4E203 SS 12
My Favorite Neighbor,
Go to the Temple and make an offering; I am returned! The tale is far too long to enclose here and my hands are tired from the ordeal, so I will keep this as brief as I can. I shall return with ample time to assist with your wedding preparations. Hopefully we will meet before the end of Second Seed. The method of my return will be on a dragon called Odahviing, a large red dragon with white wings. I tell you this now to prepare your heart for the sight-Odahviing is a terror to behold, but I hold him as a loyal ally now. This is the ancient way of the dragons, who default to serving the strongest of their kind.
I am now the strongest dragon by means of defeating their previous tyrant, Alduin. Related, the world will not end with any hurry. Please pass along the word to Jarl Elisif and the guard that this dragon is likely carrying me into the city. It's far more comfortable and quicker than horseback. The views from the sky are enchanting! Should you and Asgeir desire fast and beautiful travel to Nibenay after the wedding, I can wholeheartedly recommend a flight.
Another word to pass along to our fair Jarl; I do travel with Ulfric Stormcloak. (Dispel any rumors you hear-I am explicitly denying any familiarity beyond what is typical of master and mercenary.) It may ease her heart to know I hold him in my service under the Old Laws as I defeated him in a traditional duel (or, it may not do any good to mention him and the Old Laws and duels in the same conversation) and he has expressed exceptional regret for his past actions. The Nords find this form of service to be dishonorable to the highest degree; he is nothing to his former supporters but a shame. Had I executed him during the siege of Windhelm, he would have been made a martyr as much as the great High King Torygg, and I would never disrespect his life and legacy in such a way.
I do not expect Jarl Elisif to take this news well, but she should hear of it before we arrive in her city. Remind her that if Ulfric is to die by her order, she herself continues the cycle of violence entrenched in the 'Ways of Nords' that Ulfric used to murder the High King. This should be a time to heal old wounds between East and West, Skyrim and the Empire. Further, I am of the personal opinion that wrongdoings should be atoned for, and he has already assisted me with the slaying of Alduin. I trust you will discuss this matter with far more grace than I could.
Long live the Empire
Nariilu Therel
Vittoria let out a shaky breath reading Nariilu's letter over again, taking in the plain hand of her friend. She was alive, the war was over, Alduin was dead, which, according to the bards at the College, meant that Nirn wasn't in danger of being swallowed whole, or whatever catastrophe was supposed to occur. Then again, the bards had a way of embellishing even the smallest of details-Elisif's hair was far closer to shining copper than the silken gold they sang of.
And Nariilu had charged her with calming Elisif's nerves around Ulfric, as if she hadn't been trying to for the past year. Vittoria swore up and down to the girl that inviting him and other high-ranking Stormcloaks to her wedding would end the war sooner than General Tullius could. And it would honor Torygg's legacy; he was the one who let Ulfric through the city gates, after all, in pursuit of peace. Elisif wasn't fond of that last point, but the wound of her husband's unfortunate passing was still fresh, even three years later.
Word of the end of the war left Elisif withdrawn and Vittoria hated to lead their conversations. She supposed they would have something in common, being of similar age and birthright, but Elisif had only known a life of luxury, fine fabrics and perfect manners, where Vittoria herself had been trained from youth to either take over the East Empire Company or the Empire itself. Elisif was a lady of the court, a good dancer, excellent singer, perfect beauty-absolutely no grit to her. No heart, little brain; her foolish family had gotten her by to the Skyrim throne on looks and graces and kindness alone.
She didn't even seem concerned with the finances of her own Hold; Vittoria felt she knew more of the budget than the Jarl or her Steward. Well, it may have had something to do with the bustling business the East Empire Company brought to Solitude's ports, especially with Windhelm's docks frozen over half the year. The embargo was only beginning to lift, the first ships beginning to bring only the barest essentials to the city before they proved themselves past that little traitorous spell.
Not that Elisif cared in the slightest when she informed her that the docks would finally have room for ships, no more merchant vessels waiting for a spare space and dockhand to unload their goods, more efficiency, more time for guards to inspect for any drugs, blasphemous pamphlets, diseased livestock and sailors-less overworked employees strung out on Hist Sap or Skooma or throwing themselves off a rocky cliff.
