25 Last Seed, 4E 201, Dragonsreach

"I must admit," said the jarl around a mouthful of beef, "naming you the new Thane of Scarstone was one of the better moves I've ever made. Only three days, and you've dealt with two dragons, not to mention the bandits hiding out at Halted Stream and Hidden Moons."

"Not to mention Fort Greymoor," rumbled Hrongar. "Those ruins have been a thumb in our eye for far too long."

"I'm glad to have been of service," said Ivar, taking a deep swallow of the jarl's mead. It was very good. "I'm still wondering what inspired you to invite me to this feast."

The hall of Dragonsreach roared with talk and the sounds of people enjoying a rich meal. Had Ivar been placed anywhere but at the jarl's right hand, conversation at anything less than a shout would have been impossible. Ivar glanced down the table and saw other thanes, their personal guards, mages, priests, merchants, and prosperous farmers. Lydia sat about halfway down the right-side table, looking very much at ease in such exalted company.

Well, she was born to it, he thought to himself. Whereas I'm here as nothing more than the joke of some god.

"It seemed a good idea to show you off to the other nobles of my hold," said Balgruuf. "You may benefit from knowing some of them."

"Also, some of them need a reminder of who is in charge," said Proventus.

"That too." The jarl waved to a serving-maid for a refill of his tankard. "Most of all, I wanted to reward you for your hard work."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Don't thank me yet. The reward for work well done is more work." The jarl stretched out a hand to Proventus, who handed over a sealed letter. "This came to Dragonsreach today, addressed to you."

"What is it?" asked Ivar, accepting the letter.

"It's from that milk-drinker Siddgeir," said the jarl. "As of four months ago, my unpleasant neighbor. The Jarl of Falkreath."

Ivar opened the sealed packet and glanced at the contents. "The jarl has a good hand."

"Hah!" Balgruuf thumped his tankard on the table, almost spilling his drink. "The drunken piss-pot probably can't even sign his own name, much less produce fine diplomatic prose. No doubt his steward drafted that for him. Clever wench. An Altmer named Nenya, who's served his house for decades."

Ivar read the letter with more careful attention, and then nearly dropped his own tankard. "Divines! He's inviting me to come take service in his own holding. Offers me the chance to take a thane's seat in the court of Falkreath."

Hrongar growled, and at first Ivar was concerned. Then he saw the burly thane handing a small coin-purse to Proventus, who looked smug.

Balgruuf smiled genially. "Yes, yes, Proventus, you won your bet. Try not to rub it in for the next month."

"You knew?" asked Ivar accusingly.

"We guessed," said the steward. "Falkreath Hold has fallen on very hard times, and Siddgeir is hardly a lord to inspire much confidence on his own. Also, two of the traditional thane-seats of Falkreath have been empty for years. Now someone there – Nenya, most likely – hears about a new warrior-hero in Skyrim. A Dragonborn, no less. If you can be tempted into taking land and title in Siddgeir's hold, his grip on his grandfather's holding becomes a little more secure."

"Man has a lot of cheek, offering to poach one of my thanes," said Balgruuf.

Ivar nodded. "Then I will refuse, of course."

"No, no," said the jarl quickly. "Don't misunderstand me. If the offer interests you, I want you to take it."

"I don't understand."

"Politics," said Balgruuf, his tone that of a man tasting something foul. "I may not have known you for long, but I'm a good judge of character. You're the son of Ragnar the Smith, and blood will tell. You're a man of honor and I believe I can trust you. Even if you end up sitting on Siddgeir's council as well as mine."

"We believe we know what thane-seat Siddgeir will offer," said Proventus. "The land is on the south shore of Lake Ilinalta, not far from the border with Whiterun Hold. It's part of the old holding of Morgate. As I said, fallen on hard times, almost entirely gone to wilderness, with most of the carls and cottars fled. You'll have a chance to build it back up the way you like it."

"I see," said Ivar, nodding slowly. "You and Siddgeir aren't easy neighbors, so you want someone you know on his council, and holding the lands just across the border from Riverwood."

"That's right," said the jarl. "It will be much less likely for Whiterun and Falkreath to come to blows, if you're there to help keep the jarl occupied with his feasts, his hunting, and his wenching. Make friends with Nenya while you're at it, and she will help. It's a good opportunity for you. If I can't prevail upon you to go see the Greybeards as you should, that is."

"I'm still weighing your advice about that in my mind." Ivar took a deep breath. "Never thought I'd hold one thane's seat, much less two, but you're right. It's a good opportunity, especially if it helps keep the peace in this part of Skyrim. I'll consider it."

The jarl reached out to grasp Ivar's forearm with one hand. "Good. Good."

Ivar nodded, taking another healthy drink of mead. "In the meantime, my lord, there's something else on which I want to ask your advice."

"Certainly."

"You fought in the Great War as a young man, did you not?"

"I did. Hrongar as well, and that's where I met Irileth. You'll find a lot of torn-up veterans in my court."

"Then you know the men of Hammerfell," said Ivar slowly.

"As well as any outsider may know them."

"Then here is my question . . ." Ivar leaned close, so that none but the jarl could hear.