Now the Dragons are Gone

by SomeSod

Harkon, Miraak and Aldiun are dead. Ulfric Stormcloak's corpse lies in an unmarked traitor's grave as Elisif the Fair rules from the Blue Palace, Queen of Skyrim by the will of The Divines, and the might of the Imperial Legions. With mature content and adult themes throughout as our exhausted heroes try to return to their previous lives in a world which no longer needs them.

4. Chapter 4: The Politics of Peace

Chapter Four: The Politics of Peace

Serana I

"I want you all to swear to me now, that not a single breath of our conversation here tonight will escape this room."

"I swear it by the nine." Came Beric's response, clipped and firm from across the table.

"I so swear, by my blood and my ancestors." She affirmed with a nod.

"By Malacath, I swear it now and forever." Durag growled next to her.

Beren looked around the room. Lost. Angry. Afraid. His mischievous blue eyes now without levity or humour, searching theirs for the hope of a solution.

"What do we do?"

No one answered. Serana sat neatly in her chair, legs crossed and arms folded on her lap as she watched the two men who sat opposite her. Beric was still as a stone. Hunched forwards, hands clasped in front of his face. His piercing blue eyes narrowed as he stared with such intensity at the map over her shoulder that she was quite certain that he had Elisif herself ducking and looking behind her in alarm. Beside him Beren fidgeted quietly, eyes closed as his fingers slowly massaged his temples, calming himself with the repetitive, almost meditative motion, seemingly determined to get through the next few hours without screaming someone down. Durag was seated to her right, where he grimaced and quietly rubbed the pain from his leg without conscious thought.

There was absolute silence in the room. The thick stone walls naturally muffled sound, but when they had bought the house in the autumn last year, Beren had been specific in his instruction to her for improving its security, in addition to the magical muffling on the tapestry which so dominated the room. She promised she would do her best, and she did. No scrying or far-hearing spells could get into the room that she sealed with the vampire magics her mother had designed and taught her, which she had then applied with expert precision that filled her with pride. However, she had overlooked how the enchantments she used had been designed with vampires, not mortals in mind, and so not even air could enter once the seals around the door engaged. The result was that the room was quick to become filled with stale air, heavy with the unpleasant aromas of the hard-working and stressed. Durag had passed out once from these effects, and time was doubly against them as Aela could find their occupation of the rarely-used room curious. She glanced anxiously at Durag and Beren, for the air was already heavy with the scents of Orc and Nord. Both were still caught up in the chaos that the letter's arrival had caused.

She swallowed to clear her throat and broke the silence.

"…. Beren, what are you going to tell Aela?" she was surprised at how her voice cracked in sympathy for her, and he shuddered as though scourged.

"…Beren can work that out latter, we need a plan. Now." Durag was anxious, and he leaned forward and taped the table with his forefinger to underline his point. There was no timepiece in the room, they could easily be used to hide a listening or scrying device.

"Lady and Gents, let's calm down and understand the situation first." Beric stilled them with a calm wave of the hand and a glance at them both, before he turned to his younger brother. Beren sighed, and leant back, running his hands through his hair before folding them behind his head. He looked as tired as Serana had ever seen, the crow's feet and thin wrinkles that crinkled his youthful face and his forehead suddenly starkly illustrated under the rooms unwavering magical lantern-light. He looked around the room, careful to make and maintain eye contact with each and every one of them as long as they were able to bear it as he spoke in a low, measured voice.

"This is going to be a difficult night for all of us. I love Aela, and every one of you is a dear friend. I know I am a difficult man when angry, but I have always welcomed your bravery in giving me honest advice. Even when I have not wanted to hear it….we have all been through too much for this to break us."

He finished, gesturing dismissively at the letter before Durag. He then paused for a second in thought, staring at nothing as a range of confused and conflicting emotion half played out across his face and behind his eyes.

"Beric's right- let's start with what and why. Then we can start with the who, the where, the how. What…what's Elisif's political motivation for this? Why has she done this?" he rambled, gesturing in confusion as his thoughts got away from him.

"Elisif is securing her position, and she is afraid of you, but not of the fight that may come. To write this boldly is not a negotiation, for all that it coaches itself in diplomatic niceties and speaking of 'enquiries.' This is a demand, and it's a threat."

Durag stated with brutal simplicity, circling the words on the letter before him as he continued, warming to the topic with a scholarly enthusiasm.

"The civil war was simple- it was a war for Skyrim's heart, and Skyrim's heart was cut into three- the Stormcloaks, the Imperials, and the third part made up of the undecided, uncommitted or neutral. Elisif stood with the Imperials when that was dangerous and unfashionable. Now there are only two parts of Skyrim remaining. Those who stood by must fall into line willingly, or be forced, for the good of 'the preservation of the new-found peace and stability in Skyrim.' You are the only major neutral leader other than Balgruuf, who I would not be surprised to learn is also getting similarly threatening treatment. To allow you to remain independent would represent an obstacle to her mission to reunite Skyrim into one. A marriage would be a solution and a symbol to all of that- and Elisif understands the value of such demonstrations very well."

Durag spoke insistently, leaning forwards and holding Beren's gaze, ticking down his fingers from three to two to one as he spoke with fervent eloquence. She shook her head at this and waved the argument aside, and Beren snapped his head around and looked to her like a drowning man to distant land.

"Durag's right about the war, but wrong about her motivations. Elisif's strength is a façade, in truth she's desperate for allies. The military governor General Tullius controls the legions and they take their orders from the Potentate, not her. Most of her money was borrowed by the Imperials, and what few troops she has are scattered…She may have the affection of Haafingar's people, but the Moot shows that her leadership and peace rests upon what fear she could instil amidst the few puppet jarls she installed. Once the legions leave, so will the fear, and all she'll have are unpaid debts and enemies. You've proven your strength, as Durag said. She's afraid, and trying to claim that strength for herself."

She paused for a moment, deep in thought, and struggling with the still unfamiliar context, and frustrated still at how this 'modern Tamrielic' still robbed her of her eloquence. Elisif was a sign of the times, that she knew for certain. The Empire, for all that Beric had told her of its historical strength had rotted from within, and weak leadership from incompetent or inexperienced leaders had been to blame for it. She could remember a time when Harald of the line of Ysgramor had campaigned with his own armies to unite Skyrim, and even across the gulf of defeat and war from him she respected his strength and vision as a worthy king. Elisif was a unworthy weak pretender, lurking in the shadows of greater men and women, reliant upon the warp and weave of words over weapons.

Perhaps that was too unkind, she thought for a moment. Elisif was pleasant enough in person, and she personally wished her no ill-will. But a woman who could not march to war to win her own crown and kingdom was no High Queen of Skyrim in her eyes. She had told Beren as much, and she regretted how inarticulate she could be compared to Durag when it came to these things. She had told Beren to present himself as a contender at the Moot, that the Jarls would fall over themselves to offer him the throne willingly, it would result in a bloodless victory and a coronation all Skyrim could celebrate. He had rejected it, shocking her with the revelation that he stood as her champion, together with a confused tumble of refusals; it was unthinkable, he was oath-sworn to Elisif, that he had fought a war to punish such traitorous behaviour, honour and loyalty demanded otherwise, that convention had changed, and alleging that instead of uniting Skyrim it would lead to another war of succession between the claimants. She had doubted that, and said so, sharply asking what was the point of a Moot if it wasn't contested. Suddenly she realised Durag was shaking his head, and looked like he was going to interrupt her but Beren looked thoughtful and so she continued.

"Look at her advisors- Thane Erikur, Melaran, Viarmo, Falk, and all the others. I bet they're behind this. They've told her to get married and she's panicked and written a letter because she doesn't want to marry a Black-Briar or an ageing Jarl or some pot-bellied Breton..."

She finished rather lamely, and Durag snorted at this, and shook his head again, unwilling to stay silent any longer. He shifted his leg under the table awkwardly, the dwemer prosthetic that he had built irritating the stump of his right leg as it scrapped across the flagstones.

"That's just Stormcloak propaganda, Falk wrote this letter, why would he send it? If Elisif is as weak as you say he would just talk her out of it. She's weighed the risks and committed to this; she can't back down now."

Beren looked frustrated at how the people who had tutored him in the mysteries of the Elder Scrolls were now giving him contradictory and conflicting advice on something as seemingly straightforward as this. He turned to Beric, unimpressed.

"You've been unusually quiet for someone who's met Elisif the most over the past few years."

Beric glanced at Beren in surprise, then looked thoughtful for a moment. She knew that he had a good head for how the politics of nobles affects the lives of the common people, but that he still though himself half a peasant, and was unused and uncomfortable on being directly asked his opinion on the noblest in the land.

"I've met Elisif maybe a dozen times." He mumbled carefully by way of introduction as he gathered his thoughts, before dropping his clasped hand from his face.

"I first met her…. Last Seed 201? Fresh from the college, and taking my apprenticeship with the Dawnguard. The damned vampires were running rampant around Skyrim, no-one knew why. Anyway, the Dawnguard were popular, they were hiring, and they paid well."

