They still had time left before they could eat in earnest. This grace period had Irileth unfortunately made her listen to Balgruuf rant and rave. The guest room they found themselves in was generously decorated and spacious, a testament to the wealth of the Jarls of Windhelm who could put up people in apartments that would be an expense for minor lords and thanes. Irileth stood with her back against the wall, the Ebony Blade resting on a mantlepiece, as Balgruuf paced about the room muttering in a tone that was supposed to be a whisper but instead came out as frustrated grumbling.
"...That was the perfect damned compromise but no, we have to deal with a fucking obnoxious Jarl that can't see the big bloody picture!" Balgruuf snapped as the unfortunate floor endured his pacing. He wasn't exactly red with rage. Only the Thalmor could ever elicit such a reaction from him. Irileth figured that on levels of angry, he could perhaps make do beating the Oblivion out of a practice dummy.
"You swore. The world must be ending," Irileth said with faux scandalousness. Balgruuf stopped his pacing as he turned towards her. She continued. "You never swear if you can help it, Balgruuf."
"Oh forgive me, Iri. It's just, I am a fountain of peace at the moment," Balgruuf deadpanned. He then made a sweeping open gesture with his palms. "Behold, the hands of serenity! They radiate sheer calmness the likes of which can send one to nirvana!"
Irileth snorted then she did a double take. "What is nirvana?" she asked, testing the unfamiliar word. Balgruuf shook his head as he grumpily sat by the bed.
"Don't worry about it," Balgruuf said with a click of his tongue. He glanced up at her. "What you and I should worry about is Jarl Hoag and his demand."
Irileth cocked her head. "You have already pledged your help to Jarl Hrolfdir, Balgruuf. This is the whole reason why we are here, no? In time, you will have an army to wield against the Reachmen. Why stress over the Jarl of Windhelm?"
Balgruuf took a breath then, he exhaled as he massaged his temples. With eyes closed, he muttered. "Because he could risk starting a conflict over Talos and it would be out of our control. Furthermore, support from Windhelm with give us a great advantage in the form of his son, Ulfric. You and I heard it before we reached Amol." He opened his eyes, levelled at Irileth. "The voice. His Thu'um."
Irileth nodded. Every good Dunmer who paid attention to their history had an idea of what the Thu'um was. The tonal magic the Nords used to carve an Empire from High Rock to Morrowind. Such was its power that it took an alliance of the old Chimer and the Dwemer to beat them back forever. A miracle considering that before the Nords came, the Chimer and Dwemer were murdering each other. "Yes. It's a rather difficult thing to not hear it, Balgruuf." said Irileth.
"If Windhelm joins us, we would have the best foot in all of Skyrim as well as Ulfric," Balgruuf said. Irileth crossed her arms.
"Why not just convince the Jarling Ulfric to join you?" Irileth asked. If Balgruuf was so concerned about Ulfric, why not just convince the lad to hop along his wild adventure?
"Irileth, this is the son of Jarl Hoag of Windhelm. A major Hold. Ulfric just can't dally around Skyrim without permission from his father," Balgruuf pointed out. "I can do it simply because my father allowed me to. I do not think Ulfric has it in himself to defy Hoag and just leave."
Irileth thought about it. "All you really need is Ulfric, yes?"
Balgruuf nodded. "His Thu'um would allow us to simply Shout the gate down, subtlety be damned."
Irileth clicked her fingers. "Then it's clear what you need to do. Convince Ulfric to go with you. You worry about trying to get the Jarl's approval and forget that Ulfric is himself a man with his own thoughts and desires. Persuade him, convince him. Sway him to your cause."
A grimace formed over Balgruuf. "I do not want to earn Hoag's enmity by getting his son to march off to war."
