The Kingsmoot

It was a cool and clear day; peaceful and silent, save for the rustling of tree leaves and the singing of birds. A long road wound its way through the wilderness and upon it, a lone cart pulled along by a single draft horse. An older Nord man sat at the head while his son stayed within the cart among their wares. Beside them was a second horse, his wife atop it, heading for Solitude to sell their goods to those coming to attend the Moot and the coronation after. The harvest was decent, nothing special. Gods willing, the coin they'd make would see them through the next few freezes.

"You were right," the farmer said aloud, breaking companionable silence. "We should have left earlier."

His wife didn't turn her head from the road, her hands clutching the reins. "It couldn't be helped," she replied.

"Aye, maybe. But the crowds…"

"There's always a crowd." She smiled at him, lines around her eyes deepening. "We'll manage. With luck, we'll even get to see the new Queen. Perhaps you've heard of her? She used to be the Queen."

A laugh escaped his lips. At the same time, a dull pain grew slightly in his back, cutting the laugh short. Her smile dropped with a grunt. He waved her concerns away before she could voice them. "Old injuries acting up. Back doesn't like being bent and stiff this long." He looked up. "At least we're close."

Solitude was still some distance away and already, they could see its great towers rising into the cloudless sky, the Blue Palace standing above them all. The farmer turned his attention back to the road, quickly taking stock of their surroundings. Stony hills, tall trees still shining with morning dew and wild grass, jittering with the creatures that ran through them. No watchful eyes, no mysterious, unnatural quiet.

The farmer turned, coming face to face with large sacks and crates, obscuring most of the cart. "Sigurd," he called, keeping his voice low.

Rustling and then a mop of dark hair resembling his own popped up over one of the sacks. "Yes, Pa?"

"Is he still sleeping?"

"Yes, Pa. Hasn't woken up once."

"Well, try not to disturb him then. We're almost there." Sigurd nodded and lowered back down, likely returning to staring at the man.

Their guest had arrived in Dragon's Bridge that morning; an odd fellow who smiled a little too much, as if he was privy to some joke you knew nothing about. A Redguard, tall and broad, with a face that had seen battles but speech like a noble's. His clothes were simple but well-made. He had approached them and made one request. Coin for a ride to Solitude. And protection, if necessary.

"With what weapons?" The farmer had asked, choosing to ignore how he knew their destination. He had no weapons on him that could be seen.

"Kindness, my lord," the stranger, his grin never wavering. A tattooed arm came out from under his black cloak and he used it to gesture to the cargo, still scattered around the cart. "Would you like help?"

The farmer looked back at his son and their goods, thought of how far behind they were already and then accepted. The stranger introduced himself. "Greg. Short for Gregor."

"Not a name I usually hear from Redguards."

He began to pull his cloak from around his shoulders. "I get that a lot. Not enough 'Z's'."

Gregor had them packed in half the time it would have taken the farmer to do it himself. When all was said and done and he had introduced himself to the farmer's wife, the last thing he loaded into the cart was himself. As soon as he did, the man was asleep, neither snoring nor stirring, his cloak wrapped around him like a cocoon.

He had risen only once since their departure. Not to the sound of their voices or any bump in the road but to actual danger. A pair of thieves who had decided to try their luck. Before the farmer could retrieve his own sword and ward them off, he felt the cart shake behind him. The man awakened, bolting upright as if returned from the dead. He rolled out of the wagon and rounded it, putting his hand on Nithis' arm and pulling him back down after he had stood. Weaponless still, Gregor approached the thieves, stalking towards them as if there weren't two blades aimed at his exposed chest.

The first thief met him halfway, and thrust his sword outwards, a move Gregor made no attempt to avoid. Instead, the point of the blade connected with…something. Armor Nithis had not seen him don that thin enough to be hidden under his clothes. His assailant had been just as unprepared, stumbling from the recoil.

Gregor's fist flew out, snake-like in its suddenness and with a speed terrifying for someone his size. A hard thwack rang out into the morning air and the thief crumpled into a pile on the ground.

The second one ran at him, bellowing with more panic than sense. This attack Gregor easily sidestepped before closing the distance once again. The same fist caught the other man in the stomach. Despite the mismatched leather armor covering his stomach, the impact forced all of the air out of the thief's lungs. Gregor then grabbed him by the throat and threw his forehead into his nose. One single strike and the other man went limp.

