Chapter 31: Coronation
The city of Falkreath sat deep in the old growth forests of Skyrim. As Jon traveled though it, he felt it akin to more a jungle rain forests than a temperate one like it presented it self as. It was so damp in some places he spied local weather patterns though the trees, pine and fir endemic to Skyrim, with other hardwoods mixed in. There was betrayal in those woods, things dark, and he stayed on the beaten path in respect to them. He needed not to seek trouble.
One could not see the city on approach, maybe even have a hard time spotting it by air. This no doubt played into the hold's defensive strategy, and also would explain their patrols having a hard time protecting hamlets a little farther off from the main city. Falkreath sat deep in a valley, next to a small lake. It was drainage from the Shriekwind mounting and it's snow pack.
To the south of the valley was the Hrothgar Mountain Range, it's precipice bulging into Skyrim further North and to the East. Overall the mountain range forced a natural barrier, and Southern border until it fell into Bruma. Only a few paths weaved though it, all of which went though Helgan. He wondered if that was in the Jarl's hold. He still wanted to negotiate for the mine, perhaps the ruins of a town could go along with it.
Every once in a while on approach we would just catch the Jarl's residence though the gaps in the trees along the Imperial road cutting though the deep woods. It was situated on a peak in the valley, and that would be his target. Sometimes he would only smell or hear buildings before he could ever see thin though the thick tree cover, even with his dragon eyes.
No wonder a hamlet got lost in those woods while the Jarl tried to defend the center of his population and power. Eventually he rode up on the center of the 'city.' Just from what Jon could observe, there stood almost as many people as Whiterun, but much less densely packed. Dispersed. It was no wonder bandits could take and kill a dozen in the night, probably not that far off from the clearing. Only the city center was truly free from forest, and around it sat a stone wall. It was a blessing against a sizable force attempting to attack, but a curse against the infiltrators and smaller hosts.
A guardsman nodded at him as he passed by to the combination stable and inn just inside. Jon was playing his tricks, and the guardsman knew not really who he spoke too, "Hail wizard. You happen to see a dog on the way past?"
Jon brought Valkyrie to a slow stop and replied, "Hail Guardsman. I did not unfortunately. My apologies."
"Ah, It's alright. I just promised the blacksmith I'd ask any who came by." The guardsman said. Jon decided to dismount then and there. He could trust his steed to make it to the stables. She trotted off a moment later to where the real gossip and action was.
"Well if I see one on the road, I'll let the blacksmith know." Jon said. A pleasant sent of burning leaf caught his nose. Tobacco with a side of hash. He asked, "Say, smoking hemp leaf is legal right?"
"Oh, aye. Jarl Siddgeir made it so. He even has a personal stock of mead infused with the stuff. He shares with his guard on occasion. Better then that skooma trash those cat eyed bastards try to push. That's still a crime."
"Have a problem with cat eyes?" Jon asked almost rhetorically asked. He flashed a green dragon eye from under his hood, and dropped all pretense of his tricks. The guard stammered when he realized the wizard was the Thane in Robes, and the Thane in Robes was…
"I-Ah, no." He said, standing a little straighter than he was, arms no longer crossed.
"Good. And good day to you guardsman." Jon said before turning. The guard needed some work, but he decided he already liked the Jarl.
Jon took in the sights and smells of the center. There was the inn he passed, and several shops and stands littered around. There were no doubt other markets hidden in the trees among the rest of the city Falkreath. The Jarl's place of power was up the hill some, and it looked similar to to Dragonsreach in Whiterun, yet smaller. Even the hill it sat on was not as dominating, the peaks of the roof just poking from the peak of the canopy. Jon smiled, he was sure that was a point of contention at some point between the Jarls that sat in their respective thrones, respective halls.
Jon reached the grand hall doors and was let in promptly though the man door by the guards in a blue-grey. Not as deep as Stormcloak blue certainly. Inside was a busy mead hall, two long tables on either side of a grand fire, but not a packed one. The Jarl was holding his court, but there was no grand feast.
