Standing Around and Talking

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If Xander was counting right, he'd now been in almost every hold in Skyrim. He'd definitely passed through all of them, but thinking about it, the only ones he'd not properly visited were Morthal and…did Dawnstar count? The Brotherhood sanctuary was right outside the city.

Now he came to Windhelm for the second time, and with a much more serious objective.

Xander doubted his usual approach of sheer overwhelming confidence would get him into the 'palace of legends', or whatever Ulfric's house was called. Whiterun had been one thing, as Whiterun was neutral. Solitude had been another, as he'd had Elisif and Dulurza to get him in. But he'd made no such contacts in Windhelm, and he somewhat doubted that any random stranger would be allowed to waltz into the headquarters of a city in open rebellion, and talk to the rebellion's leader.

One option was trying to get Korir to help him, but even with Shadowmere it would have taken time to get up there, explain, negotiate, get some kind of missive and come back down. Suddenly, after two weeks of doing very little, it felt like every minute was precious. Fortunately, Xander realised as he entered Windhelm that he did know someone in the city who could help him. Maybe. Possibly. And it would be awkward. But he was in a hurry.

Xander deliberately brushed past a young woman as she walked towards Windhelm's market, briefly spluttering "Uh, sorry, excuse me!"

"Oh, its fine!" She replied, with a genial smile. "I'm sorry, I should have been looking."

He let his eyes widen a fraction, as though in recognition. "Oh! Muiri, right? Hi!"

Muiri blinked. "Um, yes? Do I know you?"

He chuckled, self-consciously. "Well, sort of, but I understand if you don't recognise me. We met in Markarth, a couple of weeks ago. I didn't get the chance to say so, but I'm very impressed by the work you were doing in there. I'm sure you must have saved a lot of lives."

"Oh!" Muiri flushed at the compliment, crossing her arms over herself in embarrassment. "It was nothing, I was just trying to help. But then, if you were there, you know full-well how awful it was. How did you get out?"

"The same way you did." He answered, honestly, moving to adjust his robes.

Muiri giggled. "Somehow I sincerely doubt…that…" She trailed off, eyes widening as they focused on his upper-right breast. The robes there he had just pulled aside, revealing the implacable silver mask of Morokei.

Her breathing sped up, and she took a hesitant step backwards.

"Relax." Xander reassured her, keeping a smile on his face. "I'm not here for any kind of contract, I promise. Mind following me a moment?"

Muiri gave an abrupt nod. He tucked the mask away again, and walked away from the market towards one of Windhelm's less busy side-streets.

"So, I imagine you're less than pleased to see me again." He said, once they were away from prying eyes.

"N—No!" She abruptly replied, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

She winced. "I…you'll think I'm crazy, but I was actually hoping to see you again. I wanted the chance to thank you properly."

"Thank me?" Xander chuckled. "You already paid me."

"For the contract, yes." She agreed. "But…I never gave you anything for your advice."

"Ah." And now it was time for the most important question. "And how did the Shatter-Shields respond to seeing you again?"

"With shock, at first." Mirri recalled, looking down guiltily. "And then anger. But I did as you said, returned the hammer and then explained myself. I…kept the Dark Brotherhood out of it, as you can imagine, I'm quite content keeping that detail buried. Just told them I hired a mercenary to stop Dufont and retrieve Aegisbane. They were all sceptical, at first. But then I told them what Dufont had done, and what it had been like, and then I started crying, and then they started crying…"

She sniffled now, and Xander got a little worried, but she was able to pull herself together, smiling. "But they took me back! They apologised—well, there was a lot of apologising, from everyone—and they let me live with them again! I was so relieved. And, also, I may have helped them and the city guard to find the person who killed Friga."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes! It's a long story, and a very frightening time, we actually had the court wizard arrested for a few—" She stopped, as though suddenly realising where she was and who she was talking to. "Oh, sorry. But I'm sure you're here for more than listening to me ramble. The point is, ah…" She paused again, looking at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I…don't know what to call you. I understand if you'd rather use a pseudonym, or just 'assassin', or—"

"It's Xander." He said, extending a hand. "Alexander Meteuse, of the College of Winterhold. A pleasure."

She looked shocked, but reached out and shook his hand, blushing again. "Good to meet you. Um…are you allowed to tell me that?"

"I trust you wouldn't tell anyone, and I doubt anybody would believe you if you tried." He reasoned. "Besides, it's also a long story, but Skyrim won't have to worry about the Dark Brotherhood anymore."

