*STORMHOLD*
SHADOWFEN
BLACK MARSH
"Gods above, have mercy."
Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold stepped almost gingerly through the remains of the battlefield. He and Frea Wise-Voice of the Skaal were walking over the path carved into the marsh. In the bogs surrounding them, bodies lay with unseeing eyes staring up at the heavens which had deserted them.
"All-Father, take these souls," the shaman of the Skaal stated solemnly. The glint of her Stalhrim armor contrasted strongly with the mud and marsh around her, but she knelt in the muck without a second thought, closing the eyes of a nearby Naga warrior, folding the puff-adder-like creature's arms over his chest.
"Shall I tell out burial parties, my lord?" Kraldar asked, but Llewellyn Dragonborn shook his head.
"No, my friend. The Argonians believe that the bodies of the dead are food for the Hist. We shall honor their wishes, and their beliefs."
He turned away, looking over the field with a mournful look on his face, and then strode back towards the figure of Odahviing overlooking the field, much of its carnage his own handiwork.
"He has done what no army has done since the days of Tiber Septim," Kraldar said gravely to those within hearing distance. "He's beaten the lizards on their own ground."
"If I hadn't seen it for myself, I wouldn't be believing it," General Veloth stated, the Dunmer's bonemold armor rattling as he shook his head. "Tribunal bear witness, if it hadn't been for those… what are they called again?"
"'Guns,'" Frea answered.
"What kind of word is that?"
The leader of the Skaal shrugged.
"It is what the Arch-Mage calls them."
The "guns" had rendered the obscuring cover the high reeds completely moot. Where an archer had to see a target in order to hit it, the ordered ranks of the Blades could fire blindly into the marchlands with devastating effect. Where the thick, almost mat-like reeds could stop an arrow as sure as armored plate, the… "bullets" cut through them like a scythe. The multiple volleys had literally cleared a field in front of the Nordic ranks as cleanly as a harvesting team, except that this was a bloody harvest of corpses, rather than life-giving wheat.
Another group of riders, these astride local Kagouti mounts, rode up to where the High King stood. In the center, bearing a green branch of truce, sat an Argonian, a noble by his scales and armor.
"What is your message?" Llewellyn stated, placing a hand on Odahviing, as if restraining a feral beast. The gesture was as meaningless as it was useful. Odahviing tended to have an intimidating effect on everyone who beheld him, so therefore anyone who could control such a beast was certainly someone to take seriously.
"Your Majesty," the Argonian hissed, his accent strong on his forked tongue, "my king invites you to parley."
Llewellyn nodded slowly, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
"Where and when?"
"His gere is pitched a single ell eastward," the Argonian noble answered, pointing with the branch. "He stands ready to converse at your earliest convenience, if that should please you, lord."
His accent made the last word come out as larrrr, but the tone was even and perhaps slightly deferential.
"Very well," Llewellyn answered, "Inform him that we shall be joining him as quickly as our mounts may bear us."
The messenger nodded and rode off again, this time alone. The Imperial dismounted with a grunt, wincing as he massaged his thighs.
"I'm getting old, Heron," Tullius groaned. "War is a madness for the young."
"You are not yet so long in the tooth," Sarai Gellarus chuckled, the Arch-Mage stepping closer to cast a Healing Spell on the Imperator.
"Longer than I care to remember," he replied with a sigh and nod of gratitude. "Do you think this is some sort of ruse, Majesty?"
"No limit was placed on the number of escorts," Llewellyn shrugged. "I mean to take full advantage of that oversight."
Indeed, the party that rode up to the lone tent pitched in the middle of a rare open field numbered almost a hundred warriors, made up of Dunmer, Nords, Imperials, and Skaal. By contrast, barely twenty Argonian royal guards surrounded the tent, but they saluted gravely as the king's housecarl made her way into the tent first.
Lydia had barely disappeared into the tent when Lewis heard a startled gasp. His hand reached for his sword-hilt as he stepped into the tent. As his eye adjusted, he saw that while the tent was spacious and open, only a single figure stood within it. Rather than the familiar face of Kelan-Tel, a stranger's face faced him across the tent.