"Dragonborn." A small whisper shot out though the just past midday around. Then in carried further until the hall and proceedings had come to a stop.
At the very back, and just above most was the Jarl. The man even looked like Bulgruuf, yet with dark hair instead of blond. Not completely though, though the lines were certainly related. He had a happy smile on his face, holding none of his counterparts sternness.
In one hand was a slowly smoking pipe, and the other was wrapped around a scantly clad Bosmer woman almost as big as the Nord. She also had small antlers poking from her hair, and was obviously a variant of the typical Bosmer, perhaps closer to their forms in the past. She could have also simply been apart of a tribe or clan that had lived in Falkreath for some time, adapted overtime to Skyrim.
Jon judged the latter from the carefree attitude most of the other Nords had. He knew if this were other places in Skyrim the Jarl would be strung up for an Elve lover lounging in his lap in open court. The only one who looked disappointed with it all, even the entrance of the Dragonborn, was an older man standing at the Jarls side, his steward but also perhaps his father.
"My my, look what the Khajiit dragged in. The Dragonborn in the flesh? In my humble court? I need to stop smoking so much. I'm seeing things." He drove his point home with another puff to the courts laughter and cheer. The older man's expression dropped even further.
Jon smiled, "And I could smoke a little more, if you offer my Jarl. I heard you share."
The old man huffed, and the Jarl spared him a small but angry glance as he began a merry laugh and waved for a servant, "You are damned straight I share, Dragonborn. A reward for the things I heard though the trees about you." The Bosmer woman leaned in and giggled, and he matched it as the Servant came out with a packed pipe. A longer thing, with a moderate sized bowl.
"With some offense, a few puffs of your pipe doesn't seem like a reward." Jon attacked.
The Jarl and court chuckled as Jon took an offered pipe and lit it with a finger tip flame spell. He took a couple puffs to start it, and simply let the smoke coat his mouth, taking some in though his nose as well, but then blowing most of it out. Anything hyper tuned was proportionally sensitive, and so were the neuro-receptors almost purpose made to absorb and process the nicotine in the nightshade leaf, THC in the cannabis. He didn't need to completely inhale. At least not in court as he was.
"Alright, you've convinced me. A few sucks as well." The Jarl said. Jon and the court laughed as the Jarl pulled a drag. Jon replied, savoring the flavor of the leaf.
"Of my pipe, or yours?" Jon said, the pipe now firmly in his teeth. Good wizards had long pipes, he thought.
The Jarl tapped the small of the back on his Bosmer consort, and she dutifully got up to let him rise to his full height. He pecked her lips when he did, and passed the still burning pipe to her. She smiled as she began puffing, and sat right back down on the throne behind the large Nord.
"Well I can't very well suck my own pipe. I tried." He said to the breakdown of his subjects. Jon snickered through the clenched of his teeth on the stem of the pipe.
The Jarl motioned and continued, "Let's make that a private affair, however. Right this way Dragonborn."
Jon gave a sarcastic bow to the cajoling of the court. It wouldn't be known that the Dragonborn didn't have a good humor about him. That he commanded the power of a god but couldn't take a joke, like Them. He was also in a good mood with being smoked up by the Jarl.
He started walking and powered though a bit of light-headedness. The hemp leaf did it's work as well, slowing his usually racing mind some. Just enough to make the world around him a little less quieter, duller. It was not so bad for one of superior ears and eyes. He was not so slow however, moderating the intake with the Clinton maneuver.
The Jarl's steward dutifully followed, but didn't speak or really even look at Jon. He was certainly one that would be bowing if he could, Jon called with a glance. One Jon could make bow with a glance. He figured he would never be rid of people like them, but also spoke no words to the steward, as he spoke no words to the Dragonborn.
They got to the back office, just up some steps like in its sister keep, but still smaller than as the hall had no back deck purpose built to trap a dragon. It didn't need it. The Jarl took one side, Jon the other over a map of Skyrim, and the Steward off to the side along a wall. There was some animosity Jon sensed. Mutual.