"You worry about Hoag's ire for little reason, my lord," Irileth said as she left her post by the wall to get to her lord and lover. She made sure to add a little sashaying of her hips to earn Balgruuf's attention. She inwardly smirked as Balgruuf's eyes lowered. She halted before him, kneeling down on one knee with her eyes levelled with him. Her voice turned sultry and low the more she spoke. "He is old, very old. You and I saw that. The ire of Jarl Hoag will mean little when he will die soon if not later. Convince Ulfric that this will be for the best. I know you can do this, Balgruuf," she ended with a low and lusty whisper, her lips curling into a slight smile. "Or perhaps my lord needs a little comfort to settle his head?"
Passion bloomed. Later, Balgruuf leaned back.
"...What...wow...I," Balgruuf took another breath. Irileth smirked as she redid the straps of her armor. She stood up, wiping away at her mouth with a cloth.
"You were stressed, I was bored," Irileth said. "Now, is your mind clear?"
"Hm? Uh, yes." Balgruuf muttered. He blinked. "Wait, I'm going to repay the favour."
Irileth snorted. "Fool, I did it because I love you, not because this is a transaction." She smiled sultrily. "If you really want to...I will not be opposed. But..."
Balgruuf quickly stood up, the lust and love in his eyes clear. The look on him made Irileth bite her lip. Her legs quivered at the animalistic urge on his face. "But..."? Balgruuf asked, his voice coming out as a growl, his steps coming closer towards Irileth. Before he could lay a hand on her however, there was a knock on the door.
"My lord? The dinner is starting," a voice said from the otherside of the door.
The disappointment and irritation was clear on his face. "I...I shall be down shortly," he muttered. He took a breath.
"Elven hearing," Irileth said with a smirk. "We need to go down, Balgruuf. Once we finish the dinner, we can got at it to your hearts desire."
Irileth quivered as Balgruuf leaned in, wrapping and squeezing. "I am going to put a child in you," he growled.
"Promises," she tittered, patting his chest gently.
Their father retreated into his room to rest. As his door closed behind them, Ulfric and Freyja could only watch the old wood oak door with thin lips. Their Housecarls followed them quietly. The elder Stormcloak turned towards his sister. "Now what?" he asked her. Freyja glanced up at her brother.
"Why are you asking me? You're the one to be Jarl, not me," Freyja shrugged, her tone neutral. She turned on her heels and walked off. He followed after her, walking at her side. Ulfric detected a hint of bitterness in her voice and his lip curled at that.
"I was trained in the Way of the Voice and warcraft. You know well that I have much to learn yet," Ulfric admitted and that was true. There was an expectation that he was going to be a member of the Greybeards. Thus, someone else had to be groomed to be the next Jarl of Windhelm. His sister stepped in his place. Then, he came back.
He understood her bitterness. There was much to be upset about.
She took in a breath and sighed. Her future as Jarl was a hollow dream at this point but that didn't mean her desire to serve her home faltered.
"Jarl Hrolfdir has secured for himself an army in the form of Lord Balgruuf. In truth, he has no need of us anymore. There is only two things worth left here, your Thu'um and my hand in marriage. The use of your Thu'um is obvious. It will make sieging Markarth easier. As for my hand in marriage, I am the sister of Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarling of a storied and rich Hold. Why wouldn't my hand not be valuable?"
Ulfric frowned. Of course his Thu'um would be sought after. Just one Shout from him and the walls and gates of Markarth would be no issue. That was how their forefathers stormed cities and castles in the ancient days. However, his Thu'um was not just some weapon to be used at their leisure. The Thu'um was to worship the Divines, not to gain personal glory. This he mentioned to his sister.
"You've already used it in combat before, no? This won't be any different," Freyja said. Ulfric shook his head.
"I used my Shout at those times, sister, because it was for the benefit of Skyrim, not mine," Ulfric said stiffly. His Shouting down the gates of Amol was for the benefit of everyone. No one wins if bandits and rogue mages controlled an important road junction after all.
"And is it in Skyrim's benefit if we lose an important city like Markarth?" Freyja quizzed him back. Ulfric thought about it and frowned again.
