Season Unending (I)

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The table was set.

The seats were occupied.

A large map of Skyrim was laid out on the tabletop.

The summit to discuss a potential peace in Skyrim was about to begin.

Alexander Meteuse sat beside the Dragonborn at the head of the table, with Arngeir stood like a statue on the other side.

The Stormcloaks consisted of Ulfric Stormcloak himself, his court wizard Wuunferth the Unliving, and his right hand Galmar Stone-Fist.

The Imperials were led by General Tullius, accompanied by Legate Rikke and Elisif the Fair.

The delegation from the Reach brought Hjarnagredda, Thongvor Silver-Blood, and Faleen, captain of the city guard.

There were also seats occupied by a number of 'independents'. Esbern and Delphine of the Blades were both in attendance to provide their knowledge of the Dragons. Julius Meteuse was here as the Imperial ambassador to the Thalmor. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was of course here to represent Whiterun's interests. L'laarzen was Xander's personal advisor. Dulurza was (ostensibly) Xander's bodyguard, but the fact that she'd immediately gone and sat herself at Elisif's right hand meant there wasn't much hiding where her allegiance lay.

The table was sort of sat like everyone related to the Empire was on one side, and everyone else was on the other. But Xander didn't know how else to make it fair.

Still…Everyone was here. They were actually here, and they were actually doing this.

If this works, it is going to look So Good on my resume.

He gave a subtle nod to Arngeir.

"Now that everyone is here, we can begin." The Greybeard spoke up, silencing the quiet conversations that had been fluttering about the table. "General Tullius. Jarl Ulfric. Jarl Thongvor. This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn's request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?"

Both Ulfric and Tullius immediately opened their mouths.

Xander beat them to it.

"If I may." He asked, almost overrunning Arngeir's last word. "I have a few things I'd like to clarify at the start. Firstly, all other things being equal, would the people at this table prefer not to die?"

He should have known it wouldn't be that simple.

"I am not afraid to die for what I believe in. Not when Sovngarde awaits." Galmar spoke up, and,

"The Empire does not bow to outside threats, mage." Tullius warned.

"Which is why I said 'all things being equal'." Xander clarified. "Simple question. Do we value our lives?"

There was quiet, but at least all the people who were here to help him nodded, and eventually the reds and blues both made grudgingly accepting noises.

"In which case." Xander continued. "We'd all prefer not to have everything we love destroyed by angry Dragon-gods?"

"Yes, we all know why we're here." Ulfric grunted.

Xander smiled. "Excellent. Then this shouldn't take us too long at all."

The Dragonborn just stared impassively across the table.

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Xander was, of course, absolutely wrong. He'd known that ahead of time, but it still stung.

The Imperials wanted the Stormcloaks to turn over Riften as compensation for agreeing to the peace.

The Stormcloaks wanted the Imperials to turn over Morthal as compensation for agreeing to the peace.

Neither side had any intention of doing what the other said.

In the ensuing debate, the name of just about every single hold in Skyrim (along with a few places outside of it) had been named as potential leverage, the tactical value of each hold had been extensively argued over, and both sides had confidently insisted that the other was completely doomed and that the end of the war was only a matter of time. Markarth had quickly been drawn into it, and had repeatedly had to state that they were not a bargaining chip, thank you very much. The actual reason for Whiterun requiring the peace didn't come up once.

After four hours, a halt was called, and the parties left to eat.

The Dragonborn fell in with Xander on the way out, and in Dovahzuul demanded "What in Oblivion was that all about?"

"Initial blustering." Xander replied, also in the Dragon tongue. "Happens all the time. Before the actual discussion can take place, they first have to both clarify how they don't have any weaknesses and don't need anything and are only doing this out of generosity and pity."

"That was initial?" DB clarified.

Xander nodded. "Mmhmm. There'll be more as we go, but hopefully they've gotten the worst out of their systems."

"So we aren't—" The Dragonborn cut himself off. "How long will this take?"

Xander side-eyed him. "How long did you think it was going to take?"

"Dragons are going to end the world. If these people stop fighting, they stop the end of the world." DB shrugged. "It's not that complicated. I thought we'd be done by now."

"Oh, my sweet summer child…" Xander tried not to sigh, laugh, cry, or any combination thereof. "Negotiating anything takes a long, long time. Even once they agree to peace, it will take them hours or days to nail down the semantics. How to recall the troops, how long it should last, what should be done about infractions, what should happen to prisoners…"

"This is going to take days?" The Dragonborn asked, the first shred of genuine unabashed surprise coming through in his voice. "It will take them days to agree to stop an apocalypse?"

"Yyyyyep."