He rubbed his fingers and thumb together in a sardonic gesture to underscore the last point. He was setting the stage carefully, and perhaps laid it on a bit thick for effect. Durag had joined them in Solstheim, and they all had been happy to leave any number of unpleasant little secrets undisturbed and hidden from his eyes and ears, and the rest of the story took on a more clipped and assertive air.

"I was assigned to a patrol and we travelled up from Riften, investigated a dead lead in Dimhollow crypt before arriving at our post in Solitude. I would not recommend that route."

That was leaving out their first meeting and the little detour Beric and her had taken which had resulted in him leaving her stranded on the shores of her Island home while he paddled through the surf like he was taking part in Riften's single scull championships, racing for Northwatch. The last man alive from his patrol, and seemingly quite determined to stay that way for the immediate future.

"After that journey I was looking for some reinforcements for the Dawnguard, and Elisif made a point of holding open audiences on Middas afternoons-Market day. The supplicants were carefully searched, and vetted. Back then I suspect that her advisors were happy to let her play Jarl listening to farmers and fishermen, usually with an advisor or member of the court to nursemaid her." He nodded at her to acknowledge her earlier point.

"Varnius, the man ahead of me was from Dragonbridge, and he was talking wildly of necromancers and foul magics. Clearly out of his depth but full of fear and passion, and something else. Something which suggested there was something beyond superstition at play. I knew even then that Jarls prefer it when you offer solutions instead of problems, so I was going to volunteer to lead the raid in exchange for a few volunteers from the dungeons and hopefully the support of a handful of guards."

"Before I could make the offer her court mage Sybille Stentor overruled her. It was humiliating for her to be fair, being lectured publicly like that before the people she should be leading. Varnius was pushed aside. I stepped up, said my piece about the Dawnguard- who we were, what we were doing and she listened respectfully and promised what help she could give. And then, just at the end, she reminded me to speak to Varnius."

Beside him Beren sat back, calm and listening intently, brow furrowed in thought as he folded his hands under his chin, wondering where this story that he'd heard before was going. Beside her, Durag was listening intently, eyes narrowed, having never heard Beric tell the tale before. Serana listened intently as Beric told a carefully crafted story to hide her origins and vampirism.

"I found Serana in Solitude with a few others, we cleared out Wolfskull cave and then the catacombs under Solitude, all of them packed with necromancers and vampires. That got me a private audience with Elisif, where she sent me off to talk to you Beren. Meanwhile Sybille was embarrassed and exposed twice over. Elisif organised a trial and we learnt what scum Sybille was. Turned out Sybille was a spy for the Volkihar and was burnt alive. Meanwhile Tullius was summoned to the Palace to explain to a woman less than half his age why he was ignorant of what was happening within his own Castle, what he was going to do to recover Solitude's trust, and how he was going to secure his home base and protect his supply lines. Come the spring you, me and Serana along with 3,000 Dawnguard cleared out Castle Volkihar, supported by Imperial navy ships and Legion siege weapons and engineers."

"Exposing Sybille made Elisif- a lot of important people ended up with egg on their face. But Elisif was new and blameless, and had appointed Viarmo Master of the Revels at court, so none of it ended up on her. The Bard's college made sure everyone knew it was the Jarl they had to thank for exposing the spy and bringing the newly-discovered Dragonborn in to remove the Volkihar menace."

At this Beric leaned forward, happy with his story and leapt into his conclusion, ticking his points off on his fingers.

"I've met her a few times since then. I would say her strengths are this- a genuine care her people, good instincts, and a willingness to listen to her advisors. I would also say she shows a certain bravery and creativity which is unusual for the hide-bound court. But she's still over-reliant upon her military and economic advisors, and she's hesitant when faced with firm opposition. Nothing has changed there."

Serana disagreed, and leaned forwards to make her point. Beric might mince his words when it came to her indecisiveness, but Elisif was of royal blood, a rank she had held in life, and she judge her and make her point plainly.

"Beric, I love Solitude more than anyone you know, but I'm not naïve enough to claim that Elisif's bards and public goodwill resulted in victory in the war she claims to have won. That requires sworn-swords and shield-maidens, which she lacks. She was put on a Jarl's Throne, and did nothing but ride Beren's or Tullius's coat tails to the Jagged Crown. If she has to act, she only knows one trick when faced with a crisis. She killed Stentor, and then the Jarls a year later. Execution is her 'go-to' plan, she's nothing if not predictable."

"Ah yes, this is a completely normal situation." Beric deadpanned, unimpressed at being called naïve, and Serana riled at this, drawing up her own memories of the events.

"it was rumoured that Sybille Stentor liked saying that Elisif was only the Jarl because her husband died, and she would follow him shortly just like all the others she had seen. She demanded massive sums for private personal experiments, while she either failed to discover or report on vampire threats. At every moment she publicly claimed she was indispensable to the running of the city, even as the evidence mounted to suggest otherwise. She was an extravagant, arrogant idiot without friends, who counted upon people to ignore the evidence that she flaunted before her eyes. It didn't take a political mastermind to expose her."

She was angry now, for she has little patience for the arrogance and display that some vampires postured with, toying with the idea of outrageous public behaviour and counting on the laxity of the powerful and ignorance and gullibility of the commoners. She blamed that idiotic book Immortal Blood, some foppish thin-blood had written to provocatively shock and delight the mortal races of Tamriel. Too often it backfired, as the riled-up commoners succumbed to mass paranoia and the vampire to a messy end.

"And yet people didn't because they were afraid of her, of what they might find out. Elisif wasn't, she was alone and she had the courage to act." Durag growled as Beric nodded in agreement. Serana bristled at this, listening to them allow another to claim a victory that they had fought and won for themselves, she snapped back at Durag, anger filling her voice.

"People say Elisif was the first to move against the Volkihar, that she was the second to recognise you as the Dragonborn. But her star rose with yours. She needs Beren. We never needed her!"

"Enough!" Beren snarled, crashed his fist on the table and stood up at this, chair screeching across the flagstone floor and tipping over with a crash. They instantly fell silent. He violently wrestled it upright where it teetered for a moment on its legs before settling, then turned and paced up and down. Trapped in the narrow space between wall and table, his bulk and steady tread dominating the room, head down in thought, arms clasped behind his back. She felt guilty and outraged in equal measure at how were sniping at each other.

"It's clear that you're never going to agree on why Elisif is done this." Beren snapped suddenly. None of them responded to this, as they sat and watched him pace a steady tread on the flagstone floor. Suddenly he stopped, turned and gripped an empty chair with intensity as he leant forwards.

"How strong is she?" he asked, nodding at Durag for an answer, caught off guard he spluttered for a moment, stuttering as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"In brief." He warned.

"She has three puppet Jarls-Brina, Kraldar and Brunwulf, in addition to Balgruuf and Igmund who will need to demonstrate their loyalty given their personal or hold histories. The resources that the Imperials utilised for this war have been carefully tailed on her orders, and are rumoured to amount to a debt of 3 or 4 million Septims. There is the legion in Solitude, and the other legions in Eastmarch all under General Tullius's orders, the latter at least until they leave and the Military Governorship ends. For now, she could count on three of the five of those legions, and maybe the army of High Rock. Finally, she has the love and support of many of the common people for ending the Volkihar after the Dawnguard disintegrated."

"And you Serana?"

"Maven is the only Jarl that could move against her- she was the one that turned Riften and Laila over to us when Beric and I marched south with the Bretons. She has friends on the Elder Council who voted for the Potentate, already has Jarl Siddgeir in her pocket, and her daughter is engaged to Erikur's son which gives her a spy in Elisif's court and council. The others?"

She thought for a moment before continuing. The fact that Erik was his squire did not need to be mentioned. It had been an uncomfortable surprise condition of the surrender of Riften that she and Beric had arranged with Maven.

"Balgruuf is an old man, and worse Igmund is an old man without an obvious heir and too many bastards. Neither one of them will be a useful long-term ally. The three or four million doesn't help much either. That's money they owe, not money she has. Maybe she could borrow against it if she had warning, but she has little ready cash. When the Military Governorship ends and the troops leave, she will have direct control over a single legion, quartered in Solitude along with her royal guard, hold troops and maybe a few mercenaries…I wonder if she's scared of a future coup, that maybe you'll just stride into the palace and kill her like Ulfric did Torygg, and she thinks she can prevent it now, on her terms." Serana said, then blushed as she realised that she was rambling aloud. Beric looked like he wanted to put his head through the table. Behind him Beren raised a finger menacingly, looking like it was her head he wanted to put through a table. He growled a warning so low and loaded with menace that it sent a shiver racing down her spine.

"Watch yourself now Serana, I am honour-bound and oath-sworn as her champion, and you are speaking treason."

She coloured, embarrassed at being lectured and clenched her jaws together, her fangs pricking the inside of her mouth as she bit back her unwise response. Honour cuts both ways Beren, and Elisif has dishonoured you with this request! Beren was starting to get frustrated, and the air was getting stale and dense around them, thickening with their scents of sweat and frustration, while making the mortals lightheaded. Beren looked around the room with a shake of his head, losing faith and patience and snorted in anger.

"Thanks, Serana and Durag, this has been really fucking useful so far."