The Jarl said, "Well, formally, I am Jarl Siddgeir and welcome to Falkreath. It is an honor to host the Dragonborn. Thank you, truly, for pulling my people out of that mine. Frankly, I'm embarrassed."
Jon shrugged and shook his head nonchalantly, "All good my Jarl. I took a measure of the city on the way in. It must be an oblivion of a time to defend it all in those woods."
Siddgeir nodded, "You already know it. Please, just call me Siddgeir."
"Jon."
"Well Jon, you're right. The civil war was on, most of the initial skirmishes took place in the Falkreath woods around Helgan, and Morthal swamps. I was just installed, and had to do something fast."
"So you make them come to you in the city. The main road by and though it is probably the only clear way the valley. It would have been urban jungle warfare. That would have been Oblivion on Nirn."
"Not quite jungle I'm told by those who know the trees, but close. Certainly a special kind of Oblivion for them. Our friends in those trees would have bled them the whole way here in the event the Legion failed us. That was my strategy. It left outlying hamlets unprotected, but also made me look competently decisive at a critical point in my rule and the war. That was of course until I got word my people were rescued and no longer loyal because of it."
"They stayed in Riverwood?" Jon puffed as he pondered. Then passed to the expectantly looking Jarl. It was his pipe and leaf after all.
Siddgeir puffed, "Last I heard. Left them be after that. I did fail them after all. Turns out not even Jarls are free from mistakes."
"Nor the gods I've found. I don't think you did make a mistake. Choices must be made in war, and a man who defends everything defends actually nothing. A fundamental rule." Jon took the pipe back after a pass, getting the last of the bowl.
Siddgeir scoffed, "I guess I really am getting sucked in here. Ah, the perks of being a Jarl. Though they lied when they said I could just sit around all day and order others to do all the work."
"Someone has to make a decision around here." Jon chuckled.
"Every once in a while." Siddgeir threw up some conciliatory hands. He continued, "Though they didn't completely lie. The best meals, the best mead, even the best hunts. Wealthy, powerful, you should try it sometime."
Siddgeir's eyebrows then shot up, then he frantically stared down at the map. Jon smiled under his hood. He liked where the conversation had taken a sudden turn too. He didn't even have to get to that part of the battle, his enemy walking right into a trap truly of their own making. Jon was just going to shark a mine from him, but now it was going beyond even what he expected.
Siddgeir spoke, "Wait, wait, wait just a second here. I was going to Thane you and all. An honor and whatnot. But the problem with that is I'll never have to honor of Thane-ing you first."
Jon rose his own eyebrow, feinting confusion. He said, "Balgruuf has that honor."
Siddgeir smiled slyly, "Another problem. I wouldn't be a Jarl of Falkreath if I just kept letting Whiterun get one over on us like that."
"I suspected a rivalry. Perhaps even familial?"
"Sharp, you are. Yes. A long while back it was real, but now it's more pretend. Tradition. Though I did worry a second about Bulgruuf putting troops on the border like he did. Though then I got the word of dragons right as I was getting council on it, and thought, yeah that's probably what I would do as well. No harm done, would you tell that to Bulgruuf for me?"
"Of course Siddgeir."
"Thank you Jon. Now, I see an opportunity here. One no one else has, save maybe the emperor himself." Siddgeir said as he tapped his finger down on the map at Helgan.
Jon continued liking where it was going. He wasn't going to push for the town, but if Siddgeir was going to hand it over outright, he wasn't going to interrupt.
Siddgeir said, "Helgan is worthless as far as Falkreath is concerned. Hundreds died, and its very sad, but that part of Falkreath was unofficial Legion turf. A strategic position for them, but not something I'm going to spend the coin rebuilding because it's my rightful clay or some Mammoth shit. The Western road to the south is all that matters as far as I care."
"It goes though the thinnest part of the Hrothgar Mountains."
"And closer to the trade ports that actually matter in western Cyrodiil. The Western pass was only that, a secondary route for Legion logistics; By way of Bruma. I knew you had this in you."