"This is madness."

"This is politics." The answer clearly didn't help, so Xander reached out and put a hand on DB's shoulder. "Relax. This is still better than trying to solve the problem violently. And Esbern hasn't even worked out how to get you a dragon yet, so there's nothing to do but wait."

"Maybe." The Dragonborn walked away, shoulders tense.

Xander gulped, and went to go and study the notes he'd made.

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"So…You destroyed the Dark Brotherhood?" Hjar clarified.

"In a manner of speaking." L'laarzen answered, drumming her fingers on the table. "Khajiit has not killed any of them. A trio who weren't present at your attack are now under our employ, and are functionally neutralised. The Brotherhood as an organisation is over, at least in Skyrim."

"Wow." Hjar leaned back. The two were sat in one of High Hrothgar's spare rooms, L'laarzen having brought Hjar there to explain the situation.

"Wow indeed." L'laarzen agreed. "Are you…alright?"

"Not sure." Hjar scrunched her face up. "It's weird. It's like if you woke me up and told me 'hey, you had a deadly parasite in your stomach, but we removed it and fixed the wound while you were asleep!' Nothing really changes, I'm just…offput."

"Apologies for the inconvenience. You will at least be able to keep the glory in the eyes of Tamriel, no?" L'laarzen's smile quickly fell, as her gaze dropped to the table. "Also…Khajiit is sorry for involving you with the Brotherhood in the first place. She had no idea that by killing Grelod, she would—"

"Exactly." Hjar held up a hand to stop her. "You didn't know, and you couldn't have known. I'm annoyed at you, but I don't have any valid reason to be." She winced. "The same can't be said on your end though. I shouldn't have used you to help me kill the Jarl without telling you. I've got no excuses there; it was just me being a bad friend. I mean we weren't even friends yet, I was just accosting a random hairdresser and involving her in treason."

"It does sound strange when put that way." L'laarzen chuckled. She met Hjar's eyes. "Are we friends now?"

"I…would certainly like us to be." Hjar replied. "I mean, we killed a Dragon together, it would be a bit embarrassing to be stuck at 'acquaintances' after that."

"Then friends we are, and you are forgiven." L'laarzen said, with a smile. "On the condition that we are honest with each other about future criminal endeavours."

"Agreed." Hjar replied, matching her smile. She shifted a hand, then hesitated. "So…do we shake hands now, or what—"

"Oh, come here." L'laarzen got up, walked over, and gave her a hug.

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"And what is your purpose here?" Ulfric demanded.

"The same (I should hope) as everyone else's." Hjar answered. "To affirm a cease in hostilities until the Dragonborn has slain Alduin."

Xander spoke up from the head of the table. "Imperial and Stormcloak allied holds, we can trust to follow their leaders. Since Markarth and Whiterun are independent, they needed their own representatives."

"Whiterun declaring its neutrality is one thing." Tullius said. "That, at least, was done at the start of the war. Markarth however has started its self-proclaimed 'freedom' by murdering our military forces in the city!"

"You did sort of kill Ondolemar, Jarl Thongvor." Julius pointed out. "The Thalmor are mad."

"The Thalmor killed all the Blades, the Empire still managed to negotiate with them..." Delphine muttered.

"If you seek freedom, why do you not join the Stormcloaks?" Galmar demanded.

"Our duty is to the people of the Reach, not your cause." Faleen replied. "We will protect them from whoever seeks to harm them, whatever banner they bear."

(was that a 'bear' pun? Because they're Stormcloaks? Thought Hjar, privately.)

"You speak as though we are possible enemies. As though it was not the Stormcloaks who came to Markarth's aid in times past." Ulfric spoke up. "Our causes are the same."

"As Markarth is now, you aided half of it against the other half." Hjar pointed out. "Would you retract your declaration that the Forsworn are terrorists and allow open worship of the Old Gods, which include Daedra?" There was a pause while that was digested, and she continued, "Semantics can be discussed later. We'll have weeks to do so once we've gotten down the basics of not fighting for a bit."

"Why waste your time?" Galmar huffed. "The Empire would never allow your independence to stand."

"And yet they're at the table." Hjar turned to Tullius.

"If Markarth were willing to return to the Empire, we would be more than willing to—" He started—

"Don't even think about it." Thongvor growled.

"Not the point." Hjar cut in. "We have just fought our own civil war, the people don't want to be dragged into this one. Following the cease of hostilities, we can discuss the military situation further. Or, better yet, we can agree to leave Markarth alone, and we'll deal with whoever gets crowned High King at the end of this."

"You're just using the peace to buy time for your Hold to recover." Elisif realised, with wide eyes.

