Skyrim
The Wheel Turns Anew
Chapter 2: Fool's Folly, Dragon's Crowning
As the initial ceremony to bestow Jarldom upon Ysmir was carried out by Tullius, Siddgeir was quietly forgotten by those he once stood beside at parties and ceremonies like these. All the time spent amongst the nobility of Skyrim and they treated him as little more than decoration to the ascension of their revered hero. He would scream at them all had his mouth not been gagged, with no ability to protest with all but the most muffled noises, in the end, his value to them had reached its terminus and now he was nothing. Their attention was turned towards the new Jarl who had earned his place among them and the changing of times for the region formerly known as Falkreath, having received their adoration time and again for his mythic deeds in defending Skyrim over the years; to go as far as to openly supporting the erasure of the Hold's name and all the history it represented, it sickened even him to have thought themselves as peers. Where was their Nord pride as they allowed this to happen? Did they simply roll over for the Empire? Do they hold their tongues in fear of the Empire and the fate of all who practise sedition? Perhaps the Stormcloaks had a point after all… Ironic.
Siddgeir himself knew that he was by no means a good man, nor did he care to be one. He was aware of his sins. He was the rich, noble, rightful ruler of Falkreath in his own mind. His family would rule it for generations more if not for Tullius' trumped up charges. He didn't even remember committing half of those vile deeds. Admittedly a fair amount of them but still, it had to be some kind of setup. Even he had pride for Falkreath in his own way. Almost completely decimated during the Oblivion Crisis alongside much of Skyrim at the end of the Third Era, it had by no means recovered. It was wild, untamed and dangerous to all when his reign began. It had not improved much since either. But it was his territory and his alone. He dictated it, it was his humble kingdom to rule as he saw fit, now it was gone… replaced with this Dragonhold… And yet, all the nobles present within the palace as the news spread thought this for the better, while the Jarls pondered on what implications such changes brought and the ramifications that could affect their own holds should the same fate befall them. Though they held their tongues, they all anticipated the consequences to come…
However, neither Siddgeir nor his crimes were forgotten quickly by the Imperial Governor, the Auxiliaries pulled him up by the arms and quietly dragged him from the Palace, with Tribune Cassius leading them. Governor Tullius made the decision to see through the criminal's exile, he took position at the back of the group as they left the courtyard and emerged onto the bustling streets of Solitude.
Per his orders, Imperial legionnaires formed a path for them, keeping the crowd at bay as they strode.
Cassius signalled to some of the men guarding the way that were holding warhorns and they blew a mighty sound upon his command. The streets erupted with voices at the sudden cacophony, if anyone had ignored the sudden increase in security and the path made by the Imperial auxiliaries, they wouldn't now. All eyes focused on the men walking through the path carved out as the Tribune opened his mouth. "Citizens of the Empire; Siddgeir of Falkreath walks down this path today in shame! He has been stripped of his title as Jarl for crimes against Skyrim, the Empire and all of our people! He is to be exiled immediately and may never again set foot among the civilised folk of the Empire! In his place, Ysmir Stormcrown has been appointed Jarl of Falkreath from today forth! Additionally, in his honour, the territory is to be renamed Dragonhold!" He made the proclamation to the people as they escorted the former Jarl down the path in all his humiliation. Cassius would repeat this in a loop as the auxiliaries dragged Siddgeir down the streets. A commotion quickly stirred up amongst the immense crowds that lined Solitude's streets.
As the message was passed through the city, some eager citizens pelted the disgraced man with tomatoes and other equally splattering food produce. Jeers and shouts erupted as some took to uproar in outrage of hearing a Jarl of all people would do enough to warrant such a fate. Others simply dogpiled on as they relished the opportunity to drag down a man that had minutes before stood at the top of Skyrim's nobility and now was no better than an outlaw. His escort paid no mind as his finery was quickly ruined by the opportunistic peasants who desired to see the fallen Jarl disgraced even more.
Splat
A tomato struck against his face. "Hahaha!" A child's mocking laughter came, followed by several more.
"Butt face!"
"Giant nose!"
"Horker breath!"
The children took to this entertained fast as they called him every name they could think of.
"You're uglier than a Draugr!"
News travelled fast as Siddgeir quickly became aware of how much these people reviled him.
"Selling tomatoes, one Septim each, special sale while stocks last!"
Even the vendors were cashing in on the opportunity to get some extra profit from goods that cost them next to nothing to acquire.
They dragged him through the muck and filth that was pelting him, for what seemed like hours to the disgraced Siddgeir.
When he was eventually taken towards the main entrance, past the Winking Skeever, a drunkard threw the drink from his tankard on the exiled Jarl, washing him down with sticky mead. Siddgeir grimaced as he was disgraced even further, he felt the uncomfortable cold liquid deep through his clothes and cling to his skin and heard a few calls of; "Take him to the chopping block!" Their fingers all the while pointing to the headsman's block at the entrance of the inner city. None of them really knew or cared how severe his crimes were, just that he was now beneath them so much so that even the esteemed soldiers of the Empire didn't care what happened to him.
Without a shred of remorse for the exile, his detainers dragged him through the gate and down the slope, passing the buildings of the outer city as they slowly arrived at the portcullis. The whole humiliating procession of his exile was just about over.
As they hefted him up, the legionaries tossed the man past the outermost wall that marked the city limits. He hit the cobblestones that marked the road and his arm twisted as it was squashed between his body and the ground. The pain of falling upon the cobbles quickly ailed him as he got up onto his hands and knees, putting what strength he had to try and stand. He looked up and his gaze met with Tullius'. The man's eyes held no mercy or remorse for the deposed monarch. Siddgeir pulled out the gag that had been in his mouth to silence him and held his arm as he seethed with rage.
"From this day forth, you are banished from all cities, towns and villages in the province of Skyrim and all lands under the rule of the Empire. Should you ever enter one again, it will be as a criminal and the guards will deal with you as they see fit. Now go, try to find some place to live out a quiet life, while I still have my patience. I'd take the next carriage to Dragonstar if I were you." The Imperial Governor nodded to the auxiliaries to take post at this gate and watch the man in case he attempted reentry. Then, without another word, he turned and strode back towards the sound main gate, whilst Cassius followed close behind.
Siddgeir grit his teeth, Tullius was telling him to go to Hammerfell of all places. He seethed with rage at Tullius, the Empire, the rest of the Jarls… but his anger for Ysmir, the man he'd made a Thane and now usurped his throne, was greater for him than any other.
"You'll all regret this! This isn't over! I will have what is mine! And I'll get revenge on all of you fools! Especially you Ysmir, you thieving rat!" He declared, though Tullius never looked back as he walked away into the city once more.
He looked around for his retinue, unfortunately for him, the mercs he'd hired to guard him on the journey here had already left.
Siddgeir thought back to the civil war four years ago. If only he had supported Ulfric instead. Then, a sudden idea came to his head. If that mad bear can start a rebellion, why can't I? I have plenty of friends in high places… and there's still some who want a free Skyrim… If I can use them all… A sick grin formed on his face. He made a decision to take his Throne first and foremost, and his first stop…
He made his way down to the nearest carriage driver. "You, I'm going to Falkreath, take me there now."
