Ok the next update should come pretty quick since this chapter accidentally hit 6k+ and the other half is 95% done. I just didn't want to drop that giant chapter on yall but heres the first half lol
"Ah! Thane Therel! I'm so glad you've made it." Maven Blackbriar interrupted another Thane she had been mid conversation with when her bored glances around the room set her eyes on the recently entered trio. "And Ulfric. I was beginning to worry our two most esteemed guests would miss tonight."
Nariilu forced a smile as the Jarl clasped her hand too firmly in greeting. "A pleasure, Jarl Blackbriar. Excellent to finally be deemed worthy of your festivities." Maven's parties were something of an evening, she thought, glancing around the entrance hall to Mistveil keep. Long banners of fabric decorated the walls on top of the usual ornate tapestries, proclaiming the history of Riften through colorful images. A group of Bards Nariilu couldn't see were off somewhere playing a light dancing tune, though no one was dancing.
"Yes, well, it's rare one climbs so high from such a low start," Maven replied. "Ulfric, I'm glad you are well." She turned her body to block Nariilu out of the conversation as a whole.
"Excellent to see you, Jarl," Stormcloak said, clasping her hand with a smile Nariilu hadn't seen him wear. "I thank you for your generosity for everything, including inviting us to your home." He bowed to her. "The Rift has never had such a driven Jarl."
Maven laughed. "Oh, I'm certain. Thane," Maven turned her head until she was barely acknowledging her, "I'd like to discuss a possible business deal with you."
"Jarl, I am of the opinion that business is best discussed with a drink in hand," Nariilu replied. A strong drink, when it came to dealing with Maven.
"Of course, of course. We have a selection of a few rare Blackbriar labels, of course. I'm sure you'll find them to your liking," Maven replied, gesturing to a spot across the hall. "Or, you may find our collection of simpler drinks suit your palate."
Divines, Nariilu hoped Maven's insults towards her were getting through Stormcloak's thick head. Nariilu smiled. "Well, then, if you'll excuse me…"
Nariilu moved across the floor, keeping her head high and stately as the other nobles in the room did. She recognized more than a few people scanning the room as she crossed, most, if not all, of the other Thanes were in attendance, followed by Housecarls in their armor two steps behind. A vast majority of other guests seemed to be merchants, judging by their attire and the sheer size of the jewelry and rings they wore. Around half dozen weren't Nords, and half of those were Dunmer, Nariilu noted. One, dressed in a silvery, well embroidered robe, was followed by a guard in boney, bug-like armor.
She didn't know the Great Houses dealt with outsiders; though, if they were going to start trading with Skyrim, Nariilu understood why they'd make contact with Maven and her trade monopoly first. Then again, the man might not even be from one of the Great Houses. She couldn't see any sigil on him, or on his guard's shield. She rolled her eyes to herself. As if she'd recognize a sigil even if there was one; she'd only gotten into politics recently, and had only concerned herself with Skyrim's disaster of a political landscape and, to a much lesser extent, the Empire as a whole.
A steward stood by a table with multiple bottles of wines and meads and crystalline cups. "Hello, Madam," the steward said, "how may I serve you, this evening?"
"Anything without a Blackbriar label, if that's possible."
"Cliff Racer wine, Firebrand wine, Colovian brandy-"
"Surprise me." Nariilu watched the steward pour Cliff Racer into one of the tall-stemmed glasses, taking it from the steward with just a barest hint of a smile. The swirling dark red, nearly purple, wine reminded her of an experimental potion she had seen another Battlemage make in training: half health potion, half magicka potion. Nariilu would've preferred drinking that, as the potion had given him a nasty case of paralysis. She would've taken any opportunity to leave, even if she had to be physically carried out.
Nariilu swirled the wine in the glass and took a sip, letting the sour florals of the wine wash over her tongue. She wondered if Iona wanted a drink. Probably, but none of the other Housecarls seemed to be holding drinks, or doing anything other than standing at rest nearby their Thanes. No wonder Iona hadn't wanted to come, though Nariilu was thankful she had; it'd be in horrible taste to be both the newest Thane and the only one without their Housecarl present.