"Yeah." Hjar smirked. "So?"

Nobody really knew how to respond to that.

"That was awful." Muttered Galmar, walking away from the negotiation room. "Sitting down all day. My back is killing me."

"Perhaps that is their plan." Ulfric said, smiling at his friend. "Make us do nothing but sit, eat, and talk for weeks, until we can't even fight at all."

"And of course, the Dragonborn would be immune to it. Scary bastard…" Galmar looked up at Ulfric. "Are we winning?"

"You sit down to negotiate with an Imperial, there is no winning. Just mitigating losses." Ulfric sighed. "No matter what we can get from them, they stand to gain more from this than we do. If they can keep us from attacking for a month, while they get a new Emperor and their affairs in order, they'll be laughing. Completely nullify the opportunity from Emperor Mede's death. Poor man…"

"It may seem like that. But this could also be an opportunity for us." Galmar responded. He looked around, then pulled Ulfric towards a slightly less-travelled section of the fort.

Ulfric caught the hint. "Is this about your pet project?"

"It's a quest for the greatest artefact in Nordic history, don't call it a 'pet project'." Galmar growled. "But yes. I've found some leads on the Jagged Crown."

Ulfric raised his eyebrows. "You know where it is?"

"Aye. Skyrim. Probably." At Ulfric's look, Galmar sighed. "Look, sources are scarce and sketchy. But some of the reports from the men on it are promising. At this point, we're almost certain it's somewhere in the Pale. In one of the old Nordic ruins."

"The Pale is a big place." Ulfric pointed out. "And those ruins are dangerous. Plenty still haven't been found, never mind explored."

"All true. But think about it." Galmar clasped his friend on the shoulder. "If we have a few weeks of peace, suddenly we've got all these soldiers with nothing to do. Nobody could protest us taking them on some exercises, maybe doing some public good by clearing out dangerous Draugr."

"And if we find the Jagged Crown…" Ulfric concluded, "That's a symbol the people of Skyrim can't possibly ignore."

About twenty metres away, behind a corner, L'laarzen's ears flicked. She hummed curiously to herself, then turned away…only to notice one of the Greybeards staring at her.

She froze. Then, slowly, raised a finger up to her lips.

The Man raised an eyebrow.

She smiled, and reached into her pockets. "Say, that beard is magnificent. Would you be amenable to L'laarzen attempting to groom it?"

"Getting tired?"

"Heh. No. You?"

"I can do this all day."

"Go, both of you! Do your best!"

"Ten septims on the Breton!"

"Alexander!"

"What? I taught her!"

In the centre of the room, Dulurza and Hjar had been engaged in an arm-wrestle for about a minute. This would have been entirely unfair, but Hjar had wrangled the right to use her alteration spells to buff herself during the match.

"Elisif'll match it." Dulurza said, a grin on her face. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna lose."

"Certain?" Hjar asked, also smiling.

"Certain. I'm going easy on you."

"Oh yeah? Pin me then."

"I will."

"Do it then."

"I will!"

Xander snorted. "You've both killed like thirty people and one Dragon, and you're still doing this. I mean I know we're all barely adults, but—"

"Thirty?" Dulurza gave him an incredulous look. "Xander, how many people have you killed?"

"Is—Is this what we're competing about now? Really?" He gave her a condescending look.

"Absolutely. How many?"

"Uuh…Like thirty eight?" He paused and looked into the middle distance. "Yeah, thirty eight. Thanks Night Mother."

"Hah! Try forty seven." Dulurza turned back to Hjar, who was now visibly sweating from exhaustion. "How about you, noodle-arms?"

"I've not got noodle-arms, the problem is my bones." Hjar grunted. "And…between fifty and sixty-odd, I think."

"Really?" Dulurza blinked.

"I'm a werewolf. I just fought a war."

"Huh, fair play." Dulurza looked over at L'laarzen. "Your turn, sneak-thief, how many?"

"L'laarzen would rather not say." Replied the Khajiit, demurely.

"Aww, the hairdresser's embarrassed…" Hjar cooed.

"Guys, I wouldn't." Xander warned, before putting an arm on L'laarzen's shoulder and saying "You don't have to. I don't expect you to have counted."

"Yes she does have to!" Dulurza shouted. "Tell us!"

L'laarzen sighed. Then, casually, "One hundred and thirty six."

Everyone in the room went very still.

L'laarzen shrugged. "But Khajiit is a lot older than you all."

There were a few seconds of silence.

Then a bang, as Dulurza slammed Hjar's arm down onto the table's surface.

"OW! You Bitch!" The Breton howled, shaking her arm out.