"No. It won't," Ulfric said with a click of his tongue. Five thousand tons of silver a year was an unbelievable amount. If the Jarl of Markarth was speaking the truth then it was political suicide if they would let such an important city go away without even a fight.
"If news broke that Windhelm did nothing while Markarth needed aid, the Holds that look to us will think twice about continuing their support," Ulfric mused. Windhelm's reputation as a champion of Nordic tradition would be laughed at if they did not act. Markarth was far away, yes, but it was still a Nordic city. Could Windhelm continue to speak about their traditions if it did not come to help Jarl Hrolfdir?
"Quite so," Freyja nodded. The ramifications of inaction was severe. "If we didn't help Jarl Hrolfdir, a man whose holdings lie above importance than theirs, then could Windhelm really be counted on?" She massaged her temples, frustration bubbling inside her head. "What is our father doing?"
"I...I do not know," Ulfric sighed. The words of Balgruuf rang aloud in his head. "On the way here, Lord Balgruuf mentioned to me that trying to bring back Talos worship will simply end badly for us all. We simply are not ready for war. The Empire will be forced to crack down and it will weaken all of us further. And the ones to benefit will be the...elves." He ended with a particular growl.
He was not going to forget that Thalmor prison.
"You would think that Lord Balgruuf would push for such a thing. He is the Elfsbane after all. Ironic that a man that has slaughtered scores of Elves is the first to caution action against them," Freyja said with surprise.
"...Indeed," Ulfric said quietly, noting the admiring look on his sister's face. "You sound like you approve of him."
Freyja scoffed. "He's been sensible since I met him. Of course my opinion of the man is good."
"If I may," Skadi coughed. "My Lady believed that Lord Balgruuf had arrived with the intent to secure her hand for marriage."
Ulfric's lips curled into a smile as a faint hue appeared on Freyja's pale cheeks. She coughed, clearing her throat. "It was the only sensible idea that occurred to me. Now, enough about that nonsense and let us get back to the problem at hand, our father."
Ulfric hummed. He would have to think on how a match between his sister and Balgruuf would go. There was Igmund who was unmarried yet and having a stake in its silver would be good. However, if Windhelm would try for a marriage there, it would only signal to other Holds that it was trying to gain control of Markarth's wealth. How such a move would be interpreted, he needed to mull over it.
"Yes, our lord Father, the Jarl." said Ulfric, his mind awash with ideas. "Out of all the thoughts in me, I know we must help Hrolfdir." This too would influence his future rule too. If word came out that he did nothing, he would be seen as unreliable as well. And that was the last thing he wanted. Ulfric did not want to be useless. He had spent the war locked in prison, the information he gave let the capital fall. He failed as a soldier, he failed to be a Greybeard as his training was incomplete. And this time, he wasn't going to fail in being a man and being a Jarl. He wasn't going to fail his people.
"I agree," Freyja said quickly. "Look, brother. Jarl Hrolfdir will obviously say no to father's request. This means that he will forbid any aid leaving the Hold."
"That will also mean he will forbid either you and I in leaving the city in the first place," replied Ulfric. "I will have to defy him." He said distastefully. Ulfric considered himself a good son. A son has a duty to uphold to his sire after all.
As if detecting his thoughts, Freyja responded quickly. "Brother, you must understand that Father's request will not just be ruinous for Windhelm but for Skyrim too. The Concordat will take into effect, the elves will send their Justiciars here with impunity. We will have no choice but to raise arms to defend our people. We will fight the Empire and the Elves all by ourselves. We cannot let this happen. For Skyrim, you will have to defy him." Her tone was urgent, insistent.
Ulfric stopped walking.
In his mind, a decision slowly formed.
The dinner was a tame event, Irileth found, as the Jarl and his guests walked onto the Great Hall of the Palace. There was not much pageantry to speak of, no flowing banners and bards annoying the guests with their music and song. As was said earlier, a simple dinner. The fare was far from it however. Seared slaughterfish swam in a butter garlic sauce, crab cakes served with a spiced dipping sauce of cream and onion, golden brown apple pies and bread freshly baked in the Palace kitchens. Mead and ale washed it all down. They dined well and quietly, the mood for conversation stifled by the failed negotiations from earlier.
