A great boom resounded throughout the war room as Dorian threw open the mighty oaken doors. His footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent chamber as he crossed to the large mahogany table where his advisers - including his wife and bastard son - were gathered. They straightened, bowing their heads at his arrival. The Breton's brooding gaze studied the faces that stood arranged around the table, before he turned his attention to the map on the table. It depicted High Rock with its various duchies and kingdoms. A pile of letters was spread haphazardly across its surface; he recognized the seals that marked each one. "More letters."
Razig nodded gravely. He held one up, featuring a wax seal stamped with the image of a heron - Hallin's Stand. "Our allies are in an outrage, your Majesty. From Farrun to Wayrest."
"News travels quickly." Dorian felt a thunderstorm brewing behind his eyeballs. He leaned heavily over the war room's map table, looking at all the letters from his enraged Iliac League allies. Alcaire, Jehanna, Wayrest, Shornhelm…
Vivian scowled thunderously down at the letters. "How could this have happened?"
"You tell me," muttered the Orc. "You're the closest thing House Durand has to a spymaster."
"My agents are still searching." The Imperial woman's dark eyes narrowed. "They promised me they had something good, but it has yet to arrive."
Josephine studied the map and the letters strewn across its surface. "I still don't quite understand what's happened…"
Vivian answered. "Someone intercepted an unaffiliated courier bearing letters to Thalmor agents in High Rock. Every letter they found was marked with House Durand's seal."
Razig glanced over at the ring that Dorian wore. "And there is no likeness of the seal outside of the king's signet ring. It is one of a kind."
Dorian nodded, rubbing his thumb against the rampant dragon stamped into the silver band. "Only forgery of the highest quality could ever hope to replicate this stamp. But that may have to be the case, however improbable it may be."
The Orc in their midst growled. "Unacceptable. I've already questioned our guards and found nothing. Nobody could have managed to break into the keep and meddle with your ring without leaving a trace of their presence like that. Not without magic, at least."
Vivian shifted her weight onto a hip, studying the faces assembled. "It could be magic at play. Hard to say, difficult to be certain."
"It has to be magic," countered Josephine. "I've studied some myself. Illusion, mostly. Someone managed to create a perfect forgery of King Dorian's seal without his signet ring. Even for a master silverworker, it would be difficult to accomplish without the original mold - and then, our saboteur would have to find one skilled enough who was also willing to keep his or her mouth shut on the matter."
"Money talks," Dorian remarked. "Silence can be purchased. If a silversmith did make an identical copy of my signet… It is difficult to be certain."
Josephine huffed in frustration. "What will we do? Question every silversmith and metalworker in High Rock? Offer a bounty? If money talks, why don't we offer ours to help catch the true culprit?"
Roland spoke up in the silence that followed. "Could you not meet with your allies? Surely, they must understand that… someone wants to see you fail, so someone must be trying to besmirch our name."
Dorian shook his head dolefully. "I have begun drafting letters to our allies across the League to attempt and smooth out relationships, but without concrete evidence that these letters to the Thalmor weren't my doing, I have doubts on whether they will listen."
"Why not show them the letters?" asked Roland. "Perhaps your handwriting is distinct enough to draw suspicion away."
Josephine huffed again. "Your father has been making use of scribes to write in his stead. He has been too busy to do it himself."
The door to the war room groaned open. A Durand courier came racing across the room, one of Vivian's agents. She broke away from the war table and spoke with her man in hushed silence. The courier produced a scroll from his satchel and offered it to Vivian. He saluted and turned away.
Vivian returned with the scroll. A scowl twisted her features as she offered it to King Dorian. "Scouting report. One of my men followed the trail of these phony letters back to its source - House Blackthorn."
"What?" asked Josephine, aghast.
"How could this be?" asked Dorian, eyes widening in shock. He quickly unraveled the scout's scroll and began to read its contents. Vivian's agent had found the inns and waypoints across High Rock where the letter-bearer had stopped along his journey. He'd traced the trail back to the outskirts of Boralis, the realm of House Blackthorn.
Razig snarled, slamming a fist into the table. The whole thing shook. "I should have known they'd be behind this."