No, she barely perked up when Vittoria told her about the upcoming shipments of fine fabrics from High Rock, which would've been a nice development from her previous shallow interests, but…Vittoria couldn't place this new subdued mood of Elisif's. She folded Nariilu's letter and slipped it into her silken waistpocket, another fashion development Elisif would've been fawning over four years ago-the new preferred silhouette was moving away from finely embroidered pouches on sashes and belts to a sleek figure symmetrically padded with all sorts of hidden compartments.
And the Jarl's court was so bland nowadays to match her mood. The Thanes fought amongst themselves for reasons Vittoria couldn't care about; a weaver had left one town for the other so obviously you owe me this many bolts, the snowmelt was late this year so it's your fault my farm is below quota. It was as if they were economic cornerstones in the region, like the farms they squabbled over supplied more than a few hundred bushels a year each. It was so depressing to think they had any sway beyond the walls of the Blue Palace! She almost longed for the petty gossip of who was wearing what shade of green to senate-at least the politicians knew that it was nothing more than talk.
So when she strode into the drawing chambers of the Blue Palace, Vittoria was already dreading conversing with Elisif. Letter after letter to General Tullius, to Titus had gone unanswered-yes, she'd be a fantastic puppet, but gods would it be easy for anyone to take advantage of her. Torygg had been strong in his convictions, a man who knew what he wanted, even if he had a soft spot for helpless pretty things and the lowest of society. Elisif had to step up if she wanted to keep her throne-if she wanted the Empire to make more than a figurehead of a grieving widow out of her. Vittoria didn't think she'd like the alternative.
Vittoria lounged on one of the couches in front of the hearth, tilted just so its occupants could converse with anyone in the drawing room with barely a head tilt, especially those on the couch opposite. She'd been considering spouses for Elisif for years now, ranging from Erikur, who at least understood the value of hardline business and was already running the businesses in Haafingar Nariilu wasn't, to one of the Senators in the Imperial City who could bring the other Senators to stop ignoring Skyrim. But ever since she and Nariilu had joked about it over a bit too much brandy and wine, she couldn't shake the thought that, just maybe, possibly, Ulfric Stormcloak was the best match.
She sighed. Vittoria had always figured her marriage would be political, an alliance forged, perhaps with some Aldmeri Dominion Ambassador to at least fake some sort of longstanding amicability between their Empires, fake that they didn't entirely loathe Men. She was lucky enough to find a match in Asgeir that was beneficial to her heart and her position, just as Elisif had once found with Torygg. And Elisif was still mourning three years later. Vittoria found herself understanding more and more as her wedding date grew closer; it was torture even considering that she may outlive Asgeir, much less watch him get run through in some farce of a duel. By the man that would-politically, of course-be her best choice for second spouse.
But Vittoria knew that her birthright came with certain responsibilities, and she was more than willing to ignore whatever her heart craved for the good of the millions that she might one day be responsible for. Before any of that could be discussed, Vittoria had to convince the poor girl to not act out in anger now that Ulfric was coming to her city soon enough.
She rose as Elisif entered the room, wearing a golden gown and red jeweled overdress, a tight sash embroidered with Solitude's wolf emblem cinching her waist and keeping the overdress tucked too neatly. "Hello, dear Elisif," Vittoria said. Elisif met her with a nod and a soft smile as the two clasped forearms in the greeting of two near-equals, rather than the kneeling greeting the rest of the Court had to submit to. Stewards hurried in, laying trays of bite-sized pastries and cut fruits on tables within easy reach of where the two relaxed on the couches. "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."
"You're not normally so urgent, Vittoria," Elisif replied easily, a grim shadow behind her pleasantly bright face. Vittoria almost laughed, but Elisif wasn't making a joke. If her grand Jarlship would walk down to the docks, take a look at the East Empire Company's ledgers for once, she'd know just how near constantly Vittoria was urgent. "Rescheduling our teas isn't like you."
"Well," Vittoria waved away her concern and the steward about to overpour her tea simultaneously, "A merchant vessel from Valenwood is scheduled to come in during our normal time. I want to be there to check the cargo myself, and speak with the captain about the journey." She had been planning to skip their tea for it. "I'm so glad we were able to still meet and chat."
