Chapter 38
The Duel
Ondolemar had left Aurelia sleeping soundly in his office just a few minutes ago. Leaving behind his role as lover and husband to resume his duties as Thalmor Justiciar. He pushed down the guilt that was beginning to rise. This was inevitable, he tells himself, jaw clenched. she will be safe.
He stood in the shadows of the Eastern watch tower overlooking the city. As the sun began to rise he spotted Ulfric Stormcloak, his followers behind him. As they passed through the marketplace, Ondolemar silently slipped from his position, down the tower steps and weaved his way through alleys as he trailed Ulfric.
Once they arrived at the Blue Palace courtyard, Torygg stepped out of the palace followed by Elisif and the rest of his court. Word of Ulfric's arrival spread quickly. It wasn't everyday a Jarl made a surprise visit to the High King. Especially for Jarl Ulfric who had not entered the gates of Solitude since Aurelia's mother, Elira's funeral nearly twenty years ago.
Torygg welcomed Ulfric with a rehearsed diplomatic smile and greeting. Though his words were laced with hesitation and something like regret.
"Jarl Ulfric, it's been some time since I've had the honor of welcoming you to my city."
Ulfric raised his hand to silence Torygg, "I'm afraid I'm not here to exchange pleasantries, High King." His eyes briefly flicked through the crowd that was beginning to form before he continued. "High King Torygg! I come before you as a son of Skyrim, bound by honor and the traditions of our ancestors. The Moot may name kings, but true Nords prove their right to rule in battle. It is our way. It is the way of Skyrim."
Ulfric stepped forward his gaze unwavering, determination set on his face. "You sit upon the throne, but do you hold its weight? Do you hear the cry of our people, suffering under the yoke of an Empire that kneels to Elven overlords?They whisper of Talos in fear, their own god outlawed in their own homeland. And what has the Empire done? What have you done? You call yourself High King, but will you stand as one? Or will you cower behind treaties signed in weakness? I challenge you, Torygg, not out of hatred, but out of duty."
His hand moves to the hilt of his sword.
"Face me in combat, by the old ways, as the gods intended."
The duel was over in three minutes—three minutes to topple Skyrim's High King. Ulfric's shout tore through Solitude. Silence gripped the courtyard—breath held, a feather's fall louder than the crowd—then snapped as Ulfric's blade plunged into Torygg's heart. The king's eyes locked on the bright blue sky, glazing over as life bled out.
Chaos erupted. Screams clashed with cheers, a jagged split in the throng. Guards turned on each other—swords drawn, oaths broken. Townsfolk snarled, fists flying, while Elisif crumpled to the cold ground, sobbing and trembling.
Ondolemar slipped through a side entrance into the Blue Palace. Guilt crashed over him, a tide he'd dammed too long. He'd watched Aurelia's world shatter—the woman he'd wed in secret mere hours ago, vowing to shield her. This was inevitable, he told himself, jaw tight. Ulfric's rebellion, Torygg's weakness—it was always going to happen. He'd keep her safe from the Thalmor, the politics, the fallout. But her pain gnawed at him.
Aurelia had been sleeping peacefully, her head resting on Halbjorn, as she was curled up in Ondolemar's cloak. A loud boom jolted her awake. It was followed by the clatter of boots against cobblestone running past the door. "Lock the gate!" She heard what must've been a guard shouting. Halbjorn sprang up before Aurelia could even fully process what was going on. He stood on all fours growling towards the door.
Aurelia scrambled to her feet, heart thudding. "Ondolemar?" Her voice wavered as she scanned the empty office-no sign of him. A scrap of parchment caught her eye, scrawled in haste: I will return soon, Melda mín. She clutched the note, her fingers trembling, then she stuffed it into her cloak pocket.
Shouts echoed beyond the stone walls—muffled, frantic, unintelligible. Her pulse raced. What's happening? She paced anxiously, mind spinning. He'd left her—why? A note, a promise, but he was gone. The clamor outside swelled, more panicked voices could be heard. Halbjorn's growls deepened, tail lashing.
What am I doing? I can't just stay here. She lunged for the door—locked. Her breath hitched. He locked me in. She rattled the handle, panic clawing up her throat. "Why would he—" The question hung, unfinished, as the shouting surged.
Aurelia froze as the door clicked, the door creaking open. He breath caught-hoping for Ondolemar-but it was Rulindil, the third emissary who stepped through, flanked by two Thalmor soldiers. Halbjorn dropped low, a deep growl rumbling from his chest, his claws scraping the stone.
"Princess," Rulindil said, voice flat, "come with me. There's an emergency. I'm escorting you to safety."
"What's happening?" She wanted to ask where Ondolemar was, but she held back. If Rulindil didn't know about them, he suspected, and she wouldn't give him more reason to. Her eyes flicked to Halbjorn, tense beside her.
"No time." Rulindil's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, yanking her toward the door.
Halbjorn's growl turned savage—fangs bared, muscles rippling as he lunged. A soldier swung fast, slamming the flat of his sword against the sabre cat—not a killing blow, but a sharp warning. Halbjorn yelped, staggering.
"Don't hurt him!" Aurelia cried, shrill and desperate, twisting against Rulindil's grip.
Rulindil continued dragging her toward the door. Halbjorn lunged again-fangs flashing—a soldier slammed him back with a grunt, boot on his side. "Leave it!" Rulindil barked, yanking her through. The door thudded shut, Halbjorn's snarl cut off.
"Halbjorn!" she screamed.
Rulindil pulled her through Solitude's streets, his grip tight on her wrist. The city had unraveled—guards barked at each other, "He's fled, seal the gates!"—their voices clashing over the clamor. Market stalls knocked over, apples rolling underfoot, while townsfolk swung fists, red-faced and shouting, "Stormcloak traitor!" or "Thalmor dogs!" Aurelia stumbled, cloak snagging on debris, her eyes darting—Where's Ondolemar? Halbjorn?—panic choking her. Rulindil didn't slow, his soldiers shoving through the crowds.
Once beyond Solitude's gates, Rulindil veered straight for the stables, his grip unrelenting on her wrist. He snatched reins from his horse, swung up, then yanked her behind him. "Get on," he snapped. Aurelia hesitated—her eyes flicking back to the city. She climbed up, reluctant, hands fisting his cloak, Solitude fading into the distance as they made their way to the Thalmor Embassy.