Serana scowled at the language and sarcastic tone. Beren ignored her, and resumed his silent pacing.

"Does she honestly think that?" Beren whirled back to her and asked, suddenly, quietly. Serana answered, taken aback at this sudden change.

"…I think it's a possibility. Your declaration against the oath-breaker Ulfric united commoners and nobles together, and to raise two legions for the cause in a few weeks when the Imperial had been trying for months must have been embarrassing. For all the love that the Nords had for Elisif, when push came to shove, they chose to follow you over her."

"I can't see the Imperials sitting still if you deposed her without good cause." Beric put in.

"They only got involved because Ulfric tried to succeeded from the empire after a botched duel. If you proclaimed that this letter was an insult which dissolved your sworn oaths then few would question it, nor if you challenged her to a Duel to uphold your families honour." She said uneasily, unwilling to be party to planning the murder of a High Queen, and was then surprised to find Beren racing ahead of her thoughts.

"Amaund Motierre would probably look favourable on it too. Look at how he handled the death of the Emperor back in the spring. He saw the dangers of delay, organised the vote in the Elder Council and emerged as Potentate. He's decisive and pragmatic, and utterly focused upon the threat of the Thalmor. If Elisif was removed than the legions in Eastmarch could return to the border..."

Serana suddenly felt very uneasy at the excitement with which Beren spoke, and the direction that things were going. She had no desire to fight another war, to see another siege, risk another battle for a long, long time. Durag suddenly spoke, low and guttural from where he sat to her right, raising his head from the letter he had been closely studying.

"This is about more than just Skyrim- as the letter says- it's about Tamriel- the past, the present, and the future all spinning back around. The future will require a similar sense of duty no less onerous if peace is to be maintained for the good of Skyrim, the Empire and its peoples. She's not just thinking about Skyrim, she's thinking about Titus Mede's death…The Potentate vote was rushed, and how long can that last before a Dynasty arises? As High Queen of Skyrim, she's the biggest contender…. By Malacath, this is about The Ruby Throne...the Dragons were new, but Dragonborn…. well there's been lots of those and…"

At these ominous words everyone sat still, those still breathing catching their breath in their throats as the air grew heavier and thicker and the breathable air slowly ran out. Many of them were already light headed and taking shallow breaths, but it was not just the lack of air that was now having that effect. Much of what they had discussed that evening was nearly or outright treasonous and promised their own deaths if word ever escaped, but the ambitions of which Durag spoke could set an entire continent awash and afire in a wave of blood, cinder, and ash. Serana could see an ember flicker in Beren's eyes as he watched unblinkingly, while Beric looked unconvinced by Durag's flowery oratory and rhetorical questions. Durag seem so shocked, so stunned by this proposed revelation he seemed to have forgotten all those around him as he concentrated on divining of the ambitions motivating their young queen. Still thinking aloud, he whispered out a final sentence into the still silent air.

"…What does the Last Dragonborn do, now the Dragons are gone?"

And with that Serana saw that smouldering ember spark in flame, deep in the back of Beren's eyes, awed at the barest suggestion of destiny, unveiling itself before them. The answer was obvious. The last time a Dragonborn had conquered Skyrim for another they had marched south at the head of an army, removed a pretender to the throne and, following the murder of their monarch, seized it for themselves. She shuddered as a chill ran up her spine, by the Blood, no wonder Elisif wanted Beren by her side!

There was a very pregnant pause at this as they pondered this, Serana sat deep in thought, stunned like the rest into silence. Beren had been a reluctant participant in the civil war. He had ignored it before he was revealed as The Last Dragonborn and then for much of 202. Instead, he had clung to what Durag, ever the academic, had been quick to call a 'too literal and overly reductive' interpretation of the Last Dragonborn Prophecy, though she and Durag had disagreed on that too. Beren, like her had seen little role for themselves in the smaller affairs of mortals and their squabbles for temporary power, in comparison to Durag's urgings. While the Imperials and Stormcloaks had walled themselves up in their keeps against the dragons and vampires and fought inconclusive bloody battles throughout the lands and over the seas, Beren had ventured out, crushing the true enemies of Skyrim- vampire, cultist and dragon alike, driven by a sense of destiny.

When Aldiun had been slain, he had been at a loose end, the prophecy that had motivated him with singular vision seemingly complete, and a fragile peace forged by his diplomacy resting over the land. She had begun to make plans to leave with Beric for the College, happy to ignore a pointless conflict that might at any moment flare up again. Meanwhile, raised on tales of the numerous destructions of his own homeland Durag had incessantly nagged Beren to intervene to protect his own from fragmentation and ruin but, just as every Stormcloak violation of his peace treaty had itched like a rash, these arguments did not rouse him. It had instead been the slow awaking of a sense of the hand of fate at play, a sense which, like the avalanches she had seen come crashing down the slopes of the Druadach Mountains, came slow and small at first, barely noticeable before suddenly immense and inescapable in its speed and power.

It had been Durag then too, who had suggested that it fell to Beren to create his destiny as much as to follow it. Harkon had not been mentioned, nor had Miraak. The prophecy had simply stated that the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn and it was for him to re-order the world as he saw fit, unconsciously at first, but then consciously as he willed it. It was simply too much of a coincidence for him to appear but then to stand by and claim that he had no part to play in these events. Durag had always maintained that even though the Aedra were weak and barely godlike, there was some sliver of consciousness, some impulse that had shaped Beren, to put him at this time and this place, and that seductive thought had worried away at him like a splinter under a nail.

Beren, even after taking the cure, did not sleep well as a rule. He slept even poorer after that, loosing himself to pacing in sleepless nights as autumn began to turn to winter, filled with restless energy by day and disturbed sleep by night, obsessed with the idea as it played at his mind. She could understand the visions and nightmares that haunted a person's sleep, and, in a private moment of honesty, had told Beren of some of her own dreams, things she had only shared with her mother and Beric before, as a kind gesture hoping to lessen their weigh through shared pain. She had been surprised when Beren gently refused to talk of his own dreams, though she doubted that they could be worse that those which crippled the sleep of a vampire.

But who knew what dreams or thoughts had become snared in a mind which had read three Elder Scrolls and walked away unharmed when others were driven mad? The idea absorbed him like nothing else. Perhaps he, at some unconscious level, simply understood the will of those Scrolls, or of the Aedra who had made this world? Perhaps they had imprinted deep within his head, and then at a single stroke of brilliance he had, at one moment simply understood a possible destiny and then made it so? For all the time she had spent sleeping with an Elder Scrolls, its gentle song filling her head in her ages-long dreamless suspended sleep she knew little of their secrets or effects.

Or perhaps, another darker voice spoke to her from within, he was frustrated by the impotence of peace, and felt the need for revenge and a display of power and dominance like all Dragons, and he had given his personal vendetta an Aedric cloak to make such a personal grievance acceptable to his mortal, Aedra worshiping followers. They had all been curious at Miraak's power, and when Beren had used it thrice to break Viinturuth and Ohadviing and then kill Aldiun. He had revelled in knowing such power for himself, to bend and break those mighty creatures, if not slaves in body, then at least broken and shackled in mind and spirit to be called upon at will. Beren had once explained that his mentor amongst the greybeards had told him that to know a word of power is to become it at some level- force, wrath, fury- she knew well the power and the dangers of allowing such heady desires to play to their darkest ends, to revel in the sense of Gods-given power once more. He would not be the first man to claim divine motivation or prophetic justification for their own petty wants and desires and thirsts. She shuddered and put such thoughts aside- Beren was not Harkon, he was not her father.

In the end, Beren had promised her one last quest, just one last adventure, and she had resigned herself to it as one last favour, for a friend. But now, another was in the offing and she felt he would never stop asking her to follow at his side. In truth, she suspected it was simply not possible for a Dragonborn to accept peace, in the histories she had read since her awakening the impulse towards action seemed simply ingrained into them, just as they would never stop in their search to rally men and women to their standard, their vision, calling them to abandon their own lives in search of a greater shared destiny, even as the man struggled to maintain his life, his family and his sense of self. She knew then that he would never stop her from leaving, nor would never think to tell her to go pursue her own dreams. Just as he stood now confused and certain, exhausted yet animated, war-worn yet peace-wearied.

Suddenly, a screaming wail filled the room and they all jumped in alarm as the doorknob screamed its shrill warning. Beren, eager for the distraction jumped to the door and wrenched it open, practically pulling it off its hinges. Erik, still holding onto the other side of the enchanting doorknob almost came stumbling into the room as he yelped in surprise.

"Helargh…." He managed by introduction. He brushed his dirty blonde mop of hair from his brown eyes and he looked around nervously at the four of them staring at him in surprise and alarm at this unwanted interruption.

"Sorry Sir. I'm sorry to bother you but there's been some sort of murder or duel or something between the Battle-Borns and the Grey-Manes, and they want to talk to you about it for Jeek's day as they've made it an issue for The Harbinger's judgement. Aela's on her way back from Jorrvaskr with the some of the Circle."