"Mm."
There was no easy way to bring up the topic she wanted, the topic Nariilu had tasked to her, so instead Vittoria launched into a lighthearted discussion about her new dress, straight from the finest weavers and seamstresses in the Imperial City. Elisif's eyes didn't brighten, not even as Vittoria stood and twirled like she'd seen the Jarl do in so many of their teas years ago. Boring, broken little girl; an ornament that fell off the shelf. She couldn't even discuss her wedding with her, lest Elisif start crying or retreat to her personal chambers for days on end, leaving her and the Thanes to fend for themselves-more than usual. Vittoria sat back down and took a long sip of tea.
"I've received word from the Thane Nariilu that she will return within the month," Vittoria finally said. Elisif shifted, noticing how Vittoria's tone moved to a more serious one she usually saved for her own office or, on exceptionally rare occasions, the throne room. She continued, "I hear that we no longer need fear Helgen's fate-Alduin is dead."
"Alduin is dead, the Stormcloaks are dead, what a fine Thane she's turned out to be," Elisif replied with practiced silk in her voice. A lift of her teacup, not quite swift enough to cover the soft frown at the corner of her mouth. "How delightful it will be to have my court back in full."
"Yes, a fine audience to have when you receive Ulfric Stormcloak."
Elisif choked, red rising to her face when she cleared her throat. "What?"
"Oh, you've heard in your own court," Vittoria continued, "that Nariilu took his life as a spoil of war during the Siege of Windhelm. Your messengers weren't just reporting on rumors, Elisif, she's found a companion in Ulfric. A wonderful show of remorse from him, if you ask me, that he's learned to cooperate with the Empire rather than rage against it."
"War or not, he's still an enemy of Solitude. My enemy. I won't have him in my palace, not while his heart beats!" She was beautiful even when her face twisted in anger, sadness, tears welling on her lashes and hanging there, waiting for permission to slide down at the most polite moment. "Much less…the companion of my own Thane."
Vittoria sipped to the dregs of her tea, setting it down and twisting it to let the handle face away from her. The steward who stepped forward to refill her cup faded back into the shadows of the wall. "He was at war with the Empire, not Solitude. I'd suggest you complain now, rather than when he arrives."
"He will hang for what he's done!" Elisif's tears fell, gently falling down her cheeks, dripping into her teacup. "I will not-"
"You," Vittoria cut her off, a choke replacing the words on the girl's lips, "will not interfere with your Thane's actions-as a Legate in the Imperial Legion. I won't have you spark another rebellion because you can't see the benefit to what Nariilu has done."
"There is no benefit! That-that horror,"-Vittoria rolled her eyes as Elisif spoke. Really, she couldn't come up with something more distasteful than 'horror'-"has brought nothing but shame to Nords and death to the people he claims to care about! Does the Empire not care that he led a war against it? Thousands are dead because of him! And you let him walk free?"
"A figurehead is nothing to the Empire," Vittoria replied. Elisif had been to the war meetings with General Tullius since he'd returned from Windhelm; she had to know that it was that-what was the term?-Housecarl of his, that fanatic racist in his own court that rallied his people into a xenophobic frenzy. Honestly, she wouldn't be surprised if the same line of thinking began to take hold in Solitude if the damned Argonians at the docks kept up their recent behavior. They weren't quite to the levels her workers in Windhelm had been before the war, but if the thieving and drugs didn't stop soon, Vittoria would need an entirely new workforce and a quiet place to dispose of a few scaled pelts.
"I wouldn't suggest the Empire could fall because of the actions of a single man," Vittoria continued. "So, the figurehead has chosen a different side. Were he not disgraced, he would be useful to our cause. Your cause, as if I need remind you."
"He killed my husband."
Elisif spoke with a sort of finality Vittoria would've expected to be punctuated with a crash, shatter of her teacup on the floor. But, no, she was far too polite for such outbursts. Polite enough to sit still, shut up, do her job. No matter how horrible of a ruler she was, she had the people's support as the grieving widow, the rightful High Queen for at least today. At least today, and Elisif wouldn't like what she'd have to do to get the more backwards half of Skyrim to approve of her ass on the throne. To find a new rallying cry, now that the war was over and her husband avenged.
