Balgruuf the Great, Chapter 19 (Patreon)

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Irileth/Balgruuf

The race of Mer is a long lived one, a single Mer able to witness climactic events in history and recall it as if it was yesterday's memory. Irileth for her part frankly had enough of living and seeing through climactic historical events. The siege of Markarth was going to be a historical footnote for Skyrim, she was sure of it, she could feel it in her bones.

The armies of Windhelm, Markarth, and Whiterun rallied and stormed the city once again, and this time, for good. While the Reachmen had used the Dwarven constructs to temporarily regain control of Markarth, Ulfric of Windhelm simply Shouted them all apart.

Shouting, Gods. Irileth was still wrapping her head around the ancient Nord art. Every good Dunmer, well, the ones more attuned to their history and culture had at least an idea on the terrible magic that the Nords had used against their ancestors, many many long centuries ago. She also knew of it from her reading of Nordic customs and rituals, she had to if she was going to be an effective nightblade and not out of some desire to better relate herself to Balgruuf, such a thing was something maidens would de and she was no maiden.

But back on topic, Shouting was essentially thoughts and concepts made manifest, an incredible power that was used by Dragons and gifted to the race of men by Kynareth or Kyne as the Nords called her. At least that was the best she understood it.

To read about it was one thing, to see it in action was another thing entirely.

She saw the Jarling of Windhelm stare down at a horde of spiders rushing at him and with one Shout, he tore through them like a knife through butter. The best example of its use however was when the Jarling faced the Dwarven Centurion.

And what a battle it was, Man versus Construct, Flesh versus Metal. The Dwarven Centurion had trampled many Nords in its rush towards Ulfric, its hammer gleaming like a scimitar in the sun. Ulfric did not stand idly by and Shouted the Centurion's legs off, sending it flying all over and crushing another horde of skittering spiders. But still, the Centurion was relentless and used its massive hammer to crawl its way towards Ulfric. His right hand, Galmar, she remembered, went at it with his battleaxe and slammed it against the Centurion's neck.

The machine threw him aside and sent him flying against the wall but it gave Ulfric enough time to get on the machine's chest and with a great cry, brought his blade into the Centurion's Dynamo Core, the mechanism that controlled the construct. That was the end of it, and the Jarling went on to Shout the Understone Keep's doors open.

They barely got a few steps in when the Reachmen, long absent from the battle, emerged with weapons at the ready. Battle was about to be joined when a voice cried out, "Stop!"

Nord and Reachmen looked around, confused when they turned to see the so-called King of the Reach himself striding forward, dressed in a simple robe and in his hand, a white bundle. Behind him were important looking Reachmen, all dressed similarly and in the crowd, Irileth could swear she saw that envoy earlier, Nepos, marching forward with a cool look on his face.

Madanach looked like he had seen better days. His eyes were sunken, and his body was gaunt but yet, there still burned a fierce fire in his eyes. The King of the Reachmen continued to speak. "I...cease my resistance. The City is lost and I offer myself, my grandchild, and the Reach's best men as hostages, to the Jarl of Whiterun."

Despite surrendering, the man still stood like a king. Irileth had to admit there was a certain dignity to it, but still, it was a surrender nonetheless. At that, the Reachmen armed and ready to fight slowly by slowly started dropping their weapons and shields, and raised their hands into the air.

With vicious grins, Markarth and Windhelm men, led by Ulfric who himself remained stone-faced, slowly made their way to the Reachmen to accept their surrender but from his fingers, magicka glowed and the glare he gave them was murderous. "I may have ceased fighting but I did not say I surrendered myself, my family and my people to you, boy."

Ulfric halted in his tracks, and the fury in his eyes was just as murderous. Madanach ignored him however, and faced the contigent of Whiterun men led by Balgruuf who moved forward and ordered them all bound in rope.

Irileth did not know who said it but she could distinctly remember Igmund marching forward and yelling with his sword raised, "Markarth is reclaimed! For Skyrim and the Empire!"

The cheering that followed was absolutely deafening.

That was all days ago. A meeting was due between the leaders of the armies but they all had to wait for a representative from Solitude and the Empire to arrive before it could. Finally, the representatives from both had come at the head of a Imperial and Solitude detachment and soon enough, Irileth found herself in the middle of what was perhaps the tensest victory discussion she had the displeasure of attending.

While the men were outside repairing and healing the city, the leaders of the armies and the representatives had locked themselves in a meeting chamber to discuss what was to come after. There was of course the now Jarl Igmund, his housecarl Faleen standing at his side. The man had a rapid promotion, his father's body discovered broken in the street. While the bodies of his and his guard were all mangled, not a single one died with their backs against the sky. Next was Jarl Heorot, his son seated at his side and behind them was her and Heorot's own Housecarl. Then finally, Ulfric of Windhelm alongside his own man, Galmar.

Then there were the representatives.

For the Empire, an Imperial called Flavio Decanus and some unnamed Imperial Captain watched the proceedings with careful eyes. Flavio was a short man with a balding head, but his face was friendly enough. Her eyes were not set at the Imperials rather but at the red-haired Nord seated at the head of the discussion table.