"Kailev?"
Lydia of Whiterun looked positively incredulous, and her hand rose to her mouth in surprise. The Argonian grinned, showing several rows of pointed teeth.
"It's good to see you again, Lydia."
Rather than the hissing accent of most residents of Black Marsh, or even the deep rumbling of Kelan-Tel, the stranger's accent bore no trace of accent whatsoever. Its tones could have been equally at home in the Bard's College of Solitude or the Imperial Palace of Cyrodiil.
"You know one another?" he asked finally, breaking the silence. Lydia blushed heartily, and then turned back to her ruler.
"Forgive me, your majesty," she said hastily. "May I present Kailev-Tel, Prince of the Royal House of Black Marsh. We were both merely children during the time he was fostered in Whiterun."
Llewellyn's eyebrows raised in surprise, and Kailev bowed slightly.
"I hope that Jarl Balgruuf is still in good health," he grinned, "I learned much from my time with him."
"As have I," Llewellyn Dragonborn nodded. "And yes, he is still in excellent health, when last I saw him."
He looked around the tent again.
"Forgive me," he said slowly, "But your father is not yet here?"
"It would be more accurate to say that my father is no longer here," Kailev-Tel replied, and there was a sadness behind the forced joviality in his voice.
"He has left?" Tullius asked incredulously.
"He has…given himself to the Hist, in payment for his failure to protect our people," Kailev-Tel answered simply, taking the central seat reserved for the Argonian King. "After you crossed our borders, the An-Xileel demanded that he give you battle, rather than allow our sacred soil," the derision was obvious, even on his reptilian features, "to be defiled by foreigners."
He lifted a hand to gesture at the surrounding marsh.
"I don't have to tell you how well that went."
Llewellyn bowed his head.
"I am sorry that he has… rejoined the Hist," he stated slowly, sinking into a chair opposite the new King of Black Marsh. "It was my hope that we might be able to come to terms."
"That was never going to happen without defeating him first, Llewellyn Dragonborn," Kailev-Tel shrugged. "And a defeated Argonian cannot be King of Black Marsh."
"And you have taken this opportunity to become king?" the Arch-mage asked, taking her own seat.
"I have been chosen by the Hist as the appropriate leader to serve the People," Kailev replied sharply. "Believe me, Arch Mage, you have no idea how much I would rather the ever-wise Hist's choice had fallen on another of my brood-brothers or sisters."
With a visible effort, the new King of Black Marsh collected himself, and then returned his gaze to the High King of Skyrim.
"But here I am, and here we are. The majority of the faction that was clamoring for war lie face-down in the marshes yonder," he gestured, "and those that live still have had their white-hot desire for war cooled by the bitter waters of defeat."
A long pause fell on the party.
"My father attempted three times to give you pitched battle, and three times came away broken and defeated," Kailev stated evenly. "Rest assured, I will not make the same mistake. You will not get another chance to face in open combat again. Rather, you will receive volley after volley of arrows from behind every tree and reed-bed as you advance south. Traps will be beneath every fallen log, and poison will be in every well that we leave behind us. Darts will face you during the day, and knives in the night, and you will lose your entire army before you conquer Argonia.
Unless you run out of room to retreat, first," Llewellyn stated evenly.
A ghost of a smile crept across the young Argonian's face.
"Based upon the fact that my father burned everything between here and Kragenmoor during the retreat, that means that unless you want to bring supplies all the way from Solstheim, things are going to get very thin indeed on the ground for you."
"What do you propose instead?" Tullius snapped, an edge of sarcasm in his tone. "Perhaps that we turn around and go home, after winning victory after victory?"
"I have been chosen by the Hist," Kailev-Tel continued, refusing to rise to the challenge. "That means that they must have given their blessing on the advice I offered my father during his time as king. And so I must act upon my own advice."
He gazed levelly at the High King of Skyrim.