Balgruuf stole glances towards Ulfric's way, wondering how to approach the explosive Stormcloak best. Jarl Hrolfdir would have his army and they could best be on their way in the morning but leaving out one of the few Tongues around would be a tactical blunder. He did however note with interest how both Ulfric and Freyja were quietly looking at their father as well, the Jarl grumpily eating away at his meal.
A part of Balgruuf resisted the urge to laugh. Certain family dinners in his old life were more coherent and friendly than the air he now breathed. As the meal went quickly, consumed amidst quiet conversation, the Jarl stood up to his full height, ready to retire. Eyes turned towards him then quickly, towards Ulfric as the Jarling stood up.
"My Jarl!" Ulfric cried aloud. On her chair, Freyja held onto her fork and knife a bit tighter.
Balgruuf watched with interest as Jarl Hoag stopped in his tracks. He turned towards his son. "Lord Ulfric, what is it?" He asked quietly, his expression tense and lordly. Ulfric faltered slightly at his father's gaze. But, he felt a squeeze on his arm. It was Freyja, urging him on.
He took a breath.
"Father, I must know what is it you intend to do with the matter of Markarth," Ulfric asked, putting in more life into his words. "Jarl Hrolfdir has come all the way here to ask for our help in reclaiming his Hold from rebels. Are we truly going to abandon him in his hour of need?"
Glances and whispers were exchanged as Jarl Hoag sent his son a furious glare. He took a breath, nursing his rage, before answering. "Windhelm will answer, Lord Ulfric, but only when Markarth agrees to our simple demand; to restore what is our people's right!"
"And if this is not met, is Windhelm ready to sacrifice the Reach?" Ulfric argued, his fear of his father slowly giving way to his frustration. "The Holds look to us for leadership and strength! What use is that when we turn away our brothers and sisters suffering from the Reachmen?"
"The Holds will think twice before supporting us in the future." was what left unsaid. The implication was not lost to Jarl Hoag.
"Windhelm leads, Ulfric, for we see what is best for all of us. To restore the worship of Talos, the Ninth Divine, is the best. For he is a man that became God!" Hoag's voice rose. "I will not let good Windhelm men die while they cannot worship Talos, as is their right!" His voice was like the roar of his banner's spirit animal, loud and fierce. It echoed off the walls, each man and woman in the room feeling it reverberate in their bones.
Ulfric however did not give up. He stood tall and proud, not backing down from his father's challenge. This only enraged Hoag further. He rounded onto his son, his quiet rage now in the open. "Our children were sent to fight the elves and what did we get in return? Our dignity and our god made cheap for peace! My own son, my boy, languished in a Thalmor prison for an Emperor that tossed his sacrifice, the sacrifices of those that fought for him, like trash!"
He breathed down steam as he halted before Ulfric, glaring at him. "I will not allow, I forbid, any more sacrifice from Windhelm unless a sacrifice is made for us in turn. This I have decided and this I have decreed!" Hoag snapped.
Those assembled in the court watched quietly as Hoag breathed in and out, Ulfric watching his father with open eyes. From his seat, Balgruuf finally grasped why Hoag was being such a hard ass. He no doubt would have been informed that Ulfric was captured and spent time in a Thalmor prison. The failure of the Empire to rescue him as well as the Concordat being passed broke the man. If he were in Hoag's shoes, he understood his stubbornness.
The sentiment he could agree with. But it was a sentiment unneeded, for Skyrim demanded action at the Reach.
And Ulfric grasped that, the words of his sister and Balgruuf playing in his mind.
He took a breath yet again and placed his hands on his father's shoulders. The move calmed Hoag slightly, feeling his son's hands on him. "I lost your mother to illness. Freyja lost her husband to the war. I feared for your life when I heard that you were captured, Ulfric," Hoag said quietly, enough only for Ulfric to hear. "I will not allow more of Windhelm to bleed and sweat for others unless they bleed and sweat for us in turn," he said firmly.