"Oh. Oh." What Muiri thought that meant, she didn't say. "Well then, Xander. What brings you to Windhelm?"

"Right, business." He gave an embarrassed smile. "Truth is…I need a favour."

"From me?" Muiri pointed to herself. "Oh, of course. Xander, you practically saved my life. Anything you want!"

"Anything?" He checked.

"Anything." She repeated, the blush appearing again.

"Oh, great. I honestly wasn't expecting that someone like you would, you know—" (Muiri's breathing quickened) "—be able to get me an audience with the Jarl of Windhelm."

Muiri blinked. "Eh?"

Xander tilted his head. "What? What did you think I meant?"

Ulfric Stormcloak frowned at Torbjorn Shatter-Shield's explanation.

"And this man has your approval?" He asked, at the end of it.

"Not mine, my Jarl." Torbjorn admitted. "My…daughter's trust in him appears absolute, however. She claims he has saved her life."

"Indeed…" Ulfric brought a hand up to stroke his beard, then nodded. "Very well. I will speak to this mage, and hear what he has to say."

"Thank you, my Jarl."

A minute later, the mage walked into the Palace of Kings. A young man, Ulfric would have guessed in his mid-twenties, with dark hair, dark robes, and a serious air. He stepped past the great banquet table set up in the hall, barely paying a glance to any of those sat there. Though he did take notice of Wuunferth, Ulfric's court wizard, and exchange a few words with the older man before continuing.

When the man was a few steps from the throne, Ulfric spoke up.

"It has been a long time since an envoy came from the College of Winterhold to the Palace of Kings." He said. "I had thought that you had all decided to forget about the world entirely. And yet here you are. With Jarl Korir and the Shatter-Shields vouching for you, no less."

"Deeds speak louder than words, and your people listen to them." The mage inclined his head. "Jarl Ulfric. I am Archmage Alexander Meteuse."

"I know who you are. Wuunferth told me what transpired in your College last month." Ulfric leaned forwards. "Some would call you young to be an Archmage."

"And some would call you old to be leading a war." Meteuse replied, not missing a beat. "But I should hope you and I are above such speedy judgements."

Ulfric let out an amused breath. "And is it that war that brings you here? Has your college finally decided it's time to fight for its homeland?"

"The College remains neutral, as it always has." Meteuse replied, smoothly. "I am not here representing them. I am here representing the Dovahkiin."

At that, Ulfric did laugh. "Is that so? Many claim to be acting in the Dovahkiin's interest. Few even know what his name means."

He said the last sentence in the language of the Dragons, proving his point. To his surprise, however, the Archmage barely hesitated before responding in the same tongue:

"Translating Dovahkiin as Dragonborn can be done by fools from context alone. Or, rather than 'Dovah-Kiin', do you mean to read it as 'Dov-Ah-Kiin'? Born to hunt dragons?"

Ulfric blinked. "Where did you learn that tongue?"

"It may surprise you, but colleges sometimes have books in them." Meteuse reached into his robes. "If it helps to convince you, I have a letter from the Dragonborn. And since he has no recognised script or seal, I do also have a missive from General Tullius."

And suddenly, this went from a curiosity to a meeting of importance. Ulfric got to his feet, and beside him, Galmar's hand shifted to his axe. "Is that so? What does Tullius have to say?"

If the Dragonborn has sided with the Imperial Legion…Nine Divines, this could be bad.

"The Dovahkiin has called for a truce." Meteuse produced the letter, stamped with the recognisable Imperial seal. "He requires an end to hostilities while he deals with the Dragon menace."

Galmar walked up and took the letter, while Ulfric's eyebrows furrowed. "And why should a campaign for freedom interfere with one man's crusade against the Dragons?"

"He requires the use of Dragonsreach, for its original purpose." Meteuse answered. "Jarl Balgruuf will only help once he is certain that his city is safe enough to do so."

Ulfric bristled. "I would never attack a neutral city without warning—"

"Then you should have no problem agreeing to such in writing." Meteuse replied, flatly. "The Greybeards are willing to host the peace talks. Tullius has already agreed to participate, as has Markarth."

Ulfric shot a significant glance at Galmar, reading the letter, who turned to him and nodded.

"The Greybeards?" He mused. "By the Gods…then this is serious."

They will at least ensure that the flag of truce is obeyed. There is no army the Imperials muster that could force the Greybeards from High Hrothgar.