"So I have come to ask Llewellyn Dragonborn what terms he would offer to the People, rather than lose any more of the soldiers that you will need to defeat Tiberius Medeborn in Cyrodiil, and save me the lives of the People who would gladly give their lives to stop you, rather than admit defeat."
There was a long pause, and the eyes of all present turned back to the High King of Skyrim, who lifted a hand to rub his bearded chin.
"The People have fought valiantly," he stated after a moment. "And have proven their ancestors who drove back the Daedra themselves proud. No warrior who has lifted blade against us thus far in the campaign need be ashamed of their efforts."
Kailev acknowledged the praise with a slight bow of his head.
I am not a bloodthirsty monster, to delight in bloodshed and war. I would not slay a single Argonian or Naga more than I have to, in order to secure safety for the Dunmer of Morrowind. But far more secure than any peace treaty, leaden with those bitter waters you spoke of, and terms of territory surrendered, or reparations repaid, is a declaration of friendship, and alliance."
With the exception of Sarai Gellarus, who merely smiled in knowing approval, everyone present started in surprise, and even Kailev-Tel blinked at the words.
"Black Marsh, Morrowind, and Skyrim were united in friendship, and shed blood together to defeat a common enemy, only a few short years ago," Llewellyn continued. "It has been through the bone-headed stupidity of an idiotic child that had driven us apart again, and cost the lives of so many, Dunmer, Nord, and Argonian alike."
"You would take the word of your enemies?" Kailev-Tel asked incredulously.
"Swear by the Hist that the boundaries set at the Field of Gold will be honored and send your warriors to aid us in defeating the legions of the false Emperor," Llew nodded in answer. "After all, Kailev-Tel, no defeated ruler can be King of Black Marsh."
Kailev-Tel nodded in understanding. His personally leading the troops under the Dragonborn would be placing his own life on the line, and dependent on the victory of the Nordic High King.
"What interesting times we live in, it seems," the Argonian king smiled. "And this is acceptable to Councilor Morvayn?"
"We trust in the wisdom of the High King," Lleril nodded. "What with the Dominion regaining much of its former strength in the south, and the rise of a new Covenant in the west, it seems only wise to the Great House of Morrowind that a new… um.. Pact, shall we say, be made."
"A Second Ebonheart Pact," chuckled Kailev-Tel. "If I remember my history lessons correctly, the first one ended rather badly."
"If we learn from the mistakes of our forefathers," Arch-Mage Gellarus stated slowly, "then we need not emulate them."
"Here, here," Jarl Kraldar nodded, a gesture repeated by Imperator Tullius.
Kailev-Tel contemplated for another long moment, and then extended his hand to Llewellyn Dragonborn.
"Then the People of the Hist will stand with you, Dragonborn," he stated slowly.
*SOME TIME LATER*
Several figures stood in a half-circle, with the figure of the Arch-Mage of Winterhold standing before them. Sarai Gellarus lifted her staff high above her in the sign of Invocation.
"We call upon the Divines to bear Witness," she called out in a loud voice. "Let them turn their gaze upon this place, and bear witness for the Ages to Come."
She then lowered her staff and her gaze at the first figure.
"Who are you, stranger, and why have you come thus to this Circle?"
The tall man in Dragonbone armor as black as night drew himself up to his full and impressive height.
"I am Llewellyn Dragonborn, High King of Skyrim," he stated proudly, but without hubris. "I stand before my ancestors at this holy place to seal our Pact for the greater good."
The staff turned to the second figure.
"And you, Dunmer?"
Lleril Morvayn bowed at the waist in a ceremonial bow of the Great Houses of Morrowind.
"I, Lleril Morvayn, represent the Dunmer and the Tribunal. I stand in this circle to affirm our place in the Ebonheart Pact."
Kailev-Tel straightened in his turn and placed a hand upon his chest in solemn contemplation.