Ulfric felt his heart drop. Gone was Hoag's anger to him. He did not sound like a Jarl here but rather, a scared man looking out for his children.
Ulfric felt that deep in his heart and stomach. Which made the next thing he was going to do hurt even more. But it was fine, Ulfric thought.
For Skyrim.
"Father..." Ulfric said, squeezing his father's shoulders. "I understand now why you ask of this...but if we fail to act, I shall be the one who will bear the weight of your inaction." He levelled his gaze with his father, his lips curled in a sad smile. "Do not move the Hold. I will go, with your blessing or without."
"You defy me, son?" Hoag asked quietly.
Ulfric walked forward, embracing his father. Hoag did not resist, letting his son embrace him fully. "For Skyrim, I must," Ulfric whispered to his father before pulling back. Hoag watched him stoically, not reacting as Ulfric turned around and glanced towards Jarl Hrolfdir.
"Jarl Hrolfdir! Windhelm may not move for you, but I shall. I am one but I fight with the strength of a hundred men. Will you have me?" he asked, amidst the gasps of the court.
Jarl Hrolfdir glanced up.
He gave his answer.
A dinner and a show. That was the best way Irileth could describe how events were playing. She was sure that somewhere in the future, a enterprising Bard would go ahead and record the event.
For his troubles, Hoag forbade Ulfric to return to the city. If he were to leave the gates in the following morning, he was forbidden to return until the Jarl himself would lift the banishment. Ulfric took the banishment in stride, adopting a face of quiet Nordic stoniness. But the sharper ones at the hall saw the pain in his eyes.
The dinner was ended quietly, Freyja apologizing for the display and inviting the Jarls and Jarlings for dessert. That offer was quickly accepted. And there on a little table sat treats; boiled creme tarts, sweetrolls, candied fruits. Tasty sweets to keep the mind sated. The one Jarl and party of Jarlings sat quietly, eyeing Freyja and Ulfric converse among themselves before finally, Ulfric pulled away and turned towards Jarl Hrolfdir.
"Jarl Hrolfdir," Ulfric began, his voice even. "What is your plan in reclaiming your city?"
The Jarl cleared his throat. "Well, we initially thought about sending in men to sneak in via a secret passage to wrestle control of the gate. But with you here now, Lord Ulfric, we can set that aside."
"You wish for me to Shout down the gates," Ulfric surmised.
The Jarl nodded.
"Then I shall," Ulfric agreed. "However, I will only use the Voice against the gates, not against the Reachmen. The Way of the Voice instructs that the Thu'um can only be used in true need. Helping you retake your home for Skyrim, that is a need. Shouting down Reachmen is not one of them."
"That is all we need, Lord Ulfric," Igmund nodded. "Reachmen are capable skirmirshers and casters but not infantry. At most, we can expect them to use mercenaries to offset their lack of good troops."
"Would it be possible for the Reachmen to field Dwarven constructs?" Balgruuf asked. "Markarth is still a dwarven city after all. I imagine they would utilize Dwarven constructs for their own ends."
"It would be possible for them, yes. The Underkeep, my palace, has plenty of inactive Dwarven constructs. I am murderously sure that they are inoperable but..." Jarl Hrolfdir faltered. "We will have to factor that in."
"Dwarven Spheres and Spiders can be fought if the fighters don't panic," Igmund added. "It is the Centurions that are concerning. They are massive golems who can spit steam hot enough to cook a man in his armor and a maul it uses to crush those underfoot." His voice indicated he had seen it happen first hand.
"You will have to teach the men how to bring one down then," Balgruuf nodded. "Now, assembly. Gathering men for the purpose of war is overt. The Reachmen will know we are coming. Are you all still sure they won't try and intercept us?"