"You wish you give me Helgan?"
Fire was lit in Siddgeir's eyes. No other could declare the Dovahkiin, chosen of Akatosh, the master of his own lands; A Jarl. He would have that honor alone, and he would coast on the act for the rest of his life and reign. He said, "Much more than Helgan, Jarl Dragonborn. The surrounding mountain range with it, up to the road in the West."
"And bordering the valley forest along the way."
"Where else? Over of course to Riften, south to Bruma, and straight down to the Guardian Stones as well. A teensy tiny little problem though."
"Border dispute."
"Border dispute. That some idiots wanted to flare back up." Jon did not fail to notice the shifting of the Steward, and the contempt in the face of Siddgeir. The Jarl continued, "The status quo is that neither side attempt to enforce claims in that area. It was decided, when it was decided a while back, officially as a matter of honor; To preserve the sanctity of the Stones."
"But of course it's really about the mine. Iron is an important resource." Jon said. Finally his real prize, what he really wanted to begin weapons dealing. He also thought of what lighting a forge with divine fire would do to a sword forged in it, and what that sword would do to Thalmor. They were the real enemy, the dragons were barely a threat at that point.
"Indeed it is. All they rest I can give you free and clear. If you get Bulgruuf to agree, that little part of Riverwood valley is yours too."
Jon smiled under his hood. Balgruuf would agree as long as he didn't push of Riverwood was well. Jon wondered if he could claim Hrothgar Mountain itself. The Greybeards would only decide that. He said, "I don't really know how to thank you Jarl Siddgeir. I just wanted a mine potentially, by right of conquest. This is more than I could have hoped for. My House will always stand with Falkreath."
Siddgeir smiled, "And with Whiterun as well I suspect, unfortunately, but maybe that's for the best. You're welcome Jarl Jon. Besides, the Empire can consider it my way to sticking it back to them, however loyal I technically am."
Jon met the smiled. He said, "Remind them who's land it really is. Mine now. I do have another thing you ask you about."
"Shoot."
"I plan on clearing Linalta's's Deep. In the lake. They have something I need to get back. Happen to know anything about what's going on up there?"
"HA! Yes actually I do. After word gets around that the Jarl can't protect his people in his 'own' borders, I had to be seen to be doing something...oh what was that pretty sell-sword's name...no wait don't tell me my faithful Steward. You probably don't remember either. The Barefaced! That much I remember. Anyway I hired her out to clear the place, and she did. Came back with some strange artifact, and claimed she had to delve into it to get the big bad running the mage pack holed up in there. My wizard is taking a look."
Jon chuckled, his good mood continuing. He might not even kill that Delphine upon their first meeting. He said, "That artifact is Azurah's Star. A Deadric artifact. Corrupted probably from whatever Varen did to it. I've been prophesied to return it to it's owner."
Siddgeir paled as he simply stared at the hooded Dragonborn. He would have preferred to judge the truth in his eyes, but maybe that wasn't wise. Some consequence of being the Dragonborn the new Jarl didn't want to expose others too. He believed the man.
Then he got annoyed, "Steward. Why in Oblivion was I not informed of this sooner? It was in my house! It Is in my house!"
The gray steward finally spoke up, "Apologies, my Jarl. I did not know."
"Oh that's right. You don't know a lot of things, do you? No, like how you didn't know that stoking hate against our forest friends was a stupid fucking idea!"
Jon spared a contemptuous glance back at the man, "Really?"
"Oh yes, really talking Ulfric's line to the end. Refugees from the Oblivion crisis no less. They've lived here for hundreds of years at this point. He wanted to expel them, or kill them if they didn't leave. Quote unquote Thalmor spies. Like they didn't specifically run to Falkreath Forest as if it was some kind of promised land."
"As far away as they could from the Dominion no doubt."
"Yes, the armies that 'reinforced Imperial positions' just to never leave when the gates closed; Thank Akatosh himself. Now that you mentioned it, I think it was a prophesy that brought them here. And I happen to know some forbidden knowledge."
