"Tullius said that to you?" Inigo asked, his voice full of astonishment.
Ysmir grumbled his reply as he pushed open the door to his room, "those exact words."
Inigo entered behind Ysmir and shut the door behind him. "Wow," he said, "so much for subtlety. You were right when you said he had little desire to engage in politics."
"And that fact might have damned us," Ysmir said as he rubbed his temple with his left hand.
Finally free from dinner and nobles, Ysmir was able to remove the fine, but extremely uncomfortable, clothes he was given and swap them for a loose fitting shirt and linen trousers. After he changed he collapsed into one of the cushioned chairs in the corner of the room.
Ysmir and Inigo made great progress at dinner, but it seemed like that was all for nothing. General Tullius all but said that he would tell the Jarls under his influence to vote for Ysmir if his name came up at the Moot. Apparently Tullius thought that was the only way he could follow the orders he was given without tearing the province apart.
They were so close, then everything came crumbling down around them.
"Unfortunately," Inigo began, "it makes sense that Tullius would do this. You're strong, you support the Empire, and you're not only popular but famous as well. Even the Jarls who declared for Elisif couldn't help but be in awe at your reputation."
"It makes sense to him," Ysmir complained, "but like I said, it damns us. I should have seen this coming."
Ysmir had grown extremely frustrated as his mind raced trying to figure out a solution. He looked around the room. So great was the anger boiling under his calm visage that had he been who he was when he was younger, before he studied the Way of the Voice with the Greybeards, there was a good chance several pieces of furniture would have been smashed to bits by now.
"I mean, is it really the worst of plans?" Inigo asked, "you becoming High King I mean."
"I do not want to be High King," Ysmir flatly replied. By breathing rhythmically, he was able to slowly calm down. "It would cause all sorts of problems."
"Problems bigger than the one we're currently facing?" Inigo pointed out.
"Yes," Ysmir replied, "besides the never-ending tide of distractions I would have to deal with, Skyrim needs a ruler that is focused on Skyrim. I'm focused on the Imperial City, and I can't afford to split my attention. Besides that, we need to be realistic about the future. The Triumvirate is not going to step down and recognize me as Emperor. Sometime, soon, we will be forced to confront them. If I march into Cyrodiil as a foreign king, the chances of me inheriting a united Empire will evaporate before our eyes."
"You don't know that for sure," Inigo countered, "no one likes the Triumvirate. The only reason they're in charge is because they control the Imperial City. You could be a saviour if you stopped them, even if you were High King. With Tullius' Jarls, Balgruuf, and I'm sure Igmund too, that's more than enough votes to prevent another war."
Ysmir shook his head. "But not enough to prevent more political scheming that I won't be able to properly deal with. And… above all else, I gave Elisif my word that I would support her."
"Your word!?" Inigo asked, flabbergasted.
"Yes," Ysmir steadily answered, "my word."
"Damn it, Ysmir," Inigo said, loudly but not quite yelling, "is your Nord honour really more important than stopping a war?"
"It's not about honour," Ysmir said. He shifted in his chair, his blood was starting to boil again, "it's about keeping my word to someone."
"Oblivion it isn't!" Inigo yelled, his frustrations finally coming out. "You would rather see everything we've done so far fall apart just so that you don't have to break your word? If this isn't about honour, then it's you being stubborn and dragon-headed!"
Ysmir shot up from his chair. His nerves were beginning to numb, his mind grew clouded and his vision narrowed.
"If I cannot keep my word once given, then how would I ever deserve to rule the Empire!?" Ysmir yelled. His voice boomed as he spoke. Around the room, furniture shook, books fell from their shelves, and silver goblets on platters rattled and tipped over.
Inigo, after he steadied himself by grabbing hold of a wooden pillar, lowered the tone of his voice. "Woah, ok, ok… we need to calm down."
Ysmir fell back into his chair and returned to his rhythmic breathing. He closed his eyes. Slowly, his senses returned to normal, and his anger cooled.
When he opened his eyes, Inigo was walking around the room picking up the various books and baubles that had fallen, piling them without thought on an empty table next to the corner window.
Ysmir bowed his head in shame. "I'm sorry," he quietly said, "I should have better self-control. If Master Arngeir could see me now…"
"I'm sorry too," Inigo responded, "I shouldn't have been taking out my frustrations on you. Hopefully no one heard that, even though I'm sure they felt it."