Still, this was a lot. "He would ask us to make peace for the sake of capturing one Dragon?" Ulfric protested. "I respect what the Dragonborn has done recently for Skyrim, as do all who understand his work, but some demands are too great."

"He doesn't want a new concordat signed." Meteuse placated. "Merely a temporary truce. As soon as his mission is completed, you can return to fighting for your homeland."

Ulfric huffed. "You must know of the state of the Empire. Now is no time for us to give them a reprieve."

"Yet if you do not, your war will be meaningless, as will all those who fought in it." Meteuse replied, stonily. "You were raised by the Greybeards. You must know the song of the Dragonborn. That's no legend, Jarl. The World-Eater is here."

Ulfric's scowl deepened.

I judged the Greybeards for placing their personal mission above the safety of Tamriel. It seems that now, I face the same choice. I won't make the same mistake.

"Very well." He said, loudly, meriting a surprised look from Galmar. "I swore to protect Skyrim from any who would threaten her freedoms. Be they Man, Elf, or Dragon. The Stormcloaks will attend this peace meeting. But I cannot promise anything will come from dealing with those lapdogs."

Something about that made the corner of the Archmage's mouth quirk up for a moment. "I wouldn't ask it. Thank you for your intelligence. There are conditions…"

"Name them."

"It occurs four days from now. You may only bring three, yourself included."

"Very well. It will be me, Galmar, and Wuunferth."

That made Meteuse's eyes widen, and Ulfric smiled. "Did you expect meaningless complaints? We are Nords. We may be stubborn, but never petty."

Master Arngeir…what will you say to me, after all this time?

"Then we have nothing else to discuss." The Archmage bowed. "Thank you again. This went…more smoothly than I expected. But now, I need to prepare for your arrival."

Xander could have ridden Shadowmere up the Throat of the World. Given the time constraints, he probably should have.

But come on. If he was going to High Hrothgar to see the Greybeards, he was doing it properly, which meant he was climbing the seven thousand steps. He'd ridden into Ivarstead late, spent the night there, and then set off at daybreak the following day.

And regretted the decision immensely.

"KYNE'S LEFT TESTICLE IT IS COLD!" He shouted into the air, pulling his furs tighter about himself and stomping onwards with chattering teeth.

Firstly, 'seven thousand steps' was nonsense. His count had reached 2,194 (of course he was counting), and he had to be most of the way up by now. The wayshrines he'd read on the way up were entirely uninspiring, though they at least made a good way to track his progress. The Ice Troll he'd had to fight partway up when he was already exhausted from climbing (and Xander got tired climbing up to the Archmage's quarters, never mind a mountain) had been particularly annoying. Two hours in, a blistering snowstorm had whipped up, forcing him to hide under an overhang and build a fire to wait it out.

Two hours after that, when the snow had only gotten worse, he'd said 'screw it' and kept walking anyway.

I might have to offer lifts to everyone who wants to come up, unless I want them all to die before they make it to the negotiating table. Heh. That'd be one way to end the war.

And it was still way too bloody cold. He grimaced, sucked in a breath, and tried to really mean "LOK VAH KOOR!"

The skies did not clear. The bastards.

Kyne, or, Kynareth or whatever, once I figure out how to communicate with Aedra, you and I are going to have a chat.

Instead, he opted for "Feim!", banishing the effects of the snow and wind for a few seconds and making some hurried progress further up the mountain.

His feet were wet in his boots, his digits were numb in his gloves, and Morokei was frosting over on his face when he finally turned a corner and saw High Hrothgar.

It was…really imposing, actually. Classic ancient Nordic architecture, with stairs leading up to either side of an ominous central tower. Xander was much too frozen to wonder about how in Oblivion they had managed to slug stone up here and build a fortress in these conditions. He just ran the last hundred metres or so to the building, barely glancing at the last wayshrine before clambering up the last few steps and being met with an imposing door.

And that is 2,476 steps total. Uh, unless I miscounted, or there are some more under the snow. Whatever.

Suddenly, he had a much bigger concern. He took in a shaky breath, reminding himself that he was supposed to be here and that it wasn't bad to be disturbing the ancient monks from their silent meditation…and knocked.

"Bex."

The whispered 'open' managed to reverberate through the very stone beneath Xander's feet, sending shivers up his spine despite how cold he already was. The door swung open in front of him.

Okay…

He hurried inside, and closed the door behind him.

