"Wake up, sleepyhead! The giant is not going to kill itself!"
As the darkness subsided, a Khajiit with orange fur stood, looming above, with a bow strung over his shoulder. He extended his hand.
"Hng... what time is it?"
"It is time to hunt! It is 6 o'clock. The farmer said the Giant passes this way around this time. Get up, or we may miss him!" the Khajiit nudged playfully.
"The sun is not even up yet. No giant in his right mind would be walking around right now! He is bound to stub his toe on a rock - and then it will lose its value when we slay him."
The orange Khajiit darted forward and concealed himself behind a large, flat rock atop a small hill, which offered a view of the roads meandering through a picturesque, verdant field. Trees bordered the grassy expanse, and birds glided above.
"Fergus?"
The orange Khajiit hushed him with a finger over his mouth. "I think I see something! Ready the trap!"
"Okay."
Indeed, a giant was striding down the road, his footsteps quaking the ground beneath him. His club rested on his right shoulder while he trudged forward, having traveled south from Skyrim. His journey, however, was abruptly halted as boulders tumbled down upon him, dazing the massive creature. Fergus notched an arrow and let it fly directly into the giant's left eye, swiftly ending his existence.
As the giant's enormous figure fell, Fergus slid down the slope and knelt beside his head, searching for any indication of life. "Ah, this is good. A clean shot. Now the people of Cheydinhal do not have to fear any longer. Nice job, Inigo!"
"Nice job? I almost envy you for that lucky hit! Who do you think you are, Bourlor? I am usually the Archer here." The blue Khajiit laughed, his voice tinged with a zeal that masked his true feelings of admiration for the success achieved, rather than any bitterness.
Fergus let out a suspicious chuckle as he slung his bow over his shoulder. "Well, I guess I learned from the best, then. Anyway, now that we killed the giant we can go and get our payday!"
"This is a good idea. I am looking forward to buying that cool Leather Armour in The March Rider." Inigo's hands came together in a burst of enthusiasm as he envisioned the rich, brown boiled leather adorned with vertical stripes along its surface.
Fergus laughed at his brother lightheartedly. "Oh, yes. In that manly armour you will get all the girls!"
"Sure, like the Imperial women would want to date a Khajiit." Inigo rolled his eyes as he scoured the Giant's form for a suitable token. There was no way he would carry a Giant's Toe with him for miles. The smell was horrific.
Fergus scoped the leather belt on the Giant, pondering on it for a moment. "Well, the Minotaurs are the offspring of Alessia and Morihaus, they say. Some Imperial women seem to have strange inclinations, I suppose."
"Ha! That's for sure!" Inigo laughed jovially as he came around to the front of the fallen beast. "But I think that story is just a lot of Bull."
Fergus paused. "Bull? Really, Inigo? Making jokes at this time?"
"Hehehe." the Blue Khajiit giggled mischievously.
The pair elected to take the Giant's club as a prize to bring back to the Count of Cheydinhal for their bounty.
Author's Note: for this segment, play "Oblivion OST- Peace of Akatosh" ;) thanks for reading!
As the pair traversed the beaten path with the large club in tow, the land grew foggier and foggier around them, and the club grew lighter and lighter before it disappeared. "Huh... the weather is strange, isn't it Fergus?" Turning around yielded little consolation, as Fergus has vanished too, along with the club. "What...? Fergus? Fergus! Come on! This is not funny! Stop playing games with me."
The sky above was filled with a light drizzle, and clouds overcast the pink and teal aurora-laden skies, casting a shadow over the bright landscape. The path was littered with cold stones, marking the deaths of people unseen.
He took a step backward and his boot sank into wet soil, which, upon closer inspection, was red and coating the bottom of his boot. A trail of blood stretched along the path, and he followed it diligently through the fog. "Fergus! Fergus, where are you?"
Fergus lay at the end of the path, lying against a tree, slumped over in the grass. He had a fatal wound in his stomach and was hemorrhaging blood into the damp pine green grass. His breath was weak and shaky, and his left hand was on the roots of the tree, gushing blood from the deep cut in his upper arm which ran down the curve of his furry arm like tears of blood. His head was down and he looked at the mud underneath him, which was thick with coagulating blood.
"Fergus-!" Inigo's voice trembled as he approached his brother. The devastating sight was almost too much for him to bear. His heart raced, cold sweat showered his body, and a pit of sadness threatened to swallow him.
"I-Inigo... Inigo..." Fergus gasped for air as he slowly raised his face. A look of despair reigned over his visage when he saw his brother. "Why... why are you here? You were supposed to go on."