"I win." Dulurza said, smugly.

"I was distracted!"

"That's on you, I was winning anyway." Dulurza turned fully to L'laarzen. "No judgements here, snoop. We all do what we have to do, right?"

"It was less a matter of having to as wanting to." L'laarzen sighed. "This one hopes not to increase the total too much further."

"I mean, sure, but it's impressive." Dulurza tilted her head. "How old are you?"

"Dulurza!" Xander exclaimed, scandalised.

"Forty six." L'laarzen answered, smiling.

"Forty six? You are fast for forty six!"

"You flatter L'laarzen, but she—"

They were interrupted by an angry growling noise.

Hjar (stood next to a carefully folded pile of clothes) was rapidly growing larger and becoming covered in white fur.

A werewolf turned and stalked threateningly over to Dulurza.

The other three of them tensed—until Hjar slammed her elbow down on the table, holding a clawed hand up.

"…Okay, I don't even care if I win, this is gonna be an amazing story." Dulurza said, stepping up.

"My money's still on the Breton!" Xander called.

Arngeir took great pride in the quietness of his steps. It was not a desire to be stealthy that motivated it, nor (as amusing as it was) the entertainment that came from surprising people. But he made it a key point of his life only to make noise when he felt a noise needed to be made.

So it was that his feet made nary a sound as he made his way up one of High Hrothgar's towers, coming up behind the bearded man knelt on an outcropping in the stone. It was specifically crafted to leave one exposed entirely to the elements, and on a good day, offer a truly breath-taking view of Skyrim as the mountain fell away beneath it.

"Lok, Thu'um." Greeted Ulfric Stormcloak.

"Lok, Thu'um." Arngeir returned the abbreviation of the Greybeards' motto: 'Sky above, voice within'. "I am glad to see the clamour of war has not dulled your senses too much."

"Oh, but it has." Ulfric replied, still not looking up. "I did not notice the ringing in my ears until I returned here. Now, I remember what silence sounds like. I miss it."

"And yet, you will not return." Arngeir said. It wasn't a question.

Ulfric chuckled. "You would never allow me back."

"Always, you assume. Acting, rather than asking." Arngeir crossed his arms. "The Greybeards would accept you again, Ulfric. So long as we believed that you were truly willing to return to the Way of the Voice."

"…Is that so?" Ulfric stood, turning to face his mentor. There was a sad look in the warrior's eyes. "I'm thankful. But…no. Not until my work is done."

"And what work is that?" Arngeir demanded, feeling some of the decades of frustration building up. "You fought in the Great War to defend the Empire. Then when peace came, you returned to Skyrim and started a war of your own, against the very Empire you swore to fight for."

"Peace?" Ulfric scoffed. "What peace? Was it peace for the Elves to demand tributes and reparations that leeched the life from our nation, to drag away dissidents in the dead of night?"

"I have heard your reasons. They have echoed through these very halls ceaselessly for the last few days." Arngeir shook his head. "In the end, they amount to excuses. You desire conflict, Ulfric. You are shaped by war, and you make it your mission to spread it as far as you can."

"Am I?" Ulfric laughed. "Tell me, Master Arngeir. If an army came to sack Ivarstead, kill its villagers, women and children, would you do nothing?"

"War has come to the towns surrounding the Throat of the World many times over the centuries." Arngeir answered, coolly. "Settlements have risen and fallen. If we intervened, it would only spread the violence further."

"So no." Ulfric summarised. "And if that army marched up Snow-Throat and came to High Hrothgar, would you fight?" His eyes flicked further up the mountain. "Or would you wait until the Grandmaster was endangered?"

Arngeir tried not to scowl. Adventurous little child…I can't believe we let him sneak off to the summit that day.

"If we were attacked, we would defend ourselves. But no more." He answered.

"So you do have a point where you will fight!" Ulfric declared, triumphantly.

"Everyone does!" Arngeir answered. "Yet we must choose where in the snow to draw that line!"

"And you would draw it behind the corpses of countless good Men!" Ulfric retorted.

"While you would draw it much sooner, and still countless good Men would die! This time at your hand!" Arngeir shouted. Almost Shouted, even, for the tower rumbled around him as he spoke.

He paused to take a deep breath, then release it, internally reciting mantras to calm himself. And here I thought I was prepared for this conversation…

Before him, Ulfric looked to be doing much the same thing. The Jarl turned, looking back out across the country.

"Beautiful, isn't it? I do miss the views…" He mused, before sighing. "That army is not just a figure of speech, Master. You worship Kyne, yes, but also Ysmir and Shor. Gods the Thalmor will not allow. And you flaunt that worship by displaying power which the Elven mages know not. If they win, they will come, and they will destroy you."