"And he is disgraced for it," Vittoria repeated. "What do you expect to happen? An army to rise up as soon as he steps foot through the gates to siege the Blue Palace in his name? What jokes, dear." Vittoria laughed, practiced for Senate rooms, her cousin's court. The laugh that dazzled nobility.
Elisif's tears stopped, not daring to wipe at the delicate wet trails down her cheeks. "My own Thane has allied with the enemy."
"She's made an ally of your enemy. Few could manage a feat." Vittoria replied, any sort of polite joviality gone from her voice. Who gave a damn about Ulfric Stormcloak? She was sick and tired of hearing of Ulfric Stormcloak, the latest man to rage against the Empire for doing all that it could against drying fields, lightening coffers, scheming Altmer. She was glad Nariilu beat some sense into him. "I'd suggest you take advantage of the opportunity your Thane has provided you."
"I will take no advantage but surrounding him with my guards and leading him to the stocks."
"He has been pardoned," Vittoria stood, towering over the sitting Jarl-Jarl, how she barely deserved the title- "by the Emperor Titus Mede II and you will do well to accept that pardon, lest you find yourself in treason. The gracious Emperor does not grant pardons often, and Ulfric Stormcloak has taken the quota for the next while." She sneered at Elisif, the girl shrank back into the couch, teacup forgotten and trembling in her hand. "You'd do well to heed my advice and not respark the war your own Thane just ended. You do not have the money. Dearest Jarl, you cannot survive another war, not as the young widow your people love you as. Widows do not win wars. There will be no battlecries in your good husband's name should you anger the pardoned failures of soldiers by attacking the only remaining symbol of what they bled for.
"The only cries will be your own, should you go against what the Emperor has decreed. Do not for one second think you can survive without the Empire; look to Ulfric for proof of how that path is doomed to fail." Vittoria paused to sit and sip her tea, the last dregs of leaves at the bottom of her cup. She swirled it three times and overturned it onto her plate, setting the whole affair on a side table. She'd carry it to Sybille later, a love reading would be a nice way to begin her afternoon; she had one of the seamstresses from Radiant Raiment coming to adjust her dress and begin to tack on the embellishments. "Ignore him if you must. But outright hostility will lead to more bloodshed that your people do not want."
Another single tear. A shaking breath. "And if he is plotting to murder me as he did my husband, you will be at fault. My Thane will be at fault. And I will curse you both."
Vittoria blinked. Did Elisif honestly believe she had the symbollic power, the people's trust, that Torygg had? "What in Oblivion would he have to gain from that?"
"I-He-" Elisif stuttered. "Men like him cannot be reasoned with."
"Well, then it's a good thing Nariilu didn't reason with him. She beat him in a duel," Vittoria replied. Elisif bit her lip. "I'm surprised there's not a ballad about it, yet. Quite proper, I think, that the war would end in such a way."
She released her lip, pulling an embroidered, flawlessly white handkerchief from a satchel at her waist, dabbing at her cheeks. "He killed my husband."
"And your husband did not die for you to continue the cycle of violence he strove to end by inviting Ulfric inside the Blue Palace," Vittoria said, letting her tone soften. Elisif hid her face behind her handkerchief in a delicate display that was so unlike all the rough-and-tumble Nords Elisif would one day rule over as High Queen. Gods, she needed Ulfric beside her, to keep her in check, to rule from the shadows. Elisif would never be as popular as Ulfric was; hundreds of thousands of soldiers committing treason at his side against the entire might of the Imperial Legion-Elisif could barely attract a thousand to hear a speech.
Elisif's shoulders shook. Vittoria prayed to the Eight to show her some mercy towards the girl as she switched seats to the couch across from her, settling so close to Elisif that their legs touched, easily wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She shushed the Jarl, running her free hand through dull bronze hair as she cried for a minute, two minutes, ten.
Finally, finally, Elisif sniffed and pulled away slightly. Vittoria looked down at her; the barest blush around her cheeks and nose, eyes barely kissed by red. An artists' portrait of despair, somehow perfect upon delicate, breakable features. "It's not what Torygg would want, is it?" Elisif spoke. "He'd hate that it came to…to all this death. I couldn't cause more death, more than I already have, not in his name."
