Hey there! So this is a Skyrim/Elder Scrolls story I wrote about a year or so ago. It's done and stuff and I showed my friends it as I was writing it and they all seemed to like it so I decided 'what the hell, might as put it up on ' Like I said it is done and everything so I can post new entries regularly since the only writing to be done in it is some minor grammatical errors. Anyways, hope you like it!
Background information- This story takes place roughly one hundred and fifty to two hundred years after the events of The Elder Scrolls IV: Skyrim.
Several years after the failed Stormcloak Rebellion, the Empire was repelled from Skyrim by a very different force- Brunwulf's Rebellion. After years of terrible leadership from the Imperial City, the respected and feared warrior Brunwulf the Good led a rebellion against the Empire, and brought Skyrim to heel and ushered in a long, prosperous reign, and under the guidance and counsel of his former rebellion comrades, established the greatest army in the history of the Fatherland- The Royal Army, the force of career soldiers loyal to the High King of Skyrim and the High King alone.
The Elder Scrolls: Civil War
It is a time of unrest, anxiety, deceit and suspicion. The High King of Skyrim, the fair and just Brunwulf, has died, and now, as the Jarls of Skyrim make the pilgrimage to Solitude, all eyes are on the greatest prize of all, the throne of Skyrim, and the army to keep it. _
I, Jarl Decimus Kinzelus of Falkreath rode forward begrudgingly, my eyes burning as the hard, cold rain of Haafingar landing blow for blow against my face and body. It was early morning, although it was damn near impossible to tell with the dark, heavy rain clouds constantly haunting the skies, but I knew we would be reaching Solitude soon. Although, as I shifted nervously in my saddle, my heavy, but warm, fur cloak on me, I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I wanted to get home as quickly as possible, to my Falkreath, to my family, but, I had to do this, and I knew it. When I was made Jarl near fourteen years past, on my Eighteenth Name-Day, the Good Brunwulf had been High King for more years than could be counted on one hand, and I had hoped I would never to participate in the time honored Kingsmoot. But, fate, and Talos in all his wisdom, have decided that the Good King needs to return home. So, I, with only a few guards as escort, am on my way to Solitude, my Falkreath safe in the hands of my Thane, my closest confidante, Mira Stormhold.
"What do you mean we have a broken axle?!" I, Jarl Kyrtis Titanious Trevelyan II of Eastmarch tiredly shouted, at the equally despair riddled man before me. He had mud and rain about him, and gripped a tool I was quite certain was broken. "I'm sorry my Jarl, but the carriage's axle don' did went and broke." he said back. He had an Nordic drawl, as did myself and my countrymen of Eastmarch. Exhaling deeply, wanting very greatly to find a tavern to get out of the rain, find some mead and a girl, I looked at the man and responded. "Well, see what you can do. We're already behind schedule, and the last thing we need is the damn Jarls from the West stirring trouble without us." I said, in a camaraderie fashion, but with a ghost of seriousness present. After all, it was no secret how many of the other Holds felt about my home in Windhelm, and all of Eastmarch. "Yes my Jarl. It's these damnable Haafingar roads. They ain't meant for civilized travel." He said exasperatedly, turning away from me, and heading back to his fellow carpenters desperately attempting to repair the damaged carriage. We were in the middle of Haafingar, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but wilderness. My party was a large one, with three carriages, thirty Eastmarch Men-At-Arms, and a lot of gold and precious mountain stones to be offered to the Gods once we arrive in Solitude. Or, if we arrive in Solitude. We were already behind schedule, and constantly making poor time, but with some help from Talos, and a lot of willpower, we may make it by day's end.
I, Jarl Stark Free-Winter of Dawnstar, rode forward atop my steed, my banner men around me, with Solitude in sight. I had only taken ten Dawnstar Guard with me, knowing the only threat I would face to be the beasts my land teemed with. As it would be, I was correct, the only real threat we faced being a Frostbite Spider. We took care of it quickly, and had continued on the Pilgrimage. Now, with Solitude in sight, it dawned on me, for the first real time, what was to happen. It was barely dark out, and I knew the Kingsmoot would occur tonight, and a new High King chosen. And it scared the living oblivion out of me. I was no damn milk drinker, I had fought countless times, killed countless foes, but knowing what was to come was a truly daunting thought. All the while riding closer to the capital of Skyrim, I thought long and hard on who would be chosen, or at least who I'd submit my vote for. I barely even considered myself; I do my best for my people, and I think I have done good by them, but I'm no King. No, there is one, who I would bend the knee to. One, who I would call King.
I, Jarl Jon Snowborn of Whiterun, rode through the gates of Solitude, the citizens cheering me with full appreciation and respect. As they should. It was my family that pushed the Empire out of Skyrim, and put Brunwulf on the throne. And by day's end, that throne would be mine. I was the first Jarl to arrive as I quickly was informed by the Royal Army's Captain of The Royal Guard. Thanking him for informing me of this, although I wasn't surprised, he led me to the Kingsmoot Chamber's. I asked him to lead my vassals to their respective chambers. I had brought with me a small ensemble of my fifteen most trusted Guardsmen, and some servants to properly give sacrifice and honors to the Gods in the Divine Gardens of The Blue Palace. And I waited.