The air temperature inside was only marginally higher than that outside. But there was a roaring fire just inside the entryway, and the absence of the snow and wind made a world of difference. Xander pulled his hood and mask down with a sigh, immediately moving towards the fire and shaking the snow off himself.

"Burning sticks, I could kiss you right now…" he muttered, pulling off his gloves and stretching his hands out towards the flames.

"A relief, isn't it?"

"AAH!" Xander jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding stumbling into the fire.

There was a person there, who had not been there before. Xander's senses had gotten a lot sharper over the last few months, and there was virtually no sound inside the fortress, yet this man had still moved silently up next to him.

"Peace, friend." Chuckled the old man in dark grey robes. "You are quite welcome to the warmth, after the journey you have made. Do you know, it was this very hearth that first taught me the meaning of fire? I walked down to the base of the mountain and then back up again, in weather much like this. When I finally returned to feel it's heat…that was when it clicked. It was my first word."

"Oh. Cool." Xander squeaked. "I, uh, was fighting a Dragon and it tried to burn me to death when I did it. Among other things."

"Is that so?" The old man looked back at him. His eyes were warm and kind. "You can wield a Shout?"

"Uh. Yes?"

"I would greatly like to see that."

"Oh, uh, right." Xander coughed, sucked in a breath, and looked at the fire.

"Yol." His throat ached (he'd used Feim as a crutch a lot on the way up), but a small wave of fire flew forth from his lips into the hearth, causing some of the logs to collapse and send up a slew of sparks.

"Tum." Spoke the old man, 'down', and the sparks fell before they could make their way into Xander's eyes. "Very well done. You need to learn to relax your throat more, minimise the strain, but not bad for one I assume is self-taught."

His look took on a warning aura. "I should inform you that the Dragonborn has already been found. More than a few have appeared since attempting to impersonate him, and all have had to be turned away."

"Oh, no no no no!" Xander shook his head and waved his hands in a brief panic. Then realised where he was, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "No, that's not why I'm here. Uh, I'm Alexander, Alexander Meteuse."

"Arngeir." The old man returned, holding out a hand.

Xander shook it, and hesitated. "Are…you a Greybeard?"

"What gave it away?" The man chuckled, reaching up with one hand to stroke his very long, very grey beard.

"Well it's just…" Xander tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't sound offensive, "I'd heard that the greatest Tongues were unable to speak normally. And I know Ulfric breaks that mould a bit, but I assumed that he was just not fully trained, and you would be—"

"Mute?" Arngeir filled in, smiling knowingly. "You were right. If my fellows so much as whisper, even in ordinary tongues, it carries the strength of the Thu'um. But I am old and long-learned among even the old and long-learned. I can restrain myself."

…Uh.

"You have enough knowledge and power to call to the Dovahkiin from halfway across the country." Xander clarified. "And yet enough control to speak without bringing either to bear."

"In essence." Arngeir replied, genially.

…AAAAAAAAAAAH—

"Good. Cool." Xander said to perhaps the second most terrifyingly powerful creature he had ever encountered. "Um, so, as for why I'm here. I'm not the Dragonborn, but the Dragonborn did send me."

"Is that so?" Arngeir said, frowning.

"Yes, uh, hold on—" Xander reached inside his robes, pulling out one of the letters DB had scrawled in Winterhold. "I'm helping him sort out this whole 'peace' plan he's got going on. With the civil war and stuff. Basically I do all the prepping and getting the politicians to the table and managing the discussion, and he does all the dragon killing, which sounds fair to me."

"Ah. That." The Greybeard's expression didn't much improve. He took the letter and started walking deeper into High Hrothgar, Xander trailing hesitantly behind. "I offered to help the Dragonborn with this plan. But I cannot claim to have much faith in it. It was Ulfric's hunger for war that caused him to leave here, years ago, and I doubt the Men sent from Cyrodiil possess much more restraint."

Xander wrinkled his nose up. "Bit pessimistic, isn't it? Most people only go to war because they want peace at the end of it."

"Hmph." Arngeir didn't sound impressed. "Have you ever heard that warring for peace is much like shagging for virginity?"

"Or staying silent to learn to Shout?" Xander shot back on impulse, before "Hold on, what did you just say?"

"A fair point." Arngeir moved on, with a small smile. He folded up the letter and tucked it away. "As said, my fellow Greybeards and I will help you. But I cannot promise anything will come of it."