Inigo knelt down in front of his brother and touched his face. Blood ran down from the back of his right ear, down the curve of his cheek. The sight of it wounded Inigo's heart. "Fergus... no... not again..." tears began to well up in his eyes. "Fergus!"
He embraced his brother and wept painfully, clasping him tightly in his arms as the rain began to fall upon them. A gentle touch on Inigo's back beckoned him to turn around from his dying brother.
"There was nothing that could have been done, Inigo. I'm sorry," came a voice, familiar and feminine, soft and lilting, imbued with compassion. As Inigo turned, he saw Cura behind him, clad in her Apprentice Robes and hood, the Amulet of Stendarr at her neck. Her presence here, in this place, was an enigma.
Inigo pondered the nature of this realm, a land of the dead that defied understanding. It seemed to exist beyond the veil, a place separate from the living world.
"My friend..." Inigo's ears fell as he spotted his best friend, a wave of sorrow washing over him. The familiar sting of past failures pierced him anew, anchoring him in a sea of regret. The sight of Cura alongside Fergus reopened the fissures in his heart, each one a poignant reminder of what had been lost.
Cura knelt down and took Inigo into a firm embrace of her own, and her hood fell down as she shifted quickly. Her arms wrapped around his back and she pressed her forehead into his left shoulder.
Inigo's hands trembled to behold her, but he managed to grip his friend firmly. The bitter memories of his failure oppressed him. "Why does everyone I care about die? Why...?"
Fergus painfully stood up from the base of the tree and leaned forward to embrace his brother. "You are almost with us, now, Inigo. But you cannot be here. Skyrim needs your help."
Inigo lowered his face and walked away from Cura and Fergus' grasps. Forlornly, Inigo spoke, his voice a soft echo of despair. He began to walk through the mist, through the sorrowful grove that spanned the world around him. Reaching into his heart, the deepest of his sorrows bubbled up to the surface in a monologue as he traveled. "In the fading light of hope, where long shadows weave tales of grief, I stand, the last vestige of a guardian once revered. My heart, brimming with regret, spills over with the acrid taste of defeat. Cura, my ward, my raison d'être, eluded my grasp like the final sands in an hourglass, snatched by the treacherous Mythic Dawn. Oh, the flames jeered, an ironic echo of the comfort we lost! The whispers of ruin spoke of my downfall, of broken vows and a destiny unfulfilled. My brother, my blood, my ally in battle, I was meant to be your bulwark, your unwavering defender. But when it mattered most, I stumbled, and the dark snuffed out the light I cherished. The world, a canvas of conflict, laments with me. Its frayed, tattered fabric tells of a time when disorder prevails and the anthems of heroes dissolve into nothingness. I roam this barren expanse, a ghost of what once was, my essence lost in a sea of sorrow. What is a guardian without their charge? A knight without their honor? I am merely a shadow, an echo of the splendor that was. They hailed me as Inigo the Brave, but bravery has evaded me, as fleeting as the dawn's mist. Thus, I grieve, not for the end, but for the start that never came to be. For Cura, for my brother, for the world I failed to protect. May the gods forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself."
Was this all just a dream, or was he well and truly dead, himself? He could not say for certain. He continued to walk until he came upon what seemed to be the edge of his world - the other side being a void of white mist below. "As I stand upon the precipice of time, gazing into the abyss that is fate, I ponder the weight of my existence. Have my deeds etched a mark upon this world, or am I but a fleeting whisper in the winds of history? The threads of destiny, it seems, weave a pattern beyond my grasp, mocking my feeble attempts to alter its course."
He turned away from the edge, looking at a very concerned Cura, who had her hand over her heart, and Fergus, who was reaching out to him feebly. Inigo glanced again at the abyss behind him, over his shoulder. "For long, I believed myself powerless, a mere spectator to the grand play of life. The world turned, empires rose and fell, and I, Inigo the Brave, stood static, my sword sheathed, my spirit caged. What value does a life hold, I asked, when the script is already written, when the end is foretold?"
"Inigo, don't do it. We're here for you!" Cura implored, reaching out to her friend who was clearly in the throes of an emotional crisis. She took a step closer, driven as a poignant memory.
Inigo remembered their times together. "Yet, in the quiet moments with Cura, as we journeyed through the tapestry of trials and triumphs, a subtle truth dawned upon me. It was not the changing of fate I should seek, but the fulfillment of it. Each step beside her, each word of counsel, each shared victory and defeat, I was an instrument of change, a catalyst in her saga that would save the world."
Inigo was contemplating the unthinkable. He was near the rope on the tree, above the cliff with the sharp rocks below again.