He never even used the other arm.

The grip around the thief's neck relaxed. Bending down, he pulled the thief over his shoulders and carried the man off of the road, laying him down against a tree before coming back to retrieve the first.

Nithis and his family gawked as Gregor rounded the wagon again. The tall man simply shrugged. "I did say my weapon was kindness." He stopped to look back at the pair of thieves, unmoving but alive before shaking his head and returning to his spot in the wagon.

Nithis turned to look at his son and put a hand to his arm, the boy's slight trembling began to ease. He looked to his wife, who answered his silent question with a nod, even as her hands gripped the reins tightly. Nithis stood up in his seat to look over the cargo. "Gregor?"

Nithis had only meant to thank him but he was already sound asleep.

Time and trees continued to pass them by and before he knew it, they were approaching Solitude's massive gates. His concerns about a crowd were founded but not as severe as he might have thought.

Two men in Imperial armor stood on both sides of the entrance, checking wagons and supplies before waving them in. One raised his hand when Nithis reached him. He stopped, preparing to submit to inspection. Before he could introduce himself, he felt the cart shift behind him. He turned to see Gregory standing on the ground, stretching and brushing hay from his clothing. The soldier's eyes and attention were drawn towards the movement. Gregory rounded the cart and the closest one stumbled back in surprise.

"Knut, right?" Gregory leaned to look over his shoulder, raising his voice, "And Jon. What did you two do to end up with this post?"

The soldier that had stepped forward, Knut, blinked once before putting his fist to his chest and bowing his head. Jon quickly did the same. "Legate Felwinter, sir. My apologies, we did not see you."

"That's probably because I was hiding." He began beating hay and wooden splinters out of his clothing. "These three are good to go. Finish quickly and let them through."

He saluted again. "Right away, sir."

Nithis shared a look with his wife. "Felwinter? You said your name was-"

"Never said which name." Felwinter clapped him on the shoulder with one hand and with his other hand, reached into his cloak. "Forty septims, right?"

"I, uh, yes. That's right."

"Felwinter" pulled out a pouch that was much bigger than what they agreed and pushed it into Nithis' chest, patting him on the back again. "See that they are set up," Felwinter ordered the guards, "Close to the square, those are the best spots."

Jon had stepped forward as well. "As you command. You are here for the Moot, yes? If you need an escort…"

Felwinter waved away the suggestion. "I'll manage." He started towards the gate, paused and turned again. He put his hand to his stomach and then bowed. "Thank you, sir. I hope the rest of the day is kind to you." His smile had fallen. His face had become somber.

Slowly, Nithis nodded. Felwinter's back was turned to him before Nithis could reply. So he called it out, "Same to you…thane."

Felwinter only barked out a rueful laugh before disappearing into the crowd.

The Blue Palace loomed over the rest of the city, growing bigger as Felwinter weaved his way through the busy square, the red wolf of Solitude flowing from its walls. Other flags had been draped around the city square; the stallion of Whiterun, the bear of Windhelm. The Jarls had likely arrived a day or two ago. They would have time to settle and ready themselves for all the prostrating they would have to do before the Empire and the Thalmor.

The day Elenwen demands he kneel to her is the day he pulls her head off by hand.

Felwinter continued past the well, where market stalls had been prepared for the incoming business. Every shopkeep in the city must have been looking forward to this day. Sayma was no different; her shop was packed, customers moved in and out through its doors, propped open to accommodate the flow. As tempted as he was, Felwinter decided not to bother her or Beirand on the city's upper walkways. They didn't have the time for him and he was already pushing his own.

The roads began to clear once he reached the residential areas. Those here to do business couldn't set up past the stone bridge so it wasn't a surprise to see some filtering here just for space and quiet. Felwinter only walked on, returning greetings to those who gave them. He wished them to be more like Nithis and his family, failing to recognize him entirely. Those hours in the cart were the longest he had gone without waking for one reason or another. Longest he had gone without having to be the Dragonborn. It reminded him of his time back in Hammerfell, when he was nothing but a mercenary; a swordsman of no renown. He lived rough, bled for his dinner and found himself at odds with the law more often than not but he slept better without the weight of expectations plaguing him. Now, he was an unwilling politician and at this rate, exhaustion and a popped vessel would kill him before Miraak could.