"Oh, dear, you've caused no death," Vittoria replied. "That's Ulfric's sin to live with. May Mara grant us her compassion to forgive him."
Ulfric stepped to block the door and cleared his throat. "Everything." He repeated, putting just enough Thu'um into the word that the Dragonborn flinched where she stood.
She met his stare, almost squared her shoulders, if one hadn't shuddered with stiffness, pain, healing she refused to wait for. "What part do you want me to start with?" A belated wince, the Dragonborn backed up and sat down on the bed with a small groan.
The question he wanted to ask burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it and instead said, "I'm starting to think you want to turn me over to the Solitude Guard."
"Vittoria Vici's been softening up Elisif for months. She was going to send you an invitation to her wedding even if the war wasn't over by then," the Dragonborn said. She carefully rolled her neck, shoulders, wrists, a small inventory of her flexibility. Each movement was smooth to the untrained eye; to Ulfric, he caught the slight stutters that betrayed pain or a loss of ability from injury. "Elisif is weak. Weak and stupid. I'm sure you know she lets her Thanes have free reign over her court, and the Thanes don't care about you. All they do is squabble. But you're not concerned about Elisif and her Thanes."
No, he never had been. In the short outline of a siege plan he'd had brewing in the back of his mind, he'd always known that the richest Thanes in Skyrim wouldn't care whose name they swore fealty to, that Torygg's woman would be the same demure castle jewel she always was.
The Dragonborn continued. "They executed the man who held open the gates for you, and, Lydia likely told you this, people cheered when his head rolled. But it takes six guards to hold open the gates, and the execution of only the most outspoken of them was ordered by General Tullius after over a year of stalemate. It was his idea to get the population riled up in support of the Legion, enlist themselves, donate to the war. And it didn't work. Recruitment numbers for Solitude were abysmal. Worst in Skyrim.
"There's a reason they changed the service rules for elves and drafted so many from Cyrodiil. Very few from Skyrim wanted to raise a sword against you. They couldn't risk lowering opinion of the Legion by enacting a draft in Skyrim," the Dragonborn said, moving around the set to inspect it from all angles. "The most volunteers came from Whiterun, actually, right after the siege. So, no, I'm not concerned about the people of Solitude."
"I could've won," Ulfric's voice sounded like a distant whisper; 'won' was such a crude, selfish word for it. Liberate, taken back, ousted. But even with triumphant language-
"You could've paved the way for the Thalmor to ruin all of Tamriel," she said simply, and he knew it was too true. "Without Thalmor meddling, the war may have ended in your favor before they needed to draft me. Without Thalmor meddling," the Dragonborn let a laugh drip from her, "there wouldn't've been a war in the first place. At least now, Skyrim and Cyrodiil stand together, even if you revealed deep cracks in that alliance. I want to mend those cracks. I want you to mend those cracks."
Ulfric scoffed, opening his mouth to respond, scoffed again before he could form a single word. "I could've done that! I could've unified Skyrim under my banners, but the Empire, you-!" He cut himself off, the words genuinely escaping him, especially after he realized that the Thalmor never would've let him win. Even if he won the war, he would never actually have any lasting victory. They'd take his triumph as well as they had twenty years ago, string him up to die and massacre the good people of Skyrim.
His rage faded to a…a void. Because even if his Dossier was nothing more than ash, the truth had been branded on his soul as clearly as Elenwen's solid handwriting on the pages: his movement was never his. The truth he'd blazed on his heart from the second he built it on the corpses of those that died without recognition in the Great War, from the second he read the truth of the matter in expensive ink in his Dossier.
The Dragonborn gave him a few breaths to stew, let him collapse-sit-on a low stool. "And you will unify not just Skyrim, but the entire Empire. Because it was your idea to reforge the Empire to return to its roots." He blinked. "You always knew the Thalmor wanted to erase the Septim Dynasty when they banned Talos, and you knew the Prophecy enough to know what you had to do to bring about the Last Dragonborn."
No, he'd had enough of the Empire's meddling in affairs that weren't theirs, of them denying aid to Skyrim after it was the Nords who'd given just about everything to keep the Empire alive during the Great War. And he let this confusion show on his face as the Dragonborn's mouth tilted up just enough to let him know that she'd wanted to have this conversation for so long.