"My name is Kailev-Tel," he said in a grave and solemn tone, "And I stand on this mound to proclaim the allegiance, word and bond of the swamps of Black Marsh. In the name of my people, I add my voice to form the Ebonheart Pact."
"What token do you bring, as proof of your word?"
Llewellyn lifted the helmet from his own head, placing in on the stone before him.
"The Nords offer the Jagged Crown of Borgas. The symbol of power and wisdom provides the Pact with the strength and authority of our Nord ancestors."
The staff pointed to Lleril Morvayn, who reached behind him and held up a gleaming object.
"The Dunmer offer the Star of Azura, an artifact of ancient magic. This provides the Pact with our skills and the blessing of the Tribunal."
Sarai Gellarus hid her slight smile. She had been with Lewis when he had reclaimed and purified that particular artifact. It had been given as a gift to Councilor Morvayn during the Dragonborn's first visit to Solstheim to defeat Miraak.
Kailev-Tel lifted a black object between his hands, holding it high before placing it next to the two previous objects.
"The Argonians offer the Mnemic Egg, sacred symbol of birth and life, thus granting our wisdom, and the memories of the Hist, to the Pact."
"With these offerings," Sarai stated, her heart pounding in her chest, "The Pact is sealed. Let our nations become one!"
"My friends," Imperator Servetus Tullius stepped forward, holding the Imperial Crown high and placing it with the others. "I am no ruler, and thus cannot speak for the people of Cyrodiil to wish their joining this pact. But I shall speak for those represented here to call for a single leader to hold this Pact together."
He turned and went to one knee before Llewellyn.
"We believe High King Llewellyn Dragonborn is the one to lead us."
"So say we," nodded the Dunmer.
"So say we all," nodded the Argonian.
Llewellyn Dragonborn looked down, and then replaced the Jagged Crown on his head.
"I accept the role of High King of the Ebonheart Pact," he stated slowly, and then drew a deep breath.
"MUL QAH-DIIV!"
A murmur of shocked awe ran through the assembled crowd as the flaming Dragon Aspect surrounded the form of their High King.
"Let our enemies tremble at our assembled might!"
Author's Note:
Hello everyone! Moving across the country, looking for a new job, and being an involved father of a two-year-old has drawn away most of my time, and unfortunately, my updates to this story has suffered. But I'm hoping to still continue this story. My thanks to the readers who have PM'd me to inquire after my health. :D
Llewellyn's victories have lead to the creation of a third faction in this conflict (well, fourth if you count Medeborn's Empire) and with PoTala marching across Cyrodiil and the Aldmeri Dominion retaking much of their former territory, things are looking to get VERY interesting in Tamriel.
As always, your thoughts/comments/suggestions/constructive criticisms are always welcome in the reviews below, or in my PMs, even if it's just "Good job, I liked it."
ROCK ON, my friends!
-Tusken1602
Reivewer Responses:
Bloodwolf432, Wiverse, NotRevan, ShadowSword - I'm glad you enjoyed the Wabbajack! We hadn't really got into its full (and bloody horrifying) real-world applications of such a weapon, and I thought that this would be a perfect opportunity.
Cyan Sung-Sun, GalacticHalfling, Guest, Serpent, tylermech66, Dmgaria, Chris4th - Yeah, Llewellyn Dragonborn seems to be caught up in his "destiny" to rule the Empire. But then again... so does Potema... but i'm sure everything will work out OK. *SARCASM
JimmyHall24 - The Wolf Queen Yeeteth, and the Wolf-Queen Yoinketh away. :P
Spartanzerg75 - That's a keen observation. It almost begs the question, "If the Imperial Mages are not here, then where are they?" ;)
Rabastan - Daedra worship work in a variety of different ways: some feed directly off suffering (such as Peryrite and plagues) while others like Malacath draw power from a life following a code of honor. Others require direct sacrifices of souls offered in their name.
Guest - We may or may not be seeing the Vampire Lord of Skingrad (Or at least his descendants).
badkidoh, Zarroc789 - Thanks so much! Appreciate the review!
EE-RAH!