Beren had never looked so happy to hear that a dead man had just become his problem, and looked like he could kiss Erik in happiness. Fresh air flooded into the room like a breath, heavy with the noise of the house and the fresh scents of the city. She could smell the ovens with their fresh bread baking, and the sprigs of sweet-smelling herbs that hung from beams and rafters in the main hall. She could hear rain striking the roof tiles and the wind shaking the walls.

"Oh Erik. Thank the Divines, yes, I'll be right there, just give us a minute."

He closed the door, and slummed into a chair for a minute, head in his hands as he gathered his thoughts. For all their talking, they had solved nothing, and his frustration was obvious when he spoke.

"We're getting no-where. All we've done is fuck about and waste time talking out of our arses. Here's what we're going to do. Meet back here at eight of the clock. We now all understand the situation as best we can. At eight, each one of you will give me your plan for how to deal with this."

Beren rapped out his orders quickly and they all moved to leave, the mortals exhausted by their extended incarceration. Beric swiftly got up and rested a hand on Beren's shoulder who looked up in shock and then resignation. His expression suggesting that at this point he welcomed death.

"Durag can you go and tell Aela that Beren and I will be five minutes, there's just a few more details that we need to sort out."

"Uhh, yeah Beric sure." Durag said, taken by surprise. They cleared the room, and the door clicked shut behind them.

---

Serana stood by an open window in the library, watching the wind-driven autumn rains fall on her herb garden and listening to the gentle ticking of the repaired Dwemer timepiece on the fireplace mantle and the warm crackle of the fire in its grate. The Library was an intimate, quiet space, the fireplace was surrounded by comfortable leather armchairs and low tables perfect for a glass of wine, private and rarely used by the noisier members of the house, making it the ideal place to hide. The rooms walls were lined with filled bookcases, and an enchanter and an alchemy table were hidden away in the furthest corners of the room. From her spot by the window she turned her head at the noise of feet and looked down the hallway and watched as Aela, Farkas and Vilkas filed into the office behind Beren, all looking grim, though the twins managed a nod to acknowledge her presence, while Aela pointedly ignored her. Aela and her had only ever maintained a superficial friendship during the war, held together by Beren's force of personality and the external threat of Aldiun, and the threat of mutual destruction through revealing their true natures to the world. Aela had scorned her friendship on the ground of her vampirism and family, while Serana had thought 'The Companions' a kind of sad joke on their own history in return. The kind and pleasant behaviour Aela had extended to her at Tales and Tallows, where she had joined her and Lydia had been a unexpected surprise. She wondered if it was because Lydia had told her of her plans to leave, or if it was in earnest, an attempt at the ending of feuds and the start of new beginnings to mark the approaching Jeek's Day. She shook her head and looked out the window again, searching for a distraction from the worries and troubles of the present.

The estate was bounded by high stone wall and so the view was limited. This deep into town in the winds district it was difficult to get much of a view over the plain, unless you climbed one of the guard towers or the high walls that circled and divided the city. Up here though the air was crisp and clean, the sewers funnelling the waste of the city down into the plains district where its scents lingered in the narrow lanes and slums. Since the end of the war and their return, she had spent many of her evenings tending the little garden by hand, carefully weeding it, and occasionally planting a few little cuttings for future alchemical ingredients. Given she had reluctantly planned to spend a year here why not allow her hobby to generate a little extra pocket money?

She found Whiterun an intriguing city. The largest city in Skyrim said to have a population of 300,000 people, Jarl Balgruuf had steered a careful course trying to balance the feuding noble families and keep the peace that so attracted the farmers, merchants, and Gildergreen pilgrims which funded the very wealth that the feuding nobles and their armed gangs squandered. She knew that Beric had once had to flee the town because of it, when he had unwisely uncovered and reported a group of skooma smugglers to a corrupt town guard captain. Farengar had sent him packing off to the college with a swift horse and a small purse of septims as a reward. Beren, then on the cusp of manhood, had been placed under the protection of 'The Companions' as a servant.

Beric had once told her a story about an old man he had known as a guard, he had slipped skating on the White river as a boy, hit his head and gone to sleep only to wake up an old man. He had been presented with grand nephews and nieces, and told his parents were dead. Many days during his patrols Beric had found the old man sitting by the window, watching young boys play in the street as he spun cordage, rope and cable for coppers with arthritic hands. Beric had said that he had found the world a strange place, familiar but twisted as young boys mocked his friendship and men and women whispered it was unnatural, which had repeatedly brought the guard to his door, where Beren had often sat down and talked to the lonely old man. She could empathise with his feelings. Before she had gone to sleep every lord or king had maintained a hall of professional warriors, indiscriminately named as their housecarls, followers, companions or retainers. They had been bound together by honour- for their lord to lead them honourably, and reward them with the spoils of war and lands for peace, and in return to follow honourably in war and pay tribute to their lord. They had formed the core of her father's armies, augmented by a tribal levy of spearmen and skirmishers under their thanes, reinforced by a scattering of clever-men mages and summoner-priests.

She had first assumed Beren a mighty chieftain in the style of her father or rather a rising champion, leading by strength of arm and divine right marked by favour or token from a chosen deity, the pack of followers that had flocked to his side his court and tribal levies. All notions that the brothers had been quick to dissuade her of. They had been very clear on the subject of the tribal levies or 'private armies' as they put it. Disclaiming all involvement with them even as they flocked to their side and their protests grew weaker and quieter. Wherever he had went, and whatever he did, Beren seemed to inspire manic devotion amongst the Nords of Skyrim- it had not been unknown for even the most hardened Nord fleeing their destroyed homesteads to fall to their knees in prayer, forget their names, faint in his presence, or claim to see a dragon in the place of a man. Beren's humour and easy nature had often helped set overawed and terrified men and women at ease, wearing the skin of Dragonborn with the light confidence of a man born to it. For the simple act of dispelling their temporary embarrassment, he won their hearts. As news of his fame had spread and the infamy of the dragon attack grew, there had been a mass hysterical religious revival, and whenever he entered town a small band of the desperate, the determined or the fanatical journeyed with him, seeking revenge, redemption, protection, purpose.

Beren had first begun to attract followers the moment he had been revealed as the Dragonborn almost two years ago, and then en masse during the winter and spring of the Dawnguard campaign, when vampires attacked every night and dragons flew overhead every day. Every day wanderers had come, first by ones and twos, and then in their tens and hundreds as villages were razed to the ground one by one and the survivors, desperate and homeless, flocked to him for revenge for their shattered lives. After the Dawnguard leadership had mostly died during the storming of her home, the remnants of the Dawnguard joined the pack which now swelled from a gang of hundreds to an army in the thousands. With the discovery Aldiun's wall, many took the abandoned fort as their home, and declared themselves Dragonguard, arming themselves in a strange and unfamiliar style in a manner which had so inflamed tensions with the Altmer. When Beren had declared war against Ulfric, his letter had unleashed their fervour in a manner never before co-ordinated as he sent them to war. Now formally raised as a pair of legions counting amongst their numbers fanatics, Dragon-killers, Dawnguard remnants, zealots and even a few bandits they had performed far better than the pressed levies of her time ever had.

By comparison, to hear of 'The Companions' then she had first thought that they were Beren's household troops, his companions. In truth, 'The Companions' had disappointed her, just as the fall of her only family's household into that twisted court had- a comparison she had made once to Aela when she had been feeling particularly spiteful. Drunk, indolent, mutinous, only a quarter of them had followed Beren to war, despite claiming the name of companion and a unique position of honour, a position that they celebrated and upheld every Jeek's Day. It was not that many of them had been werewolves, in her time every chieftain or king had claimed some blessing or token of approval from an Aedra or Daedra as a demonstration of their divinely favoured right to rule, and perhaps as a gift to their companions to ensure their loyalty. Though perhaps her family had taken that logic a bit too far, she thought with a sudden shudder.

"He's doing his disappointed dad thing isn't he?"

"Oh! Durag, you made me jump." She said reproachfully, shaken from her thoughts into the present and unwilling to admit weakness, or that an orc had snuck up on her.

"Sorry?" she asked, having missed what he said.

"He's doing his disappointed dad thing again, isn't he?" She saw that Erik was lurking behind him, watching with a confused and curious look on his face. She was suddenly reminded of how Beric described him following people like 'a little lost lamb' and she felt a small pang of sympathy for him.

"I suppose so. He's good at that." Beric was 'to be fair,' she reflected. Sparing with praise and an acerbic wit, he seemed to take deep personal wounding when disappointed. The times when she had experienced Beric's quiet disappointment at how he had misplaced his trust in her were far more wounding then the times when she had braced herself for Beren's rage.

"Speaking to a herald like that isn't strong or clever. Beren swore to follow Elisif honourably, and needs to remember his place, just as the herald does his." She addressed Erik.

"and calling a herald a cu-"

"- A 'see you next tirdas' Durag. Erik doesn't need to pick up your bad habits. But yes, that doesn't help."

Erik look uncomfortable and guilty at this, and she had the distinct impression that between Lydia, Durag and Beren he was picking up a large vocabulary of new exciting words and phrases.