The carriage driver looked him over and saw his dishevelled appearance. "Do you even have the coin?"
"How preposterous! I'm a Jarl dammit!" The Coachman's nostrils contracted as he got a whiff of the meady aroma stuck to Siddgeir.
"Ha, and I'm the Duke of Nibenay!" The driver laughed the man's declaration off.
Siddgeir glared at him. "You want money? Here!" He chucked a pouch of coin at him.
The driver caught it and shook his head as he calmed down, his laugh stifled. "Alright, climb in back and we'll be off."
Siddgeir made his way over to the rear of the carriage and climbed inside. Just you wait, I'll take it all back…
He had made a resolute decision and would see everyone who mocked and degraded him pay. Though how well he would do, only the gods could know.
[TWTA]
Amongst the dens of outlaws and hideaways of rogues, none was finer than the Red Cove. Hidden away along the north eastern coast of Skyrim, somewhere around the border of High Rock and nestled away within the cliffs at a point where none who didn't know of its precise location could find it. This pirate den has flourished over time into a haven for all kinds of outlaws and a hub for all kinds of illicit trade, the Grand Bazaar of the Red Cove was truly a spectacle for all scoundrels everywhere.
The Nocturnal Maiden was a ship moored within the bustling shadow port that amongst all the ships there, was especially standout. The sleek ebony wood hull and the unique silhouette that marked it as a custom design not like anything seen on the waters, while the figurehead itself was an immaculate sculpt of the visage of the Night Mistress herself, Nocturnal. The looming black sails bore the crest of the mysterious Nightingale Cult as it rested in the calm waters of the Cove.
Inside this ship, the dim candlelights barely illuminated the captain's quarters as darkness crept all around the cabin. The figure sat at the desk was clad in the finest ancestor-silk clothes, dyed a steel grey and fashioned to the style commonly found amongst Wayrestian nobility. The face of this individual however was obscured by a cowl of grey leather, embroidered with blue letters of Daedric script down the front of the mask. To anyone that knew the language, it read;
[Shadow Hide You]
Footsteps creaked against the floorboards from a dark corner of the cabin, only heard because they wanted to be, beside an open window another figure approached. The masked person spoke first. "Shadow hide you, Karliah." They recited the traditional Thieves Guild greeting as a Dunmer woman approached the lit up area of the room.
"Shadow hide you, Guildmaster." She repeated in turn. "You've been expecting me?"
They chuckled, which unsettled Karliah. "Not so soon at least. I expected you to be in Solitude yourself. It is quite the picking today after all."
She always felt a slight unsettling feeling around this person when they wore that mask. She knew she had seen this person without the Gray Cowl before. Yet once it was donned, the countenance of this person eluded her. The mask that hid the Gray Fox's identity from all was one of Nocturnal's most powerful artefacts in the hands of a thief; it was fitting that it went to her champion. She knew their name and their face, quite well in fact. Yet the power of the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal shrouded all that from her mind. Just looking at this person as they spoke, she could see them without issue, but seeing them and perceiving them were two different sides of the same coin. She couldn't register the master thief's defining features in her mind whatsoever, not their face, voice, gender or race. Everything was hidden by the artefact bestowed to them. All she could understand was that they were the Gray Fox. If not for their shared connection to Nocturnal as Nightingales, she would doubt completely that the Gray Fox was in fact the Guildmaster she knew so well. Even so, she couldn't quite recall that person when facing them like this.
"I had an agent stay there to inform me of the situation, I knew you'd be here so I made my way to see you. You should take some time away from this place for a change, return to the Guild and see to affairs."
"Is there anything urgent?" The Fox asked.
"Not necessarily but you've been absent too long. You know thieves won't sit idle forever. There are jobs in the works that could use your expertise." She said as she examined the desk and the peculiar quill they held. "And then there's the matter of Falkreath…" She trailed off as she thought about the consequences it could bring and the potential endangerment to the Sepulcher.
"Yes, I wondered how quickly you'd come after that happened. It's quite the shake up. It's easier that you're here so soon." They said as they set the quill into the inkpot.
"So you're behind it after all. Why?"
They sighed. "The Empire had been plotting to oust him for the past year without making much headway. You must have been curious why our spies have been watching Siddgeir closely lately. Of course, what we gathered wasn't enough to incriminate him as much as they needed to justify their power play." They picked up the quill and admired it again. "However, Black-Briar came along at just the right time. The black widow was looking quite peeved that day and made us a deal." They held out the quill to Karliah, who hesitated a moment before she reached out and took it.
She examined the quill and admired its elegant craftsmanship, she could sense the enchantment on the writing implement. "What is this?"
"The Quill of Gemination. It was a special order from the College of Winterhold. Back in the Mercer incident, I acquired it for her after the shipment was lost. It uses a special ink formula in tandem with its enchantment to perfectly replicate any text it transcribes."
"This is… priceless… How did you manage to get something like that out of that woman?" She marvelled at the tool for a little longer before she handled it back over.
"Maven needed lumber in bulk for Riften, some project for the city. She commissioned Siddgeir to complete the contract with Falkreath's lumber mills. Then the greedy fool tried marking up the cost beyond the terms of the contract. Unsurprisingly this wasn't the first time he's tried to twist a deal to his favour with her. This last stunt finally earned enough of her wrath to commission me personally to take care of the forgeries. Of course, in the hands of a master, the quill is a work of art. Though she seemed reluctant, she gave me the ink formula and the quill as payment, she can probably afford another after all. After that, I forged ample evidence to make him a pariah among his people. The results should be amusing to see." They seemed pleased with the acquisition; it likely had a lot of practical use to the Guildmaster when applied properly to the art of Forgery.
Karliah cleared her throat. "As amusing as it might be for you, it puts our Lady's sanctum in danger. A new Jarl now of all times provokes a lot of uncertainty."
"That I know. Personally, I consider it an investment. Ysmir Stormcrown is a more convenient Jarl for both Maven and us. As for the Twilight Sepulcher, that's where you come in. I want you to head there whilst our new Jarl is getting settled in and is distracted by the weight of the new role. Take whatever measures are needed to conceal and protect her sanctuary." The Fox once again set down the quill and stood up. "Oh and get word to Byrnjolf to keep handling things without me for a while longer."
"You do know that being Guildmaster means you have a responsibility to run the Guild. Even if you're the Gray Fox, they won't follow you for much longer if you keep ignoring them to do whatever it is you like. You know how we are after all."
"True, but I have my reasons. I'll be sailing for Blacklight come morning."
"Blacklight? The Guild doesn't even have a presence in Morrowind. What caught your eye to travel to their Capital of all places?" She felt perplexed by the Fox's plans as she avoided their gaze, the Guild had been allegedly destroyed by the Cammona Tong and Fighters Guild back in the Third Era. The Oblivion Crisis and subsequent Red Year, not to mention the Argonian Invasion had likely destroyed anything that remained of the Guild in the Dunmer homeland.
The Fox produced a ring from their pocket and dropped it onto the table. Karliah's breath caught in her throat and her fingers twitched. It was her first time seeing the ring but the design matched a description she knew well. Any thief worth their salt would know this piece of jewellery once they saw it. A silver band that housed a mesmerising amber gemstone held in place by skillfully crafted silver clasps that were shaped to resemble intertwining vines. "That's the Ring of Khajiit… Where did you get this?"