"Cliff Racer for myself, as well." Nariilu caught the golden skin of an Altmer approaching out of the corner of her eye, and the slight nasal accent betrayed the woman as a Thalmor Agent before Nariilu looked to see the long, ornate dress robes over her tall frame. Nariilu took a second to place her face, and felt her blood run cold. First Emissary Elenwen. "I, too, grow tired of Nordic ales and meads, though Jarl Blackbriar does produce the most palatable variety. A shame wines grow poorly this far north; I long for the rich variety of the Summerset Isles."
"I'm afraid I've not tried any wines from the Isles," Nariilu responded, walking over to the side wall. Much to her chagrin, Elenwen took her wine from the steward and followed.
"A shame." Elenwen paused to sip her wine and frowned. "Bitter. We meet again, it seems. Although, this time I know who and what you really are."
"You'd be deaf if you hadn't heard of me by now." Nariilu scanned the Ambassador for any sign of tension, anything at all that could signal an attack so she could prepare in the fractions of a second it would take for a spell to hit at this range. Nothing, outside of the standard chilling aura Nariilu could swear was enchanted into Thalmor robes.
"Oh, don't expect hostilities, especially here of all places," Elenwen said, tracking Nariilu's gaze. "I'm more impressed than anything, Thane. Or Dragonborn. Perhaps you prefer Legate?"
"Dragonborn is fine, Ambassador," Nariilu replied. She would've liked to tell Elenwen to keep her name and titles out of her Thalmor mouth, but settled on her unique title.
"Well, Dragonborn, the attack on my Embassy was nearly flawless. Not just anyone could defeat three dozen of my best soldiers and mages. The theft of my dossiers, my money, my scrolls, my letters, my prisoner, all impressive feats." Elenwen swirled her wine in the glass absentmindedly.
"Why are you telling me what I already know?" Nariilu scowled. "If you're going to arrest me, do it, cause a scene, here and across Tamriel."
Elenwen laughed. "Arrest you? Oh, I'd never even try. You should know you're admired. Few obtain your level of skill, not to mention your…unique abilities. I doubt General Tullius knows how to fully utilize your talents, outside of using you as a one-woman army to throw at the Stormcloaks. I've read reports that you've taken forts by yourself."
That was rather generous, Nariilu thought. Fort Greenwall had been held by ten soldiers, at most. Far too few to defend the giant keep, and spread far too thin to assist each other. "You could hardly call it a fort," Nariilu said.
"So humble, for someone who ended a years-long civil war in a country that is not your own in a matter of months."
Elenwen was upset that the war couldn't weaken Skyrim or the Empire anymore, if the slight tightness in her voice was any indication. "I grew tired of having politics get in the way of dragon hunting." Nariilu nonchalantly sipped her wine, looking away from the Ambassador to scan over the room. Maven was still talking with Stormcloak, and both were smiling. At least he hadn't noticed the Thalmor presence yet; he wouldn't be smiling if he had. "Why are you here, Ambassador?" Nariilu immediately knew she spat the question just as hostile as it had been intended.
"I arrived in Riften a week ago, to monitor the end of the war and make sure any treaties that were written were in accordance with the White-Gold Concordat," Elenwen replied, not a hint of hostility in her voice, even at her harsh question. Damn these politicians and their slippery tongues. "Besides, Jarl Blackbriar and I have a similar appreciation for the finer things in life, and I'd never miss an opportunity to forge bonds with the nobility of the northeast of Tamriel."
"And is everything to the Dominion's liking?" Nariilu was careful to hide her distain-no, hatred-for the Thalmor this time.
Elenwen smiled. "It is, I'm glad the Empire was able to make such agreeable terms even without an Agent to oversee them. It shows a strong cooperation and mutual respect, wouldn't you agree?" Nariilu didn't respond, and instead took a long drink. "Yes, I'll drink to that, too." Elenwen took a short sip. "Though, I'm a bit confused on the matter of Ulfric Stormcloak. You must know how dangerous he is to the unity of the Empire, especially here in Skyrim."