Fergus stepped forward, ready to pull Inigo back if need be, and Cura was poised to leap for him should he try to jump into the abyss. But he continued, "In the reflection of her triumph, I found my answer. My life, intertwined with hers, held immeasurable value. For though I could not reroute the rivers of fate, I could nourish the soil through which they flowed. And in that nurturing, in that silent, steadfast support, I changed the world—not by my hand, but through my heart."
No matter what happened to him, or to Cura, they did make an impression on the world. Tamriel would always remember their names. "So let it be known, Inigo the Brave once questioned his worth, only to discover it in the eyes of she who he aided, she who would be the world's salvation. In her light, I found my purpose, and in her shadow, I forged my legacy."
Fergus walked forward and pulled his brother down. "Get away from the ledge, you moron!"
"The world no longer needs me, Fergus. Do you not see? Fate will decide what becomes of Skyrim from here. I have already made my mark upon the world. I did my part. I am sick of fighting; I am sick of all this death. I just want to rest." Inigo sighed sadly.
Fergus brought his fist back and drove it across his face, knocking Inigo to the floor. "Is that it, Inigo? Are you just going to give up now? What about our home? Will you let the Daedra go south to Cyrodiil and Elsewyr, as well? This is not the Inigo I knew!"
"People change, Fergus. You do not realize that because you are dead." Inigo stated firmly, though regretfully as he massaged his cheek. He sat upright in the wet grass. "I am supposed to fight the Doom Strider. But I do not think that I can. By the stars above, what a monstrosity will stand before me. The Doom Strider, harbinger of despair, forged in the Deadlands themselves, whose very steps quake the earth and dim the light of hope."
Cura knelt beside him in the grass and stroked his cheek tuft of fur gently. "Inigo, you have faced darkness before and prevailed. What is it that really grips your heart with such dread?"
Inigo was lying to himself, and even the phantasms knew it. "It is not the fear of battle that chills my soul, Cura. It is the knowing. Knowing that this creature is the sum of all our fears made flesh. It is fate personified, a test not just of steel, but of spirit."
Cura withdrew her hand and settled into a comfortable sitting position on the damp grass, crossing her legs. "And yet, here we are, united as we've always been. Your spirit remains intact, Inigo. Do not allow the fear of failure to dim the light in your eyes."
Inigo sighed. "You are right, as always. It is the anticipation of doom that unravels the mind. But I must face this, for if I falter, all is lost. I fear not for my own end, but for the world that would suffer should we fail. It all just feels so hopeless... I would rather not be there to see it." he was a broken man again, poor Inigo.
Cura sensed this deep pit in his heart, and so drew her mace and presented it to him, allowing him to hold onto it. "Then let us stride into this battle not with fear, but with the courage that has defined our journey. We fight not against the certainty of fate, but for the chance to write a new ending."
"And what of the peace I seek? The solace for my weary soul?" Inigo asked.
Fergus interjected, "True peace lies in fulfilling your destiny, Inigo. Not in escaping from it. Your soul will find rest not in the shadows, but in the light of your purpose." His brother looked at him with a gaze of certitude. Had he never seen value in his precious twin, Fergus would not have stripped him from death's embrace many years ago.
"Perhaps you are right, brother. Perhaps it is time to leave these shadows behind and embrace the call of duty once more." Inigo nodded, his faith restored at last, though uncertainty still continued to pull his heartstrings. He looked down at the Elven mace in his hands and ogled it. Its likeness to the real cudgel was incredible, as if brought from Tamriel itself. "Yes, for the chance to write a new ending. Together, we shall face the Doom Strider, and let our courage speak where words fail. For in the heart of fear, lies the seed of triumph. I will not fail you again. I promise." He wiped a tear from his eye as he looked at the two closest people in his life.
In this realm that seemingly existed between Nirn and the hereafter, whether it be fact or fiction in this case, the memory of his friend was alive to him. Cura, aware of the burdens and scars that Inigo carried from his past, responded to his protective nature with a blend of appreciation and gentle admonishment. She valued his guardianship and understood the depth of his commitment, recognizing it as a manifestation of his loyalty and the lessons he'd learned from previous hardships.
Fergus crossed his arms as he stood above. "It is not the fall that defines a warrior, but the courage to rise again. You have not failed, Inigo; you have learned, you have grown. Look not to the past, but to the future. Focus on the land you love, the people you swore to protect, they need you now more than ever. Rise, Inigo the Brave. Return to the world of the living. Protect Skyrim, and in doing so, protect yourself."
