Ganelon Blackthorn, King of Boralis and ruler of the great city of Northpoint, was thoroughly annoyed. Ethenriel could tell - whenever her Majesty was in a particularly poor mood, one of the veins on his temple would bulge prominently against his balding head. Given that she'd seen the same trait in Ganelon's father and grandfather during her service to them, the woman figured it must have been a familial trait. Even his son William, peering over his shoulder, was showing a similar trait as he studied the contents of the missive they'd received from the king of Shornhelm.
The rotund, balding king stared down at the letter in his hands, reading through it once again. Then, Ganelon scoffed and crushed it into a tight ball in his fist. "Damn you, King Dorian, you insufferable codpiece-nibbler! It is one thing to be an incessant gadfly, and it is another thing to steal my allies out from under my nose! I cannot believe that a longtime Blackthorn ally as the king of Shornhelm could turn over to the Iliac League!"
William had mastered his father's signature dark glower. Ganelon had instilled in him a hatred of their rivals in House Durand; the years had seen the prince grow even more vicious and steadfastly loyal to his father's ambitions as well as in stature - William now towered over most other knights, just as his forefathers had before him. "I always suspected that the cowardly king might be the first in our shieldwall to break. Perhaps we ought to make an example out of him, father, and show what the price is for treason."
Ganelon huffed through his nose and rubbed his balding head. "The only fitting punishment for treason is death. We cannot dole such punishment against our neighbors without a just cause for war - anything less, and we may find the rest of High Rock turning upon us. Damn House Durand, and damn the Iliac League! They will bleed our country dry with their obstinate commitment to the damned Empire!"
William turned to his father with an intense look in his blue eyes. "I have heard that the Nordic savages of Skyrim have decided to rebel against the Empire - an all-out civil war. Perhaps we ought to follow their lead, father, and convince our allies to join our side."
"Hmmm." Ganelon thought about it, but he quickly shook his head. "Our influence has been waning over the years. As you can plainly see, even longtime allies of our House are being swayed by the promises of the Iliac League. What is it that they see in King Dorian? Don't they know he deals with Redguards? And Reachfolk? And Orcs?"
Ethenriel cleared her throat. "Perhaps it is a choice of the lesser of two evils, your Majesty."
Ganelon turned his attention to her. "What do you mean, Dame? Speak up!"
She obliged, keeping a carefully guarded expression on her otherwise impassive face. "The people of High Rock fear the power of the Dominion, but they also have an intense hatred for them. Rightly so, I think - the Thalmor are detestable. It is this fact that drives your countrymen to the Iliac League. They hate the Thalmor more than they fear them - and the Iliac League promises a chance to fight them and win."
William muttered darkly. "The fools think we should fight? The Empire was nearly destroyed in the Great War. All they managed to do was fight the Thalmor to a standstill."
"Hammerfell survived." Ethenriel had heard of the fearsome fighting that had happened there. Rumor said that the Iliac League was still funneling aid and weapons into Hammerfell to keep them armed against future Thalmor incursion.
Ganelon scowled. "Only at great cost. Taneth was reduced to a smoking ruin, and Hammerfell's southern lands were utterly razed. Did you not hear about the Night of Green Fire?"
Ethenriel glowered fiercely but said nothing. She'd heard of it, of course. Hard not to remember when the Dominion attacked Altmer refugees who'd settled in Sentinel while fleeing persecution.
"I would not see such destruction come upon us at the hands of the Empire's enemies," muttered Ganelon. "If King Dorian wishes to die by the sword, then let him, but don't think I will let him drag us all into another war with the Dominion."
Footsteps echoed in the hall. They all turned to see the steward, a weasley Argonian with gray-brown scales named Jeemas. He gave a slight bow of his reptilian head. "Begging your pardon, your Majesty. There is a visitor who wishes to see you."
"Who is he?" Ganelon frowned. So did Ethenriel. She hadn't been told of any visitors coming today.
Jeemas answered in a gentle hiss: "A High Elf. He gave me no name, but he claimed to be a friend to House Blackthorn - and an enemy of the Iliac League."
William sat upright, his keen eyes bright with curiosity. "Any enemy of the Iliac League is a friend of ours, father, isn't that correct?"
Ganelon shifted in his seat. Dark eyes studied the steward beneath a heavy brow. "Send him in."
A few minutes later, they heard long-strided footsteps echoing in the shadowed throne room. The tall, lithe figure of an Altmer approached them, his form enveloped in a dark shroud. Ethenriel felt a dangerous aura from the mer. Instinct compelled her to step in front of her liege and grip the hilt of her sword. Behind her back, her hand clenched with magicka primed for a defensive spell. "That's close enough. State your business."
The stranger stopped short, well away from the throne where Ganelon sat. He peered out from underneath his hood at Ethenriel - she could sense a sort of mirth from the look of the mer's eyes. "Apologies, my lady. I only wanted a better look at the eminent King Ganelon and his great son."
Flattery. He knows what gets the attention of the Blackthorns. Ethenriel noticed how Ganelon and William's interest both seemed to grow. Ganelon motioned for her to stand down. "Sheath your sword, my knight. It would not do to threaten someone who knows how to show proper respect to our venerable House."
Grudgingly, she obeyed. The woman slid her sword back into its sheath, but she did not relax her stance. King Ganelon turned back to the stranger. "Terribly sorry about her. She is very protective."
"Good protection is valuable these days. One never knows when an enemy might strike from the shadows behind veils of deceit." The stranger's eyes seemed to glow under the shadow of his hood as he smiled.
William grunted. "There seems to be no shortage of enemies these days. Enemies and traitors to our country."