Roland appeared to be too shocked to even speak - his eyes were glazed and distant. Dorian lowered the scout's scroll and sighed. "Can we be certain that this is the doing of House Blackthorn?"
"It's obvious," argued the Battlemaster. "They somehow took advantage of your hospitality when you invited them to feast with us two months ago. An underhanded attempt to soil our name and disgrace the Iliac League, no doubt. Though I don't understand how they could have gotten past our security."
Before he could continue his spiel, Vivian interjected. "House Blackthorn almost seems too obvious of a culprit, Razig."
Dorian leaned closer to the Imperial woman. "What are you saying, Viv?"
The woman gave him a hard look. "The Iliac League has its opponents, Dorian - both within and without. It wouldn't surprise me if there weren't at least a few Thalmor moles hidden throughout our vast country. Possibly even more than just a few."
She pointed down at the map, where the icon for Northpoint sat in Rivenspire. "Pitting High Rock's nobility against itself by leaving a trail of forged House Durand letters leading back to our rivals? It would be awfully convenient if someone wanted to instigate a real conflict in High Rock with a scandal like this. Perhaps House Blackthorn did betray us and left a sloppy trail in their wake. Or perhaps they are just a pawn in a bigger scheme."
A heavy silence filled the room. Razig scowled. Josephine fretted. Roland bowed his head dourly. Dorian studied everyone's faces before turning his attention back to his steward, nodding. "It would make sense, Viv. Perhaps this is a Thalmor ploy after all. They might have hoped to turn House against House."
Razig muttered darkly, "Plots within plots within plots."
Dorian straightened. "We must get to the bottom of this. I will send the other members of the League and King Ganelon a request to meet with us on neutral ground. If this is a Thalmor trick, we must work quickly before they achieve their goal of weakening us."
He passed his gaze along the assembled faces. When he reached Roland, he frowned. The lad's eyes were downcast, his expression haunted. "My boy, are you well?"
Roland jerked upright. He realized everyone was looking at him now and shook his head quickly. "I'm… fine. Just worried."
Razig reached over to squeeze the young man's shoulder. "Steady on, cub. We will get to the bottom of this."
Vivian came over to wrap an arm around his shoulders for a one-armed hug. "We'll pull through this. We won't be going down without a fight."
While Josephine might not have officially accepted him as a son, Dorian could see the little signs that pointed to her stance on the matter changing. She offered her hand to Roland with a small, comforting smile. "Come, now. Enough with this dour business. Young Bernard needs someone to teach him how to use a poleaxe, and I doubt Razig will be able to find the time to teach him now."
"I'm up to my tusks in work," groused the Orc in question. "You go on ahead, cub. Be sure you go slow with Bernard - the lad needs a patient hand in martial instruction, and patience is something I am severely lacking in at this time."
Roland nodded slowly, still avoiding the others' gazes. Then Josephine took his hand and led him out of the room. When they were gone, Dorian sighed. "Razig, Vivian, we have work to do."
The Orc straightened. "I will question my men again - see if they have anything to say about our Blackthorn guests during the night of the feast."
Vivian bowed her head. "And I'll see what I can do to follow up on the findings from the scout's report. Maybe I'll send my agent into Northpoint and see if I can't find any evidence from the local silversmiths."
"See to it that you do." Dorian turned his weary gaze upon the war table and its letter-covered surface. "May the gods be on our side in this endeavor. The fate of the Iliac League may well rest upon our hands and what we do here."
Several days later and thousands of miles away in Northpoint, King Ganelon was incandescent with rage. A letter had come from House Durand, written by King Dorian himself, requesting an audience with him. He hoped to speak with Ganelon and the other members of the Iliac League about the Thalmor letters that had been intercepted. And, in a personal note from Dorian attached to the letter, it had become clear that he knew that House Blackthorn had a hand in this scandal.
Ganelon read the letter in his office with William and Ethenriel by his side. Once they were finished, he set it down and glared up at his Altmeri knight. "You said you hadn't been detected."
"If I'd been detected, my head would no longer be sitting upon my shoulders." Ethenriel retained a cold, stony silence as she sat next to him. "I believe that House Durand's agents might have learned of your plans, somehow, by their own means."