Inigo stood upright from the wet terrain with a newfound resolution in his eyes. "I will return. For Skyrim, for our people, for my redemption."
Cura and Fergus smiled at him, pleased with his resolution. With a final embrace, the trio began to fade into the mist.
Inigo awoke in the guest room within Mistveil Keep's upper quarters. His vision was blurry, and he had to blink a few times to get a clearer picture. Lucien sat on the chair adjacent to him, and gasped loudly when he began to stir. The Imperial hurried out of the room to get the others to see. "HE'S ALIVE!" he wailed with relief.
The first thing Inigo felt when his senses came back to him was something heavy lying beside his left arm. He lifted the blanket to try and see what it was, and the object dropped to the floor with a 'thud!' When he turned over to see what hit the floor, there it was: Cura's Elven Mace.
"Huh?" Inigo was shocked to see it laying there and quickly reached for it. He examined it closely, and recognized it immediately. "By the gods..."
Quickly, Jarl Laila, Jarl Ulfric, Lucien, and what appeared to be a Redguard Priest of Mara and a Dunmer priestess of Mara came beside them. Jarl Laila approached Inigo. "How do you feel, Inigo?" the older Nord woman asked kindly. "This is Maramal and Dinya Balu; priests at the Temple of Mara. They mended your wounds as best they could - and did a damn good job, by the looks of it." she examined Inigo's form, wrapped with medical gauze, though the blood had dried.
"I am all right. I thank you." Inigo expressed his gratitude.
"Your wounds were awfully deep," Dinya Balu expressed her concern. "your battle left many scars. I'm sorry - there was nothing we could do about that. But, by Mara's grace, you live."
"Yes - give Mara my thanks too." Inigo expressed as he touched his side. It was still sore, but at least it was manageable. "I... uh... I have my coin purse around here somewhere..."
Maramal raised his hand and waved it off. "No - you don't need to pay us anything. Caring for others' wellbeing is what we do at the Temple of Mara. We exist for more than just weddings. Your continued life is payment enough to the goddess."
Those words hit Inigo hard. And to think, he'd just about given up on his life not long ago. And speaking of, "Lucien, you would not believe the dream I had... I saw my brother Fergus again..."
Lucien was curious to hear it. He took a seat back on the chair again. "Really? You did? That's... interesting."
"Very much so! Cura was there, too." when Inigo said this, he saw Ulfric's expression grow gloomier. He continued, "She gave me her Mace and some very kind words, and Fergus encouraged me too. After some deep contemplation, I decided I would not stay in the land of the dead, as I supposed it was. But hey, I woke up and found her Mace right here! This is it! The very one!" he held up the golden, thick-headed rod to show it off.
"Yes, the mace belonged to her," Ulfric conceded, then revealed his intentions. "I have brought it to you, hoping it might bestow good luck upon your recovery, as it carries her memory. You shared a close bond with my daughter, and I am certain she would have wished for you to live. That is a sentiment we all share," he said, his voice deep and resonant, yet the sincerity of his empathy was clear.
As soon as he said it, Jarl Laila turned to look at him, filled with great surprise. "You had a daughter? And she was the Dragonborn?"
Ulfric turned to her with resignation. "Had, and was is right.."
Jarl Laila regarded him with sympathy. "By the gods... I'm so sorry, Ulfric," she said, beginning to massage her brow as the gravity of the news settled in. The thought of losing one of her own sons was unimaginable. "If only I had known... we could have offered her a more peaceful life here in Riften. She might have married Harrald or Saerlund. Or... or perhaps they would have lived together in Windhelm."
"Ew." Lucien cringed in silence at the thought of Cura marrying one of those shameless prettyboys.
Ironically, the dungeons below her Keep were the first meeting place of Cura and Inigo. The Blue Khajiit felt nostalgic about it. He'd purposely turned himself in with the Guards for arrest because he believed himself to deserve it, to be beyond redemption at the time. Much has passed since then, and now here he was, among friends, and being mended in the Jarl's own Keep. So much had transpired since the day he first walked into Riften.
Saerlund looked over Ulfric's shoulder at Inigo, who was sitting upright now on the bed. "Excuse me." he pushed past the Jarl of Windhelm and approached Inigo. Lucien instinctively covered his mouth, hoping the noble didn't hear his remark.
"When you're ready to go to General Tullius, I want to go with you." Saerlund declared, his voice raising above the others.
"No!" Jarl Laila barked immediately, turning to her son aggressively. "I won't allow it!"