"I'm surprised that the Dragonborn tolerates being spoken to like that by anyone, even his brother." Erik ventured. Serana raised an eyebrow at this. Having been turned as a maid of eighteen summers, he probably felt a measure of affinity as well as jealousy at how her 'youth' hadn't prevented her joining Beren's quest. Her apparent youthfulness also meant people tended to treat her with less respect than the prematurely aged Beric or Beren were accorded, for all that they were quick to label her a magical prodigy. And both of them got called 'sir,' she thought sourly.

"Beric raised him." she said simply. "Aeta, their mother died from fever when Beren was just a few months old. Beren's father disappeared before his birth, just like Beric's had, and that left Beric alone holding his baby brother."

She paused in the story, uncertain if she should continue, but Erik was curious in spite of the distance he had previously shown, and she wanted to take the opportunity to talk about something other than work.

"That left Beric, just turned five holding his months-old little brother. His mother was a priestess in one of the little run-down temples of Kyne down in slums of the plains district, and the other priest allowed them to live there out of charity, for a little while at least. He made it clear that Beren was his responsibility. Maybe it was callousness, or maybe just experience. Most children under the age of one die, and why would this one be any different?" she asked. Erik seemed to be hanging on every word, while Durag leaned against the other side of the window, listening politely as she continued.

"Beren didn't have the money for a wet nurse, so he had to feed him himself. he told me about it once. He had a goat that he would milk, and then, holding his little brother in one arm, drip goats' milk into his mouth with the rolled-up end of a rag that he'd wrapped around a finger, sitting on that little stool you use as a seat for your writing desk. Beric helped out at the temple to earn their keep, learnt a little magic that he used to heal the sick and then got a proper job in the guard when he came of age. Until that is, he had to run for his life and abandoned him with The Companions."

It was a fairly sudden and brutal halt to the story she realised. They lapsed into silence again as Beric walked into the room, a small tumbler of neat akvavit to hand as he collapsed exhausted into one of the chairs by the fire. She turned back to the window to watch the rain, unwilling to say anything more. Beric had been forced to abandon Beren when he had been a boy of sixteen, leaving his brother, angry and alone in their care. He had returned under the cover of his younger brother's protection, to re-acquaint himself with a man of twenty who was being hailed as the Dragonborn and hero of Skyrim. Only to discover the manipulation they had wrought to secure Beren's silence when he inadvertently discovered their lycanthropy.

It was not just her that disliked and distrusted Aela or 'The Companions,' Beric had also been furious at how Aela had manipulated Beren to protect their secret cult of Hircine. After he had persuaded Beren to take the cure due to religious conviction and the dangers of discovery, he and Aela had barely been able to stand each other. That had been a small private scandal that had rocked Beren to his core, and now Beren was coming apart like wet paper before the storm of Elisif's politicking, and she knew, with sudden clarity how Beric would never abandon his brother's side again, as Beren lacked the guile and political mind necessary to achieve whatever course of action he would choose this night. In a moment her heart fell as she realised that if she ever wanted to go to the college, she would have to do so alone, without the man that had been her near constant companion since waking from her 4,000-year long slumber.

"Reminds you of Windhelm doesn't it?"

"Sorry?" she said, shaken from her reprieve for a second time, and now beginning to feel a little put out by it. Couldn't Durag see she wanted to be left in peace?

"Sorry, I said, it reminds you of Windhelm doesn't it, the rain?" he clarified, nodding at the curtains of water that now lashed down onto her little garden, shaking her carefully tended flower and stalks mercilessly. He looked a little concerned at her now, and she felt embarrassed at the close attention he was giving her. She closed the window, and listened to the tapping of the water on the panes. It did, come to think of it, so like the drum of rain on a taught tent roof.

"A little bit." She admitted. She looked at Erik, and decided that she could at least be pleasant to the boy now that he was no longer actively avoiding her.

"You remember when Beric talked about Miraak using the Thu'um to separate the island of Solstheim from the rest of Skyrim at Tales and Tallows, or the shout during the assault on the bandit camp?" she asked Erik, who nodded nervously. She smoothed her dress and sat down on the windowsill, attempting to look less threatening. She found it infuriating the limited perspective many of these modern Nords had for those who practiced the arcane arts.

"The Stormcloaks had managed to stalemate every attack on Windhelm. Imagine it, five legions camped in the mud for almost two months, going nowhere as the summer crept away and winter came closer. They were raiding the lines every night, and had giants and mammoth riding nomads inside and outside the city trying to break the siege. Beric and I had just marched from Riften with the Breton legion- that's what they called the army from High Rock."

She clarified in response to his confused look at the last part of story. Despite looking at her like a mouse looks at a cat he was getting drawn in despite himself and she continued.

"The evening we arrived up the south road to Riften we had a council of war in an old leaky barn, the only place big enough for us all. All of us, General Tullius, Legate Rikke, the three Breton princes, Lydia, Durag. Even Rihad was there, hanging off the rafters at the back with the tribunes and praefects, all with ideas about how to breach the walls. The Imperials wanted to build some siege towers to clear the walls, along with an inside and an outside facing pair of walls to prevent any break outs or break ins by the Stormcloaks. The Bretons had a couple of siege engineers, talking away about their 'tree-bucket' things, they seemed quite enamoured about them, 'a truly superior siege weapon' they claimed. Beren wanted to use his shouts or even call his Dragons down on the city. I seem to recall Durag wanted to dig some holes and then try to blow himself up with some Dwemer oils and powders."

Durag flushed at this and rubbed the back of his bald head, shaven clean after enduring too much teasing from often sporting only half a headful of hair. Explosions and fire seemed to be an occupational hazard for those with a dwemer obsession, and even now it wasn't uncommon for him to be missing an eyebrow or two for a few weeks here or there. He stood up and went to sit by the fireplace with Beric, talking at length in a low and insistent by voice, but only receiving clipped responses in return. She turned her gaze back to Erik.

"In the end, Beren proposed he use a shout that commanded the storms themselves, while Tullius proposed two synchronised attacks and a few feints at different points of the walls. Lighting strikes made a breach for Beren's assault, and provided quite a bit of a distraction to allow the other attacks to succeed. But with lighting came the winds and the rains, and then the floods, so we spent the next month or so wet to the bone…I didn't know the skies could hold so much water actually. Most of the troops had mixed feeling about that."

She was reluctant to say any more on the subject. It had been…three months ago? Four? She tried to frame the events in her head. She had kept a journal of the war, but the rain had gotten to it, and then the mould set in and she had thrown it away, which made her memory hazy. She was also trying to avoid being unnecessarily vulgar or graphic, trying to forget the stench of that siege. It was said that Windhelm had held 200,000 souls before the siege, she doubted that there was even a fourth of that now. The disease, the mass dysentery that had stalked the city and camps and the bloated abandoned corpses rotting in the fields and floating in flooded streets had eclipsed the unpleasant scents of the Soul Cairn or the Undercroft from her memory. But now it was all flooding back, and it wasn't just the scents, but the sights and sounds of the siege. The fires and the floods, and the breakdown of discipline during the fall had been seared into her memories and even now stalked her dreams. She suddenly felt ill, and in no mood to talk further.

"Beren and I were with one of the other attacks that day, with the Bretons. You should ask Lydia if you want to hear more about Beren's breach, with his housecarls, the Legions and their Dragon Banners."

"Tell me about yours." Erik asked without a pause, breathless with excitement to head the story from someone who had been there. She sighed, and resigned herself. She might as well try to be polite, Beren had already tried to shock him and she didn't feel any particular desire to make a similar effort. Make it boring, she told herself, and hopefully he'll let it be.

"We attacked across Windhelm Bridge- the largest bridge in Skyrim, divided by four great gatehouses all in a line. The Trebuchets knocked down the towers and a ram breached the gates of the first one. We attacked, fought some Giants and even a couple Mammoths, or what was left of them after a few months of disease and war. Beric would get promoted to acting Praefect for the leadership and bravery he displayed that day, leading the Breton knights, men-at-arms and their crossbowmen and billmen to kill the rest. I reanimated a couple of the giant corpses; they breached the other gates and that was that." She shook her head, unwilling to take about it more. Her unthinking mention of necromancy seemed to have dissuaded Erik from asking further, and he looked nervous and uncomfortable. She searched her mind for a way to allow him to leave politely, now that they were both tired of the conversation.

"have you written to your father yet?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Uhh…. no." he looked guilty at this omission.

"You should, he's probably worried about you. I've got a letter for my mother in Solitude that I'm going to give to the porter tomorrow morning. If you hurry, you should be able to send yours as well, it will arrive sooner with mine."

"Oh, thanks Serana!"

With that Erik hurried away. She looked around the room, and was relieved to see the Durag had also stomped out at some point during their conversation. Beric glanced up from staring into the fireplace, and was relieved to see that they were alone. He reached over for the bottle of Akvavit and an extra tumbler which he filled it with a dram of two fingers, quietly stood and walked over to her and handed the strong drink to her with a wry smile. She returned the smile, and they clinked glasses quietly, before he left her alone by the window. She took a small sip of the heady liquor, and rested her head against the cool wall, enjoying the strong taste and the fortifying effects it would bring for the little production of evening dinner that would soon come.