That was the excuse he gave himself when he reached his house and slipped through the door without walking past. The wind's chill was chased away quickly after he pulled the door closed. He took the cloak off, rolled it up and left it on a random barrel where he was sure to forget it.

At that same moment, Jordis rounded a pillar. "Thane, I was wondering when you would show up."

"Wonder no longer." Felwinter retrieved a cup and a water jug from the dining table. He heard the sound of a wooden spoon tapping a metal pot.

"Moth told me you'd be coming from High Hrothgar. Why not take the portal?"

Felwinter had sculled down the first cupful and was pouring the second. "Decided to take a more scenic route."

Jordis smiled slightly. "You're in no rush."

"Even though I should be." He dropped heavily into a chair. Felwinter sighed and asked, "Haven't had time to tell you what happened on Solstheim recently."

Jordis sat down beside him and shrugged. "Understandably."

"There was…a lot," he said. Illdari's face right before her spell was cast flashed behind his eyes. He was suddenly tired again. "Much of it bad."

"I could tell by how long Lydia and Argis were taking to sleep it off."

"There was some good at least."

Jordis perked up at that. "How do you mean?"

"The Shout that let me cleanse the Stones, I learned the second one." Even now, he hesitated speaking this aloud. "This one, it allows me to…control minds."

The twitch in her brow made him wish he had kept his mouth shut. "How?" Her voice became slow, careful.

"Hermaeus Mora says it passes the body and conscience to work on the soul itself. I can use it on mortals, animals. Even Dwemer machines. And eventually, dragons themselves. Told the dragons that too, like a moron. They took it…predictably."

"Well, regardless, you're right. That is good news. It's a victory." Jordis stood, "Now you've got another one to win."

Felwinter groaned and slid down in his seat, further and further until he was half on the floor. Jordis was unimpressed. "You look like your daughter when she's asked to help clear the table."

"She looks like me. I was here first."

"Then act like it."

Felwinter groaned even louder, sliding again until he was flat on the ground. Jordis only shook her head and returned to the cooking pot, leaving him there. He listened to her stir for a while before speaking up again. "Jordis?"

"Thane." The stirring continued.

"You know you don't owe me anything, right?"

The sounds ceased. "I'm not sure-"

"I mean…" he exhaled, covering his eyes with his arm. "If you ever want to be relieved of your duties to me, you can just ask. All of you. Daedra, Miraak, this is all more than you agreed to."

A few beats of silence passed before Jordis responded. "Noted."

Felwinter uncovered his eyes. "'Noted'? You've got nothing else to say to that?"

He heard her footsteps approach him. He craned his neck to look up at her, a hand braced against the wall above his head. "You've seen Miraak's forces firsthand, haven't you?" She asked, "Where could I even run?"

"You have family in Cyrodiil."

"I'm not leaving my home, Felwinter," she told him, her tone gentle but stern. "And I'm certainly not letting Daedra drive me away from it."

Felwinter grunted. "I should make sure Gregor knows the same. Solstheim was a lot."

The look that crossed her face was markedly pensive. Here and gone, just like before. "Maybe you should."

"Think he'll take the offer?"

"I don't think I can say either way. It's something he's just going to have to decide for himself." She tapped her foot on the floor. "C'mon. You're gonna be late."

Felwinter let out yet another groan. Then, he raised both arms into the air and looked at her expectantly.

Jordis stared down at him with mock disdain. Then, she turned on her heels and left him behind.

Balgruuf's slow pacing was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and shifting metal. He looked up to see Irileth approaching. Once he caught her gaze, she simply shook her head. Balgruuf clenched his teeth and cursed. It was a mistake to think Felwinter would arrive any earlier than he needed to. He likely wasn't even in the city yet. Balgruuf cursed again.

"Jarl," Irileth whispered, "Are you sure about this?"

He had been asking himself the same since they left Whiterun. "No, I'm not."

"The suggestion alone-"

"I know, Irileth. I know. But…the alternative…"

Irileth sighed. "He won't be happy."

Balgruuf chuckled, "Least of my concerns." The humor left as quickly as it came. "He'll understand. I know he will. I'm doing this for his sake."

Soft approaching footsteps reached their ears. Balgruuf asked himself the question once more. If he was sure about this. This time, the only answer was that it was too late. Balgruuf smoothed the robes against his torso so it did not look as if he had been worrying the fabric between his fingers and clasped his hands behind him. Irileth stepped around him, taking her place at his back.