"Mother, if a representative of the Law-Giver family goes, it will only strengthen our point on how urgent matters are." Saerlund expressed. "And my views on the Empire are loyal. I am a third party in this conflict. "
Jarl Ulfric was unsurprised to hear him admit it, but he sensed an opportunity in the air and called attention to it. "The boy's right, Laila."
"What?" the Jarl of the Rift was taken aback. "Ulfric, you can't be serious!"
"He drinks the Empire's Mead. Many people know this." Ulfric stated. "I would wager, with all the spies everywhere, that Tullius knows it too. With Saerlund as an intermediator, it will force Tullius to see our desperation in this fight with the Daedra, and ultimately the bigger picture."
"Inigo will be the rallying Avatar - friend of the Dragonborn and great hero of Skyrim. Lucien, an Imperial who is also friends with the Dragonborn, will build the bridge and assure them of the Dragonborn's loyalty to the Empire in life. Saerlund, the staunch Empire Loyalist from a Stormcloak-supporting family, will complete the bridge. They will have to send aid." Isran spoke from around the corner. The Redguard leaned silently against the stone wall that whole time.
Laila leaned against the doorway. "By Talos... I see your point." She did not relish the idea, especially after years of suppressing her son over this conflict. She turned to Ulfric. "So... you knew all along about Saerlund. I... I thought I'd kept it hidden."
"Laila, nobody can open their mouth so loudly and go unheard." Ulfric informed her with a look of redundance. "I did not put him to the sword for treason for the same reason you did not: he is your son. I remember him since he was a boy. Too much of our own blood has been spilled. I figured that as his Mother, it was for you to deal with him as you saw fit."
Saerlund found it unexpected to hear such sentimental words spoken by Ulfric, a person from whom one would least expect such mercy. He begun to wonder if, perhaps the Dragonborn, being a Vigilant of Stendarr as the tales said, and being his daughter, she maybe had some influence over the Jarl of Windhelm.
When Laila exhaled, years of pent-up anxiety escaped her lungs. For the longest time she'd kept up a facade of her own, distancing herself from her own child for fear of what Ulfric was going to do if he'd discovered Saerlund's views. She feared he would have met the same fate as the High King. "I... thank you, Ulfric." She turned to her son and gently caressed his cheek. "I was trying to protect you, Saerlund. Truly."
Saerlund pulled away from her and took a few steps back, rejecting his mother's affection. "For the past five years, you've stripped me of my heritage and incarcerated me here like a common criminal and my brother has all but disowned me. I will never forgive you for treating me like a pariah."
"You say you live like a pariah, but I've seen only evidence to the contrary." Harrald sat in the other room and came over when he heard his brother's complaints. "I see you still have the run of the place, traitor."
He was clearly trying to get under his younger brother's skin, and it was working. Saerlund pointed a finger his way almost immediately. "The things you say are just an act to please mother."
"I'm disappointed in you brother. You had it all. You had it all and your mouth cost you everything." Harrald expressed the fact of the matter. Were it not for his belligerence, Saerlund would still be an heir to the Throne of the Rift.
Saerlund retorted immediately. "One day, you'll be forced to make a choice. And I hope it's the right one, brother." He would criticize him for his shortcomings, but he's never quite been put on the spot yet himself.
"Frankly, if I had the choice, I'd rather see you put to the sword or drowned iat the bottom of Lake Honrich, you good-for-nothing idiot." Harrald spat, to Laila's disgust, and the horror of all around.
Saerlund was immeasurably hurt by his wicked words. "So, is this what it's come to? You'd have your own flesh and blood hanged just to solidify your grip as the next Jarl? What's become of us? We used to be inseparable... always fighting back to back and letting nothing stand in our way."
"You went and became a fool." Harrald responded snidely, maintaining his facade in front of their Mother and Ulfric.
"Good gods, am I glad to have been an only child." Lucien spat his irritation at their bickering.
Inigo chuckled. "And am I glad my brother was the coolest fellow in all the provinces."
Jarl Laila walked past Harrald and stood between him and Saerlund. She took her sons' hands. "There is no need to fight anymore. Can't you see that? We have to band together now. If we fight amongst ourselves, we will all die."
"Mother... sigh... you're right." Harrald admitted, looking away shamefully.
Laila looked at Saerlund, who was turning his face from her, and her heart was heavy. "We gather today not merely as citizens of Riften but as guardians of the Rift. The shadow of Mehrunes Dagon stretches across our land, threatening all we hold dear. We are family, bound by blood and duty. The rift between us threatens not only our house but the very heart of Riften."