"You are the third person to say that to me in twenty four hours, and I'm starting to worry nobody's really bothered about this thing." Xander admitted.

"Then allow me to be more helpful. What do you need, Archmage of the College of Winterhold?"

Did I ever tell him my title? Xander shook off his brief confusion, and clapped his hands. "Well, firstly, you can let me use that fire for a few more minutes. After that…"

Negotiating peace was complicated.

Hosting a peace negotiation was also surprisingly complicated.

After a scant hour of planning, Xander had come to the realisation that negotiating a pause in the civil war in High Hrothgar would be A) incredibly difficult to organise and B) entirely his responsibility.

Firstly, what was everybody going to eat? Would they bring their own food? Three people each, so he couldn't assume so. He took Shadowmere back down to Ivarstead and proceeded to have a series of very interesting conversations with the farmers there. The upshot of it was him acquiring enough bread, meat and vegetables to feed twenty people for a week (as well as other essentials such as firewood, chalk, and parchment) and carting it up the mountain himself. In four trips, no less. If Shadowmere was upset at being treated as the world's scariest pack-horse, she didn't say anything about it. Xander was definitely upset about having to pay for the whole thing, but he still had most of his share from the Emperor contract to work through. He just hoped that the participants wouldn't be upset at the relatively simple fare.

Also a concern was where they were all going to go. After speaking more to Arngeir, he found that there were almost enough rooms to host all the relevant parties. He was both giggling and terrified at the prospect of telling Tullius and Rikke that they were going to have to share a room. Those two are definitely sleeping together, right? Like they have to be.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o 8˂

Three days before the meeting, L'laarzen arrived in Ivarstead. Xander was checking down in the village periodically, so spotted her plying her hairdressing in the inn. She presented the large cart of books, notes, and maps she had brought in, he hooked it up to Shadowmere, and tugged the whole thing up to High Hrothgar at just below a gallop.

(It was impossible to stress enough just how absurdly useful a super-fast, super-strong, completely inexhaustible and entirely uncomplaining steed was. Xander genuinely thought he might choose to sacrifice Dawbreaker over Shadowmere.)

The reading material L'laarzen had brought him was everything he'd asked for on the nature and conditions of the war, and he proceeded to spend hours on end devouring it as rapidly as he possibly could.

Wars (much like negotiating peace) were complicated. But the current one could roughly be summarised as:

Stormcloaks want religious and political freedom and an escape from the Empire they view as a sinking ship.

Empire wants Skyrim to stay part of the Empire.

Everyone hates the Thalmor, but the Stormcloaks want to fight them massively underprepared and the Empire wants to keep bowing to their every need.

Oh, bugger. I'm starting to understand why Titus Mede was so worried.

Two days before the meeting, the…Blades showed up?

Xander realised this when shouting (the ordinary kind) emerged from the front door. He rushed over to see Arngeir in a full-blown argument with—

"Delphine!" He said, spreading his arms and loudly inserting himself into the situation. "Also Esbern, hi, good to see you both! What's this about?"

"The old fogies aren't letting us through." Delphine said, with a glare.

"This is a bastion of peace." Arngeir growled, angrier than Xander had ever seen him. "These bloodthirsty savages have no place here."

Xander sighed, and leaned over Delphine's shoulder. "Esbern..?"

"The Dragonborn has called on our assistance with his plan to trap a dragon." The older Blade summarised, much more calmly. "We're currently researching everything we can about the Dragons, their possible ways into Sovngarde, and trying to find a Dragon which he may call to Whiterun."

"So they're here to help." Xander said, eyeing Arngeir.

"So they say." The Greybeard said, entirely unhelpfully.

"Well, if this isn't a microcosm of the whole entanglement…" L'laarzen spoke up, leaning on a wall further into the fortress.

Xander rolled his eyes. "Esbern, Delphine, do you promise not to cause any trouble while you're here?"

"I am not a child." Delphine grunted.

"Promise?"

"Yes." She sighed. "We just need to be here because this is where the Dragonborn will be."

Xander gave Arngeir a pointed look.

"Hm. Very well." The Greybeard turned away. "Try not to disturb our meditation with the clashing of steel."

Xander waited for him to leave, then turned to the Blades with an embarrassed smile. "So…I'll show you to your room?"

Arngeir, if you think you're going to get any meditation done, I really think you're overestimating how civil this discussion will be.