The Fox picked it up and slipped it on their Finger and took the time to muse about the artefact. "The ring stolen directly off of Mephala's own finger by Rajhin the Purring Liar, Khajiit god of thieves. So skilled was he that he pilfered Herma Mora's Oghma Infinium from beneath the Ocean whilst in possession of this relic. Legend tells of it abandoning him in the end due to his insatiable greed, exposing him to his enemies. Ever since, it has traded hands between many, even Daedric Princes such as its first master. Yet none have tamed it to their will for long. Rumour amongst the old thieves of Cyrodiil is that even the Gray Fox from the end of the Third Era once carried this fine jewel."
"How did it end up in your hands?" She asked again, both eager and worried what this could possibly have to do with sailing to Blacklight.
"A lad hoping to earn my favour and join the guild brought it. So, curious as I was, he and I had a little chat. Turns out he pinched it off a drunken Noble brat from Blacklight when he was too far into his Sujamma flask to notice."
"The kid probably thought it was just an expensive gem, same for his mark. Why would that warrant going to Blacklight?" Karliah folded her arms and looked at the Fox again, though eye contact with the enigmatic figure before her was still too uncomfortable to attempt while they wore the cowl.
"Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't look into things. Ri'saad, one of our Khajiit caravan friends, apparently had a quite rare ring in his possession a few years ago that may be the very same. He traded it to a hireling as payment for a job by the time I heard about it. Since then, nothing came up regarding the ring, you can believe I've tried. Anyway, since then, it seems it's somehow made its way to Blacklight. As it turns out, the ring was acquired from the belongings of another thief that was caught in the city not long ago. From the journals of the interrogator I managed to acquire, he squealed out only a couple of words in the last interrogation. Then they found him mysteriously dead in his cell the day after. He said 'Bal Molagmer.'"
Karliah's hands clenched. "They're probably just copycats, no need to be so invested."
"As they must've been in the Third Era too. Regardless of their legitimacy, their name has value to us. If we can bring them into the fold, then Morrowind can be ours for the picking, all the more gold to be shared. We lost too much during Mercer's reign. Now we're growing at a stable rate, I think it's about time we expand into new territory." They finally finished speaking and sat back down at the desk.
"I… understand. But next time you're at the Guild, please come as yourself. The Guild reveres you as the Fox but we prefer the Guildmaster. You're different when you wear the Cowl." With those words, she stalked back to the open window of the cabin and slipped out as silently as she had entered.
"Maybe I do lose myself in this identity sometimes." They sighed, and with that, the Gray Fox's hands approached the cowl and they lifted off the mask and placed it down on the desk. As their being was reimposed onto the rest of Nirn, free of such an impeccable disguise, they spoke once more and looked down into the hollow eye holes of the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal. "I suppose for this mission, I should be a little more discreet, the Gray Fox would attract too much attention after all."
[TWTA]
Once the celebration at the Blue Palace had truly gotten underway, there was no stopping its momentum. Ysmir brought another flagon of mead to his lips and gulped it down. Nobles from far and wide had arrived to celebrate alongside the Nord Kings present, and now he stood among them, for better or worse as the noise of celebration rang out around him.
"Come lad, have another one." Jarl Balgruuf held out a freshly procured mug with one liqueur or another in it. The Jarl of Whiterun as he had come to know better from past experiences drinking with the man, wasn't particular about what was in his cup, just that it was full, and the man could likely drink a Giant under the table if he tried.
"I'll leave that one to you. I wouldn't want to get too out of control." Ysmir waved his hand and pushed the drink towards his comrade.
"Aye, suit yourself." He said and began to drink it down as if it were water. "I've heard the stories about you… and too much drink."
Ysmir shrugged, he knew how too much alcohol always seemed to have an adverse affect on his actions. His Dragon instincts were unshackled from his self-discipline if he wasn't careful. He vaguely recalled his encounter with Sanguine and the aftermath of the chaos it had caused across two Holds in the span of one night. In a way, he was glad to not recall the actual night it happened at all. Still, he had many questions best left unanswered. And as his thoughts drifted to another night he had spent in the Blue Palace, spirits in hand and company best left unsaid…
Tug Tug
Something pulled at his hand, He looked down at the small figure before him. A child, not even four winters old yet and barely able to reach Ysmir's hand to grab the man's attention. A tuft of orange-brown hair covered his little head and bright blue eyes stared up widely at the Dragonborn with a big grin for such a little guy.
"Hi!" The little one beamed.
Ysmir smiled warmly as he crouched in front of the boy. "Ralhardt, have you grown a little taller?" He asked as he tussled the boy's hair.
"This much!" Ralhardt gestured with his hands to make it seem he'd grown more than he actually had.
"Haha, that's a good lad. Grow up big and strong, okay Ral?" His words elicited a series of nods from the child as he patted his small shoulder gently. "Did you sneak out here because everyone was having fun?"
He put his hands to his mouth and shook his head. "Shh! No sneak, on mishun!"
Ysmir took a second to interpret the small child's words. "Ral is on a mission?"
The boy made a little fist and raised it up. "Keep mama safe from the nau'ty man!"
Again, the boy didn't have the best grasp over his words yet but Ysmir understood him well enough. "Which naughty man?"
"The serv'nts said he is… um… a bad!"
It took Ysmir a few moments to decipher the child's words. "A Bard?" He asked and got a nod in response.
"He comin' here today! Say he's a flower."
"Oh, well then." He chuckled awkwardly at what a misunderstanding the boy had come up with, that Ralhardt was going to protect his mother from a 'bad flower'. He had a feeling he knew what the actual meaning behind the words was though…
"You're a good lad. Come, let's go see your mother." Ysmir lifted the boy up as he stood and held him close as Ral wrapped his arms around the neck of the Dragonborn.
He wasted no time in carrying the boy through the crowd of nobles to the throne where Jarl Elisif sat. Her eyes met Ysmir's and the Ralhardt's as her eyes brightened and her lips spread into a warm smile. "Oh my, did you come to spend some time with me, Ral?"
Ralhardt's face lit up even more brightly as his arms reached out towards Elisif and she did so in turn. Ysmir handed him over and took a step back. The scene between the mother and child was heartwarming to say the least. Though his chest also felt a twist as he tried to shut out the thoughts at the back of his head and the whispers around the room.
"Elisif's child… is it really Torygg's boy?"
"So she says, but the timing is a little… iffy."
"Considering her behaviour around a certain someone the past five years…"
He shook the thoughts out of his head. Pay them no mind. The truth of such matters is best left unheard. He quelled his thoughts and with it the anxiety he had from looking at the boy in his mother's arms. He had much more important matters to worry about. "The little lord said he had to protect you from a 'bad flower'." Ysmir smiled as Ral's face turned red.
"Oh my." She settled her son down on my lap. "I haven't heard anything about a bad flower, have you been playing adventurer again?" The child was too embarrassed to say anything more, however, yet his mother smiled and stroked his hair; to which the little boy was pleased.
"He overhead the maids but didn't understand. I think he heard a bard was going to be here. 'A naughty man who's named after a flower' is what I got from it." Ysmir had an uncomfortable feeling in his gut as only one person came to mind.