Ysmir chuckled and shook his head. "Yes, this is all very frustrating," he said as he rubbed his eyes with his hands. Sometimes the pull of his dragon side, which always loomed like a shadow behind him, was overwhelming. That side of him knew that with his power he could have or do anything he wanted, but it craved destruction and domination.
It was ironic. A majority of his training at High Hrothgar was devoted to tempering the primal, fiery Dragonblood that constantly raged in his veins. An up-hill struggle, one that never failed to push him to his limits. But now, it was that same Dragonblood that gave him his claim to the Ruby Throne.
Ysmir got up and started to help Inigo clean up the room. If any one heard, or felt, Ysmir's earlier tantrum, they were not brave enough to come investigate. As they put the last few items away, they were startled by sudden tapping at the window.
Inigo ears twitched. He instinctively reached behind him and pulled out his lucky dagger that was hidden in his fancy, black doublet. He slowly moved towards the window, being careful with his steps to not make any sounds.
Ysmir stepped between Inigo and the window and raised his hand to stop him. He walked over, unlatched the lock, and stepped back.
The glass window shot open with such force that it cracked several of the panes. Within an instant of the window opening, a swarm of bats flew through and crashed into the floor of the bedroom. The swarm dissipated into mist, and a familiar figure stood up out of the mass.
"Serana!" Inigo yelled. He looked over to Ysmir, "wait, how'd you know it was her?"
"Who else could be tapping on our window five stories up from a seaside cliff?" Ysmir responded. "How did you find us Serana?"
"Ha!" Serana laughed, "you're not exactly hard to find, the entire province is talking about you. Catching up was the hard part. I was halfway to Windhelm when I heard about your triumphant march to Solitude and had to turn around."
"I mean how did you find our room?" Ysmir specified.
"Oh, I heard you guys yelling," Serana answered, "one of you more than the other."
Inigo scratched his ear, "we were venting some pent-up frustrations."
"Of course you were," Serana said. She walked to Ysmir and Inigo and embraced them both, making sure the large package strapped to her back did not fall over. Its appearance reminded Ysmir of the Elder Scroll Serana used to carry, only larger and wrapped in weather-beaten leather.
"Thank the night I finally caught up," Serana said as she pulled away from Inigo. She gestured to her back, "hauling this around has been a real pain in the neck."
"Let's see what it is!" Inigo yelled with excitement, "I've been waiting so long, the anticipation has been killing me."
Serana pointed to the table by the window covered in books and goblets, "clear that table off and I'll show you."
"Damn," Inigo whispered under his breath as he got to work, his previous joy drained out of him. "I knew I should have just put everything back where it belonged."
"It took you a long time to reunite with us," Ysmir said to Serana, "did something happen?"
Serana unlatched the strap on her chest that tied Ysmir's gift to her body. "Nothing bad. Castle Volkihar is in a bad state of disrepair. It took a while to sift through the ruins and actually find what I was looking for, but it was worth it."
She laid the cylindrical leather bundle at the bottom of the empty table, and with several pushes unraveled its contents. When she was finished she cast a magelight spell over the table and took a step back, allowing Ysmir and Inigo an unobstructed view.
What they saw astonished them.
Laying across the table was a long, well preserved banner emblazoned with a winged Imperial Dragon. It was nearly identical to the banners of the modern Empire, but where those are red with a black dragon, this banner was onyx black with a shining gold dragon. Furthermore, stitched above the dragon, also in gold, was a crown atop crossed lightning bolts. The crown took the place of the diamond representing the Amulet of Kings on Imperial banners of the 3rd Era. A space that had been left empty on banners made after the Oblivion Crisis.
Stretched out along the sides of the banner, tied on the same horizontal metal pole, were two red ribbons. These ribbons ran the entire length of the banner, but flowed independently of it. All in all, the entire banner was at least 2 meters long and 1 meter wide.
"What is this…?" Ysmir asked, the look of surprise obvious on his normally stern face.
"This," Serana proudly answered, "is the Banner of General Talos. Pulled straight from the twilight of the 2nd Era, kept in pristine shape thanks to my father's obsession with powerful artifacts."
Inigo whistled in awe. "That is old," he said.
