Four days passed, uneventful. As the shock of the Imperial bride's death subsided, the routine of court fell back into place and petty squabbles returned, for better or for worse. To her malcontent, Ulfric had been requesting Thorunn's presence during these councils more often than ever, telling her that if she was to be his queen, she would need to fall into the swing of politics and learn to rule with a steady hand. He deferred to her judgement more often as well, frequently testing her mettle in the hand of justice. He never let on whether she passed these tedious tests or not.
On the fifth day, the wound opened once again. Nothing could have prepared Thorunn for who walked into the Blue Palace that day and nothing could have prepared her for what came out of his mouth.
Thongvor Silver-Blood, Jarl of Markarth anointed after the Stormcloaks claimed the Reach, marched into the throne room flanked by his entourage, a party of seven consisting of five guards, his housecarl Yngvar the Singer and his steward Reburrus Quintillius. Thongvor was stubborn man of middle age, rapidly approaching his elder years and his fire not showing for it. What he was doing here in Solitude with that look of esteemed anger on his face, Thorunn could only guess.
"Thongvor," said Ulfric calmly, perplexed. "What brings you here?"
"My son," he responded haughtily.
"Your son?" His brows knitted together as confusion laced his otherwise passive expression.
"The Dark Brotherhood assailant you have locked in your prisons," spat Thongvor as if Ulfric should have known that that was his blood. "He is my son."
Thorunn's eyes widened. For all the conversations she'd exchanged with the nobody, never had he let on that he was the son of a Jarl or once lived a life among nobility. Ulfric leaned forward in his throne, shocked and intrigued.
"I had not known," he said. "But how... how did a man of yours end up a Dark Brotherhood agent? A Daedra worshiper and a murderer?"
Thongvor sighed, relaxing with the knowledge that Ulfric did not knowingly imprison his son. That the assassin was the son of the Jarl did not grant him immunity to the law, but it did make for special attention. "I believed he was dead, that he was executed alongside his mother so many years ago for Daedra worshiping," he began, eyes cloudy with grief he had never come to terms with.
"You never told me of this wife, nor of this incident. Please, start from the beginning, and explain why they were set to die for Daedra worshiping. Such worship is not outlawed, if frowned upon."
"Their rituals involved human sacrifice. They were not sentenced to die for the act of worshiping, only the means in which they did so. My wife, Rikith... I had known she was one with the princes of Oblivion, but I foolishly chose to ignore it so long as she did it in secret and did not stain the Silver-Blood name in her doing so. I had requested she keep her practices away from our son, but... I suppose it was in the boy's blood and too late. It was of his own accord that he chose his mother's gods over the Nine and I could not hope to stop him. I took measures to do so, of course, even resorting to lashes whenever I caught him in his sinister acts.
"They grew too bold, my king. I was blinded by my love for them and for that, I ask your forgiveness. My housecarl at the time, now in Sovngarde, Gods rest his soul, walked in on one of their sacrificial rituals. I do not wish to get into the details of this ritual, but know that it was horrendous enough to make my housecarl renounce his job and run straight to the guards. Rikith and my son were arrested within the hour, still coated with the blood they painted themselves with.
"My family name has weight, and I managed to at least plead for secrecy. They were to be executed within the confines of their prison with the public none the wiser. I know now that I should have attended their deaths, but I could not bring myself to do so. I was led to believe that both my wife and son were executed without issue, though after seeing a familiar hooded boy along the roads of the Reach not days after this incident, I have had cause to doubt his death and have taken measures to find him. And now, ten years later, I am given word that a man of my son's description is imprisoned in your name for the crime of murdering Vittoria Vici."
Thorunn was at a loss for words and Ulfric seemed to be doing no better. "That is a... vile tale," he said finally, if only to fill the silence.
"It is no tale, Majesty."
"What would you have me do? No man is above the law and your son has broken it tenfold, but I may grant a small promise if it will appease an old friend."