Brunwulf Free-Winter appeared soon after, his own housecarl trailing him. Balgruuf had never seen the man who had taken Ulfric's throne and position. Tall, broadly built and gray-bearded his stormy eyes showed exhaustion and fortitude in equal measure. Felwinter spoke highly of the man. Here, he would see if he was worthy of the praise.

"Jarl Brunwulf," Jarl Balgruuf greeted, "Thank you both for meeting me on such short notice."

Brunwulf nodded respectfully. Balgruuf gestured to the chairs set up for them, beckoning him to sit. He did, lowering himself down heavily as Balgruuf took the seat across from him.

Brunwulf spoke first. "Your absence has been noticed, Jarl."

"By the Thalmor and the military governor, I'm sure." Balgruuf found himself past the point of caring. As long as Elisif remained in their sights, they weren't going to take any action. "Still, what I wanted to discuss is worth it. I would not want you to catch the Thalmor's ire-"

"Jarl Idgrod seems to be holding the emissary's attention for now. We have some time."

Balgruuf hummed in surprise and ran a hand over his beard. A habit he thought he had broken as a young man. "Would you consider Felwinter a friend?"

"I would. And he speaks highly of you." Brunwulf replied, "Does what you have to tell me involve him somehow?"

"Aye. It very much does. I had hoped he'd be here to speak with you as well but…he seems to have been delayed."

He had promised to keep things quiet but in his heart, he knew that this was the right thing to do. Felwinter would forgive him for breaking his oath. What he wouldn't forgive was what Balgruuf would suggest next.

Everyone needed to know. Even if he did not fully grasp the situation himself and even if they were not truly ready to hear it.

"There is something I must tell you both," he started, his voice quieter than he would have liked. "A matter of grave importance. I need you to hear it before we go into the Moot begins."

"And it involves Felwinter." Brunwulf leaned back. "I fear I am not going to like this."

"You'll like what I have to ask of you even less."

Brunwulf took in a deep breath. "You sided with the Empire for the good of your people, especially those who would not do so well under Stormcloak rule."

Balgruuf blinked, then let out a small surprised laugh. "Ulfric decided to attack me. It was hardly a choice."

"Remaining neutral was. As was choosing to keep the Talos statue at the center of Whiterun up, yes?"

Balgruuf laughed again. "I will not argue that."

The older man gave him his first smile. "Felwinter speaks highly of you. Speaking plainly, he doesn't love the Empire. But he loves his city and swears that there is no one better at its head than you."

The lump that developed in Balgruuf's throat was quickly forced back down.

Brunwulf's eyes missed little. He could tell, the way the steel in them softened. "It's almost time. Say what you wish to say, Jarl. I promise only that I will listen."

Balgruuf let out a slow breath. Then, he spoke. And when he did, the words flowed forth, free, unfiltered and without fear.

"Any word?"

"He's been spotted in the city," Irileth whispered into his ear, "Should I seek him out?"

"No. It seems we'll be starting without him," Balgruuf said quickly. He smoothed down his robes again. "I don't know how things will go but I'll need you here." His eyes glanced over the filling meeting chamber until they landed on Elenwen, conversing with General Tullius at the back of the room

Balgruuf approached his seat, an ornate wooden chair draped in the colors and symbolism of his city. He lowered himself into it and wished nothing more than for sleep. He could hear when Brunwulf entered after him. He dared not look at him.

The only arrival that seemed to pull anyone's attention was that of Elisif. Her attire was simple and stately, a deep red robe that flowed down to her feet, lined in gold and silver fox fur around her thin shoulders. A silver diadem adorned her head. A Jarl's crown, not a Queen's. Her hair had been tied out of her eyes with a well-practiced neutral look on her face.

Her housecarl helped her up the few steps leading to the central stage and to her throne. A few of the Jarls approached her to give their greetings, wary of the ox of a man at her side and the equally massive axe dangling from his hip. Sighing tiredly, Balgruuf stood to do the same.

Jarl Siddgier was the last to arrive and the last to his seat, slumping into it without a care. Balgruuf didn't know whether to be annoyed or envious. "Are we ready?" Falkreath's Jarl asked louder than necessary. "No point in waiting, right? We all know who we're here to pick."