"And after Mede dies with no heirs but his aunts and cousins and the Thalmor strike? Well, who but the rightful High King and Empress to restore the Empire to glory?"
"You want to act like this is my idea? Everything, Empress and…and everything?" It was all he could protest, since becoming High King had definitely been his idea, and there wasn't a village idiot in Skyrim who didn't know how much he hated the Empire. "So you have an out when it all goes to shit."
"So the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim will actually accept me as a Dragonborn Emperor," she sighed. "I'm a popular Thane because I give away money. I invest. I slay dragons, keep people safe, throw gold at them. You're popular because of what you stand for!" Her hands flew up in exasperation. "I wish I had that, but, if you knew how poorly the Legion's numbers in Skyrim were doing, are doing, you'd lose your mind. All I have going for me is that I can kill a few dragons and hand out some coin. You've got the trust of the people. If we act like I genuinely captured you-"
"You did genuinely capture me!" Ulfric stood up so fast he went lightheaded, yelling down at her. "There is no act here! I stood for something! You're here for…for what? To dominate, like Paarthurnax says? Burn down some cities with your dragon army after the Forsworn and Thalmor are all rotting?"
"I'm here," the Dragonborn clipped each word, "because the Empire has never been stronger than with a Dragonborn Emperor. The Thalmor are coming, Stormcloak, and we have to be ready! But the people, especially your people, will accept it if they think all of this was your idea! Oblivion, the entire War could've been a ruse to show how weak the Empire was-is, for all I care."
"A fortunate side effect," Ulfric answered.
"Yes, if the Thalmor hadn't wanted to drain both sides with a stalemate, they could've easily crushed everything years ago. I'm honestly surprised they waited until the war ended to start moving in. But what if you convinced me that things in the Empire need to change? Because we both know they do. If it was your idea-"
"Then you get to place all the blame on me."
"Blame, glory, call it what you like," the Dragonborn scoffed. "The point is that we have to have public support. I have the Jarls' support, the other Legates' support, and a few of the Senators have personally written about my successful campaign. But you have the support of the people, and I'll bet my life that it'll only grow if they aren't facing treason to support you."
He brought a hand to his temple. "How can you even say that it won't be treasonous when you're sitting here telling me about your plans to overthrow the Emperor?"
"Not overthrow; I don't want to have an army march on the Imperial City just to have my ass on a throne. Fact is, I'm more qualified by birthright as Dragonborn than any of the Mede dynasty could ever hope to be." Ulfric narrowed his eyes. She frowned and sighed. "Look, if we do what the current Emperor can't and end the Thalmor, how do you think that will look? How many have lost everything to them that will see us as…as the ones who destroyed the Dominion? The Senators only care about saving their own asses and coinpurses, it'll be easy to 'convince' a few of them that Mede is a useless old man, if they aren't already there themselves."
Just like he tried to convince the other Jarls that Torygg had been a bright-eyed little boy, unfit to be High King. "And if you're wrong? If the Senators, Thanes, Jarls, people, don't support you?"
She blinked. "Why wouldn't they?"
"I can think of a hundred reasons, starting with how you want to…replace Mede," Ulfric said, shaking his head. "People, especially politicians with public approval to think of, don't like instability. You're the Dragonborn, yes, but will you keep paying them like Mede does? Can you really stand against the Thalmor, keep the peace with a dragon army, mantle Talos?" He bit down a wave of nausea at the last part-it was too real to say it, too real to not be struck down by Talos himself when he spoke of the Dragonborn as Talos. "What reason do they have to think you'll keep them in power and paid?"
The Dragonborn went quiet and stared at the worn stone floor for a while. Ulfric watched her think, her mouth hung open, ready to give whatever answer she thought would satisfy him.
He continued before she could come up with anything to say. "You want to act like I'm the reason you've gotten all these ideas-that just makes it look worse for you. An Imperial Legate swayed by the disgraced, failed revolutionary you captured? A Dragonborn who had to be convinced of her position?" He paused to swallow a lump in his throat-was he really going along with this? It was so simple in his head: help the Dragonborn take back the Empire from the weaklings that rotted what Tiber Septim had built. But she'd said she needed him to help her navigate Skyrim's political arena, and help was an understatement. So self-assured, so arrogant, so…Nordic. "It has to be your doing. But if you want to leave some of the blame to me, perhaps you did some research into the Stormcloak cause during your campaign, and you found it so influential you realized that the Empire was beyond reform."