Elisif clapped her hands quickly twice in succession, the echoing sound having caught the attention of everyone in the throne room. "Everyone, please listen for a moment. Today in celebration, a famous bard has arrived in my court to entertain you all. Whilst he isn't originally from Skyrim, there is none in recent memory more influential on the artistic scene of our home in recent years."
Oh by the gods it's that damned Breton again… He internally groaned. Whilst typically Ysmir hadn't any actual hostility towards the peoples of Tamriel regardless of race, this man in particular had become the exception for such an expression. "The bane of my existence…" He muttered.
"Everyone, please give your applause for Mirriam Mara-tongue!" She led them into an ovation as the characteristic notes from a Lute being plucked found their way to the revellers' ears as the crowd seemed to part for the bard that strode down the newly opened path, onto the centre of the room.
He was a Breton man, a luscious head of brown hair, clean shaven and quite attractive if the looks on the faces of quite a few noble ladies were anything to go by.
"Thank you all, thank you all!" He spoke clearly and articulately with an almost enchanting voice. "It is an honour to be here to play for you all on this momentous day!" He bowed down before Elisif, took her hand and kissed it.
"Oh my!" The Jarl was caught off guard and slightly flustered by his greeting.
Ralhardt squirmed in her lap and grumbled as he looked at Ysmir and whispered. "Iss the bad flower!"
"Yes Ral, he's very bad." Ysmir couldn't help but agree. After all, whenever I see him, some kind of trouble always finds me…
Ysmir noted that the Bard's attire was covered in the pattern of both his namesake, the Frost Mirriam herb and various patterns of colourful flowers native to Skyrim were embroidered into it. The gaudy ensemble was made of luscious silks and finely woven cotton, with puffy sleeves and trousers to boot. My eyes hurt just looking at him… he kept that thought to himself.
"And as always, my Patron Ysmir, it's wonderful to see you again." After he had risen from his greeting to the Solitude Jarl, he quickly turned his gaze to Ysmir with an excited grin.
"Don't mention it." Patron he says… As if I'm given a choice… The fact he knew this man at all was enough of a problem, he didn't need others knowing they were acquainted, though the bard himself seemed to have no shame in doing so.
"Oh but I simply must! For you are my muse! Lady Mara must have seen to it that we met that day and that I had to follow you in your adventures to record them all in song!"
I really wish you hadn't… Ysmir suppressed a sigh. From the day they'd met by chance on the road, he'd had this bard stuck to him like glue in almost every circumstance. While he had been useful the odd time, more often than not he'd been a total nuisance. The fact that many new popular songs had been written by this bard based on Ysmir's own exploits was embarrassing enough for him. He gave the bard a slight glare to tell him to change subjects, quickly
"Alas, my voice is nothing compared to yours, my dear companion. That said, if it would please the fine lords of this court, I shall sing for you all now." He held up his lute and adjusted his fingers, awaiting the go ahead from Elisif.
"I think I speak for us all when I say, we would be honoured to hear the voice of the revolutionary bard who has tirelessly composed many of Skyrim's newest popular songs. Please, do so at your leisure."
Mirriam smiled and closed his eyes as he led his fingers to the strings of the lute and plucked. The gentle notes filled the air, and images of Skyrim's wilderness were brought to Ysmir's mind. It was a nostalgic noise that reminded him of the land he now called home. Those swaying pines, their branches tussled by the gentle golden plains of Whiterun, with its grassy valley stretching out to the horizon. Calm lakes, gentle ripples that swam across the shimmering mirror-like pools…
"Kyne spoke sooth when first she sang~"
He strummed the lute, breaking the melody for a second before he altered the flow into a steady plucking of the strings as he adjusted his fingers along the frets of the instrument to produce a clear sound, strong but comforting sounds to the crowd gathered.
"Ere her song brought dragon-tongue to man~"
It was there that those gathered understood this Bard wasn't merely a solo act as another Bard, gone unnoticed until now, introduced his hands to a drum and steadily beat the instrument, each pound resonating with the audience.
"In her breath, the lifeblood of this land called… Skyrim~"
He slowed the tempo this time, gently he plucked the lute and became softer in tone of voice.
"Here it now, let it be your guiding light~"
He let out a breath and closed his eyes. He simply focused on playing for a few uninterrupted moments. Then he sucked in a large breath and projected his voice across the entire Throne room.
"Lo, the blustering wind by Ysmir's throne as he keeps counsel o'er the fight;"
He then focused on playing the higher notes, like a cascade of snowflakes brought into being as sound alone.
"Snow-that-wanders flow'ry~"
Mirriam plucked harshly, releasing deep and crude notes that seemed to clash with the previous vibe yet at the same time, the flow remained uninterrupted and hadn't put off his audience.
"Blood that stains the frozen fields red~"
The next set of notes was far merrier, reminiscent of springtime, youth, the caress of a first love… Ysmir sensed Mara's grace pouring from the instrument, one of the few redeeming features of bard was his skill in his craft.
"The new son bequeaths the dowry~"
As Mirriam continued, the song picked up a far more exciting and merry tone as the drummer bard assisting him became more prominent in his role and drummed with passion.
"A meady brawl comes to a kick in the head~"
Ysmir caught wind of another Bard, a flute player, as she began pouring her breath into the wooden instrument and her fingers danced across each hole in various positions, never failing to meet their mark as the flow of the music continued seamlessly like a gentle breeze that parted trees.
"Sky-Sentinels stand the heights unwonted~"
Mirriam rhythmically played the lute as he steadily strummed the strings and played each note with masterful accuracy, it resonated with the drum and flute, their sounds mingling into an ensemble that drew all the parts of this song together.
"Mighty his sword, the lone hero conquers~"
He quickly plucked the higher notes in an effort of mimicry to the shing of a sword as it was drawn from its sheath. Though no instrument could truly replicate the sound, even Ysmir had to admit it. He's a master of his instrument as ever. If only he wasn't so… him.
"Hunters test against prey so demanded~"
Mirriam's fingers steadily plucked the deeper notes as the drummer beat his instrument, the deep thumps resounded with the tension of a hunt.
"Out of arrows, the last bandit flounders~"
As the drummer and flautist paused their playing, Mirriam gave a wild and dramatic strum of the instrument, the strings grew taught and almost broke at his sudden aggressive touch, as if mimicking the string of a life being cut.
"Quiet Holds and Storm-Peak avast~"
As he sang the next verse, only the hollow notes of the flute returned to the room. Like the wind, they brushed the ears of the audience in a cold tone that reminded them of Skyrim's chill air.
"And the mighty Thu'um shatters the sky;"
Ysmir was if nothing else, pleased with how reverent of Skyrim this song was, though today was especially eloquent in the performance of this song, it wasn't the first time he'd heard it played, in fact he knew how much research and effort the Bard had put into creating this song.
"White Rivers and lakes cut through the land ever vast~"
The drummer lifted a wooden cylinder and turned it over, the sand within falling and releasing a noise that reflected the rapids of the White River, though a much gentler sound, it just went to show the effort put into this performance was leagues above what Skyrim had seen in a long time, each instrument they had brought could form the sounds that would bring forth the feeling of each stanza.