"Ancient," Serana corrected. "According to legends, this is the banner used by Talos back when he was a mortal general fighting for the Colovian warlord, King Cuhlecain. Under this banner, he united the Colovian Estates, won the Battle of Sancre Tor, and marched with Cuhlecain on the Imperial City. The night they captured the city, Cuhlecain was murdered and Talos' throat was slit, though he survived. Cuhlecain became known as Emperor Zero, and Talos became Emperor Tiber Septim. After that the banner disappears from history, only to reappear in the archives of the Volkihar Clan."
"I've never heard of Emperor Zero," Inigo said as he ran his paw along one of the red ribbons of the banner.
"He was the center of a cult that was very popular in the early 3rd Era," Ysmir recounted from one of the books he read in High Hrothgar, "but that cult mostly died out when Tiber Septim apotheosised into the god Talos and his successors made the Imperial Pantheon of the Nine Divines the official religion of the empire."
"Exactly," Serana said, slightly surprised that Ysmir knew that, "also if legends are to be believed, this is the first banner to ever feature a dragon instead of the traditional Alessian Diamond. In other words, this is the forebearer of every single banner of the Third Empire. When this banner is held up high on the battlefield, all who fight for it feel strengthened and reinvigorated."
"Incredible," Ysmir said, still looking at the banner. His eyes lingered on the Stormcrown above the golden dragon. It was nearly identical to the crown the hawk wore in his recurring visions.
Serana couldn't help but smile. "Hopefully," she said, "with this banner you can replicate the success Talos had serving under Cuhlecain."
Across the table from Ysmir and Serana, Inigo's eyes shot open.
"I got it!" he loudly yelled, startling his two companions. Inigo started to jump with joy, "I know how to solve our problem!"
Ysmir cocked his head in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Inigo smiled so wide Ysmir and Serana could see his fangs. He walked over to the table and gestured at the banner.
"This," he yelled, "is our solution!"
Ysmir and Serana continued to stare at him in confusion. Ysmir was unable to see what ideas were brewing in Inigo's brain, and Serana had no idea what the original problem even was.
"Allow me to explain," Inigo said, his smile still full, "Talos did all those grand deeds, very exciting and heroic, blah blah blah. But! He did those things while serving under a king. And that is exactly what you should do, Ysmir!"
Ysmir put his hand to his chin, he was slowly understanding Inigo's solution.
"Think about it," Inigo continued, "the only critique against Elisif is that she is weak. Whether that's true or not, almost everyone believes it. And everyone also believes that you are strong, which is of course true. If you pledge to be Elisif's general, or something similar but more Nordic, you will give her voice in the Moot the strengths everyone thinks it doesn't have. Everyone wins! Elisif gets her throne, Tullius gets his strengthened and centralized government, and you get to keep your word."
"And if Elisif sends me into the Reach," Ysmir said out loud as his brain worked, "that would surely secure Jarl Igmund's vote. That's five out of nine votes. That will put a huge amount of pressure on Tullius to not interfere."
Ysmir smiled wide, just like Inigo. He walked around the table and shook Inigo's wrist, "you're a genius, my friend."
Inigo returned the gesture, "I have my moments."
"The Moot is tomorrow morning," Ysmir pointed out, "we need to talk to Lady Elisif and General Tullius immediately."
"Agreed," Inigo said, "should we split up or go together?"
"I think… I will go talk to Tullius," Ysmir answered, "you go talk to Elisif. And Serana?"
"I'll stay here," Serana said as she sat down in one of the cushioned chairs and kicked her feet up on a low table, "the presence of a higher vampire is probably not required for backdoor political negotiations."
The aged priest of Akatosh raised his hands into the sky, "blessings of the Divines on us, this day, as we gather to swear new oaths to the future of Skyrim. In the tradition of our ancestors, may they smile on us from Sovngarde, I hereby convene this Moot."
He was careful not to number the Divines as he prayed, just as he was instructed.
While the priest spoke, his breath turned to condensation as it hit the cold air, fresh air. It was the early morning, the low easterly sun shone through the branches of Haafingar's pine trees. The dew from last night's frost dripped from each branch, and they sparkled brilliantly as the sunbeams struck them.
The Moot, in recent generations, had always been held in the amphitheater of the Bards College in Solitude. This was done to accommodate the presence of the Septin emperors, who often did not want to venture far from the Emperor's Tower. But originally, the Moot took place in Skyrim's wilderness. Skyrim's first High King, Harald of the line of Ysgramor, was elected by a Moot held on a snowy cliff in Eastmarch overlooking the Sea of Ghosts.