She looked up at him, a mix of confusion, relief, pain, elation. "Don't flatter yourself." The quip seemed to fall from her lips before she could stop it, and she scowled. "I mean, your cause seemed to be nothing but kicking the Thalmor from Skyrim."
"And you said yourself how popular that cause was," Ulfric replied. "But how will you move from dazzling shopkeeps and guilds to swaying Senators? What's your plan?"
"Do you remember when I asked for your help?"
Ulfric just stared at her. He'd never seen her asking for help; he could easier imagine her kneeling to him than asking for any sort of assistance.
"On the mountain, after we all spent the night at Aftland?" She blinked. "When I first told you I plan to become Empress. I told you I need help to understand Skyrim, the Moot, the Jarls, everything."
"That was a long time ago."
"It was two weeks ago."
"Six weeks."
"I wasn't raised in palace halls, Stormcloak." The Dragonborn snapped. She scowled at the floor, sighing through her nose. "The nobles tolerate me because I'm Dragonborn and rich. You have a lifetime of experience that I don't. You're my plan. That's it. I need help. With the politics, with the money, with…with what I am."
They were both quiet for a while Ulfric worked out what was unsaid. She'd staked so much of her plan on him, him, before she'd even met him, during a war where he commanded her opposition, because he had what she so desperately needed. Because he was the only other person crazy enough to try and oust the Empire, the only one who had a fighting chance of succeeding, of understanding what she meant when she talked about the rolling, deep power of the Thu'um, Kyne's gift to men. Her.
"I…I think the gods knew it had to be you. Us. To fix everything, restore Tamriel to a golden age."
I think the gods chose us. Ulfric mouthed the words to himself, let himself hear her voice clear in the silence.
And she looked up, met his eyes. Burning, deep, dragon's blood red; ambition, power, need-and wild fear, fear that everything would come crashing down around her. And he had that power, to sabotage her, keep her from her destiny, postpone her plans, like she had to him. "You are the final line in my Prophecy. 'For when the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding, the Wheel shall turn on the Last Dragonborn.' I believe that our fates may have been written in the Elder Scrolls before time itself. It was always you that had to be the one to call Alduin's return, and it always had to be me to end him. The Scrolls chose both of us for Prophecy, for a purpose far greater than we could ever imagine."
Ulfric couldn't find any words to deny her.
Because it was easy, once she'd realized how to break him. Finally, finally break him, in the way she needed him to be wholly dedicated to her fate, her birthright, her godhood.
Because it was sealed once she destroyed him to nothing to build him from the ashes, even if that building back up was rampant with protests, silence, anger at every single step. Every single crucial day one day longer that she would not sit upon her throne, would not rule over the masses that the gods promised her.
Because he did not hate her. And because Ulfric Stormcloak was a man that needed a cause to throw himself behind. Graybeards, Imperial Legion, Windhelm, his own rebellion, all of them were to distract him from that craving he'd felt-she'd felt-his whole life, a need to belong, a need to lead, rule, be something greater than an addendum in a history tome scribes would fall asleep on. And what greater purpose than that written beyond time, beyond reality?
Because the Elder Scroll was held in the Arcanaeum of the College, where he could easily confirm that everything she said was true, Lydia's jealously be damned. Lydia's folly, her arrogance, foolishness, stupidity be damned. How dare she interpret the will of the gods she had never felt the blessing of? How dare she question the Divinity in her own presence-
Because he'd stared at her, traced her with eyes desperate for something to believe in, one thing to hold himself firm in this world to. A simple, noble reason that he should keep fighting. And it was so hard to keep her face a mask of solemn relief as he started small, explaining the hierarchy of Thanes and Jarls and High Kings, how the ancient Dragonguard and Empire had once fit into that structure, his own face bright and serious and determined to lift her to her deserved station, to his own deserved station.
Because he had to be the most powerful in the room; she was foolish to not recognize that before now. Because he would only kneel before one that had his respect. His trust.
Because a dragon would always defeat a bear.