"Agreed." All heads were turned towards the back, towards Elenwen approaching the stage. She had no problem asserting herself, no problem taking charge of the room. The opposite in fact; she seemed to thrive in it. "We know who we are here for. Who good Imperial soldiers fought and died for." She turned to look each one of them in the eye before stopping at Elisif. "Your time arrives, my lady. And none too soon. We have much to do."

"Have your deliberations, say whatever you feel needs to be said." Tullius took his own seat, "Then, make your votes."

They did, like the good Imperial vassals that they were. Balgruuf remained quiet for most of it as each Jarl spoke about the states of their holds, both during and after the war. How their people still mourned the dead. Some gave their rehearsed obeisance to the deceased king and braver others cursed the dead rebel leader in as courtly a fashion as they could manage. Words and wind, none of what they had to say mattered to Balgruuf or mattered much at all.

He finally braved a look at Brunwulf. He found the man staring back, brows furrowed, eyes unblinking, grey eyes roiling like the clouds of a winter storm. Eastmarch's Jarl wasn't listening to this any more than he was. He was saving his energy, his words for what came next. When Balgruuf finally took his turn.

"When will you speak?"

"At the best time."

"And when is that?"

"I do not know."

A weary sigh. "Neither do I."

Balgruuf caught Brunwulf's eyes again and suddenly, the meaning in his unyielding gaze reached him and he understand

There was no perfect time. There was only the right time and the right time was right now.

Before he could realize it, before he could stop himself, Jarl Balgruuf lifted himself from his seat.

The chatter and the arguing went quieter quicker than he would have liked. He could feel the eyes of Tullius and Elenwen upon his back, the way it burned and began to sweat.

He approached the center and kept his eyes only on Elisif. "My Jarl," he began, his voice somber and respectful "Before I say what I have to, allow me to express my condolences. I had only met King Torygg a few times but when I spoke with him, I could already see what he would have been capable of. With time and good counsel, he would have made an exceptional king and I will always grieve the province we could have been with him at our head."

Elisif nodded. "The crown thanks you. For your words and your love, Jarl Balgruuf," she said. Subtly, her fingers twisted her skirts slightly.

He turned to the other Jarls surrounding him. "When the war broke out and I chose to remain neutral, I knew it would not last. I was only stalling for time, in the vain hope that things would end, somehow, someway. But then Ulfric attacked my city, so soon after it had suffered from a prior invasion not too long before. I learned of this attack through an intermediary. This same intermediary couriered my request to Ulfric's court. A simple request of clarification in the form of an axe. Would I be allowed to continue abstaining from this war or had the time of neutrality finally come to an end."

He had begun to pace the center circle. He hadn't even realized it. He didn't stop. Now he wanted to look each of them in the eye himself. "Felwinter Drakon was this intermediary. He warned me of Ulfric's designs. He sent my request, returned with the answer and when the time came, he stood against the rebels and didn't allow a single one pass the gates of my city, Legion soldiers and Whiterun militia at his back. He is not here at present, otherwise, he would be speaking to you himself."

"Felwinter understands the importance of being here," Jarl Idgrod said, "He would not be absent without reason."

"Regardless, what needs to be said cannot wait. Not any longer." The looks on their faces held various levels of boredom, confusion as well as curiosity. He only needed the last to work with. "Some time ago, Felwinter made a journey to the island of Solstheim off Windhelm's coast. A simple journey, he had said. He believed he would be there and back within a few weeks, the problem taken care of. He ended up there for a month. The problem he had come to solve was much bigger than he had expected. The people of Solstheim have been suffering for some time and Felwinter believed that, in time, we would be next. Given what he has done for my home, for me, I find I have to believe him."

The meeting chamber was entirely silent now. Maven Black-Briar had sat up in her seat, eyes on him with renewed focus.

"If this concerns the rebels, I was under the impression that the last of them were being apprehended," Jarl Brina said.

"They are," Elenwen's voice rang out from behind them, as if they had forgotten she was there.

"This does not involve the rebels." He turned to look each one of them in the eye. "This is greater than any rebellion, any threat Skyrim has faced so far. And to face it, Skyrim needs a leader. One who will be able to unite the Holds. One who will be able to take the threat head-on."

"Is that not what we're trying to do? In crowning Jarl Elisif" Igmund argued.

"Enough." Tullius had ascended the stairs and come up next to Balgruuf, all without making a sound. "Let's get this done and present to the people their new Queen. Afterwards, and whenever Felwinter deigns to arrive, we can discuss this…story of yours."