When Maramal and Dinya heard the name of Mehrunes Dagon they both grew anxious. Dinya held a hand over her stomach as the anxiety bubbled up within her. Maramal held her in his arms, and the two looked at one another with great worry. They hadn't understood just how dangerous the matters were, but they did now.
"Mehrunes Dagon thrives on discord, and our rift feeds his hunger." Lucien proclaimed the obvious.
Harrald turned to his mother. "But we can't abandon our cause! Riften needs a strong leader. Any chance the Empire could take to dethrone you -"
Laila shook her head. "Strength lies not only in swords but in unity. Saerlund, Harrald, hear me. The Rift's survival depends on your bond. Can you find common ground?"
The two brothers looked upon one another, and resolved to put their bitterness aside for the time being. Saerlund spoke first. "I only want to be part of this family again. And not be treated like a member of the Thieves Guild. I want a unified Skyrim, same as all of you. I want to have Talos back, but I don't want us to be sitting ducks for the Thalmor, or the Daedra."
"Spoken like a true son of Skyrim," Ulfric mused, surprise evident in his tone. "But not entirely." Without knowledge of his political stance, one might assume Saerlund was a Stormcloak supporter based on that statement.
"I will put my scorn aside for now. If we stand together, we honour our ancestors and defy Dagon." Harrald agreed. He extended his hand to his brother for a shake. "Saerlund, I owe you an apology for the cruel things I've said. Mother is right - brothers should not fight brothers. It's not the Nord way."
Saerlund smiled and shook his brother's hand immediately. "It's not. I just hope we can be friends again."
And so, in the flickering torchlight of Mistveil Keep, the Law-Giver sons set aside their differences, bound by duty, love, and the promise of a united Rift.
Laila enfolded her sons in a tight embrace, feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from her family. "Saerlund," she vowed, "once this conflict ends, I will restore your name. But you must promise me one thing in return."
"What is it, Mother?" Saerlund asked, having grown softer now from the sentiment all around.
"Stay out of political matters. You can have your opinions, but don't do anything to endanger your life." Laila simply requested.
Saerlund was silent for a moment, but serenely agreed to her proposition. "I promise I won't. Not after this venture with Inigo."
"Good." Laila responded in kind. She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. The Jarl then turned her attention to Inigo. "Inigo, I have something for you; it will help you on your way."
The Khajiit was surprised by this gesture. "Huh?"
Laila walked around the corner and headed into her private chamber. She headed past her canopy bed and found what appeared to be a suit of Ancient Nordic Steel Armour on a mannequin. She removed it and returned, presenting it to Inigo. "Take this - it will keep you alive. Your previous armour was greatly damaged. I sent it to Balimund at the Scorched Hammer. He will repair it for you."
Inigo accepted the Heavy armour graciously, and examined the ornate thick steel plating on it, as well as the black fur collar. This was no cheap armour. "Wow. This looks expensive. Are you sure I can use it?"
Laila scoffed at his inquiry. "For what you've done regarding the Dragons and the Vampires, it's the least we can do for you. You've done more for my land than my advisors have in their entire careers, intentional or not. In fact, I have half a mind to offer you the title of Thane for the valiant efforts you've performed in Skyrim over the years."
Inigo noted the shabby condition of most of the city and Keep. He would take good care of this expensive armour. It was no meager gift. "I, a Thane of the Rift?" he looked over to Ulfric, who seemed to encourage him to take the title.
"Once you've completed the task of negotiating with General Tullius, report back to me." Jarl Laila instructed him.
"Thank you. You are very kind." Inigo expressed his gratitude to the Jarl. When he first came to Riften, he'd heard Bersi, the owner of the Pawned Prawn, saying that the Jarl was clueless and stupid and her court had no care for their city at all, and was corrupt and dirty. Now Inigo was grateful that the Thieves Guild turned him away. "And I must say, I love Riften! It is my favourite city in all the Nine Holds."
"Glad to hear it." Laila responded cordially. "It's a shame our city's filled with the influence of the Thieves Guild and rife with skooma addiction and now this. I wish I could do more for these poor people, but times have been tough all around. And now with the Daedra at our doorstep, things are bound to grow tougher for us all. My concern is now for the people of the Rift."
Lucien scratched his chin. "Well... the people of Shor's Stone are safe under Windhelm at the moment, so you won't have to worry for their sakes."
After a few minutes passed and Inigo was suited up, Jarl Ulfric, Jarl Laila, Saerlund, Harrald, Inigo, Isran, Maramal, Dinya, and Lucien descended the upper floors and headed downstairs.