"Then they will be repelled, as many have before them." Arngeir answered.

"For how long? And at what cost?" Ulfric retorted.

Arngeir opened his mouth…then sighed. "Perhaps not forever. And perhaps at a great one. But the arrival of that army is not certain."

"It would be, were it not for those standing in its way."

"Meaning you?" Arngeir asked.

"I am but one man. There will be others." Ulfric looked back. "But I must fight. Everyone who stands up does so knowing that they may be just one life...but that theirs just might be the life that turns the tide."

"And when does your fight end?" Arngeir wondered. "If the Aldmeri agree to a peace that grants you free worship, will you be satisfied? Or will you insist on taking your fight to them? Will you march to conquer Summerset Isle? Demand the tracking and subservience of all Elves?"

"I am not a despot, nor a bigot." Ulfric snapped. "No matter what is said of me."

"Then when will you be satisfied, Ulfric? There will always be suffering in the world. You cannot stop it all. Trying will only bring your own destruction."

"…Perhaps it will." The Jarl said, quietly. "But if I can help Tamriel in the process…then it will have been worth it."

"I suspect many of your foes think the same thing." Arngeir reminded him.

"Hmph. Maybe." Ulfric smiled. "If everyone was like you, Master Arngeir, Tamriel would be a much better place. But if only most were like you, I suspect it would fall to tyranny much faster."

There was little else to say.

"I will leave you to your meditation." Arngeir bowed, turned, and walked away.

"You killed the WHAT?" Dulurza demanded—

"Ap bap bap bap bap bap! Quietly!" Xander hissed, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her further from the door.

"You killed the Emperor?" She hissed instead, grabbing him right back.

"Technically, L'laarzen killed the Emperor, I just aided and abetted." He said with a nervous smile. She glared, and he quickly clarified "He asked us to! It was an assisted suicide more than anything! And it's really important that you don't let this get out or we will definitely die!"

"It's true, Dulurza." L'laarzen said, stood nearby. "We saved Titus Mede. Only, he insisted that he be allowed to die at the hands of 'assassins'. Some form of martyrdom for the sake of his Empire."

"For the love of Malacath—" Dulurza took a step back, running a hand through her hair—Then looked to Hjar, also in the room. "You knew about this?"

"Xander told me when he came to get me." Hjar shrugged, awkwardly. "It sort of doesn't affect me, so, I don't care."

"You don't—" Dulurza grimaced, then spun to check that there was no-one in the doorway.

"Right, look." She hissed at Xander and L'laarzen. "I know you two are independent and Hjar's doing her own thing, and that's fine, but I'm on Elisif's side, alright? My job is making sure she's safe, so what does this mean for her?"

Xander bit his upper lip and winced. "I…don't know."

"You don't—"

"It was a spur of the moment thing!" He whispered, then, "Look, I care about politics now, alright? That's a personality trait I now have. So, I am going to try to fix Tamriel."

"Like to aim high, don't you?" Hjar chuckled.

"I'm still going to be god, so yes." Xander admitted. "The point is, I am trying to stop all this chaos in Skyrim. That includes keeping all our rear ends out of the fire. I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure Elisif is okay; I can't promise she'll be High Queen, but she'll be okay. As for Titus Mede…" He shrugged. "I get the feeling that if he hadn't died, things would only end up worse. Case in point, I don't think the Imperials would have agreed to come to this meeting."

"I preferred you when you threw up at the thought of murder…" Dulurza grumbled, stepping away and pacing to the other side of the room. When she rounded back, she asked "Can I tell Elisif? I mean, it's not like she knew him, but I think this is something she'd like to know."

Xander and L'laarzen exchanged glances.

"Ideally, after the negotiations have concluded?" L'laarzen offered.

Dulurza blew out a breath. "Yeah. That makes sense. Gods, I'm sick of this—Is there anywhere I can just go hit something?"

"I'm pretty sure the Dragonborn's spoiling for a fight?" Hjar offered. "Go ask him."

"Then admit it." Elisif demanded, eyes hard. "Admit it. You can have Morthal."

"Jarl Elisif," Tullius warned, "now is not the time—"

"No, I want to hear him say it! I want to know if his pride is worth Hjaalmarch."

Across the table, Ulfric's face could have been carved from granite. "I will not lie for your appeasement." He declared.

"You still maintain that what you did to my husband was anything other than murder?" Elisif snapped.

"It was a duel!" Ulfric bristled. "Under ancient traditions—"

"Slavery was an ancient tradition, should we bring that back? Perhaps you think we should, from the state of your city's docks."