"All Nords know its to win or to die~"
Suddenly, Mirriam started stamping his foot on the floor to the beat he's been following and the tempo of his melody as he plucked away at the Lute began to pick up.
"Wet with dew, whiter is each ghostly grass-blade~"
He strummed even quicker on the strings, just careful enough that they wouldn't snap from the pressure he exerted, the hallmark of a Lute maestro.
"A sword will pierce the heart~"
The flute played out notes that caught the audience by surprise, a sudden chirping of birds, or what could fool them for such played from the flute as if magic, and perhaps it was considering the skill of this merry band.
"Among the trees be plenty of shade~"
But then, everything suddenly stopped. Mirriam wrapped his hand around the neck of the Lute, the drummer pressed his hands silently to the skin of the drum, the flautist held the flute upon her lap, each with closed eyes.
"And everything will turn to dark~"
Mirriam gently strummed.
"Gleaming wintry morn;"
His fingers glided across the strings twice more, the harmonic notes were pure and gentle, soft yet a strange gloom about them.
"Upon dusk's back we ride~"
A calm rhythm from the drum backed the Lute as they came closer to the finalé.
"Bearing the light of coming dawn~"
He raised his left arm away from its hold on the neck of the instrument and thumped against his chest whilst he strummed a few final times.
"To Sovngarde we arrive…"
All the music stops.
"And the ancient Hearth-Horn blows!"
A final note resounded from a horn that the flautist had put to her lips and blew a quick and high toot-toot
The sudden jolly note brought a short laugh that spread through the audience of Nobles before everyone broke out into applause. Even Ysmir quietly clapped. The man can sing, I just wish he wasn't the constant bane to my existence that he is. He sighed and shook the thoughts off. Despite the fact he couldn't deal with the man, he had brightened up this night and made the weight of Ysmir's new position less burdensome. The tension on Ysmir's shoulders felt lesser after hearing that particular song.
Mirriam took a bow alongside his fellow performers. "Thank you all for your kind praise! That was a song called The Breath of Skyrim, written by yours truly."
Erikur, Thane of Solitude and resident hedonist of the Capital applauded more than anyone. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful! Good sir, can you tell us more about how you created such a fine song?"
Oh dear… Ysmire rubbed his temples. He might not stop talking now he's been asked that… Just another reason to leave soon.
"One of my favourite pieces personally but lesser known. It isn't quite as catchy as some of my other songs but I think it expresses the land I've come to love here better than anything else I've written. The people at large prefer the familiar as opposed to the experimental pieces I've written like this one. In fact, it's quite an odd piece you see; I blended elements of Atmoran Animist Abstract alongside Skaldic Verse from the Late First Era whilst adding in a…" He paused to consider his words. "More modern musical flair to keep this lively and accustomed for the audience of today. The Juxtaposition of nature imagery, as was common amongst Atmoran Skalds, with the warlike stanzas seen in later Nordic songs, is what I particularly enjoy about this since I think it encapsulates the essence or 'breath' if you will, of this wonderful land. A fun fact for you all, most modern Bards are highly influenced by the Atmoran musical lineage that was introduced by the original Skalds of Skyrim and spread across the continent to mingle with other early cultures." He cleared his throat before he continued.
As always, he never shuts up… No matter how interesting a topic, the Breton's incessant rambling was the source of another incoming headache for Ysmir.
"Truly, I couldn't have done this without access to the Bard's College archive. Such wonders did the old singers keep, by Mara, I'm glad to see they're so well preserved. And now, let us get on with something a little more light-hearted shall we? I call this one, The Dragon and the Hag!"
Ysmir's eyes widened. He's doing that one!? He eyed Ralhardt on his mother's lap, the child rubbed his eyes. Must be getting late… That said, I have no intention of reliving those memories.
A chance encounter with a certain Daedra masquerading as a jolly tavern patron had taken Ysmir on a night he was rather glad he couldn't remember. Considering Mirriam was the only other soul who could speak of that night, having invited himself to the party after Ysmir was already floating from various libations… I need to leave right now.
He cleared his throat beside Elisif, he leaned close and talked into her ear. "It seems the young lord is quite tired. And between us, this song isn't one a small child should hear."
"Oh my, please take our Ralhardt to bed if you'd be so kind." She whispered back.
He sighed and nodded. He hoped no one overhead that. Though Elisif just affectionately talked of her child to a close confidant, such wording could exacerbate rumours that already swirled within the Jarl's court…
"Come Ral, it's time for you to rest."
"mmmhm." The boy sleepily nodded as the Dragonborn lifted him into his arms and started to make his way through the crowd.
However, before he could get out of the back exit of the Throne room, Mirriam strummed his Lute and sang. "When old Sammy boy partakes in revelry, he drinks you stupid and laughs with glee~ And in the morning, you wake up next to an ugly hag~ Hey!" A chorus of synchronised claps from the audience erupted to match the upbeat vibe of the song.
Stop making me relive these things you damn Bard… Ysmir shook his head and moved quickly to the back end of the Throne room and exited through the doors. He shut them as soon as he was past the threshold and now stood in a much quieter and empty corridor.
It had been constructed as part of the renovations to the Palace and connected to the new chambers for the Jarl's family. Ysmir breathed a sigh of relief. The child hadn't heard much of the song and seemed drowsy enough that he wouldn't recall much of the party by tomorrow. "One of these days… he and I will take a trip to High Hrothgar…" Ysmir groaned, what little patience for the Breton was dried up for today, he hoped he wouldn't run into him again and could escape freely to his home once Ralhardt was put to bed…
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown already I see." A woman's voice spoke from ahead.
When Ysmir raised his head to see the speaker before him, he found none other than the eerily youthful Cout Mage, Sybille Stentor. The gleam in her eyes was always off-putting and he knew exactly why… yet she was no threat, for one of her kind.
"Sybille." He spoke quietly so as not to wake the child. "I was about to put the little lord to bed. To what do I owe this visit?"
She came close and observed the young boy. "Ralhardt… curious isn't it? So chaotic and full of strife and loss the world was during his conception. Convenient timings that events happened in such a quick succession… Of course, he must be Torygg's boy, if that's what the girl insists. But be careful, Dragonborn. I know well enough the doubts others have, and that look in Elisif's eyes… For the boy's sake, I hope that nothing happened that shouldn't have happened."
Ysmir held the boy tightly in his arms. There's no secret in this Palace not known to her… but the truth… even I don't know… He took a breath and collected his thoughts. "I know you didn't appear now to antagonise me with baseless rumours all of a sudden. You wouldn't stoop to low and petty attacks for nothing."
"Not to get anything from you, no but it does pass the time. Be that as it may, I will take Ralhardt off your hands and see he's safely in his bed. You have a much bigger engagement to get to."
"Hmph. I wondered what you were up to. Can I take a guess that the other Jarls are behind this summons?"
"Summons is such a demanding word only worthy of those beneath the ones who make it. Think of it as an invitation. For equals."
"And where am I being invited to?"
"Why, the only place worth having such a meeting, the Pelagius Wing. Someone will guide you from there. Now, shall we?" He held out her arms expectantly.
So, hardly a few hours in and they all want to have a meeting… I knew this wouldn't be so simple… Ysmir sighed and handed over the young heir to the Mage. "Then, there's nothing more to say."