Isran proposed another plan of action to Laila. "Jarl Laila, I will have my Dawnguard Scouts traverse the Rift, and we'll evacuate the people to the Jerall Mountains - it's a little out of their way, but will make it harder for the Daedra to reach them. And since Meridia is protecting Stendarr's Beacon nearby, I have no doubt that they will be safe in the mountainside near there."
Jarl Laila nodded. "An excellent idea. And because the Daedra may come from the NorthEast, we will have to ensure the Escape carriages at the Stables will be ready to bring citizens southward. If my city falls, I want my people to survive it. This would not be the first time Riften went up in flames."
Harrald had a proposition. "Ivarstead is to the west of us - what if we were to send them up the 7000 steps? The Greybeards no doubt could provide shelter, and with their mastery of the Thu'um, they could push the Daedra away."
Ulfric raised his hand. "No. I do not want to trouble the Greybeards with this problem. They've already extended their reach far enough with the Peace Meeting with Cura."
"...And it would look suspicious to the Thalmor if we were escorting leagues of people up High Hrothgar." Lucien stated.
"Fuck the Thalmor!" Ulfric barked crudely. "They are the least of our worries at the moment." His sudden use of profanity surprised all who walked with him. "For all we know, the Daedra may be planning an attack against High Hrothgar. We would be sending people to their deaths. I say we go with Isran's suggestion - this Meridia, and those Vigilants, they are guarding my daughter's body, yes? Then it is the truly safest place, as you have said. Daedric Princes seldom engage one another - and this Meridia has protected you against Dagon before, you have told me." He looked to Lucien and Inigo. "We will put more people under her wings for the meantime - if her oath is true, Dagon will not reach those mountains."
Dinya Balu spoke up. "I am sorry, Jarl Ulfric, but did I just hear you endorsing the Daedric Prince of the Ayleids?"
Ulfric turned on his heel and blocked their descent as he stood flat in the hallway. "Not for her sake, but because she has proven herself an ally to Skyrim. She protects the Dragonborn's body. Who am I to gainsay that decision?"
When they reached the main hall, Maven Black-Briar stood before Laila's throne with her arms crossed, and she was tapping her foot on the forum's floor. As soon as Laila saw her, she seemed elated. "Maven! Always a pleasure to receive you. What can I help you with today?"
"Laila, my dear, what insanity is going on here? I thought the land was supposed to be safe now, with those disgusting Reptiles gone." the snobbish businesswoman asked.
"I really hope she isn't slandering the Argonians." Lucien whispered to Inigo.
"I think she means the Dragons." Inigo whispered back.
Jarl Laila joined her confidante before her throne, and Anuriel stood nearby with Unmid. "Maven - troubling times are ahead. I may need your help." She took Maven's hands in a friendly manner as she escorted her to the dining table.
"Of course, Laila. Don't fret. Anything I could do to help, I shall." Maven spoke, her voice dripping with false honey.
Inigo and Lucien looked at one another with confusion. Maven was the patroness of the Thieves Guild. Was Laila not aware of this?
"I need your help - we will need to procure greater weaponry and we intend to forge a truce with the Empire for the meantime. Perhaps you could help facilitate a dialogue with the Imperial Generals once we've gathered them to our side." Laila proposed. She knew Maven was a savvy businesswoman, and if anyone could help supply lines move it would be her. And Riften was sorely lacking where supply lines were concerned.
Maven took a moment to register what she'd heard, and responded accordingly, the honey drying up. "I'm certain you're aware of the loss I sustained a fortnight ago."
"Yes, indeed. An entire caravan shipment of your mead taken by Imperial soldiers. What of it?" Laila asked.
Maven grew borderline accusatory. "Well, I'm also certain you're aware that our own city guard failed to provide the protection required to ensure safe passage of the shipment."
"Ooh. That is not a good sign." Lucien mumbled.
Jarl Ulfric looked at Laila sympathetically. He pulled her into his war against the Empire, and now he was seeing the toll it took on her city financially. He always saw her as a trusted ally, but he hadn't been much of one, himself.
"Indeed. We lost three soldiers in that attack. A sad day for Riften." Laila responded regretfully.
"Quite. To be brief, I need compensation for the lost shipment. Since Riften was responsible for it, Riften should pay for it." Maven demanded.
"Excuse me, what?" Inigo was taken aback. "How is Riften responsible for what the Imperials did?"
"Heartless Hagraven." Lucien spat.
Isran remained silent. He leaned against the wall and spared a look with Ulfric, who seemed to be growing frustrated.
The Jarl was struck by this sudden shift, and stammered. "We... don't have enough to..."