---

It was dinner time in the main hall with the household all gathered down both sides of the central table. A couple of old wine bottles held the stubs of candles for light, while the open central hearth fire threw out warmth and heat that prickled uncomfortably on her back. Aela was busy complaining about managing Jeek's day, comparing the business of managing the horde of curious children, hungry beggars, cooks and jesters that had crowded Jorrvaskr's enclosure and pressed against her gates to preparation before battle. Serana was busy stabbing a rare steak with a knife to feign a mortal's hunger. The pale pink juices it leaked onto the plate mocked her palate and set her thirst itching for a vintage of rich red that pricked her parched throat, while the potato and other vegetables might as well be mud for all that they appetized her. She gave the meat another vicious stab before popping it into her mouth and biting into the piece with her sharp fangs, chewing methodically to prolong the display, delaying as long as possible the resumption of this farce. Still, it helped allay suspicious and she was keen not to end up like Sybille, tied to a post and tarred for the torch in some market square. She could still drink though, and she covered her sly movement to drop a piece of meat to the guard dogs wagging their tails under the table with a slip of a modest red, allowing it to wash the taste away as it swished over her sharp teeth.

She could eat mortal food if she needed to, but since receiving the Gift her palate had changed and her body was unable to digest any vegetables or cooked meats. The steak would sit like a stone in her belly, leaving her feeling bloated and slightly sickly if not outright ill, depending on how much she was required to eat before she could leave the table. It was blood not steak she desired now, and she longed to slake her thirst. She would feed tonight, she decided, eyeing the servants out of the corner of her eye warily as she stabbed the steak with her fork, for it had been a week or so since her last feeding, and she needed the calm and clear-headedness it brought.

She counted herself lucky that this performance was far easier to maintains as a pure-blooded Volkihar. Like many vampires, her kind maintained a basic illusion spell almost subconsciously, deceiving her prey into overlooking her fangs, while she had often been told that she had intelligent or piercing green eyes, and complemented for the paleness of her skin, a sign of wealth and nobility, though vampires could often see through it and identify each other with a careful look. As long as she maintained a masquerade of mortal life, then they would allow themselves to be deceived. Only Beren had seen through it right away, claiming that the eyes of her bloodline glowed an orange and that he could see the points of her fangs prickling the edges of her mouth. It was not always so easy for the Volkihar to hide. She, like the court her father and mother had sired or stood as grandsires to did not become overly drawn or bestial like the thin-blooded or the poorly turned. As a Volkihar's hunger grew their lord and human forms merged into a horrifying muddle. Their faces twisted bat-like, their finger bones and nails fused into claws springing from still human hands, their wings withering away and the stench of the grave and decay clung to them, changes which slowly became permanent. For others, regular feeding kept these changes at bay, but for those who couldn't they were forced into a marginal immortal life of hiding. She looked at the piece of steak on her fork.

"Beren?" she asked, putting the fork down.

"Yes Serana?" He looked up from chatting with Aela.

"What was The Companion business about?"

"Companion business." Aela grunted.

"Aela, it's the talk of the town." Beren sighed her lightly with an exhausted voice, before turning to her.

"Thorald Grey-Mane surrendered at the Battle of Blizzard's Rest, and took my blessing in return for swearing not to bear arms and returned home. Today he was involved in some sort of fight in the Plains meat market with Idolaf Battle-Born, which left them both dead. Vignar claims that it was an honourable Duel between Idolaf and Thorald, and that Jon intervened when Idolaf was killed and murdered Thorald in revenge. Olfrid claims that Thorald stabbed Idolaf in the back while Jon was trying to break up their fight, and that Jon revenged the murder." Aela looked unimpressed beside Beren, who pretended not to see it.

"What do you think we should do about Jon?"

"Do we have any witnesses?"

"Lady Isabella did, she's taking the Battle-Born side. Problem is although she may have restored the Gilder-green no-one trusts a 'devious Breton' from 'sorcerous High Rock.' Otherwise none I would trust. All have been paid off one way or another by the clans. Half claim it was an honourable duel that Jon interfered in, the others that Thorald disturbed the peace and Jon killed him by accident."

"Where is Jon?"

"Held safely in the Gaol Beneath Dragonsreach."

"What are the families demanding?"

"The Battle-Borns maintain Jon's innocence, The Grey-Manes that Jon should be executed."

"I'm sorry Beren, but why is this your problem?" she asked bluntly, completely lost and unimpressed at the marginal importance of the issue at a time like this, as Beric nodded in agreement with her. There was a Jarl, guards, professional jurists and law-speakers to deal with issues like this, and Beren already had enough on his plate to deal with, like his marriage, and Skyrim, not to mention a thousand, thousand other pressing issues where hundreds of lives sat in the balance.

"Because, Serana, Vignar has placed it before the Harbinger for judgement on Jeek's day." Aela said, managing to turn her name into an insult before continuing her little lecture. "it is his right to do so, and Jeek's day is the traditional day of reckoning blood-feuds before the feasting and festivities, and more importantly, winter sets in and locks them all together."

Serana was unimpressed by this. It was typical of Aela to be focused on such a small issue. She often repeated her little mantra to herself 'eyes on the prey, not the horizon,' which left her blind to the wider issues of the world. Aela had spent all morning practicing swordplay and archery, while she had completely failed to notice or comment on their use of the room, or show any interest in their day's work whatsoever, though she had been quick to play guard. She had always been quick to dismiss debate as 'sitting about on your haunches' and for that reason she often showed little interest and rarely showed up to war councils or joined them in the office or library. She had deliberately sat out the Windhelm war council entirely, opting to sleep in her tent, only asking to be woken once a decision had been made.

"The 'duel' took place in Meatmarket. A proper duel should have been fought after formal notice was given, outside the city limits and with seconds and an observer present. Thorald also swore not to bear weapons on his honour, and should have requested to be released from his oath before the duel was fought." Beren, ever the guardsman at heart put in, taking a small sip of ale before continuing.

"Charge Idolaf and Thorald in death with an illegal duel, which would settle the issue of the legality or honour of Jon's intervention. They're both dead and equally to blame so no-one comes off the worse. Thorald's estate will pay compensation to you for breaking his oath. Then place a verdict of manslaughter in self-defence for Thorald's killing, with Jon paying the appropriate wergild. That would been seen as both merciful and just, with both sides punished equally."

He delivered this with a bored air to no-one in particular, and it was she reflected, the legally correct answer. His expression however suggested that he was surprised it had taken so long for someone to suggest it as a solution. She couldn't help but feel however that what had worked in the slums and shambles of the plains would not be appreciated by the greater families of the hold. Jon's continued presence would likely inflame tensions and lead to another 'duel,' likely to remove Jon permanently and in turn provoke to further retaliation.

"Send him into exile, someone's lying, and we'll get to the truth of it sooner or later. It will be harsh enough to the Grey-Manes, and merciful enough for the Battle-Borns. In three or five years he can come back from whatever hold or province he flees to."

"The Grey-Manes and Battle-Born would see that as an admission of guilt on Jon's part. The Battle-Borns would reject it, and the Grey-Manes would press for Jon's execution. Both their houses have veterans packed around them." Aela put in

"Then maybe those Grey-Mane 'veterans' should remember who it was they swore an oath to." Serana snapped back.

"Can the guard take back the streets if there's a fight Beric?" Beren asked

"No." he shook his head.

"…Do you maybe want to expand on that?" Came Beren's exasperated reply.

"The Guards are going to be siding with the Battle-Borns on this, and they believe you stand with them as well. They see those Stormcloak turn cloaks as their enemies from the Battles of Whiterun and Meadery Bridge. They'll attack the Grey-Mane knifemen if they get the chance, and change their patrol route protect the Battle-Borns, but mostly they'll just be happy to see the Grey-Manes driven from the city."

"The Guards should be ordered to intervene, disarm both of those mobs." Erik put in besides Lydia, Beric took it with a shrug.

"Well Erik you're not wrong, but when a man's on six copper pennies a day watching a couple of wealthy noblemen run themselves through is just free entertainment. They'll keep the crowds back, pick up the pieces and move people along. They're not going to risk making an enemy of one clan or another."

"But didn't you reveal some Skooma smugglers?" Erik pressed, and there was a sharp intake of breath at this.

"Yes, and what did that get me but death threats and assassins at my back? I don't regret it, but the guard will see that as an example of what happens when you meddle. They aren't what they once were, they don't have the stomach for this." Beric responded graciously, and Lydia gave a sharp look.

"Besides, the nobles clans would resist the guard interfering in what they see as a private affair of honour. The Grey-Mane's believe rightly that they won't get a fair hearing, and by handing it over to The Companions make it a question of honour rather than law, and Vignar and Eorlund has more weight there that pleading before the Jarl's throne."