"That Azurah is the mother of prophesy."
Siddgeir pointed in the affirmative, "Not Mora. Clive actually hangs out in these woods, sorta, and probably bargained, or something, with Azura for them to live out here. She always shows up to help the downtrodden. Especially Elven folk."
"And there was another deal with the Nords as well. It's why they should leave. Its a deal with daedra!" the Steward nearly spit. Really he did spit.
Jon looked back again and casually lifted his eyes to meet the man. The Steward went pale, and Jon simply said, "I do not tolerate bigotry. Understood?"
"Y-yes, Dragonborn."
Siddgeir chuckled, "That's really what it is. Simple bigotry. If he knew more he would know Vile never did anything to hurt us. Neither have the Bosmer. He would know that if he picked up a book every once in a while. The Bosmer were vital to repairing the damage to the forest from the gates and their associated pillaging. Oblivion, literally, to rebuilding Falkreath itself. The city used to be more densely packed. More of the forest clear cut around the center here."
Jon scoffed, "How do you feel about Khajiit?"
Siddgeir sighed, caught in the snare. He said, "You got me. I have to draw a line somewhere, politically speaking. Our friends are one thing, they're sons and daughters of Skyrim at this point, but the road clans do steal. There was an uptick in thefts basically everywhere they went. I did some of the theft myself. I slipped out one night, and traveled with a clan for about a year as a younger man. I wish some of what was said about them was just mammoth shit. Its a cultural thing they'll just have to change if they want the Nords to change."
Jon conceded, "I believe that. There's even a thieves guild, and that's certainly a long standing culture. Way of life. Otherwise you impress me Jarl Siddgeir. More than what initially meets my dragon eyes."
Siddgeir smiled, catching the gambit immediately. What high praise from the Dragonborn himself, the mortal heir to Talos, to the leaf smoking bum as he had been called. All while the true Nord gets nothing but talked down to by both of them.
Siddgeir would up the ante, "Well, I'll get the corrupted star handed off to you. Better with you than anywhere near my hold. See, the Jarl actually looking out for the safety of his subjects. Instead of inviting war directly upon them. That may take some time to arrange though. How about another pack of the pipes. I even got some mead I'm sure you'll love."
Jon grinned, "The road as been long to get here. If I may stay the night, I have a drop of hooch I'm sure will pair well with that mead."
"That won't be a problem at all, Jarl Dragonborn. Lets head back down and get some food going." Siddgeir motioned to follow with his own grin. He liked the sound of that drop.
The two men would drink and be merry, but the former Jarl, current Steward, would take no part. Before Jon took to following his new best friend, he cast the hand crafted spell of a dark god. The Attendant was summoned out of a black and sickly maw, yet tinged with the sky-blue power of Magnus, and an even smaller hit of orange. The tough of divine power was excruciating to the Dremora Lord. He was at the Moment every time he was cast. It really was Pleasure serving this Divine.
"Ah, Thane. Is this a challenger before me?" The Attendant said with a hungry smile. To the Steward's credit, he refused to flinch. It was a test surely, given by one blessed by Akatosh.
"Jarl now. And no. Simply stare at that man for as long as you please."
"Oh? My apologies Jarl." The Attendant bowed his head, but only his head. It seemed his Jarl did not mind that small display of deference. It was heresy that would be taken from his Blood later.
Then he took a couple whiffs, "I smell a brewing party Jarls. One Sam may even attend. Could I sing to him? Good parties have song."
Jon made a show of rolling his eyes to the Attendant's warm smile, "I suppose they do. But no song of yours will make for a good party. I will certainly not be here to listen to your foul voice. That is all you may do to this man."
The Attendant laughed as Jon and Siddgeir walked off to the main hall to get a party going. Siddgeir's smile never left as he put his arm firmly around the Dragonborn's shoulder. The Attendant began a rendition of the 13 Masochations Of The Lord. He spared a glance to ensure both Jarls were gone, and then added the associated interpretive dance. It was a night of Pleasure for all except the Steward.