"I'm well aware, Ambassador. I believe him to be more valuable alive than martyred," Nariilu replied. "Do you have any objections to his life?"
"He is a known worshipper of the false god, yet I agree that he would be a martyr for his supporters if he were killed, as is the punishment for his crimes and treason. In fact, it seems you've been a positive influence on him already! Look how he mingles with the best of the Empire," Elenwen said, gesturing to how Maven was introducing him to a man dressed in a fine cloak embordered with the crest of Cheydinhal. "Speaking of, how do you keep him around? Not a week ago he was spouting hatred for Dunmer like yourself and disguising it as disdain for the Empire."
"He is a quiet man," Nariilu responded. "Aside from a few comments, typical of Nords, he has shown no ill will towards my race, or the Empire. Perhaps he truly was a figurehead for the Stormcloaks, as his general claimed. I expect he will come to support the Empire in due time," Nariilu lied. The stubborn man had probably never changed his mind about anything.
"And his views on the false god will change as well, I trust," Elenwen said, placing a hand to her neck.
"Perhaps." Nariilu looked back at Stormcloak, catching the distinctive copper flash of his Amulet of Talos just apparent enough beside the brighter red of the ruby and the cool silver chain that surrounded it.
"And your views will change," Elenwen stated. Nariilu's eyes darted down; her own Amulet had come free of her bodice and was plainly tangled in her necklace. She pulled a hand up to cover it, and tried to discreetly shake the chains free. "I could have you both arrested where you stand. I suggest you learn the role of the Dominion in the Empire, and stop worshipping a man who killed thousands of your ancestors on the name of conquest."
"Oh, so similar to a certain Dominion of Elves, though I'd never invoke their wrath by comparing them to mere Men." Nariilu slipped her Amulet back inside her bodice. She continued, "You could try and arrest me, but you don't want to lose another three dozen soldiers, do you? I'm important, now; there isn't a single hold in Skyrim that I'm not in favor with, and I've just ended the Civil War and unified the Empire. Unless you want to start another war with the Empire, I'm untouchable."
Elenwen burst out laughing. "My dear little Dunmer, how you overestimate yourself!"
Maven had forgotten how insufferably long-winded Ulfric was. She faked smile after smile, humbly downplaying the sheer amount of resources she sent his way over the past two years. She'd half a mind to admit the Thalmor had been funding his war effort through her as a proxy just to get him to shut up. She was beginning to rethink the entire night; at least the Thane-Scum Therel was discussing something with Elenwen. Perhaps her attitudes were changing, it didn't take a scholar to know that it was Therel that threw the Dominion Embassy into such a state of chaos all of Elenwen's parties had been canceled through Second Seed.
Perhaps a business deal wasn't out of the question. Therel could prove valuable yet; her influence in western Skyrim may be what finally convinces Elisif to let her mead in the ports, and to finally stop importing that swill from Hammerfell. Maven would do anything to get her hands on even a portion of the East Empire Trading Company, even be friendly with Therel. But until she had the chance to converse with the elf, Maven had a few thousand Septims waiting for her if she gleaned enough information from Ulfric.
"Oh, don't trouble yourself with humility," Maven replied. "If anything, thank not me, but the Divines for allowing me to assist such a noble cause while I could. I only wish I had been able to do more." Elenwen had promised a bonus for helping the war last; in ten days it would have been two years, and an extra fifty-thousand Septims. "Yet, we must be thankful that the war has ended, and Skyrim's people are no longer at arms."
Ulfric nodded. "The Divines send blessings even in hardship. At least now, the sons and daughters of Skyrim know they are not alone in distrust of the Empire, and the Empire knows that we are unhappy with their dishonorable rule. It is not my place to liberate Skyrim, but there will be another, soon enough for me to live to see it, if the gods are willing."
"Oh, Jarl-"
"I am no Jarl."
"Ulfric," Maven corrected. Her 'slip' led to a small downward tilt in Ulfric's eyes; he was still uncomfortable with his loss in status, in honor. "Surely you know how you inspire us all, against the Empire. I, myself, am trying to follow your example as best as I can; I've imposed tariffs against the Empire and blocked their wine trade in the region, even to Vvardenfell. I am no general, no great leader, but I am doing my part where I can."