Ulfric made a dismissive noise. "Inequality between the races is a Skyrim-wide problem, it isn't unique to Windhelm. Or have you not left your palace to see conditions in your own docks?"

"Of course I leave my palace." Elisif glared at the man she despised more than anyone in the world. "For instance, I go to the temple of the Divines to pay my respects to the soldiers that died in this war, and to the man you killed to start it! Have you even once done the same for Torryg?"

"Every week I pay respects to Torryg!" Ulfric shot at her. "He was my friend!"

"Uh—" Xander raised a hand—

"Then your hypocrisy runs as deep as your greed." Elisif spat. "He called you his greatest friend, and then you killed him, only to demand his title like a petulant child!"

"He agreed to the fight!"

"Of course he did! He loved you like a brother!" Elisif's fingers tightened on her armrests. "Eighteen. Minutes. That's how much time passed between you entering the Blue Palace and him dying at your hands. We elect our Kings in Skyrim!"

"No. The Empire elects them." Ulfric glared at Tullius. "Every High King in centuries has been a puppet for the Emperor, and every High King in decades has been a puppet of the Thalmor, too. Torryg was a slave to the Empire and he knew it."

"So you 'freed' him, is that it?" Elisif asked.

Uh, sweetie, Potema said, now maybe isn't the time—

"Admit you murdered him." Elisif demanded. "You don't even have to confess you did it to steal his crown for yourself, we can leave that implied. Admit you killed him unlawfully, stop pretending you have a right to his throne, and you can have Morthal."

"Morthal is not yours to give, Elisif—" Tullius warned.

"I decline." Ulfric said, flatly. "I am sorry that I had to kill Torryg—"

"Had to? Had to?" Elisif's blood was pumping in her ears, "He would have gone to war if you'd just asked him to, you bastard, that's how much he respected you! And then you butchered him in front of Solitude's court!"

A flicker of uncertainty, and genuine sorrow, passed across Ulfric's face. Then his eyes hardened. "He would have hesitated. He would have dallied, procrastinated, appealed, and while he was doing so the Thalmor would have had a head start choking the life out of every dissident Jarl, soldier and citizen in the country. He had to die. Not because I wanted him to, but because Skyrim needed him to."

"That's all he was to you?" Elisif whispered. "A symbol?"

"He was my brother." Ulfric said. "But a symbol was the greatest thing he could become."

Elisif jolted to her feet, magic flashing between her palms, Galmar stood and Ulfric sucked in a breath and Dulurza rapidly put a hand across Elisif's chest—

"ENOUGH!"

The word boomed throughout the room, drowning out anything else and making the walls shake. Elisif (and many others) winced at the volume and the sheer presence of it.

Arngeir, eyes burning with fury, continued "This is High Hrothgar! There has been no blade drawn nor spell fired in these halls in over two thousand years! Restrain yourselves, or you will be summarily ejected and barred from ever returning!"

There was a long, tense silence.

"…I think it might be a good time for a break." Alexander said from the head of the table, smiling with false cheer. "Anyone else?"

Elisif didn't wait to hear the consensus, grabbing Dulurza by the arm and storming out the room.

Thirty minutes later, Elisif was sprawled on the softest thing she could find. Now there weren't many soft things in High Hrothgar, but they'd managed to find a fairly elegant solution: Dulurza was sat on a chair, and Elisif was sat on Dulurza.

"This is the cutest thing Khajiit has ever seen." L'laarzen whispered, from her spot guarding the door.

"Right? It's making me miss my girlfriend." Hjar whispered back from next to her.

"I'm sorry." Elisif mumbled into the crook of Dulurza's neck.

"It's fine." Dulurza reassured her, rubbing her back with one hand.

"It's just…he was there—"

"It's fine."

"And he was saying all that—"

"It's. Fine." Dulurza repeated. "You were more civil than he deserved. If this was in the Strongholds, one of us would be dead."

"I was just…I told you this would happen if I was near him." Elisif said, supressing a sob. "It's like…I see him standing there with that look on his face and I'm right back in the throne room watching him—"

"Easy." Dulurza gently lifted Elisif's head, and kissed her. "Relax, we don't need to think about it until tomorrow."

"But I need to look over the—"

"Later."

Elisif huffed, but smiled. "So? What else are we going to do?"

"I can think of a few things."

"Do…you need the two of us to leave the room?" L'laarzen asked, prompting a snort from Hjar.

"…so it may have looked like an unmitigated disaster, but it actually kind of wasn't." Xander's voice echoed from the corridor before he came through the door, arms full of paper. "I spoke to Ulfric and it seems like he thought it was just as awkward as everyone else, so he's fine with dropping…uh…"

His gaze came to rest on the Jarl of Solitude sitting in her Thane's lap.