The cloaked figure gave a nod. "Like those of the Iliac League who hope to pull your fair country into yet another costly, destructive war - correct?"
King Ganelon narrowed his eyes at the stranger. "My steward said you claimed to be a friend of our House and an enemy of the Iliac League. Who are you to take such an interest in these affairs of the realm?"
A chuckle emerged from the stranger. "Call me Divellon. Let's just say that my employers and I have a vested interest in seeing the Iliac League fail. We believe that everyone would be better off with the League out of the picture."
Ethenriel scowled at the stranger. Her eyes widened suddenly, and her hand flew to the hilt of her sword again. "You're a Thalmor agent, aren't you?"
Far from denying it, the cloaked Altmer just raised a hand. "Be at peace, loyal knight. I am not here to fight. I came here to negotiate."
"So you admit it. You are here at the Thalmor's behest." Her hand clenched into a fist, drawing magicka into it where her target could not see.
William's hand flew to the hilt of his greatsword, Shear. "A Thalmor dog dares defile our hall with his presence? I'll have your head swept from your shoulders!"
The prince's weapon, Shear, came into view. Nearly six feet long, the flame-bladed, meteoric iron greatsword gleamed coldly in the light that shone through the hall's high windows. It made for a truly imposing sight. Ethenriel had seen that blade in action - a fearsome thing to be faced with, in the hands of a skilled swordsman such as William. For once, I find myself tempted to let him be a menace.
As the Blackthorn prince adjusted his grip on the hilt, however, his father threw out an arm. "Peace, William! Stay your blade!"
William turned a look of shock upon his father. "But… He's a Thalmor!"
"He has come for negotiations. I say, let him negotiate." Ganelon studied his son's stunned expression. "If he displeases me, then you may personally dispose of him at my request."
"Yes, father." The prince grudgingly lowered his sword, planting the tip into the ground and leaning his weight against it, projecting an air of casual menace.
"Thank you, King Ganelon." The Thalmor envoy bowed his head once. "As I was saying, I came to negotiate for… partnership, of sorts, between my people and yours."
King Ganelon leaned heavily on his throne. He'd been a great warrior himself, once, until he'd gotten old. While his proud warrior's body had gone to seed, he was still able to hold himself with a dominating presence when he wanted. "Why do you seek partnership with House Blackthorn?"
"To undo the Iliac League, of course." The Altmer smiled through thin lips. "And to accomplish that, it would require no less than the downfall of House Durand. In doing this, you would earn my people's guarantee that High Rock would be left alone."
Ethenriel scowled, fingers itching to fly to her sword's hilt. "Your Majesty…"
"Silence, my knight." King Ganelon waved her off. He nodded at the Thalmor agent. "What are the terms of this partnership?"
"Quite simple ones, I assure you." Divellon smiled grimly. "We ask that you orchestrate the downfall of House Durand. In particular, we wish for you to silence the voice of King Dorian himself, who leads them."
"You ask us to kill King Dorian?"
"Killing him will not dismantle the League; he must be disgraced. Trust in him must be uprooted among his fellow members of the League, so they cannot thrust the mantle of its leadership upon one another without looking at their allies with mistrust."
King Ganelon leveled a stern glare at the mer. "You ask a great thing of us. A costly, dangerous business."
"Indeed. To help you accomplish this, we would send you aid, so you may expand your influence and sway members of the League."
"What kind of aid?"
"Money and weapons, and limited service from our covert operatives. Have no fear, we have no intention of landing Aldmeri troops on your shores - and if you agree to this partnership and succeed in overshadowing the Iliac League, we guarantee that the Dominion will leave High Rock to its own affairs."
Divellon fell into silence, watching the effect his words had on his audience. King Ganelon brought a hand to his chin in contemplation. Prince William rubbed his jaw; his hatred for the Thalmor was clashing with his hatred for House Durand. Ethenriel felt a sinking sense of dread. She had to speak. But to speak out of turn, on matters that only the king could decide…
"Very well." Ganelon's voice echoed in the shadowed hall, resonant with gravitas. "House Blackthorn shall agree to this partnership, on the condition that the Thalmor stay out of High Rock after the downfall of the Iliac League."
"But of course." The agent smirked. "We only care about our foes in Cyrodiil. We have no interest in High Rock. I shall relay your decision to my superiors."
"See that you do," commanded King Ganelon. He gave a dismissive wave. "Off with you, now. I have much planning to do."
The Thalmor agent gave a bow, then turned on his heel and strode away. It took every ounce of willpower that Ethenriel had left to not shoot the mer in the back with a bolt of magicka. She turned a sharp look upon King Ganelon once the visitor had left earshot. "Your Majesty, you cannot trust him. The Thalmor can never be trusted."
"Of course I don't trust him," scoffed King Ganelon. "But once I have asserted my influence in High Rock to a sufficient extent, after those House Durand curs are whipped and dealt with, I plan to have my Nightblades scour the land to seek out and destroy every possible Thalmor agent we can find."
William scowled. "I still don't like it either, father. Our allies would be unhappy to learn of this. What if the other Houses catch wind that we have negotiated with the Thalmor?"
"They won't, unless you fail to keep your big mouth shut, my son."
King Ganelon suddenly reached for the crushed letter he'd been reading earlier. He unraveled it and smoothed it out, reading the contents once again. A mischievous smile grew across his face. He suddenly snapped his fingers. "Jeemas! Come here!"
The Argonian steward came scampering at his command. "Yes, your Majesty?"
Ganelon raised the wrinkled parchment in his hand. "Start drafting a response letter. I think it's high time that we paid King Dorian a visit in his stronghold."