A ringing silence followed as Tullius stared Balgruuf down. Then, a quiet, "Jarl Balgruuf?"

All heads turned towards Lady Elisif. Her eyes had turned down. "What exactly are you asking of us?" Kraldar asked.

"Skyrim needs a leader that can unite us against this threat," Balgruuf repeated, "And I can't think of anyone better than the man at the center of it all." He kept his eyes on Elisif. "I propose we choose Felwinter as our next High King."

The meeting chamber had been as a pot over an open flame, roiling, shaking, threatening. This was when it exploded. Jarl Igmund shot to his feet. "Do you realize what you are asking us to do, Balgruuf?" he thundered, red-faced, "What your words could be taken as? What they could incite?"

"More than you realize."

"Why should we believe you, huh? Why should we just believe that the world is suddenly ending?"

"Because the world has nearly ended twice now and both times, he's been the one to save it. Now he has to do so again."

"That doesn't make a single thing you are saying any more true," Igmund argued back. "I saw Alduin fly over my city. I heard of the attack on Whiterun. I have seen nothing of this new threat."

"This 'threat' corroborates with the news I have heard out of Solstheim?" Jarl Maven said. "Stone pillars stealing the minds of the people living there, forcing them into building strange constructs. Many have recently been freed." She turned her cold eyes onto Balgruuf. "By the Dragonborn, no less. There is trouble brewing. Make no doubt about it."

"So you believe him?"

"I believe that there is trouble and I believe we are ill-prepared to face it." She shrugged as if it were the most inconsequential thing in the world. "So I suppose I will also give him my vote."

Balgruuf has never heard a single good thing about Maven Black-Briar come from Felwinter's mouth. He did not know whether to be relieved that she would not be as difficult to convince as he thought or to be wary. The way Brunwulf's eyes flicked over to her in confused surprise pushed him towards the latter.

"I agree."

By the time all eyes had turned onto Elisif, Elenwen was on her feet and ascending the stage. She strode past Balgruuf, straight for the young woman and was stopped only by the appearance of her housecarl in her path, his frame obscuring Elisif completely from sight and his broad axe held at his side.

The outrage on Elenwen's face was here and gone just as quickly. The room suddenly began to grow colder. They could smell frost in the air, as if someone had opened a door on a snowy day.

Elenwen ignored the stares and the clear discomfort of the people around her. Even at her height, she needed to look up to meet Nord's eyes. The fact that he returned her gaze, unblinking and unafraid, only seemed to worsen her anger. With a voice as cold and hard as a steel blade against the neck, Elenwen commanded, "Stand. Aside."

Mist began to float off of her hands. The warrior's eyes only shifted away from her when he felt Elisif's hand wrap around his wrist. "It's alright, Bolgier," she murmured, coming to her feet.

He looked from her to Elenwen and then back but he stepped aside nonetheless. Elenwen's magic dissipated. She glared down at Elisif, eyes almost glowing in the dim light. Her voice was calm when she spoke again. "How many people died for you to sit where you are today?" She asked her, "How many people died to avenge your husband, to save your city, to seek your throat from rebel swords and your head off of rebel spikes? How many, Elisif?"

Elisif's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "I do not know."

"No, you don't. You don't because of the lengths we've gone to shield you from the horrors of war. All while Legion soldiers, your own people, fight and die in the name of a 'queen' who has not lost one wink of sleep over them. All while my own people work tirelessly to keep you and your rule out of the hands of your enemies. Is this how you wish to repay us? By breaking faith?" Elenwen put a finger up. "Think very carefully about this."

"I give my vote as well." Despite her frailty, Jarl Idgrod had no trouble taking command of the room. Her housecarl beside her had his arm out and she was using it to push to her feet. "I've always known the boy was special, even before I met him. If Felwinter says the world is in danger, we'd be fools not to believe him."

"This is ridiculous. Felwinter is no Jarl," Kraldar argued.

"He holds the title of Thane in each of our holds," Ingrod pointed out, "None of us would have our thrones if it wasn't for him. No disrespect to your little soldiers, general."

Tullius only glowered.

"Four in favor," Balgruuf thinks. His eyes shift quickly over to Brunwulf, who had been silent since his arrival and had his attention somewhere far off into space. Balgruuf had to remind himself Fel called him a friend.