"If the Reachmen have any sense," Freyja spoke up. "They would. They know the Empire is sending a member of the Imperial family to negotiate. What better way to show their capabilities than defeating a Nordic army in the field?"
Hrolfdir's knuckles grasped the edges of his seat. "I would like to see them try!" he seethed. "They only took my Hold at its weakest, when its sons and daughters were fighting for the Empire! Let us see how well they fare when we shall descend upon them with fire and fury!"
"I advise caution still. There is a long way to go before we arrive in Markarth. The Reach has plenty of hills and crags to be ambushed." Igmund advised.
"Where are your armies?" Balgruuf asked.
"At Dragon Bridge," Jarl Hrolfdir revealed. "It lies North of the Reach."
"And I shall be assembling men at Whiterun, going to Markarth from the East," mused Balgruuf. "If we march in at the same time, the Reachmen will be forced to deal with either one of us."
"Would it not be better to march in as one massive army? There is a risk that the Reachmen could defeat us all in detail," Ulfric mentioned, his mind awash with scenarios.
"Their army is small, Lord Ulfric," Igmund said. "We estimate their fighting men at three-thousand."
"Numbers do not automatically mean the army is better. Lord Ulfric has the right thought," Balgruuf nodded. Ulfric stood a little straighter at his praise. "I propose we set a date where the armies march and we meet-up halfway. We march towards Markarth together."
"That is doable," Jarl Igmund nodded. "There is a town, Karthwasten. We can link-up there then march on to the city."
A chorus of nods echoed around. "Then we are in agreement. Further refinement can be done later," Jarl Hrolfdir asked. "Are there anymore concerns?"
Silence. "Then I believe this plotting is over." He stood up first. The Jarlings followed. "To Victory or Sovngarde," he announced holistically. His cry was echoed by the younger men. And with that, he and his son excused themselves, to sleep in after a long day. This only left Balgruuf, Freyja, and Ulfric, as well as their Housecarls.
"I need to sleep as well. Today has been tiring," muttered Ulfric.
"Good night, brother," Freyja offered. Ulfric nodded as he walked away. Balgruuf watched him march off, Galmar in tow. He turned towards Freyja and noted the worried look on her face.
"We will take care of him, Lady Freyja. I promise you that." Balgruuf offered. And he was going to. Despite the events of today, this was becoming a blessing for him. Having Ulfric at close proximity meant he could influence him in a proper direction. His act earlier was foolish and stubborn but that foolishness could be utilized. With Ulfric in his camp, that would mean an easy access to the Eastern Holds. Between Whiterun and Eastmarch, it was the former that held the most sway. That support would be vital in the future when the Moot would be called after old High King Istlod would die. Jarl Hoag would be annoyed at them but frankly, he would die soon and thus, his ire would be short-lived.
Freyja offered him a smile. "I trust you on that, Lord Balgruuf. You are known among us. A fake, an imposter, could hardly be counted on." The Lady Stormcloak blinked as she noticed a slight curving on Balgruuf's lips. This in turn, made her smile.
"Is something amusing, Lord Balgruuf?" asked Freyja, wondering what she had done to earn a smile. The man shook his head.
"Oh no, it's fine. It was something you said," he took in a breath. "Anyway, I shall make sure that your brother will be taken care of, my lady." He paused, looking at her. "Your brother has been banished. After this, where will he go?"
Freyja's face fell. They had both expected that their father would not take his defiance kindly. Despite Hoag's love for his son, he was still Jarl and opposing his decision so publicly could not just be ignored. "...He has mentioned to me about the possibility of adventuring around Skyrim, or possibly even returning to High Hrothgar to meditate." Freyja mentioned. Ulfric had whispered to her about such things.
Balgruuf hummed. Having Ulfric walking around Skyrim would not be optimal. Having him come to High Hrothgar would not be optimal either. "I would be glad to offer him a place at my side, until such time that your father rescinds his banishment or until...well...Lord Ulfric ascends to his seat."