Maven placed her hands on her hips and shifted backwards. Her eyes were cold as ice and her heart worse. "Laila, Riften is my home, but if my meadery can't be safe here, I'll just move it elsewhere."
"Good luck, with the Daedra running around!" Lucien laughed.
Jarl Ulfric slapped his hand on the table and leaned forward to glare at her. His eyes burrowed into Maven's, stirring a light intimidation in the crone. "Windhelm will cover it."
Maven grew stiff, and glanced at Laila for support, then at Anuriel, and then at Ulfric. She settled on his offer without question: after all, this was the Jarl who had a voice that could tear people apart. "Er... very well, I suppose."
"Good." Ulfric leaned back. "Unfortunately my Steward was killed by a member of the Mythic Dawn, but I'll have my next one send you a Writ of Payment and the appropriate amount of gold. That should shut you up."
Maven was visibly insulted, but the cruel raven-haired woman took it in stride. She returned to what Laila was talking about. "I've come because I'd heard murmurings of the Pale being ravaged by Daedra, as well as Shor's Stone. I was going to ask if you had a strategy to preserve our Hold's security, but evidently not. As you know, Goldenglow Estate is across the Lake. I want Riften security placed around it at all times! If it is destroyed, my livelihood will be at risk."
"Maven, that goes back to what I was suggesting about the weapons supplies." Laila explained. "We are planning on building a truce with the Empire to fight against the Daedra. I will need you to ensure they stay true to their word - that their soldiers remain loyal and that the weapons they provide us will be of good quality."
Maven scoffed. "'Good' quality? Laila, darling. With me at the helm, Riften will have nothing less than the most Exquisite quality of weapons and armour to use. You have my word." she held a hand to her chest haughtily as she boasted. "When do you plan to reach out to them?"
"Right now, actually. You're a little late to the party." Isran stated dryly.
Maven scoffed at the Redguard in response. "The most important guests always arrive late. But I assure you, I am a valuable ally; and a dreadful enemy."
Isran narrowed his eyes at her when she said it. "I don't appreciate veiled threats."
"It's not a threat. It's a fact. But we're all friends here. At least, I believe we are." Maven said nonchalantly as she scanned the faces in the main hall.
At that instant, Serana entered the main hall. As soon as she saw Inigo and Lucien she hurried over to them. "Guys! I have horrible news."
"What's wrong, Serana?" Inigo asked her, his concern growing like a dimple on his psyche. He approached her and she took his hands. What more bad news was there? Was Winterhold destroyed, as well?
"The Pale... it's... the mountain where the Hall of the Vigilant was..." Serana tried to articulate what she'd seen, but it was difficult. "Gone. Completely eradicated. Dimhollow Crypt is visible. The landmass is a huge, gaping chasm. The College of Winterhold went to the Pale because of a Daedra conflict, but I couldn't find anybody there. The Jarl of Winterhold and the former Jarl of the Pale, Skald the Elder, are on their way here now."
Jarl Laila was surprised to hear that. "Excuse me - Jarl Korir and Jarl Skald are coming here?"
"That would make things more convenient." Ulfric mused. Rather than having to go through the trouble of summoning them on short notice, they were poised to join them in a meeting already.
Serana addressed Laila politely. "I'm sorry, my lady. I told them my friends were meeting with you about the Daedra threat. Inigo and Lucien's reputation as heroes alongside the Dragonborn persuaded them that it was an urgent matter. They should arrive in the morning." She was not wearing her hood, and this informed Inigo that perhaps it was night already. He was unconscious for quite some time, and lost track of it in the process.
"You have nothing to apologize for. Excellent initiative." Laila expressed to Serana, flattering the vampiress.
Inigo looked to Saerlund and Lucien. "I am ready to get to Castle Dour. We will have to be careful with how we approach this."
Saerlund was confident. "Follow my lead."
"Will you be coming too, Serana?" Lucien asked.
Serana shook her head. "No - I'll stay here and wait for the Jarls to arrive. It only makes sense, since I sent them here to begin with."
"Fair enough." Inigo dismissed it. "Wish us luck."
"Good luck, guys. Keep your tongues sharp and precise!" Serana told them both.
"Good journey to you. And Saerlund, please be careful." Jarl Laila emparted her blessing onto them.
The three exited the main hall, leaving their allies behind for the meantime. It was not an easy road ahead, but they were happy to at least have a working plan. All that remained was to put it in action; but it would all hinge on Inigo's, Lucien's and Saerlund's ability to persuade General Tullius. It was not going to be easy to do so, with all the blood that had been spilled over the years on either side.
After all; blades, once drawn, could never be put back in their sheaths.