The Dragonborn himself showed up not long after. Xander and L'laarzen could hardly miss that, because as one, all four of the Greybeards whispered "Dovahkiin." And made the entire place rumble.

DB was (as always) all business. He briefly greeted the Greybeards, asked the Blades about what progress they'd made, then asked Xander about the progress he'd made. Once briefed on the upcoming negotiations, he nodded, thanked Xander, and left out the back of High Hrothgar to 'train'.

The sound of Shouting at a frightening pace soon followed.

…And that was that.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o 8˂̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ

One day before the meeting, Hjar's coalition arrived in Ivarstead. Her, Thongvor, and Faleen came alone, and Xander shuttled them all up to High Hrothgar. Once he introduced them to the growing political library made of his and L'laarzen's books, Hjar quickly added her own documents to the pile and joined him in poring over them.

"You really think this is going to work?" She asked, giving Xander a significant look.

"Depends on what you mean." Xander replied.

"Can you get them to agree to the Reach being independent?"

"Absolutely no idea." He admitted, with a shrug. "Permanently? Oblivion no, but this isn't ever going to be permanent. Getting them to leave you alone for the treaty's duration is possible, but it requires both of them to not know if they can just take you over first."

"Basically what I thought…" Hjar grumbled, biting a lip. "And what about getting them to leave Whiterun alone?"

"They will." Xander said, with conviction. "We will. We don't have a choice."

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o 8˂̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|

When dawn broke on the morning of the day of the meeting, it was met by a blast of Thu'um from all four members of the Greybeards.

The skies for miles around cleared, winds dropped to almost nothing, and it was generally a beautiful day.

Xander was extremely jealous.

The Stormcloaks came up first. Ulfric looked every bit the Nord hero as he trudged through the snow, waited head bowed at the doorway, and then entered when the Greybeards opened the door. Arngeir met him in the entryway, and they engaged a brief, hushed conversation in Dovahzuul. The language used was so formal that Xander actually had some difficulty parsing it, but then Ulfric bowed again and led his aides further in.

Then, Ulfric met the Dragonborn. That confrontation was also extremely respectful, but Xander almost couldn't help but laugh at the expressions the pair's faces went through as they sized each other up. It was like they were both suddenly realising that they might not be the coolest person in the room, and neither was at all comfortable with the feeling.

Next to come up were the Imperials. The Stormcloaks had (thank goodness) left to their room by that point, putting that incredibly awkward confrontation off until later. Xander was careful to greet Elisif with the same detached respectfulness he had Ulfric (it was important to appear impartial), but didn't reserve the same restraint for his hug with Dulurza. She (after being reassured that yes, she could hover threateningly over Elisif's shoulder throughout) was taken through to the room Xander, Hjar, and L'laarzen had commandeered for planning and general relaxation, where she was filled in on the details. There, they finalised sleeping arrangements. Due to the annoying appearance of the Blades, there would be more group-ups than expected. Xander would be sleeping with Thongvor, L'laarzen with Faleen, and Hjar with Margret. He also had to very guiltily ask if Dulurza would bunk in the same room as her Jarl…which the Orc seemed exceedingly pleased about, for some reason.

Protective woman, I suppose.

And then, the Thalmor arrived. Xander knew that the Thalmor had arrived because there was shouting again.

"NO! I will not negotiate while this Thalmor bitch is at the table!" Ulfric Stormcloak, stood in the main hall, looked about as furious as Xander had ever seen him.

"And I would rather not deal with terrorists, yet here we are. Do try to grow up." Elenwen, approaching through the doorway, looked as implacable as she always did. Flanking her was some other Elf Xander didn't recognise, and…Julius?

Xander had to prevent himself breaking out into a grin at the sight of his older brother, instead schooling his face into politics-mode and calling out "Gentlemen! Ladies! What seems to be the problem?"

Ulfric turned to him, pointing an accusative finger at Elenwen and growling "You failed to tell me that the torturer of the Red Ring would be here!"

What does he mean, I—Oh, crap. Did I tell him that the Thalmor were invited? Damnit! I always forget something!

"Their relevance to the discussion is undeniable." Xander said, hoping that Ulfric would take that as an admission of his mistake, and everyone else would take that as Ulfric not realising something obvious.

"This is a matter between the Empire and Skyrim! They have no business here!" Galmar protested.

"On the contrary, I have every right to be here." Elenwen replied, turning her nose up. "I need to ensure that the White-Gold Concordat is not violated in this arrangement."