William turned to his father. "Have we been found out?"
"No. Not yet." Ganelon glared at the contents of the letter again. "It says here that King Dorian has acquired non-insignificant evidence implicating us as either the formulators of these letters or victims of a framing. That is why they wish for my presence at the Iliac League's meeting in Balfiera."
"We cannot go!" hissed the young knight, eyes wide and intense. "They would interrogate us, demand to question our staff. If they learn of our doings…"
"Silence, boy. Quit whimpering like a hound!" Ganelon glared at his son. "Are you a knight or a nanny? Have a spine."
The king turned his attention back to the letter. "This will not do. We cannot allow the League to discover our plans."
Ethenriel interjected. "A refusal to attend the Iliac League meeting - or even silence on the matter - would only serve to further implicate you with guilt, your Majesty. A man who had nothing to hide would not object to being questioned."
William snorted. "The Iliac League only needs to pretend to be honorable. They may very well attempt to browbeat us into submitting to their power if we were to attend."
"You may be right, William." Ethenriel nodded once, grudgingly. "But Dorian is honorable. Even if the other members of the League have little love for us, I think that he would do his best to stay their hands. He has always claimed to seek unity in High Rock, not division."
"Even if that unity is brought about by conquest?" countered William. "We are still two Houses with a bitter rivalry. House Durand would have all the reason it needs to establish a hostile takeover of our House if it could accuse us of treason."
"Not while lacking the trust of their allies in the League," muttered Ganelon, studying the letter. "But you are right that we are still in a precarious position, my son, even with the trust shaken amongst the League."
Ethenriel looked at the nearby map of High Rock. "My suggestion, your Majesty: Summon the allies of House Blackthorn and meet with the Iliac League. You can accuse them of attempting to make a move for power against you if they argue. With your allies at your back supporting you, they would be forced to negotiate and discuss with you on more even ground without having to risk them attempting to bully our House into submitting to unfair terms. You may even scare House Durand out of the negotiation altogether if their own allies refuse to trust the meeting themselves."
William turned on her with an outraged scowl. "You wish for us to negotiate with them? With the League?"
"What else do you propose?" snapped Ethenriel.
The prince growled. "We fight. Strike out at House Durand while they and their allies are disorganized."
Ethenriel's impassive features twisted with a fearsome glower. "You would be crossing a line from which there is no return."
"Perhaps so, Dame." Ganelon tossed the letter back onto the table. "But there is still outrage over the discovery of the Thalmor letters all across the realm. Deep mistrust has been sown thanks to those letters. We might have all the justification we need to declare a casus belli against House Durand while their allies are stunned."
"Casus belli?" asked William, frowning. "You learned too many Old Imperial words in Cyrodiil, father. What does that mean?"
It was Ethenriel who answered, in a cold whisper. "A justification for war; that is what casus belli means."
Ganelon stood from his chair. He was a large man - he came partly from Nordic stock, and the Blackthorn family line was said to have descended from the Hillmen of Rivenspire, who had hill-giant blood in their veins. During the Great War he had been a fearsome warrior on the battlefield, adept at wielding both spell and blade against the Dominion's forces. None would say that the king of House Blackthorn struck a martial figure anymore - but none could argue that he still knew how to hold himself like a warrior, either.
"We will not allow this chance to pluck the meddlesome Durand thorn from our side slip out of our hands." He turned, looking over his companions. Then, he jerked his chin up at them. "I make this decision for our own good, and for that of fair High Rock - we will fight."
Ethenriel shook her head quickly. "Let's not be rash, your Majesty. Think of the consequences."
"I have." Ganelon's eyes were dark and terrible to behold. "This is the best way to ensure our House's survival - and perhaps, in the end, that of High Rock. I will not allow our House to fall to the depredations of House Durand, the Iliac League, the Empire, or the bloody Thalmor. If that means spilling the blood of our rivals, then all the better."
He turned back to the map, planting his hands on his hips. "If we are swift and decisive, we can cut out the heart of the problem before it gets out of hand. Without House Durand, the Iliac League will crumble as its members strive to keep their own skins safe. I have invested some of the Thalmor money into outfitting our household troops, as well - they are ready for this."