It sure didn't hurt that blocking any sort of Cyrodillic spirits gave her even more of a monopoly on the industry, and the Morrowind vintners were easy to convince to do the same. She'd absorb the small Morrowind vineyards soon enough, and expand her label into carrying the varied wines that were quickly growing in demand faster than their small producers could keep up. Nothing but positives for everyone, except for the Nibenay growers that threatened her brand.
Besides, it sounded like good anti-Imperial policies, especially to one without much economic know-how, like Ulfric. How he had managed to keep Eastmarch functioning and out of any significant debt over the last twenty years would remain a mystery to her.
"Be careful, Jarl, that the Empire does not impose its own sanctions against you," Ulfric warned.
"The Empire is in no place to retaliate against my taxes. In fact, I have the support of the Count of Cheydinhal." Granted, the Count of Cheydinhal was a stupid puppet the Dominion was paying to keep the people content enough while Maven and the Dominion drained the rich province of its money. The wine tax was one of the more profitable policies Maven had enacted. Speaking of, the Count was wandering aimlessly through the crowds. He likely knew few of the other guests, Maven guessed, since he was the only Cyrodiilic man in attendance, save for the two guards and a steward he had brought with him. "Count Alorus!"
The man made a slow turn, and his face lit up when he spotted her faking a smile at him across the room. His barely pointed ears had slipped out from under his hat; he usually kept them covered to hide his half-elven status. He strode over with all the grace of a man who had been sipping wine near constantly for the past few hours. "Ah, Jarl Blackbriar. A pleasure," Count Alorus said, dipping one knee slightly to grab Maven's hand and bring it to his lips. Maven yanked her hand away as quickly as could be seen as polite. "And-"
"General Ulfric Stormcloak," Maven introduced, watching the Count slowly connect the pieces. The two men lowered their heads to each other. "General, this is Count Alorus of Cheydinhal. We were just discussing the new trade policies, and General Stormcloak was curious as to your perspective." He had stopped being recognized as a member of House Hlaalu some time during the Great War; Maven figured the Dominion started paying him better than the former Great House, and he finally realized that the name Hlaalu had no power behind it anymore.
Count Alorus smiled. "The taxes are holding our vineyards to a higher standard. It's such a shame that we have allowed our quality to drop in favor of quantity," he said. Ulfric frowned for a second before composing himself; even he knew that the explanation he gave was false. Still, he did his job well: it was exactly how Maven had justified it to the Count. "It's no surprise that Jarl Blackbriar has stopped the import of our wine, now that I have tasted the complexities of her mead."
Maven faked a laugh. "Oh, how you flatter me!" As if his simple palate could tell the difference between ale and mead and wine and water.
"We've also turned our trade back to Cyrodiil," Count Alorus continued, "and it's become more profitable for us to trade wine within the province, instead of exporting and paying taxes and caravans."
"I'm glad the Nibenay Region is thriving," Ulfric said. He made brief eye contact with Maven, he knew the man was either an idiot or a pawn, or both.
"Count, I am about to call for the banquet, if you would like to go ahead of the crowds to your seat," Maven said. It was a few minutes early, but she could only take so much of the Count's willing ignorance and Ulfric's bright-eyed idealism. The Count thanked them and bowed. "Ulfric, anything you need, anything I can help with, well, you know where to find me, High King." The color drained from his face. Maven continued before he could interrupt. "You need only ask, and I will do anything in my power to help."
Ulfric paused for a moment. "I could ask nothing from you, as you have remained my ally even through defeat. I would never have had half a chance at success if you had not stood behind me against the tyranny of the Empire and the Dominion." He lowered his voice, Maven wondered if he had finally caught sight of the Thalmor guards around the hall. "But, if I could beg you for one thing, please, keep the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim safe, however you can."
"Such is a given." Maven smiled once more at Ulfric before turning and gesturing to the Bards to quiet down so she could address the whole hall. She had him right where Elenwen wanted him: grateful and clueless.