"Though they could have sent someone less inflammatory. Meaning anyone…" Grumbled Tullius. He was leaned against a wall in the hallway near Xander, and he muttered it just quietly enough that Elenwen probably couldn't hear it.

The Imperials don't want her here either. Yikes. Xander realised. Then it clicked. Wait. I have Ulfric's dossier. Wasn't Elenwen the one that tortured him, then made him believe the Imperial City had fallen when it hadn't? Divines. And here I was so glad Ulfric was being unproblematic about this…

"Ambassador Elenwen?" He spoke up. "Might we have a word in private?"

Elenwen raised a surprised eyebrow. Julius leaned in behind her and whispered something in her ear, after which she nodded and said "Very well. Lead the way."

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

After shooting a lot of significant looks with a lot of meanings at a lot of people, Xander found himself alone in a room with First Ambassador of the Aldmeri Dominion (and auntie) Elenwen.

This was…possibly the first time that had ever happened. He usually had at least someone to protect him from her.

They were in a meditation chamber that didn't exactly have seats, so once in he just turned to face her, scrutinising her face.

"May I?" She asked.

He had no idea what she meant, but, "Go ahead."

She turned, and flicked up some magic between her fingers. The doorless entryway to the room blurred, and the echoed voices from outside muffled.

Oh. Privacy spells. Like what Oct did.

"I imagine you have some protections of your own you'd like to put up, Archmage?" She asked, smiling.

"Ah, no, I trust in yours." He said, crossing his arms and trying to decide on an expression. Now…last time we met, I realised that you had a torture chamber in your basement. What in Oblivion do I say to you?

"Excellent." Her smile brightened, and she walked closer. "So, darling, how are you? Please tell me those unwashed hicks aren't pressuring you into keeping me out of this, I assure you that they're all bark and no—"

"Okay, enough bollocks." Xander snapped, raising a hand.

Elenwen stopped, a surprised look on his face. Xander chose his route through the conversation, and took it. "Can you please let me know what the actually smart people are doing?"

She tilted her head. "I'm sorry?"

"You know, the cabal of the genuinely competent people who I sincerely hope are trying to get things done on this blasted continent?" Xander continued. "I have been operating on half-truths alongside utter morons ever since I came to Skyrim. It would be incredibly refreshing for you to tell me what was actually going on, but to do that we'll have to drop the fun little act of overbearing aunt and embarrassed nephew, if that's alright."

There were a few things he was banking on, here. A few odd comments from Elenwen and Julius, Elenwen's sense of superiority. But most of all, the things he'd found in the Thalmor Dossier on him, that he'd retrieved from Elenwen's torture chamber.

'Status: Potential asset.

Description: Archmage of the College of Winterhold, sibling of Ambassador Julius. Young male, early 20s.'

And then, after a brief description of his backstory,

'Operational Notes: Alexander's rapid annexation of the mages' college (combined with reports provided by Ancano) have led me to update previous assumptions that he was irrelevant on the national stage. At his brother's recommendation, Alexander is being considered for induction into the inner circle, as his position and abilities may prove useful, and his motivations are expected to align with ours. Further assessment will take place at the approaching Embassy party.'

Yes. He probably should have read that immediately and not put it off until after killing the Emperor. But he had been a little busy.

Elenwen stared at him for a long, long time. He tried to keep his own face calm, even as his mind repeatedly reminded him that he was accusing one of the top 20 most powerful people on Tamriel of being part of a conspiracy.

Eventually, however, her face settled into a much more relaxed smile. "Well well well. So you are interested in being an actual player. Your brother was right."

"Nobody understands me quite like he does." Xander said with a shrug (he'd meant it as a factual statement, but something about it didn't ring quite as true as it would have a few months ago). "Should he be here for this?"

"I can fill him in." Elenwen crossed her arms. "So? If you're not the Dragonborn's adoring fan, what are you doing here?"

"Still saving Nirn." Xander answered. "The threat of Alduin has been proven to my satisfaction. We need to throw our resident weapon-of-mass-destruction at it, or we'll all end up in the World Eater's gullet. The main problem then becomes convincing the pedestrians to see the scope of the problem." He raised an eyebrow. "The other problem is, if at all possible, guiding events in a beneficial direction for if we do all survive. Which is what I need to ask you. What's your stake in this?"

"Ah, you want to know the Thalmor's master plan?" Elenwen asked, wryly.