William all but leapt out of his chair. "I will lead our men in your name, father. We will end House Durand once and for all."
Ganelon nodded in approval. "Good. This will be a beneficial experience for you, my son. You have sharpened your skills against pirates, hill bandits, and tourney knights, now show me how you fare against a real foe."
"It will be done, father. Our House is larger - we shall drown them with our numbers."
"Do not underestimate them. House Durand's household troops are supremely well trained, and the men of Evermore are a tough breed."
"I care not. They shall all fall to Shear's wrath. Even King Dorian himself."
But at this, Ganelon shook his head. "Do not kill King Dorian. We do not slay fellow noblemen, not even our bitter rivals."
The young prince gaped. "But father—!"
"No buts! You will listen to me on this, my son." Ganelon turned his patented dark glare upon William. "King Dorian is to be kept alive. He will be our bargaining chip against the Iliac League, should they rally their wits and dare to retaliate. Dorian is well-loved, and that makes him valuable - if he were to be slain, we would lose our greatest leverage in future negotiations with the League."
Ganelon suddenly turned his attention to Ethenriel. "You've been awfully quiet, Dame. Do you have nothing to say? Your input is always valuable."
"I have given my input." Her voice was cold and flat. "I say that what you propose is dangerous business. If this goes poorly, it could lead to a civil war across the country."
Ganelon huffed. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."
William smirked. "Ethie must be going soft. Where is the cold-blooded killer that we once knew?"
Don't be so certain that the killer is gone, young prince. Ethenriel kept her head down, struggling not to allow her anger to get the better of her.
William turned to his father. "I will get the men ready to move out. I won't fail you, father!"
"See that you don't, my son. Go, now, and bring honor to our House!"
As William turned and left, Ganelon's attention fell upon Ethenriel. "I understand why you disagree. I admit, the thought of a civil war does not appeal to me, either. But House Durand is forcing our hand. They've put our backs to a wall. We must do this, or else our House will be the ones to suffer the fall. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"Then I hope that means you are willing to go with William."
Ethenriel looked up sharply at him. "Your Majesty. I have no taste for what you propose."
Ganelon gave her a grim look of sympathy. "I know you don't. But William does. And I do not trust that he will restrain himself when the assault on House Durand begins. The boy is ruthless, ambitious, and hungry for glory - a dangerous combination in a man."
The hulkynd took in the words without reaction. Seeing this, Ganelon crossed over to the map on the table and traced a thumb against the marker denoting the location of Durand Stronghold. "When the arrows begin to fly, William will not think of long-term consequences. His vision grows narrow, like a man viewing his target through a spyglass - he cares for nothing more than what is immediately before him. But you, I can trust to keep a level head."
He turned to look over his shoulder at her. "The boy needs someone to keep him on a leash, of sorts. I cannot do it myself, and he will not listen to anyone else but you. William respects you, Ethenriel. That is why I need you there with him to keep watch over him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I can't have my only heir dying in battle - and I'm sure that you might be able to dissuade him from becoming… overzealous, in dealing with House Durand's prisoners."
Ethenriel sighed. "I suppose you are right…" At length, she bobbed her head once. "Very well. I will accompany William."
"Thank you, my knight." Ganelon reached forward and laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder - a familiar gesture that used to bring her comfort, long ago. "Once this terrible business is behind us, you will see that what we do benefits everyone."
I hope you are right, thought the hulkynd. After this terrible business is done with, perhaps High Rock will quiet down. It has always survived internal strife. Even this will be just another passing war in a politically schizophrenic land that has been divided since time immemorial.
After she left Ganelon's office to follow after William, her thoughts continued to dog her. As it were, she might be all that stood between an uneasy peace and widespread civil war in the land she'd grown to see as her home. It was a difficult burden to bear.
A crass, pessimistic part of her mind reminded her: You've been alive for over two hundred years. You know how it is. There will always be war. It never changes. At least you will be there to keep William in check. Perhaps your actions will still be able to prevent an even greater slaughter from following.
She reminded herself: Honor existed in duty. But now it sounded like a hollow excuse in Ethenriel's ears.