"Oh, one last thing. Know that being a Jarl is far harder than that girl in the Throne room makes it out to be. It's not all fancy parties and ear bleeding minstrels. If you don't put your all into it, perhaps you too will end up like Siddgeir… or worse." She cradled Ralhardt carefully in her arms and walked down the hall, to deliver him to his bedroom.
Ysmir's shoulders dropped. "I should be ready for anything… Who knows what trouble this could bring."
[TWTA]
Before he knew it, Ysmir found himself seated within the private dining room of the Pelagius Wing of the Blue Palace. Unlike the last time he had visited, with the place free of the long-dead Emperor's madness, a complete renovation of the historic wing had been carried out and gone was the decrepit state it had been in during that visit.
Now it stood at the peak of luxury and opulence as he observed the room and the men and women sat with him at this table. Aside from himself, seven other Jarls were present, only seven.
"Are we waiting on Jarl Elisif?" He asked, probing the other Jarls for answers.
"Please." Maven Black-Brair spoke before anyone else. "As if we need that mouthpiece here."
"Maven-" Jarl Brina Merillis of Dawnstar had begun to raise her voice at such a comment before another cut her off.
"Maven, watch your tongue. We may share your sentiment, but to disrespect a fellow Jarl behind her back is another matter." Balgruuf
"Very well, if it maintains the peace of the meeting… I'll use my inside voice." She rolled her eyes.
Ysmir's eyes met each of his fellow Jarls. "Now you have me here. Care to explain what this is about?"
"Young man, this is a Jarlsmoot. We regularly have them to discuss matters concerning our various holds. Who turns up depends on the meeting, the time and place." Idgrod Ravencrone of Morthal elaborated.
"Along with who doesn't." Maven added.
"And today's meeting?"
"Of course Dragonborn, it's about you and your new appointment as Jarl, among other matters. Forgive us for the abruptness, as you can imagine, we weren't aware of Tullius' sudden drastic move until the condemnation of Siddgeir." Kraldar, the elderly Jarl of Winterhold explained before her gave a sincere apology, his matured features soft as he bowed his head slightly.
"We have no malice towards you my friend. I hope you believe that at least. Having said that, it's time to call the Jarlsmoot into session. As is custom in absence of a High King, our most senior Jarl will preside over the meeting." Jarl Balgruuf said, the sincerity in his voice was enough to calm the nerves of Ysmir.
At first I thought they might want to confront me over Tullius' manoeuvres to get me here… Now I'm not sure what they'll say."
"Well, shall we begin?" Idgrod spoke. Before each of the eight Jarls, Ysmir included, was a large silver tankard, full to the brim with mead. Each Yarl picked it up in their own way and raised it, Ysmir simply followed their actions as he observed the unique ritual.
"Let the nectar of Shor quench our thirst as we welcome another into our ranks! The Jarlsmoot to acknowledge Yarl Ysmir Stormcrown as one of our own has begun. By Shor's will, we drink to him, the new Jarl of Falkreath!" the Jarl of Hjaalmarch announced and each of the Jarls drank… and drank… and drank…
It quickly dawned upon Ysmir that this part of his welcoming ceremony was as simple and Nordic as it came. Down a full tankard of mead without stopping? Hah, these Jarls sure come up with some interesting rites. But Falkreath… now we're out of the Imperial eye, do they not acknowledge Tullius' reform?
The sweet honey hued alcohol poured down his throat as he tasted its distinct flavour. A familiar one at that. Heljarchen Mead? Are they trying to butter me up?
The mead his question came from the fields of Heljarchen, a land he owned and cultivated personally. Whether coincidental or otherwise, it reminded him of the vast golden crop fields that now covered the Heljarchen Valley on the border of Whiterun. From a simple homestead to a thriving farming township in a few short years. The war took much, but that need culminated in new livelihoods to make things such as this possible. I still have a long way to go now I'm a Jarl but to give my Hold that same chance to thrive, I will give it my all. Long have they been neglected by an unfit ruler…
As Ysmir placed the now empty flagon down on the table, Maven cleared her throat. "Now we're done with the typical rite of initiation, I wish to pursue an agenda with the Jarl of Falkreath before anything."
"Maven, you're toeing the line." Brina slammed her hand on the table.
"I'll allow it as mediator. Maven you may proceed."
"Excellent. In the interests of fairness, I won't take much of this meeting. The previous Jarl had a deal with me for lumber. You see, I can't stand how pitiful Riften is, still a shadow of its former self even now. I've done plenty of work reconstructing it these past few years. Yet, I'm still not satisfied. So I've decided to build a new castle from the ground up. A bigger and better Riften I can finally be proud of ruling over, it just needs its crown jewel. You all must know I've made various deals to obtain more and more construction materials lately. And Siddgeir was supposed to supply me with the lumber as per the contract we agreed upon. The problem is, he shafted me. And since you're the Jarl now, as per Skyrim and Imperial law, that responsibility falls on you, Jarl Ysmir. And of course, I'll be expecting proper compensation too."
Ysmir was by no means a poor man. Being what he is and the power at his fingertips, adventuring yielded sums that many could only dream of. He'd been smart to invest this back into the post war Skyrim and aid its reconstruction. Is Maven eyeing the assets of Falkreath… or my own? His guess was as good as any with such a tricky woman as her.
His face was made of stone in the moments he stared at her silently. "What kind of compensation?"
She relaxed as she folded her hands over each other and pressed her elbows on the long dining table. Her lips upturned as she did something none seated in this room thought she could do. With a smile, she said. "A favour."
Ysmir tensed in his seat, his knuckles white under the table as he clenched his fists tight. Yet his face remained as hard as stone. "And what favour do you want from me?"
"Nothing, for now at least. As long as you promise to accept whatever favour I might ask of you in the future, then we're settled. Of course, I believe you value your honour enough to keep your word. But if you don't, Falkreath won't be the only thing to suffer the consequences of breaking a deal with me."
Hah… backed into a corner before I can even get my footing. For now, I have to accept her demands. If Siddgeir left this trouble, who knows what else awaits me when I get to Falkreath…
Ysmir sighed and lowered his head. "On my honour as Dragonborn and Jarl, I promise a favour to you, Maven Black-Brair, of your choosing at a time of your choosing."
She smiled, satisfied as she leant back in her chair now she had acquired her most useful asset to date, whilst the rest of the room remained tense at such an implication and no one spoke, the silence of the room deafening.
"Excellent. Then, I'll relinquish the meeting back to you Idgrod. Don't mind me."
The elderly Jarl of Hjaalmarch cleared her throat. "Very well, now we have welcomed a new Jarl into our fold, I have an announcement of my own. As you all know, I am not the spring chicken I once was… Lately, I feel the wear of time getting to me." She wrung her wrinkled hands together and set them on the large oak table. "Since the end of the war, I've contemplated the future for my Hold and come to a conclusion. These past five years, I've rigorously taught my daughter, grooming her to take my place soon. And once a new High King is safely crowned, I shall abdicate my Throne to her.
"Idgrod, are you certain? I trust your judgement but is the girl ready?" Brunwulf of Winterhold ran a hand down his thick Nord beard as he contemplated another such change in the coming future.