Serana could see now why they had decided to get The Companions involved, and the point of using Jeek's day. Traditionally the morning and afternoon was taken up with clans and families settling their feuds through arbitration, often with an emphasis upon forgiveness. It was an important such business was carried out before winter bit properly and the feuding parties were all locked together. There was also the ceremonial and near religious aspects of arbitration and renewal. Jeek-of-the-River had founded the city of Whiterun on this day, it was claimed, and had organised a similar public arbitration before feasting the parties together as a symbol of forgiveness. In two days' time Beren would sit in judgement before all of Whiterun and decide the fates of a number of crimes, greater or less, before feasting friends and former enemies alike as a gesture of goodwill and the renewal of the city of Whiterun. She had been handling the costs of those entertainments for the past few weeks, and had been quietly impressed by the scale of the entertainments organised, and she hoped it was enough to get the clans to forget their squabbles for a few months of winter.

She looked around the hall, and remembered the feast that they had held here before the massed Imperial army had advanced to Windhelm, before the siege and Riften and the battles. Beric and her had found a couple of bottles of wine and private corner from which to watch to proceedings, with all forty seats at the table filled. Rihad had been there, standing on the table and playing an energetic Redguard romance on a lyre with marked skill and enthusiasm. Argis, Rayya, Lydia, Jordis, Valdimar, all present, healthy, laughing and stamping their tankards to the tune. Beren had been on fine form that night, surrounded by Legion officers, Breton nobility and Nordic warriors he had matched them drink for drink and laugh for laugh. She remembered vividly how at one point he had bent double, snorting mead from his nose after a joke Rihad told, before launching a bread roll at him, and the massed food fight which had followed.

She watched Beren closely now, the conversation had moved on, and he was busy teasing Erik and Lydia, laughing and joking with his friends and family gathered close around him. he smiled broadly, showing his teeth, and crows feet hugged his eyes, but somehow the smile never reached them, nor did he speak to Aela who sat beside him. It didn't seem that he had told her, nor was he giving Aela any special attention or show of affection, and she found that troubling. She realised that Beric was right about Beren, he wasn't well if he was planning on simply hiding this. It was not lost on her that at no point that evening had Beren had forsworn rejecting the offer out of hand, or had been moved to defend the damage done to the honour of his wife, or remind his sworn lady of the dishonour and the insult she had shown with her request. if it came to marriage, coup or war and the Ruby Throne she knew that Beric would recommend a cautious and considered approach, and that Beren would prevaricate, and equivocate until he claimed he had no other option but to act as he did. She was all too familiar with the excuses and lies that men and women tell themselves to justify the pursuit of power at the expense of love and family. That sudden realisation chilled her to the bone.

Could she follow a man who abandoned his honour, or on a path she did not believe in? What of her own honour? Four thousand years or more had passed in the blink of an eye, and the court and father she had returned to had been altered beyond all recognition, such that there was no love or loyalty owed. She had taken arms against her family and her kind, against the man who had destroyed her family and willing planned to provoke a war with all of Tamriel, would she now be party to such actions? She had helped Beren achieve his real destiny, seeing it a personal quest for her own redemption. She had helped coach Beren's declaration of war, where he magnanimously promised to pardon his enemies in defeat for taking up arms, a declaration which sat uneasily with their allies in the legions. A declaration of war not against the Stormcloak cause with which he privately sympathised, but as a personal affair of honour against Ulfric Stormcloak a man who had twice sworn an oath to him, only to break it. She had been there to see the ten thousand pardoned, surrounded and cowed, and felt such pride that she had given them their lives when her family had taken so many others.

It was that damned moot which ruined everything. Why continue with the tradition of the Moot if you fail to respect its spirit? In her time Harald had conquered Skyrim, and created it to select the strongest and most worthy for his successor. When the Moot had come, she had urged Beren to put his name forwards to unite Skyrim into one under his own leadership. He had refused, citing convention, honour, tradition. Finally, his duty to Elisif, and she discovered that Elisif had moved first to secure his loyalties for herself. He had been guided by a perplexing and in her eyes contradictory sense of compulsions that she did not understand. He was the stronger party, Elisif the weaker, and therefore she should make way for him. Sometimes the past and the present paradoxically felt at once closer and further away. Today Ulfric had understood that principle just as in her time neither Harald, his heirs or forebears would never tolerate a weak monarch, yet Beren would never dream of challenging Elisif to an honour-duel for the prize he now half seemed to covet. Now, what he could have taken he was being offered at the price of his family.

Elisif's seduction was all the more treacherous for the false gift is offered. If Durag was right and this was about Tamriel, then that was not in her gift to give, but his to take. She had helped him pursue the prophecy of The Last Dragonborn out of a sense of redemption for past sins, and she had urged him to put himself forward at the moot and he refused. She was certain Beren would have rejected it before Durag's suggestion that the hand of fate once again lay upon him. Durag was wrong in her opinion, the prophecies contained in the elder scrolls were fated events, just because previous Dragonborn had conquered and ruled the world doesn't require you to assume that the example of history possesses the weight of destiny, to do so seemed like hubris, almost blasphemous, and was to invite the judgement of the Gods.

She had already seen her own family ripped apart for power in the obsessive pursuit of a vague prophecy, she would not watch as it happened again, she would refuse to be party to it altogether. She would not watch a family of she loved and who loved each other destroy each other, or be party to an unprovoked civil war. With that realisation her plan crystallised in her mind. Either she would get him to reject the offer, or she would take her leave. She was brought back to the present by the scraping of chairs on the flagstone floor. It was time to Beren to hear their plans.

---

They sat quietly in their old seats as Beren shut the door behind them. The seals flashed once more, and then Beren took his seat with a tired groan.

"Swear your oaths."

They swore again.

"Durag, what do you think should we do." There was a scrape of a chair as he stood, and bowed low for a moment before starting.

"I think you should accept it." Shocked breaths were taken at the simple boldness of this statement, but not in surprise. "You have fought a war when it was impossible to maintain the lie of peace any longer. Men and women left their homes and lives behind, marched to battle, died for that victory in that war. Many more still live crippled, bearing wounds which will never heal, scars which will never fade, memories of those they lost that will never die. All with families-partners, parents, children- now broken. We must honour the memory of their sacrifice, and be pragmatic in securing peace. All of Skyrim stands like Whiterun, former Stormcloaks returned home, and Imperial veterans rubbing shoulders. It will be for you to set an example, to place the political over the personal, and to make a sacrifice for peace. If we can prevent future strife and struggle through such a simple act as a divorce and a marriage, then by the cost of one family we can save thousands, while if we prize our own, it will destroy thousands. That simple arithmetic demands we act, morality demands we act."

"Thank you Durag for your…. candour." Beren said through gritted teeth which as much dignity as he could manage, Durag sat down again quickly.

"Serana"

"No Nord should divorce their wife to gain a better one. Reject it. It is a slight to your honour, and to the honour of your family. If her letter was made public then Elisif would be ashamed and her good will amongst the common people would disappear. Fear of losing what few friends she has in her kingdom will keep her quiet, and her advisors will find her another suitable partner, or the Potentate will." they looked at her as if they expected more, Beren looked disappointed that this was all she could come up with. She shook her head and crossed her arms. There was nothing more to say.

"Beric?"

"I don't think a rash rejection will have the effect that Serana wants, but I agree with the objective. We should be tactical about this. Elisif is reliant upon her advisors, and has been known to change her mind. I think that we should play for time, allow her advisors to play on her, and use the coming winter and its long months to force her to reconsider."

Beren looked interested in this proposal, and motioned Beric to continue, and he seemed to warm to the matter.

"First, we do nothing for a week or so, then send a reply with the herald. I think first we should play up the shock of its arrival, and the manner in which it was delivered. Who is this herald? This 'Marquis Reynold Sir Whatever?' I've never heard of him, this letter he brought- it's unbelievable- we'll use that- we'll want confirmation from the court for that too. It will probably take him two or three weeks to get to Solitude, by then it will be almost Frostfall. An early winter would close the roads, or if he returns prevent our reply leaving until Sun's Dawn or First Seed."

Neither Serana or Durag felt or looked convinced at this proposal, but Beren looked interested.

"Serana, Durag, do you have anything else you want to say?"

She did, but it could wait, so she shook her head. She did not believe that Elisif would simply change her mind or forget about Beren, and felt that Beric's caution would merely strengthen Elisif's position through giving her the initiative, and allowing whatever second strike she had planned to fall. If she felt that Beren was a threat to her then she would force a public confrontation while the military governor and his armies remained to back her claim. Durag made a small noise to clear his throat and tentatively began.

"…. I do not think that we should be so quick as to scorn a marriage with the High Queen and-." Beren abruptly cut him off.

"Duly noted Durag."

There was silence again for a moment. Beren turned their back on them again, and hands behind his head he stood still for a moment, before talking in a low voice.

"Tiber Septim of Atmora only became emperor after his High King was murdered, his throat had been cut and he lost the ability to shout. In his moment of greatest power and weakness, his greatest weapon was lost to him. From then on, he ruled by a whisper, dependent upon others to execute what he could not, just as Elisif rules now by letters and the murmured word, bargaining for the strength of another. Such power is always vulnerable to usurpation by an ambitious and powerful follower."

He turned back to them, and spoke in earnest.