"L'laarzen." Dulurza hissed, affronted.

"What? He already knows." The Khajiit dismissed.

"He does?" Xander looked at her, then back at the two women on the chair. "Wait, are you two…OH!"

"How did you not already know that?" Hjar demanded, "It was obvious! I noticed the moment I saw them!"

"Octavia told us they were kissing." L'laarzen pointed out, exasperated.

"I thought she was just joking!" Xander protested. "She says stuff like that all the time, it doesn't—Actually thinking back, this makes a lot of things make sense. Oh, wow, I feel dumb."

Dulurza leaned back in her chair and groaned. "Did you know, I once said you were the smartest person I know? I actually said that."

Elisif giggled, relaxing.

"Okay, so, you two are…and Hjar has a—" Xander scrunched his nose up. "I'm sorry, can I get a quick 'who's into what' check from everyone present, please?"

"I like women." Dulurza responded, promptly.

"Men and women." Hjar waved an arm in the air.

"That, too." Elisif said, flushing.

I'm into everything. Said Potema, inside Elisif's head.

"Khajiit does not particularly care for the squishy bits, but she can love anyone." L'laarzen said, with an unconcerned smile.

Xander looked between them, then threw his hands in the air. "So once again, I'm the boring one. I'm the least interesting person in our group, again."

"And you're the only one who's never had a lover." Dulurza pointed out, grinning.

"Hey! You don't know that!"

"Yes I do."

"Oh, go munch dirt."

"Well, at least we can all agree women are pretty." Hjar raised. "This is a bonding experience!"

"I've learned to be very wary of any sort of 'bonding' recently, but I see your point." Elisif said, twisting around in Dulurza's lap so she was facing the room.

"Hey, if we're allowed to ask inappropriate questions, my turn." Dulurza spoke up, wrapping her arms around Elisif's midriff. "Hjar…you're a werewolf."

"Yes." Hjar replied.

"You have a ring that can turn other people into werewolves."

"Also yes…"

"…Have you and Margret—"

"Dulurza!" Hjar screeched as it clicked, making Xander burst out laughing.

"It's a valid question! What, I'd try it!"

"I am not answering that."

"That technically wasn't a no." Elisif pointed out, making the Breton explode into a stuttering mess, and laughing.

She knew this was just a distraction. But it was a pleasant one, so she might as well allow it.

…So while we're on the subject of people sleeping with each other, can I—

No.

It was day four of negotiations. Things were going poorly.

"You Imperial dogs can't expect us to roll over and give you Fort Dunstad for free!" Galmar protested.

"Tit for tat." Ulfric said. "We want compensation for the massacre at Frost River Farm."

"Massacre?" Tullius scoffed. "Does losing a battle require compensation now?"

"Sir." Rikke whispered warningly in his ear.

"Battle?" Galmar pointed a finger. "That was no battle! Your men killed women and children at Frost River! I was there! I had to bury them!"

"If we're bringing up massacres, would you care to explain what happened at Karthwasten?" Rikke countered. "No Imperial army there, but I could see the smoke from a Hold away!"

"Of course, you use a technicality to hide that—"

SLAM.

Everyone went silent, and turned to the head of the table.

The Dragonborn removed his fist from the splintered crack he had formed in the stone, glaring across at all of them. Next to him, Xander gulped.

"Am I catering to children?" The Dragonborn demanded. "Have you forgotten why we are here, or must I say it again? Alduin Has Returned. Every single one of you is going to die. And yet you squabble among each other about your petty war, whine about the loss of your petty lives, while every second you waste the end of the world grows closer!"

Xander (at this point, bricking it) opened his mouth. "What I think the Dragonborn means is—"

"Stop. Wasting. Time." DB said, his voice like ice. "For once, stop haggling about the minutia, Take The Loss, and do what you need to, or doom the entirety of Mundus."

Xander clamped his mouth shut, and tried not to think too hard about the fact that the man he was sat next to could…probably kill everyone else in the room at once.

Everyone looked somewhere from offput to terrified, even Julius. After a few seconds, Tullius spoke up. "That's what we've been trying to say the entire time. That's the only reason we're here."

Xander breathed out in relief.

"It's these rebels who insist on pushing their own agenda. If they would just consent to—"

"And why should we be the ones to bear the burden?" Ulfric asked. "If the Empire is so magnanimous, it should—"

The Dragonborn stood, abruptly, and strode stiffly around the table to the door.