"The woman's old, let her have some peace before Shor takes her to Sovngarde." Igmund, Jarl of Markarth shrugged his shoulders as he leant back into his seat.
"I'll admit, losing another seasoned Jarl so soon would be a blow to us, but if it's after the High King is chosen, maybe it will be fine." Jarl Brina conceded, the elder Jarl's plans were meticulous to ensure an ease of transfer upon her abdication.
"You will be missed Jarl Idgrod, you taught me much since I became Jarl, I couldn't have succeeded without you." Balgruuf bowed his head in respect to her, a deep weight settled on his shoulders as he understood the changing of times was far from over.
High King… Ysmir had heard them use this several times already and their exclusion of Elisif... "You all speak of a High King, hasn't it already been decided that Elisif will be High Queen?"
"My friend, all the Jarls here support the Empire. And the Empire did want Elisif as High Queen during the war, she was a good symbol to rally behind after Ulfric killed Torygg. But times have changed." Balgruuf admitted frankly.
"Elisif would just be a puppet for the Empire." Igmund sneered, for an independent Jarl such as him, to have Skyrim become nothing but a puppet state, would be the greatest insult the Empire could hand them.
"We all know it. She delegates too much authority to others." Maven added her own sharp remark, there was little love lost between her and Elisif, the two were as oil and water.
"If we want to restore Skyrim to the glory of the old days, we have to choose the right person for the job." Jarl Kraldar nodded his head, knowing Winterhold still had a long way to go, this was the best course for him and his people.
"We aren't blind to the contributions you've already made to our Holds. You've provided a renewal to a stagnant and decayed land since you came here. I've profited greatly myself." Maven eyed Ysmir, though she strangely bore no hostility now.
"We believe you have the potential to become the symbol of a new age for Skyrim." Balgruuf smiled at him, ever trusting of his sworn friend.
"Some of us wouldn't be at this Moot if not for your actions in the war. Without you, we might not have had a chance to rebuild our fractured Holds." Brina pressed her closed fist to her chest. "I may be loyal in my heart to the Empire as a whole, but ever since I was bestowed my Jarldom, my loyalty to Skyrim has come first. Though you are untested in these matters."
"And the people of Skyrim know you as their hero, one who saved them from the end times. No other person here can stand up to your legend." Idgrod finally said her piece.
"I'm merely a warrior, I have no experience ruling a hold, nevermind the whole Kingdom of Skyrim."
"And that is why we will be testing you, Ysmir Stormcrown." She added.
"My friend, I have known you since the Dragons descended on our land to have their vengeance. Time and again, I have seen you do the impossible, I have faith that you will make a good ruler." Jarl Balgruuf nodded once more at him, urging Ysmir to have the confidence the man placed in him.
"To be honest Balgruuf, I think you would make a better High King than anyone. You're a just and wise ruler already, I would follow you if you asked."
"And I would thank you for it, yet it is not my place to be High King. I am content with my lot, and you are destined for greater things. The Gods either sent you to us in our time of need, or maybe you sent yourself. But what I am certain of is this; you are Dragonborn, blood of Akatosh. Ysmir, namesake of our greatest Kings. The Greybeards named you Stormcrown, to bear it is to be the successor to Talos himself and some even call you Shor in the flesh after your return from Sovngarde... I don't know the future, but I know your legend isn't over yet. Come the Elector's Moot, even if I was a candidate, I would kneel to you and you alone. I owe you a debt that can never be repaid, as do we all. I would have you as my liege, for there is no better choice."
The weight of Balgruuf's words and his trust settled heavily on Ysmir's shoulders. He looked around the table, different gazes met his own. None so trusting as Balgruuf and only some that saw him optimistically. From sceptical eyes to doubtful stares, each Jarl had their own opinion on him at this moment. He would either meet their expectations or rise above them and the future is ever uncertain.
"Let us save such talk for the day to come. As I said before, we will test you, through your actions as Jarl from now on. Should you fail your people, we will not even recognise you as a candidate come that day. And if you manage to raise Falkreath from its disarray and restore its position as a Hold worthy of the name, we will bow to your leadership." Idgrod brushed aside the heavy topic as if it were nothing more than a trifle. For a seer such as her, perhaps it was.
"And how long do I have?"
"One year from today, come that day, we will select a worthy High King and the Empire will approve of it." Jarl Igmund announced to Ysmir, an unusual sharpness in his voice.
Maven cleared her throat. "Additionally, we will be offering guidance and tasks in our assistance. I've graciously volunteered to be the first. And said first task is simple. Falkreath has long been the name of your hold. Now the Empire seeks to erase that culture completely. 'Dragonhold' ugh, such an Imperialised name. While it doesn't concern me what happens to your Hold, it could prove unfavourable to my lumber order if your citizens were to say… revolt over such a thing, just when you've begun your career. So figure out a way to sort it that doesn't upset the Empire or the people of Falkreath." Her tone dripped with apathy as if the role was thrust upon her instead.
Both the Empire and Falkreath's people? What she says makes sense though… To deny them their pride as men of Kreath, perhaps things might spiral out of control if I'm not careful. A simple task, hah…
Idgrod rapped her fingers on the table. "Now everyone, unless there are other matters, then we are done with our meeting." None spoke. "Then let us drink the rest of the night away. As is custom."
"You finish these meetings by drinking yourselves into a stupor?" Ysmir asked. What kind of other crazy customs do they have? Is this a meeting to discuss matters between rulers or a Nordic keg party?
"Ha, surprised? It's simple, every drink we put a Septim on the table. If you can tell a good battle story, you don't have to drink that round, but no one's stopping you. We drink until there's only one Jarl standing, and the winner takes the gold." Brina made a few miming gestures as she explained the custom.
"And why are we doing this?"
"It started with Ysgramor, and one that's remained to this day. If you don't want to partake, you can leave early, but if it's your first Jarlsmoot, then you can't back out." Kraldar bowed his head a little. Ysmir felt as if it was an apology for what was to come.
"Nord custom… Hah." Ysmir groaned internally. They just want an excuse to get drunk after a meeting. Truly, nowhere else could you find something so true to our culture. I hope tomorrow doesn't reveal I've caused another mess after this…
"Now then, aside from Ysmir will anyone be abstaining?" Balgruuf asked as he pulled a hanging bell rope in the private room to signal the servants to enter. Quite foreign to Nordic design but very popular in the lands of High Rock, Balgruuf wouldn't complain about such a convenient feature at least.
"The Ravencrone is getting too old for this, maybe it's finally time for a new winner." Igmund mused as he sat up in his seat, feeling more engaged now the boring parts of this Jarlsmoot had been taken care of.
"I usually pass this up, but seeing as Ysmir is joining in this time…" Kraldar let out a soft chuckle, eager to test the Dovahkiin's drinking skills.
"My friend, you and alcohol are a bad mix, don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you if it gets too much." Yest Balgruuf's sympathetic look was of no comfort as he raised his hands and gave a helpless shrug to Ysmir, unable to intervene for his sake.
As servants brought in more flagons of mead and set several in front of Ysmir and the other Jarls, he reluctantly pulled out a coin pouch and set it on the table. It would be a long night.