"It seems no one will say it." Brina stood as well, "So I suppose I will. Felwinter is not a Nord. He was not born in Skyrim and neither was he raised here. He hasn't even lived here for up to five years, Jarl Balgruuf. The Stormcloak rebellion began for many reasons but one of Ulfric's best ways of drawing support was the threat that Skyrim would lose its way of life to people who know and care nothing about us."

She gestured to General Tullius. "Look at how this war was conducted. The Empire sent a foreign general and a foreign emissary to tear down what many still consider a 'true Nord's' last attempt at reclaiming our sovereignty over the land we've lived on for eras. Now you want to take a different foreigner and install him on the throne? How well do you expect people to take that? To take any of this?"

"Felwinter knows our ways," Balgruuf tells her.

"That won't matter," Kraldar tells him in turn. "There are Dark Elves here who have been in Skyrim longer than each of us. That didn't help them much in Windhelm under Ulfric's rule."

"Aye, Jarl Kraldar speaks true." When Brunwulf spoke, his voice was as rough and jagged as a serrated blade, as if he hadn't spoken in years. "When Felwinter and the Legion took Windhelm and deposed Ulfric, I feared, above all, reprisal. Reprisal against the most vulnerable of Windhelm." The older man sighed, hand running down his beard. "I will not lie and say I was wrong. There have been incidents but I could not let this fear sway me."

Brunwulf suddenly rose to his feet. "For years, I have worked with the Dark Elves and Argonians to improve their lot. Supported their businesses, gave their grievances to Ulfric when he would not hear them for himself. I swore on oath that I would do my best to change things and it has been through Felwinter's help that I have been able to keep it. But it is not only him who has helped me. Despite how the war ended and despite the costs, a number of Windhelm's wealthiest have approached me with offers of support in rebuilding. For years, the Argonians had been forbidden from residing within the very city they lived and worked and within a few months, I have been able to begin integrating them, long before I thought it possible."

Balgruuf could see the steel in the big man's gaze melt. His voice softened. "And it has been good. Argonian woodsmen fell trees, give them to the Dunmer to cut apart, who then give them to the Nords for repair. Your concerns are fair, Jarl Brina, Jarl Kraldar." He turned to them, "But in the face of what's coming, we should put our faith in the people to do what is right."

"Felwinter is Dragonborn," Idgrod said, "Same as Talos. Who better to rally such a divided nation?"

"He has power," Maven pointed out, "And a job to do. Who are we to stand in his way?"

"You are the people the Empire has entrusted with maintaining the peace!" Elenwen boomed. Her eyes narrowed and her voice lowered to near a whisper. "Did we make the wrong choice?"

That was enough to silence the room. A single word and they would lose their thrones. Likely their heads as well.

Only Balgruuf seemed steeled enough to respond. "You need to hear it from Felwinter. I have not discussed this with him so this will all be news and it is likely that he will not like it. He's never had an interest in rule."

"Hear about what, Balgruuf?!" Elenwen shouted, approaching him "Tell me what is so important that you'd betray our agreement! Tell me why I shouldn't have you executed right here and now for treason!"

Balgruuf's hand came out from his side just slightly, palm open. Irileth had only taken one step but stopped. Her hand remained on her blade. Trembling, not with anger, but anticipation.

"Miraak," Balgruuf said quietly, "The first Dragonborn."

Igmund searched his face for any sign of duplicity. The furrow in his brow told of what he found. "You aren't serious."

"You think I'd risk myself for a joke, Jarl?"

"Alessia was the first Dragonborn."

"No, she was not. This one was lost to history and he is more like Felwinter than the others. He has spent these thousands of years in Oblivion but now, he is set on returning and he won't be alone. Thousands of Daedra will follow him through and flood our lands." Balgruuf stepped closer to the other jarl. "As I said, Felwinter does not know what I am doing and he will not like it. But in time, he will come to see that this is the best way to push back Miraak's army and he will accept." To the rest, he said, "We give him the crown, the authority and the influence he needs to do whatever he needs. Afterwards, I doubt it would take much for him to step down."

A small but sharp peal of laughter tore through the room. Maven Black-Briar made no move to hide or stifle it. "You sound so certain."

"Do you have reason to doubt?"

"You supported him initially," Brina reminded her.

"That doesn't mean I believe he will relinquish the power we give him." She shrugged, "Not that I would mind. He is a Breton nobleman as well as whatever else he is now. He knows how to rule."

"He will relinquish," Balgruuf stated.