"Of course," nodded Freyja. "Thank you, my lord. Ulfric and I...we have not exactly been close. He grew up in a monastery, I was raised to take his place. But he is still family, and we serve Eastmarch. He is my only family left here, aside from our father. Take care of him." she asked sincerely.
"I will make sure he won't get battered too much." Balgruuf promised. At that, Freyja smiled.
"Thank you. If you will excuse me, I am tired." she said. Balgruuf nodded. And with that, Freyja stood up and turned on her heels for the door, her housecarl saluting them before leaving.
As Balgruuf watched the Lady Stormcloak leave, he felt a sharp pain at his side. He blinked to see Irileth looking down at him disapprovingly.
"What?" he complained.
"You were staring," Irileth said simply.
"Don't tell me you are jealous?" Balgruuf asked.
"No," Irileth deadpanned.
Balgruuf stared, eyebrow raised.
"Yes." she deadpanned.
The Jarling of Whiterun stood up and faced his housecarl. The Dunmer glanced up, their eyes meeting. "I told you already. I have already chosen," he said, voice certain.
"Prove that to me later in bed," Irileth said simply.
"Deal. How does a baby sound?" Balgruuf asked.
"Tempting. But you need me to be your bodyguard. I cannot do that pregnant," she said simply. "Speaking of which, our other goal here." She said, indicating the cloth-wrapped sword on her back.
"Go," Balgruuf nodded. "I will be in my room."
"Don't wear anything when I come back," Irileth said, turning towards the window. As she walked, she made sure to sashay her hips, earning Balgruuf's leering gaze. She smirked in satisfaction before opening the window. Outside, there was roof she could use to exit into the city proper.
She shared one glance towards Balgruuf before leaping out.
It was not so late that the streets had become deserted, she found. The inns, the drinking houses, raucous music and song poured out from windows and cracks. After a hard days work, it was clear where the local Nords spent the last hours of day before returning home. It was a fine arrangement for Irileth as it meant less Nords to encounter in the streets.
All the while, Mephala sang to her.
"What a tangled web that is being weaved," tittered the Prince of Murder and Lies. "A family is torn between duty and ambition, a race against time before a royal arrives. A man starts to realize that perhaps, he is not so loyal after all. He is still a man in the end after all, a beast beholden to primal instinct. You saw how he looked at her."
It was clear to Irileth what Mephala was trying to do. And she was going to ignore that as much as she could.
"You can ignore my song, little one. But it cannot be denied that mortals can be tempted. And with you away from him, do you think that Stormcloak woman will not take the chance to get close to your lord? She offers so much more than you can. She has lands, she has men-at-arms aplenty. What do you have?"
She has tolerance to someone trying to poke at her, it would seem, as Irileth went on to find the Grey Quarter, the section of the city where her people had made their home. It was not hard to miss. She simply followed a path that reeked of sujamma as well as the plainly hidden symbols of the Tong. Her path lead her to a building. The sign at its front titled it as a pawnshop but it looked far from a respectable establishment. The facade had tattered colorful banners hung from a streamer, the stone was old and grey. A safety hazard that was bound to collapse at some point. The door that led into the building was squalor manifest, more plank than door.
She sighed. Was this really what her people was reduced to? Living in conditions that animals would not be found in?
She stepped forward and opened the door. It swung open with a slight crack. The first scent that struck her was the dusky musk of the shop. Dust and soot struck her senses. Shaking her head, she was beheld to a well-lit shop. At the back was a single counter, tall shelves behind filled with varying items from small silver lockets to even chests brimming with weight. Irileth has a feeling that these pawned goods weren't exactly procured honestly. But her attention was soon taken towards a single Dunmer male that attended to the shop.
"Welcome to Sadri's Used Wares!" the Dunmer smiled, his voice sing-song and sleazy. Irileth already distrusted him. "Worry not, all my goods are legitimate, which is more than I can say for some." he added cheekily.
She found herself doubting that.