Thongvar looked to the ground, his one blind eye unseeing of the floor he gazed at. "I would speak with him," he said quietly. "From there, I will decide if his life is worth pleading for."
"A reasonable request," said Ulfric. "Very well. Do you mind doing so in my court's company? I would prefer to hear his side myself."
"No, Majesty. I see no reason to hide my regrets from you now."
"Thank you. Guards, retrieve the assassin and bring him here." Ulfric ordered, keeping his eyes on the Silver-Blood before him.
The guards heeded without complaint. Nobody spoke a word while they waited and time seemed to freeze in the absence of speech. The guards returned a couple minutes later with the ragged man in tow. Thongvor turned as his entourage parted to make way, and the nobody was placed before Thongvor. Under matted hair and heavy lids, the assassin slowly looked up, and for the first time since Thorunn had graced his company, he looked guilty.
Years of words unsaid struggled at Thongvor's lips. For a long moment that seemed to brush the edges of time, he only stared at his son, lips parted in shock and his one good eye flickering back and forth as he searched the man's face for a sign of something Thorunn could not place. She felt like she was intruding on a private moment, but she made no move to leave, standing rigid beside the High King's throne.
"You are... not as I remember you," Thongvor said finally, his shaky voice barely above a whisper. Of all people, Thorunn never thought to see this man without his shield raised. "Not a boy anymore, no."
The assassin said nothing, remaining silent and peering up at his father with a heartbroken gleam in his blue eyes.
"A spitting image of your mother, you are," continued Thongvor, a sad smile gracing his lips for only a brief moment, then vanishing into a frown. His vulnerability crumbled, replaced by a mask of barely contained anger. "Tell me where I went wrong."
"Here?" prompted the assassin, almost too quiet for Thorunn to catch.
"Here." Thongvor confirmed.
"Did you truly expect me to surrender my life so easily?" The words were harsh, but the voice was icily calm. "Did you doubt the extent my mother would go to save the life of her only child?"
"What did she do?" the Jarl drawled, hushed. "I had suspected... what did she do?"
"You always were easy to slip past. Contrary to your Nine, my Gods are not silent. They do not leech off the prayers of their slaves and give nothing in return, and their servants rightfully expect tribute where it's due. You call them evil, but we call them just. The line between those two words is not as thick as you'd like to believe. But back to the matter at hand: Years of sacrifice to our Gods was not in vain, and They would not abandon us so easily in our time of need. Everything comes with a price, your life most of all. My mother exchanged hers for mine in the instance that only one of us could be saved. Hers was the last sacrifice."
Thorunn felt the beginnings of anger pricking at her mood. She did not take kindly to the slandering of the Nine. A glance in Ulfric's direction indicated that he was on the same page as her.
"You say she sacrificed herself to the Daedra so that you could escape?" Thongvor said, looking as if his knees might give way.
"It was a brilliant distraction. Keys slip right through hands when they're covered in blood." He spoke of the guards, Thorunn concluded, and the blood that ran free of their body after having been slayed by whatever dark assailant the assassin was implying.
"How did I not hear of this slaughter?" Thongvor breathed, horrified.
"How do we not hear when a bear shits in the woods?" spat the assassin. "Four deaths occurred that day, three of them guards and one of them my mother. The Forsworn played it off as the usual bloodbaths that occurs within the mines. The guards that came in later were led to believe that I was killed alongside my mother. They fear the prisoners and eagerly accepted this explanation. I was gone and halfway to Falkreath before they noticed something was amiss, and they made no effort to pursue me. Clearly."
"The Forsworn," Thongvor repeated as the stars began aligning. "Of course..." He closed his eyes and heaved a quiet, tired sigh wrought with heavy burdens. "And how did you come across the Brotherhood?" He didn't want to know the answer, that much was made clear by his expression, but he knew he had to ask the question anyway.