"Such confidence. As for me, my confidence lies in this; That, he is, as you say, a hero out of legend. That he is the defining factor that ended this civil war. That, in less than a few years, he has grown more powerful than the Greybeards and that he has under his command no less than two dragons. By all means, give him the crown. All I ask is that no one be surprised if he finds it suits him more than anyone else."

Elenwen stepped away from Elisif, stomping over to where Tullius was sitting. "You will not allow this."

Tullius gave her a long look. Then, he said, "I would hear what Felwinter has to say."

Her eyes widened. "Drakon is a Legate. Your subordinate."

"His position in the Legion was never official." Tullius' tone remained calm in the face of her ranting. "And I'm not so foolish as to believe I can make demands of him." Louder, he said, "I will hear what he has to say. Make your vote." He leaned back in his seat, nearly sagging into it. He looked so incredibly tired.

They did, all with the burning glare of Elenwen at their backs and the weight of retribution she would deliver on their shoulders. Five of the nine needed came quickly. Siddgier gave his, the sixth, with an uninterested and dismissive wave of his hand. Jarl Brina's vote came next, citing that she had spoken with Felwinter before and whatever else, she knew that he was a good man. Soon after, Jarl Kraldar gave his own, reminding them that he would only solidify it once Felwinter arrived and said his piece.

Igmund was the last, his gaze locked on Balgruuf. "It is temporary, Igmund. Just so that he may see us through this."

"Aye, it is temporary," he snarled, "But the consequences will not be." His frustration was clear but the fire in his eyes snuffed themselves out. He closed them and so quietly, he was almost unheard, he murmured, "He has my vote."

Elenwen's teeth bared but before any word could leave her mouth, pounding rang out from the door, causing all of them to face it. The housecarls closest to it shifted in stance, putting their hands to their weapons, eyes never leaving the door.

It was Felwinter who shouldered his way through. The housecarls relax but only just so. The Jarls, not at all.

"Apologies. Overslept."

"Over-" Balgruuf was speechless, only releasing a sharp exhale. Behind him, he heard Idgrod chuckle. "When did you get here?"

"An hour ago. Maybe two." He shrugged and then his hand went to his belt and pulled a metal flask hanging from it. He uncapped it and took a pull, likely of something other than water. To the side, Jarl Igmund pinched the bridge of his nose.

Felwinter waved the flask at Elenwen. "They let you stay here? Incredible," he crowed, "I would have kicked you out. Just like last time."

Balgruuf caught the stink of ash and smoke in the air this time as the Altmer's eyes burned with fury. As did Felwinter, the way his smile only widened. He dismissed her with a wave. "Whatever. You all go ahead, cast your votes. I'm just here to look pretty." He went over to a wall and slumped into a chair that leaned against it, legs splayed out, taking another swig.

Balgruuf closed his eyes and sighed. "The votes have been cast. It is decided."

His brow jumped. "Really? So what are we waiting for? Break out the mead, the people are excited. And I'm ready to get this whole thing over with," he finished deadpan.

"Balgruuf says you have something to tell us." Tullius had his hands steepled, staring him down.

Felwinter sobered quickly. He twisted the cap back on and put the flask away. "I do. And it can be discussed after the coronation."

"No, it cannot."

"And why is that, general?"

"They know," Balgruuf told him, "I didn't tell them everything, it is best they hear from you. But they know."

Felwinter stood, his jaw working. He drew closer to Balgruuf. "We talked about this."

"I know, friend. But for one, you were late…" Felwinter sucked his teeth and scratched his beard with a rough sigh. "And some changes needed to be made. I would have liked to run them by you before we left Whiterun but I had been undecided."

"Our vote is not final, Felwinter," Kraldar said, "It still depends on what you have to tell us."

"What does it matter? Elisif is the Queen. That was decided long before today." He waved a hand to her. "What do my words have to do with that decision?"

Maven laughed again. When Felwinter glared at her, she only smiled wider, as if imitating him. "We're not choosing, Elisif, Lord."

"Don't-" It was then he began to look around the room. The looks on their faces. The emotion in each of their eyes. "I…I don't…"

A hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Felwinter started and turned, finding Brunwulf behind him.

"Sit down, brother," he said, "Before you tell us anything, there is something we have to tell you."

If you saw this coming, I appreciate you not spoiling it.

Up next will be Act 3: FIRST OF HIS NAME