For whatever reason, Jarl Elisif decided that this Moot, held while the Ruby Throne was currently empty, should take place in a grassy clearing at the base of Mount Kilkreath. Perhaps for nostalgia, or to appeal to the more conservative jarls. Or maybe just to inconvenience the Imperial delegation that insisted on being present. Either way, it was a scenic, if not chilly, event.
Skyrim's jarls were seated in nine chairs arranged in a large circle around the clearing, flanked on both sides by the banners of their respective holds. In the center of the circle, on a raised wooden pedestal, sat the Jagged Crown, the symbol of Skyrim's High Kings.
Each jarl wore layers of heavy furs overtop of their fine clothes to keep the chill of air from reaching their bones. Their retinues sat on raised benches behind them, and their guards and housecarls stood close by.
Ysmir, Inigo, and Serana sat in their own chairs off to the side of the Moot. They were seated with the Imperial delegation, close enough to witness the ceremony but far enough that they did appear to be part of it. The Imperial legionnaires that were part of the delegation shivered in their tunics and cloaks, much to the humour of the Nords present.
The priest officiating the start of the Moot stood in the middle of the circle. He lowered his arms as he finished his prayers, and addressed the gathered jarls.
"If anyone would like to argue their claim to Skyrim's throne, they may do so now," he said.
For a few seconds, no one moved. Then, Elisif stood up from her throne, her bundle of furs falling away to reveal a long, flowing dark green dress with a deep-cut foxtail collar. Around her neck was a necklace embedded with a row of shining white diamonds the colour of snow, and her earrings were studded with sapphires. It was as though the very landscape of Skyrim herself had taken human form.
No one dared try to speak before her. Everyone present was entranced by her naturesque beauty, and they listened to her words intently.
"My lords, my ladies," she began as she walked around the circle, "it has been a long two years. Skyrim has suffered, her people have suffered. Her cities bear the scars of long sieges. Towns and villages, in every hold, face famine and attacks from those who would take advantage as Skyrim's warriors licks their wounds. As much as we would all like to put the hard times behind us, I fear they are only just beginning. The mantle of High Queen needs to be taken by one who can lead Skyrim and her people through these difficult times of tumultuous peace. The throne is mine, by right and by blood. You all know this. But it seems this isn't enough for some of you. Very well. If the rightness of my claim isn't enough to sway you, then hopefully the rightness of my promises can. I will use the resources of my hold to rebuild Skyrim. The cities that bore the brunt of the war, Whiterun and Windhelm, will be first. Then the roads of the province, so vital to trade and prosperity, will be repaired and secured from the bandits that prowl them. Finally, we shall rebuild Helgen, ensuring the route through Pale Pass and our connection to the rest of the Empire remains secure."
Around the circle, the jarls of Skyrim exchanged looks with each other. Their advisors and thanes, who were not allowed to approach them for the duration of the Moot, whispered to each other on their benches. Some seemed genuinely swayed by her words, others seemed unconvinced.
"I am fair, I am not deaf," Elisif continued, "I have heard your worries and concerns. You think me weak, you think me unable to lead Skyrim in times of hardship, in times of war. I share your apprehensions about the latter, but certainly not the former. I am uniquely prepared to guide Skyrim through the hardships we currently face. And, I would be remiss if I did not remind you that we are no longer at war. However, I will concede that the bloodshed is still not over. The remnants of the Stormcloaks lurk in the wilderness, and the Forsworn of the Reach threaten to destroy the peace we have fought for. To say nothing of the ever-present threat of dragons. While I may not be prepared to deal with those threats myself, especially when I have so many other matters to attend to, I know of one who can."
From his seat off to the side, Ysmir gripped the handles of his chair. This was it. All the court intrigue that Ysmir had been forced to navigate was finally coming to a head. And hopefully, this would be the end.
"As High Queen, I would name Ysmir the Dragonborn as my Royal Swordthane. His honour, heroics, and determination are known to all. He would bring the strength to my reign that my detractors think I lack. And by my decree, he will lead Skyrim's armies to pacify the Reach and protect its people."
"Hear, hear!" Jarl Igmund yelled from his chair as he banged an empty tankard on the wooden armrest. Others around the circle joined his cheers of support, either banging their tankards or applauding with their hands. Their support was enthusiastically fervent, and Ysmir saw a subtle smirk appear on Elisif's face. He was also quick to notice the jarls indebted to the Empire were quite reserved in their applause.