"The Night Mother's whispers are loud," was all he offered.
Thorunn exchanged a confused look with Ulfric.
"Enough," said Thongvor, unable to bear it any longer. "I have no wish to hear more of your talk of Daedra." He breathed another sigh, this one just as heavy as the last. "You are a stain on the Silver-Blood's honor. You have slandered the gracious Nine and the mighty Talos in favor of your false Gods. You are my greatest regret and you bring me the greatest shame, Altair, and yet I still find myself clinging to the notion that you are remorseful when it is clear the only thing you are sorry for is that you were caught. Will you not give me one reason to save your life?"
Altair. That was his name. Altair Silver-Blood. The name tasted foreign and unnatural after having gone so long without branding him with one, Thorunn thought.
"You look for reasons where there are none," said the assassin- Altair, presumably. "If you have love of me, you will plead for my life regardless of what I have done and where I stand. I do not need to feed you falsities. You will do what you will."
"If I do plead for your life, what will you do with it?"
"I will not forsake my Gods, if that is what you are asking," he said quickly. "not after all They have done for me. I will not leave the Brotherhood, either. I am bound to it by something you will never understand. With that said, I would not so easily throw my life away when it need not be. If you have some other form of repentance, I may take it."
"The only repentance you will find is in the arms of Talos," said Ulfric, speaking for the first time since Altair's arrival. "Convert, and I may spare your life. A king that knows no mercy is a tyrant, but you must give me a reason to grant you it. I would also see to it that you are under my watch. There are plenty of things to be done within the palace."
Altair hung his head, torn between two paths. His life, or his oath to the Daedric Princes and the Brotherhood. The compromise he'd been seeking was not possible.
"My son, I beg of you," Thongvor pleaded softly, lowering the shields of his heart once more in a last attempt to convince his son to see reason. "Denounce this wretchedness and lessen the weight on my shoulders."
Altair raised his head at his father and Thorunn saw traces in his eyes of a boy looking up to his father as if he were the world. Once, these two had loved each other, she could tell. Whether that love was enough to save Altair, they were about to find out. "You say yourself that honor is above all, Ulfric Stormcloak. Your entire army was forged on the notion that oaths and loyalty are not meant to be taken lightly. I would first die before I forsake my Gods."
Ulfric rubbed his chin, a thoughtful look in his eye. Finally, he looked over to Thorunn. "He speaks truth. What say you, Dragonborn?" he inquired.
Thorunn saw clearly where Altair was coming from. She, herself, worshiped both Aedra and Daedra, being a follower of the Nine and Hircine. There was room for compromise between the two pantheons, but whether it was right to blur that line or not, she had no right to say. She made her decision, keeping her eyes focused only on Altair as she spoke. "He should be allowed to worship as he pleases, so long as he does not break the law in his doing so. Pledge fealty to Talos and renounce the Brotherhood, and you may keep your life and your Princes."
Beside her, someone cleared their throat. She turned her head to see Jorleif. "Your Majesty, what of Vittoria Vici? He must pay for her murder."
"Taking away his Night Mother and Sithis is sufficient," Ulfric said with a wave of his hand. "He will also be spending a great time in servitude to me. I also revoke his right to own land, provided he takes this offer to save his skin." He looked back expectantly to the ragged man on his knees.
Altair's eyes closed. Thorunn's heart thudded against her chest as she waited intensely for his response. Then he shook his head. "No. No, I will not forsake the Night Mother. My life means less to me than that."
Thongvor's knees nearly caved beneath him. He just barely caught himself on the wall next to him.
"It is your decision. I will give you three weeks time to think on it and make sure that that is what you want. Guards, take him back to the prisons," Ulfric ordered. He stood and descended the three steps it took to reach the floor beneath his throne. He strode over to Throngvor and laid a comforting hand on the man's back, saying something reassuring to him that Thorunn had no ears for.
She watched as Altair, once a nobody to her, was dragged away.