckoned it, she hadn't stayed a solid week in one place since coming to Skyrim. The World-Eater was defeated but now other threats conspired to keep her busy. That seemed unlikely to change.
She took her seat at the table across from him. "I went to the seamstress this morning. The dress will be finished on time."
"Was it to your liking?"
"Very much so."
"Even if it's not a triple-layered Imperial court gown with a ten-foot train?" he teased.
"I'll get my hands on one of those eventually."
He leaned forward in his seat. "I'm grateful to have this time alone. I do have some things to tell you."
She stiffened. "Bad things?"
"A mix of bad, good, and completely beyond my understanding."
She said nothing, just waited.
"Your father has been wounded in battle at Whiterun."
"How badly?"
"My reports say he's recovering. He may have lost his right hand."
She buried her face in her hands. "This is my fault, it's all my fault," she whispered, almost to herself.
Ulfric knew a thing or two about guilt. He realized that it would do little good to reassure her that this was not her fault, that Junius Varo was responsible for his own choices.
"Your father proposed a short truce to send the children and infirm out of Whiterun," Ulfric continued. "Galmar agreed."
"They got out safely?" Her voice was muffled.
"Yes. Most of them were sent on to the Hold's outer villages. But a few will be fostered here in Windhelm."
"I see." She looked up with a small smile. "Jarl Balgruuf should have sent the children away before the siege. I'm glad my father intervened."
Ulfric instantly decided not to elaborate on how Varo had achieved that agreement. As far as Galmar and Vignar were concerned, Varo was an ice-hearted monster who'd starve children if it won him the smallest military advantage. Cecilia's reaction reminded Ulfric there could be a more charitable interpretation put on Varo's stratagem. If she wanted to believe the best of her father, who was he to gainsay her?
"There's one more thing. Galmar's sending us a visitor. How well do you know the wood-elf Emilin?"
Cecilia's face absolutely lit up. "She's coming here?"
"It would appear so. Wants to see both of us, according to Galmar." Galmar had suggested Emilin wanted to talk to him about Vilverin. But what did she intend to tell Cecilia?
"I bet she'll try scolding me out of marrying you," said Cecilia, in far too happy a tone.
"Could she?"
She shook her head. "No. But it shows she cares. Don't laugh. I'm just glad she cares about me."
He wasn't about to laugh. "I do understand. It's hurt you that your father hasn't even tried to contact you."
"You think you can read my mind?" Her voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet. He was treading on thin ice here.
"Tell me your mind then, Cecilia."
Cecilia would not meet his eyes in the long pause that followed.
"You're right," she said at last. "I don't want you to be right. But he just –" She broke off again.
"He went to war to take you back. Without seeking a single word from you."
She swallowed hard. "You're right, Ulfric. You're right and yet you're the last person on Nirn to be telling me this."
He knew exactly what she meant. He'd snatched up the Dragonborn as his own prize, serving her an ultimatum as a proposal. Yes, she had chosen to accept it. but still, would he ever really throw off the guilt of it?
But then she did meet his gaze. Her pale blue eyes seemed ablaze in their intensity. "No. You're exactly the right person to tell me the truth. As long as you'll hear the same from me."
"And what truth is that?"
"You're consumed with war and martyrdom. I'm sure you know that better than I do. But you're also in love with the idea of sacrifice. With sacrificing yourself, but also your people, your friends, when it must be done. Breaking oaths to the Emperor, throwing away your honour to compel me."
He recoiled at this awful accusation. "It's not-"
"I said you must hear me out. You'll do anything for Skyrim. I know. Just maybe, sometimes you don't need to make all these sacrifices."
The last time they had argued, he had lost his temper and nearly lost her. He took a deep breath. "What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked carefully. "What sacrifices do you object to?"
"To this whole war, of course. But I know you can't just end it."
"If you know, what would you have me do?"
"I want you to listen to Emilin has to say to you."
"Ah." She hoped for a miracle. That Emilin would arrive with a way out of this impossible position she had found herself in. He did not believe in that miracle. But he could give her what she asked for.
"I promise. I will listen."
Author's Notes: Shor's Bones but this one took a long time to write. Writer's block hit hard, particularly with Madanach who was not co-operating. The break-through was realizing Esbern already knew what Madanach didn't particularly want to say.
Ondolemar and Tanulvie will be back next chapter, as well as Emilin, who is riding hell-for-leather to Windhelm. Thanks for staying on this ride, and please let me know if you're enjoying it! Or if you have any questions. Ask away and I'll be happy to answer.