"Um, excuse me—" Xander also stood, taking off after the demigod. Ulfric and Tullius continued arguing.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o

Xander finally caught up with the Dragonborn as he hurled open the doors to the back courtyard and stormed out into the snowstorm.

"DB!" He shouted. "Listen, I know it's bad, but—"

"What is WRONG with them?" The Dragonborn demanded, rounding on Xander. "They know! They know and still they argue!"

"The end of the world is a big thing to comprehend, okay?" Xander pacified, already starting to shiver. "People are bad at understanding things at greater magnitudes, it becomes a statistic, doesn't really register—"

"You understand." DB countered. At some point, he had switched into Dovahzuul. "You get it. Me, you, Paarthurnax, maybe Esbern and the other Greybeards. Why doesn't anyone else see?"

"It's hard!" Xander protested. "I've spent my life studying this stuff! They'll do it when they're pushed to, they just don't want to. It's like…" He struggled for a metaphor, "Did you have your own room as a kid?"

"I don't know."

"Right. It's like, say you leave your used tissues on your desk. Your parent says 'move them', you say 'why? I'm still using them', they say 'but they're gross', you say 'but it's my desk', they say 'but it's my house', you write a spell to animate rubbish—" He stopped himself before it could get too personal. "It doesn't cost you much to bin the tissues, and it doesn't cost your parents much to let it be. And both parties think 'yes, it's minor, but why should I be the one to pay it, and not them?' Kyne it's cold out here—"

"So they won't agree, because they both think the other should be the one to capitulate." The Dragonborn summarised.

"They will!"

DB looked at Xander, and he quailed. "Eventually! Trust me, this is the fastest peaceful way to resolve the problem."

"And what if I'm sick of doing it the peaceful way?" DB asked.

"Ehehe. Uh, what?" Xander tilted his head.

The Dragonborn turned away, looking into the snow.

"You do well with deadlines," He said, "so here's another. Get them to agree to the peace by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Xander gaped at him. "It's already late afternoon, there's no way I'll be able to—"

The Dragonborn turned back to look at him, and he got a very uneasy feeling in his gut.

"…What…happens if I can't?" He asked.

"Then I order them to make peace." The Dragonborn said, eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "And I tell them that if they don't, the first side to so much as fire an arrow against the other gets me, knocking down the door to their capital, killing everyone who gets in my way, and then slaying them and all their leading officers."

Xander's jaw dropped. "But…DB, you can't do that—"

"Why not?" The Dragonborn asked, flatly. "It's not like they could stop me."

"But—But—They'll turn on you immediately!" Xander was starting to feel very cold, and it wasn't because of the snow. "You'll be the enemy of Skyrim! They'll both start plotting to stop you immediately, and, and what happened to staying neutral? You said you don't care about the war!"

"I don't. But it's in my way."

"You'd be taking dozens of lives without even deciding their cause was wrong—"

"THE WORLD! IS ENDING!" DB roared, his Voice blasting away a volume of snow and making Xander stumble backwards. "You understand that, don't you? How many people will die in battle before they agree, Xander? A dozen? Two dozen? More? More than I can kill alone, that's for certain, and all of those deaths are rejuvenating Alduin! How many people are in the world? You're smart, do the numbers yourself. If I have to kill everyone in High Hrothgar right now to increase my odds of winning by one in ten, one in a hundred, then I Will Do It."

"I…I'm in High Hrothgar, DB." Was all Xander could say. "Do you want to kill me?"

The Dragonborn took a breath, looked away. "No." He said. "Which is why I am giving you a chance. Get them to agree by tomorrow. If they don't, I give my ultimatum."

"But…but that's just not enough time!" Xander spread his arms, desperately. "If—If maybe you give me—"

"You'll do it." DB said, walking closer to him. "You're not a politician, Xander. You're not an Archmage, you're not a liar.

You're a drama queen. One night, to make the people who hate each other most in the world agree to a peace. Get it done."

With that, he kept walking, and was swallowed by the ice and snow.

Ooooooh boy.

Five acts building up the DB as a badass comes down to this. I'm always a sucker for the MC who is like, hyper-focused on accomplishing their goal but also a bit of a himbo/herbo when it comes to anything else. Link from Legend of Zelda or Masterchief from Halo come to mind. So here's what happens when that trait shows its ugly side.

The Dragonborn found an obstacle he couldn't punch, so he's turning it into one he can. Leaving Xander with an opponent he absolutely can't punch, and an impossible challenge to take on instead.

Amusingly, despite the chaotic threats and negotiations, this is also the first time in a while the characters have had a chance to just sit down and interact. I had a lot of fun with that, and I hope you did too.

Next Time: In the spirit of Todd Howard: LIES.