Amidst the continued cheers, Elisif gracefully bowed and returned to her seat, allowing the priest to retake the center of the circle.
"If there are any others who would like to argue their claim, they may do so now," the priest cried out, barely heard over the ongoing cheers. The cheers continued on as it seemed no one would try to challenge Elisif's claim.
Like a raging hearthfire being smothered by a bucket of water, the crowd suddenly and instantly hushed. The cause was General Tullius, who, from his chair a few spots left of Ysmir, had stood up without warning. Everyone, Ysmir included, held their breath as he approached the circle flanked by two steel-clad legionnaires.
Whether by intrigue, spycraft, or intuition, many jarls and thanes from around Skyrim came to expect some sort of Imperial intervention in the Moot. Whether they knew the extent of General Tullius' orders was a mystery, but unlikely since the mere idea of an Imperial takeover would have been met with violent opposition by the proud Nords. But everyone knew one thing for certain; whatever was going to happen, was happening.
As he approached the edge of the circle, two guards, one in Hjaalmarch Red and the other in Whiterun Yellow, stopped him. By tradition, only valid claimants to the throne were allowed within the circle. Not even Imperial officials were above that law.
But Tullius didn't resist, and from where he was standing he spoke. When he spoke, he spoke slowly and carefully, as though the words were still forming in his mind as he said them.
"As the Imperial Representative in Skyrim, I bestowed upon Jarl Elisif the support of the White-Gold Tower."
Ysmir breathed a massive sigh of relief. Last night, when he and Inigo had approached General Tullius and Jarl Elisif respectively with their proposals, they were met with mixed results. Elisif, for her part, wholeheartedly endorsed it. It was the perfect way of solidifying her claim and bringing together the many disparate voices of Skyrim's jarls. Tullius however, had been less convinced. Whether it was his fear of being reprimanded by the Triumvirate or something else, he was less enthusiastic to give his support. All he promised Ysmir was that he would think on it.
But whatever doubts were gnawing at him had disappeared. And his words were a subtle order to the indebted jarls that they were to support Elisif's claim. His words were a great relief to Ysmir, but nothing short of insulting to the more stubborn Nords.
"You arrogant milk-drinker," Jarl Balgruuf yelled, "we don't need your approval for a Nordic tradition!" He was far from the only person to throw angry insults at General Tullius and the other Imperials.
General Tullius stoically ignored the jeers and taunts. He returned to his seat without another word, giving Ysmir a subtle nod as he passed him which Ysmir returned.
"Peace everyone, peace!" the priest yelled, as loud as his old lungs could let him. The crowd died down, allowing the priest to continue, "if there are no others who would like to argue their claim, then we shall proceed."
The priest cleared his throat and stood up straight, "all those in favour of Lady Elisif's claim?"
Nine hearty 'ayes' arose from the throats of the gathered Jarls.
"All those against?"
Nothing but the chirping of the birds could be heard.
The priest walked over to the central pedestal and, using both hands, picked up the Jagged Crown. As he did this he spoke loudly the traditional words of coronation, unchanged since the First Era.
"By the grace of the Gods, and in the name of Skyrim and her people, I declare Elisif the Fair the chosen of this Moot."
He walked to Elisif, the Crown held high above him.
As he did so, the other jarls gathered in a semi-circle behind him. They stopped in front of Elisif and knelt down.
The priest, however, continued until he was behind Elisif, and carefully placed the Crown on her head.
"The jarls will now swear their oaths of loyalty to High Queen Elisif!" he yelled out.
In one voice, the Jarls spoke, "I do swear by my blood and honour to the service of High Queen Elisif. Ancestors, hear my oath and bind me to it."
The circle erupted into applause and celebration. Even though it was the early morning, rows of servants rushed to serve mead-filled tankards to the attendees.
Ysmir, Inigo, and Serana stood up and joined in the cheering, as did General Tullius. All of them felt a euphoric sense of relief, and they felt their hearts lighten now that the politics were, for the most part, behind them.
Ysmir felt Inigo nudge him with his elbow, so he leaned in towards him.
Inigo spoke loudly, so as to be heard over the festivities.
"Thank the Divines for Elisif's speech writer, eh?"
Ysmir laughed and shook his head, then rejoined the cheering.