Sadri was at her height, by her reckoning. He wore a bright blue tunic and vest with gold trim, a black belt hung around his waist carrying some pouches no doubt filled with coins. His eyes were red as was typical of their race, with spiky black hair Irileth was sure was unwashed. But she was not here to critique his sense of self-care but to deposit an annoyance. She walked forward, lowering her hood and shared a look with him. "I bring a gift for the Guild," she said simply.
Immediately, the Dunmer's sleazy gaze was dropped. His mouth opened ajar before he pursed his lips. "Gifts for the Guild are no light offerings. Who comes to offer?"
At that, Irileth unslung the Ebony Blade on her back and placed it on the counter. "I am Irileth. And I offer the Ebony Blade." She said, unwrapping the cloth on the sword and revealed it. The Ebony Blade had long since rusted from little use but it was still a thing of beauty. With a little restoration and murder, it could be restored to what it once was. Sadri ran a careful eye on the sword. The care in his eyes slowly gave way to zealous worship as he realized that what he had in fact was legitimate.
"The Blade was thought to be lost since the Third Era," Sadri mused, running a hand on the metal. "Accounts vary, of course. The Blade, like most artifacts of the Princes, have minds of their own." He glanced up at her. "This is a mighty gift. Why have you offered it?"
Irileth did not waste her breath. "This is my gift for the Guild in exchange for my exit. Should it be impossible, I am willing to act as an associate for the Guild but no more." Irileth knew for certain that trying to leave the Tong officially was going to be difficult. Might as well do some smoothing over before she left. As much as she would love to leave her old life behind, burning bridges with the Tong was itself a bad idea.
For an idea formed in her head.
Sadri's lips curled. "You would have been sent to retirement, you know. Alas, such a honor is not available to us thanks to...well, you know." He nodded. "I will get your request up the grapevine. To where should we send word?"
She pulled up her hood. "To Whiterun. Leave your message at an inn called the Bannered Mare." With that, Sadri nodded and took the blade from her hands, retreating to the back. Irileth took the moment to leave, exiting out into the cold of Windhelm. As she left and her boots touched the snow-kissed ground, she felt a weight on her shoulders lift, as if Mephala herself was leaving her spirit.
Good.
She walked forward with an intent to return to the Palace, back to her lover and her lord. Despite her stoic appearance, Irileth knew her position as Balgruuf's lover was going to be contested by the sheer reality of their social positions. She knew that one day, Balgruuf would need a wife that could help him in his ambitions and she wanted that. She was not interested just in being his bodyguard.
He would need more than that.
She may no longer be in the Tong but she still had skills. She still had the training. She knew how to slip in and out of the shadows. She knew how to plot an assassination or follow a target. These were her skills and skills could not easily be taught.
For Balgruuf, she was going to use them to prove to him her value.
And as she walked forward, plotting her future, Mephala watched.
And laughed.
A/N: Now, why is Ulfric being sensible here?
This is an Ulfric before Markarth. This is a dejected and depressed Ulfric that is desperate to find meaning and substance. I truly believe that Ulfric went with his canon decision in Markarth because he felt this was a way to make a win for himself as he had fucked up way too many times. That lack of achievements will surely fuck with anyone. Now as for him going along with this, he has encountered Jarl Ballin' who is offering him a way out of his funk, who looks like he knows what he is doing and has answers. Couple that with his sister who is savvy enough to recognize what it means for Windhelm if they don't do something then boom, a more well-adjusted Ulfric.
And so, Mephala is gone or so Irileth thinks. Despite her abandoning Mephala, the act of plots and schemes is still her domain. She's carried the blade on her literal back for awhile and the close proximity with it has given her a plus 4 in intrigue, of sorts. Mephala is aware of the possibilities of Irileth starting her own intelligence network and so, she's willing to throw her wayward follower a bone. For as spiteful as she is in wanting drama like a highschooler, she can be swayed by the idea of sweet delicious scheming. Ya'll may consider Mephala gone...for now.
Anyway, taken from my QQ account.
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