"So it is the Thalmor?" Xander clarified. Then, after a moment's thought, "No, that doesn't sound right. There's too many of them to keep anything of value secret."

"Quite right." Elenwen was at least acting impressed. "Most of the Thalmor believe that the 'big secret' is the desire to take over the world. As though everyone on Tamriel doesn't know that. Only those of us at the very top know our actual purpose, along with a select few others outside of it."

"Julius knows?" Xander asked, with a hollow feeling in his gut.

"Of course. He's possibly the most reliable and intelligent Man I've ever met." She smirked. "Then again, he might be about to have competition on that front…depending on what you're able to pull off here."

I'm being tested. Xander's heartbeat, already far above what was healthy, kicked up to an even higher pace. "And what does your secret inner circle want from this negotiation?"

"Largely? For it to go how you wish it to." Elenwen answered. "The Thalmor's goal is the goal; if only one of many. This civil war is sapping at the strength of both the Empire and the Stormcloaks. The longer it goes on, the better off we are. I was rather worried when Tullius almost executed Ulfric at Helgen, things would have been nipped in the bud far too soon. But if a temporary truce is brokered, it will give both sides time to muster their resources before throwing themselves right back at each other."

"You aren't worried it might grow into genuine peace?" Xander checked.

"Of course not." Elenwen scoffed. "Their end-goals are incompatible, and they hate each other far too much. And if they come close, some accident or another might just emerge to kick them off again."

"Yes, I can imagine it's not too hard for you to organise 'accidents' for key politicians." Xander said, quietly.

Elenwen's smile was back. "Careful, Xander dear. Let's not say anything too treasonous."

Oh Nine Divines she actually had Titus killed, didn't she. Oh, sweet suffering Sithis—

"You've still not actually told me this 'master plan' of yours." He pointed out.

"And I won't be. At least, not here." Elenwen replied. "Julius advocates you, but he is your brother, so of course he's biased. Pull this off, however…and we'll see."

"In which case." Xander put some steel in his voice. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Excuse me?" Elenwen asked, eyes widening.

"I assume you've noticed the degree to which Ulfric despises you." Xander pointed out. "And everyone on the red side is less than pleased about you hovering over their heads. Your presence at this meeting is only going to make reaching a truce harder."

"I cannot be seen to cower before the Stormcloaks' pressure." Elenwen said, voice icy.

"You're not cowing to them. You're 'cowing' to me." He put as much verbal quote marks around the word as he could. "I'm the one mediating this discussion, both sides need to respect me, and I have limited in-roads with either. If you leave after a secret chat with me, Ulfric will think that I've intimidated you away, and Tullius will assume that we've come to an agreement." He tried for a smile. "The odds of this working goes up drastically, and you don't have to stay in this freezing monastery for an extended period. You can leave Julius here as an observer, and he can let me know if something needs to be done."

Elenwen didn't look too happy with the suggestion, as she glanced away with something that was almost a scowl. Xander knew that he was asking her to set aside her pride, which for her was a very serious ask. But she was also proud of her mind, so if he'd done enough of a job of making it sound like the intelligent choice…

"Very well." She said. "I'll leave this up to you. In truth, I'm more than happy to stay away from this place." She turned, walking towards the door. "Remember, we need you to broker a peace. Only, don't do it too well." She turned, and produced a heartless smile. "Otherwise, I just might have to kill you."

"I assure you, you won't." He replied, as coolly as he could.

Elenwen chuckled and waved her hand, causing the privacy spells to drop as she left the room.

He was left stood there alone, an expression of consternation on his face.

…I have to engineer a lasting peace between Skyrim and Cyrodiil and unravel an international conspiracy.

…Maybe I should have built up the Dark Brotherhood after all.

(The chapter title is actually a reference to my Naruto fic, White Eyes. I was also considering just calling it 'Not the Five Kage Summit', but figured that would be a bit too on-the-nose.)

And with that, everyone is here. Except Elenwen, who can sod right off. My love of videogame conspiracy theories is only matched by my love of cliffhangers, so it shouldn't surprise anyone that another of those is looming here. Every answer Xander gets has a handful more questions attached.

Also a resolution to the little Muiri plotline. I just can't help myself, she's an adorable little maniac. Did you know that if you do her quest for her, she becomes marriageable? Like, damn.

But for as long as this chapter was, its a chapter full of setup. It's next week when things get really down to business. At least the gang is back together.

Next Time: Negotiations, scheming, and some messing around in between.