"Whether it is lust for power, or fear of me which has made her choose this path, I do not know. What I do know is that we have clear and simple choice. If it is fear, we will reassure Elisif, and if it is power, then we will deter her, for I have dragons and she does not. But for now, I think that we do not know enough to make a smart judgement on course of action to take. If I were to react angrily, then so will she, and the war will be for nothing, and that would betray our lost friends who no longer stand here today. It is time that we need most- to gather information, and weaken her position and resolve. Time to allow the seeds of doubt to grow, and time to allow her advisors to work upon her."

"Serana and Beric, you will write an appropriate response at the end of the week. A letter of clarification and confirmation of the herald and the proposal would be a smart first step. We shall keep this secret, and hope she can stand down with dignity. Such a gesture would be…magnanimous, as Durag would say. We will also write to Delphine, we may yet have need of her Blades in Sky Haven Temple, and how many will return from the legions."

This was greeted with absolute silence.

"Any questions?"

They all shook their heads

"No? Then we're done for today."

They all stood, exhausted and shaken, but in some way relieved that a decision had been made. She however felt the need to discuss one last topic before the day was brought to an end.

"Beren can I see you in the Office please? Beric you too."

"Uh, yeah sure Serana." Both looked exhausted, curious and a little alarmed.

They left and entered the library. Beric collapsed into his chair, while Beren nearly dislodging a pile of papers as he sat down on his desk and picked up Ulfric's skull.

"What I have to say is going to be difficult for you to hear, but I want to ask you to please not interrupt me until I've finished." She looked at the two brothers who nodded their assent. She took a deep breath, and was surprised at how she was still felt nerves in such a human way.

"I have often spoken of what I wanted to do after the war, and this letter has made me realise, to re-assess what I want to do over the next few years, latching onto thoughts and feeling that I have been mulling over for weeks now. I'm sorry, Beren, but unfortunately I'm no longer able to serve and follow you as I have…I will interview for a replacement to handle the books, and a suitable spellsword to accompany you on your future endeavours, but I feel that it is time for me to begin my preparations to leave. I just…I can't handle the politics of all this, and I want to understand this world better." She swallowed nervously and felt tears gather at the corner of her eyes, feeling the betrayal of it cut her to the bone.

"Oh…. Serana don't do this please don't go." She looked at Beric, devastated behind his neatly organised desk, and her heart dropped to see the emotions plainly written across his face. Beren signed and dropped his head, carefully placing Ulfric's skull back on its pile.

"Where will you go?"

"To the college, as I always said I would. I mean to leave in the next month if possible, or in the spring at the latest."

"You would leave us now? After everything that has happened? With the future still uncertain?" he asked, a sliver of menace hidden amidst the tired disappointment.

"I served as friendship, honour and my conscience told me too. I took down the Volkihar, fought Miraak and saw you break two dragons with your voice. When you asked for another year, I gave it as a gift. I'm not breaking any oaths, because I swore none. I know how you look on that sort of behaviour." She nodded at Ulfric's skull, and Beren seemed to look at it in surprise.

"Twice an Oath-breaker…how did that work out for you hmm?" he nodded to the skull, half talking to them. He stood, and she looked up at him, towering a full head of height above her. This close she could see the faint strands of silver that now ran like slender veins amongst his straw blonde mane of hair. He extended his hand. Hesitating for a second, she took it, and suddenly his other came up and enfolded it, trapping her slender fingers in his massive paws and iron grip. She could feel the scars on his hands, the callouses on his fingers, and the hot blood pumping under his skin.

"Serana. You have served beyond what I could expect, and give more than anyone else has. You are free to go will all honour and my blessing."

He said formally, and release her hands, turning his back on her to watch the rain pelting the windows, shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths. She recognised the signs of his temper well, and took the opportunity to retreat before it boiled over. She turned to Beric, who was careful not to look at her. Instead he just he sat quietly, a picture of utter defeat and betrayal. Serana fled the room, leaving them in them alone as she closed the door behind her. She looked down at her trembling hands, red from Beren grip. Feeling guilty, tired and thirsty, she went to the south wing servants' quarters to find a drink, hoping to new blood and the warmth of youth would wash some of the stress away before night and brought its long hours of confinement to her room, and sleep its horrific nightmares of her past and future.

---

Author's Note

Hello again everyone, thanks for reading this chapter, I've also taken this month to make a number of minor fixes and edits to earlier chapters, and those will be updated in an improved format within the next week. This was a very long chapter, running in at about 15,000 words which ultimately felt necessary as there was no natural break, and I needed to give some immediate resolution otherwise there would be two chapters, one of which would meander without some sort of conclusion. This is the first time I've ever written a female character so please let me know what you liked and what you feel doesn't.

There was a lot of politics in this chapter, and while they are fairly well informed, they don't have the full picture. They also very strongly affected by their personalities, interpretations, values and parent cultures. To use a bit of international relations theory terminology, Elisif's power at this time is mostly defined as soft power, and hinges on her ability to persuade others via organisations like the Bard's College, because she was only given the scraps when everyone else was busy appropriating all the hard power elements to fight a war. Serana and Durag both have very strong opinions on the relative merits and limitation of this approach, while Beric sees its value but prefers to play his cards close to his chest when out of his depth.

Serana's past in a cult and the emotional and mental abuse and rape she incurred as a consequence of her parents' actions is something that will affect her relationships and motivations, which is why this story is marked as mature. The other problem of Serana's age and time of entombment was a difficult thing to determine, despite searching a number of pages for information. In the end it seemed like almost every single piece of evidence contradicted another. In the end it was clear that there were two possibilities- during the interregnum of ESO's timeline and an early first era date. I ultimately decided upon the latter option as the more interesting and likely. Also, I don't play ESO.

More importantly, we have very little information on the grist of storytelling- the politics, social structures, religions and cultures of her time other than the most superficial. Consequently, I'm going to use a combination of the known information (racism, status of mages, elves etc) and add a few real-world elements from bronze age civilisations and the reconstructed proto Indo-European culture. The armies and cultures that Serana describes take a few leaves from Mycenaeans Greece and their contemporaries. Harkon as a hereditary warlord in the mould of Agamemnon accompanied by his companions, heroes in the vein of Achilles, massed tribal levies and princesses enacting Heiros Gamos with chthonic deities is a fascinatingly alien culture to play around with. Although the major historical difference is that they have priests which can shoot fireballs at the unbelievers.

Replies to Reviews

Hey Greywolf93, good to hear from you again and sorry for the delay in reply!

I was always interested in how a mortal would deal with being part dragon, and the struggle and strain that comes with that. However, I deliberately wanted to avoid the angst and 'not worthy' subplots, as these are very common chosen one tropes which I wanted to avoid, all of which influenced me ageing up Beren and the post-Aldiun setting where he has lived up to his destiny, and is now at a loose end. The human drama between family life and a desire for power (with the ambiguities of motivation) that comes for that is something that I found interesting and would be a useful substitute.

In the sense of the pursuit and seduction of absolute power he certainly shares elements with Dany, but significantly diverge as Dany's struggle for social reform and her aspirational nature isn't something we really see in Beren- he's much more inclined to play by the current rules of the game than to create a new one.

As you note, the fall of a stubbornly resisting cities was often a bloody affair- Badajoz, Berlin and Jerusalem are all prime examples of the break-down of discipline, war crimes and collateral damage, in addition to issues like famine, disease and the weather on the population. Windhelm's sack and how that compares and contrast with the chivalry of the LDB's actions at the Battle of Blizzard's Rest is going to be a continuous point of reference, and we are going to meet a number of characters from both events and both sides of the battle, and how they have dealt with that experience.

Hello again HermitWitch- like the new name by the way and sorry for the delay in getting back to you.

Thanks very much for the praise- Durag has been a background character previously, but he and Serana really came to the forefront in this chapter. The bits about him losing his lower leg and his hair helps showcase that while he is something of an absent-minded professor, he isn't an ivory tower academic. For him to make a point of standing up with only one leg and make his plea for peace on behalf of the dead and injured helps showcase a moral courage that informs his character, and it is probably why Beren listened to it with more respect than another would get for suggesting what Durag does.

As for Serana, I'm relieved that she works so far. Her being a fish out of water often seem to drop away too quickly when her entire world view is utterly alien- religion, politics, warfare, morality, language- all have changed completely. I've also been flicking through the Grail Knight trilogy by Bernard Cornwell, which gave me a few pointers of what not to do- there's a lot of women who seem to lose any sense of purpose the moment a protagonist walks through the door.

Unfortunately for Beric it means she's planning on leaving him to study at the CoW- though they've probably got a month or so to hopefully smooth things out before she does leave, while persuading each other to their own course of action (to leave or to stay). Ultimately, they're both independent, mature adults and while Beric feels understandably betrayed, it's not a complete shock.

Beric's advice is something of a fudge admittedly- it lacks the principles stands of Serana and Durag for a more realistic, but uncomfortable, practical solution which leave all options open for now, while they carry out some fact-finding. The plan is also informed by the still unannounced pregnancy of Aela, which informs Beric's plan to push Elisif to withdrawn her proposal but can't be discussed as Serana and Durag aren't party to that information yet.

I hope you enjoy next month- We'll get Erik back out as a character, and take a bit of a break from politics for Jeeks Day!