[TWTA]
Tirdas, 18th of Last Seed, 4th Era 205
Birds chirped outside the stained glass windows of Proudspire Manor and the rays of the sun poured into the master bedroom. It shone upon Ysmir's countenance as he stirred from his slumber and groaned. He rubbed his eyes and opened them a crack, strained against the light as he winced. Morning… damn. He thought as he roused from his slumber and his mind collected itself.
As his consciousness slowly awakened, he was hit with a dull headache. Damn Jarls… Didn't expect the old woman to drink so much… I just hope I didn't do something stupid this time…
It was then as his senses returned, that he felt the arms around his waist, soft skin met his own and he realised that he somehow shed his clothes sometime last night after his memory blurred. He cautiously turned around in his bed to see just who he was sharing it with…
"Serana?" He said as his eyes met her soft blues and he breathed a sigh of relief. If he was with her, he wouldn't have gone wild during his drunken state.
She pressed her warm hand to his cheek and gently stroked it. "Good morning. You certainly had an interesting night."
"Please, tell me I didn't do anything foolish. You know how I get when I'm drunk."
"Don't worry, your friend Balgruuf brought you home, that said you did strip when I got you to the bedroom and asked if I wanted to have… Tinvaak with the dragon in your… yeah." She chuckled.
"Oh… honestly, I wish I didn't get like that when I'm drunk."
"It's fine." She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. "Our relationship is special and I know you can't control that side of you when you've drunk yourself into a stupor. I still love you even when you're not your usual self. But I know you wouldn't cross the line unless I asked for it."
"Thanks for trusting me. I love you too. Our bond over the years and how we show our love may not be what regular people expect, but we were never regular from the start. Just to hold you like this is more than enough." He placed a hand on the small of her back and the other gently stroked the back of her head, his fingers gliding across her dark silken hair as he savoured this quiet time with her.
If this moment could last for eternity, I would give everything up just to keep holding you like this…
Alas, time moved ever forward and their brief tender moment of intimacy was interrupted by a cacophony of music from outside. A familiar song reached his ears.
He groaned. Scrolls of Fate… no… Imperial Dragon Victorious… The Imperial parade song. "I wish they wouldn't interrupt so soon." Ysmir sighed.
"Were you hoping that it'd last longer? I heard that the festivities will last all week." Serana rose from the bed and slipped out of the covers. "I'm sure there's plenty of people who'd look forward to doing business with you if you want to stay longer." She retrieved her clothes from a nearby dresser and sat at the edge of the bed to don them.
Ysmir sat up in bed and shuffled over to assist her. "I'd rather we leave for Volkihar as soon as possible. Jordis can handle things in Solitude for now. There's much I have to prepare for."
"Like moving to Falkreath? Sorry, Dragonhold now is it? Honestly, not sure if the name change works. Maybe? Anyway congrats on becoming a Jarl, it's the least you deserve from Skyrim."
"I guess you heard the news."
"It travelled fast when Tullius dragged Siddgeir through the streets to shame him. I will admit, I may have thrown some things myself" She laughed. "The fool looked like a wet dog by the end of it or so they say. Serves him right. You're definitely more worthy than that lowlife." She finished tying her boots, finally dressed. "Anyway, it'll be pretty unfair if I don't get to monopolise your time today. Those Jarls took up all your time with the ceremony and Tullius always has some plan involving you in the works keeping us apart… Maybe I'll see more of you now you're a Jarl… I hope."
Ysmir walked over to his own wardrobe to dress himself. "So, Volkihar it is."
"Yes, It's been a while since I talked with Mother. Better check up on her. Then it's off to Falkreath?"
"I suppose so. The Jarls are testing my ability to rule now I'm one of their number." He casually dressed himself. "Busy times ahead and it'll be nowhere near as fun as adventuring."
Her thin arms slipped around his waist once he'd put his shirt on and her head pressed against his back. "I plan on being by your side regardless. If I'd have known what they were up to, I wouldn't have left you on your own either. The burdens they place on you, I hope it's not too much."
"You're unusually clingy today."
"I'm just…" She shook her head. "Just trying to ease you a little."
Ysmir smiled and placed a hand over hers and closed it around them gently. "Your presence always seems to calm the troubles within me. Come, our ship to Volkihar awaits us in the docks. Let's slip out before someone tries dropping more work on our heads."
"You took the words right out of my mouth."
TWTA
And that's chapter 2 over with! Sorry it's been a while, had the first draft written out, took a while to get around to editing it. From Siddgeir's exile and hastily conceived plans to start a second rebellion, to the first appearance of the Gray Fox and their plans for Morrowind, Mirriam's flamboyant entrance and the Jarlsmoot that set the course for Ysmir, a lot of intrigue happened in this chapter.
So a few things to touch on. I honestly don't know what I should do with the Gray Fox's identity since they could be anyone under the mask, so for now I decided to keep it ambiguous. I also wanted to try a literary approach to how the Gray Cowl works, hopefully it's well received. While we the players can clearly see who is under the mask, The player character can only see a stranger/the Gray Fox and that's how I interpreted it here. Another addition Ralhardt, the young heir of Solitude, could he be Torygg's child (really a stretch but it could possibly work in the timeline), the Dragonborn's, someone else's? I'm honestly undecided myself and maybe it's a question that doesn't need answering but one you readers can form their own opinion on. I thought it might be interesting to have some questions that may never get answered but let me hear your thoughts. And Mirriam, I enjoyed putting him in, I got inspired by Dandelion/Jaskier from the Witcher if anyone caught onto that, he's his own character though and causes plenty of headaches for Ysmir just by existing. And yes, I did write an entire song just to introduce him as a famous Bard, it was fun to write and I hope everyone enjoyed it too. I'm not particularly skilled or experienced in that department honestly so I hope it wasn't bad.
And addressing the bigger things, I wanted to add some internal conflict with the Jarls and the Empire since the latter didn't treat Skyrim very well in the previous Emperor's reign after the Great War and the Jarls are cautious for now, we'll see how that changes. Setting up some clear goals for Ysmir regarding his new Hold and showing the conflict of opinion on Tullius' divisive change better fleshed that out since I know not all of my readers were fond of Falkreath's name change. Behind closed doors, it seems the Jarls are in agreement.
Finally yes, Ysmir and Serana are romantically involved. Not married, but they do love each other. That said, the type of relationship I went with is an asexual one. Personally I think Serana's experience becoming a daughter of Coldharbour would turn her off doing anything physical. I wanted to go for something a bit different with them, they have a strong emotional relationship but it's private and their physical intimacy doesn't cross certain lines since they have healthy boundaries based around their mutual respect and love for eachother. I just wanted to try out this kind of mature emotional love for a change from the usual Dragonborn x Serana stuff out there and make it my own thing. Hope you're all okay with this choice.
Next Chapter: Loyalty or Rebellion
Synopsis: Ysmir and Serana set sail for her ancestral home of Castle Volkihar, now a stronghold belonging to the Dragonborn. There he prepares for the struggles ahead, to earn the trust of the people of Falkreath and ponder over an answer to the task given to him by Jarl Maven. Whilst he does so, Siddgeir hastily returns the territory he believes still belongs to him, intending to rally his people to rise up at his command. But if they follow him is another matter as the wheel turns anew.