Torygg of Solitude was young especially compared to the others around the table but he had reached his majority already and his eyes burned with energy and ambition. An eager puppy, if Irileth had to guess. 

Torygg spoke first, the representative of Skyrim being the more important one alongside the Imperials. "My lords, on behalf of my Father, I thank you all for what have done for Skyrim and the Empire. My father, Jarl Istlod, has deigned me to stipulate that Skyrim seeks no recompense from Markarth and any talks of such should strictly be with the Holds in arms. You may begin, my lords."

"With the city reclaimed, it is now time to open discussion for what is to come afterwards," Jarl Heorot spoke, leading the discussion as he was the eldest and by far, held the biggest cards compared to the two other Jarlings. For one, he was the most established and most influential, he had the largest army brought to bear and was relatively intact. While it was now rapidly becoming an open secret that he had been maimed, he was still alive and so was his son and her Thane.

Compared to him, Igmund had lost his father and inherited a broken city alongside a shattered army.  He hadn't even been crowned yet as Jarl. On Windhelm's side of things, Ulfric had the Voice as a weapon but he and his city were latecomers and his army was relatively small.

"What does Whiterun and Windhelm wish as recompense?" Igmund said with a sigh. He hadn't been raised and confirmed yet by Solitude but looked like he ruled for years.

"Whiterun, as recompense, would desire a payment of ten thousand pounds of silver to be paid annually for four years. Whiterun does not desire any territory from Markarth but does wish for the right to exploit Kolskeggr Mine," Balgruuf declared, speaking for his Hold.

From his seat, Igmund sighed once more. "My lords, allow me to express my thanks for everything that you have done for my city, but remember that I must have to rebuild my Hold and Keep after everything the Forsworn has done," His expression hardened. "And the fact remains that while my city is reclaimed for Skyrim, Justice has yet to be served for my people, and my family."

Irileth thought about earlier, how Igmund wailed as he held his father's corpse against him and how Thongvor Silver-blood all but demanded Madanach's head. While Madanach was a rebel and a traitor, he had surrendered himself to Whiterun and was thus now under Whiterun's protection.

"While Whiterun has given much to reclaim Markarth, we do understand the circumstances Markarth is facing and we are willing to re-negotiate on payment. On a personal note, allow me to say that Whiterun is sorry for your loss, Jarl Igmund. Your father was a true Nord," Balgruuf answered smoothly and ended gently. Igmund's expression softened and Irileth could see the pain but also pride in his eyes.

"I thank you, my lords. My father was a good man," His expression hardened once more. "Thus and in his memory, justice must be served. Markarth wishes that the rebel Madanach, his family, and other rebel leaders be handed over to me." 

Balgruuf paused for a second, and in that moment, Irileth saw some hesitation in his eyes, before he glanced to his father who nodded. Clearing his throat, Balgruuf continued. "Whiterun wishes to see justice done, and thus hands over the rebels to Markarth." 

Relief flooded Igmund's eyes. "Markarth thanks Whiterun, for everything." He then turned to the part from Windhelm, who had been silent for the entire proceeding. "And what does Windhelm wish for its assistance?" 

Ulfric sat in his seat silently, letting everyone in the room turn their attention to him. And confident that he now had the ear of all, he began to speak, slowly at first but then rising in intensity. "I like many others in this room have all fought to restore Skyrim's honor. The Reachmen rising against us was a slight not only to Skyrim, but also to the empire. Like you, Jarl Igmund, Windhelm had sent me to fight for justice, for what is right. We sought to restore what had been lost, what had been taken from us by those who had wished to take by force, what they couldn't take by right. Windhelm wishes not for silver or gold, we have plenty of it back home, but for something else, for something worth more than it." 

Time seemed to slow, as the room watched attentively as Ulfric spoke louder and with confidence, the voice of a man assured of the righteousness of his cause. "We stood up and fought so that we could take back what was our treasure, we marched half across Skyrim through snow and frost because we were moved not by the promise of gold and silver, but to give our people what was ours and will always remain ours, a gift that can be passed down to our children and to their children, a hope and a dream to inspire all!"

Irileth prided herself on her senses but for a moment, she thought that she had misheard what the Jarling said next. 

Ulfric of Windhelm stood up from his seat, letting his presence fill the room as he spoke. "Jarl Igmund, Windhelm asks of you, to restore the worship of Talos, Skyrim's most famous son." He turned his attention to the Imperial delegates, "Tiber Septim, the founder of our Empire." 

For a second, the room was silent as Ulfric gave his speech, letting the words sink in, before sitting down. 

And when it all finally hit them, the room exploded

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Balgruuf

The room was silent as Ulfric's words settled. When it did, the room exploded. More so from the Imperials whose faces went red with rage. Flavio stood from his seat, anger on his face.

"My lord! What you ask for is simply impossible! The stipulations of the White-Gold Concordant specifically outlaws the worship of Talos! You know this!" Flavio exploded, speaking or rather, yelling for the Empire. He then added, "You cannot ask for this!"

Immediately, Ulfric and Galmar frowned, and so did the expressions of the Nords in the meeting room. Worryingly, Torygg was looking rather upset.

When the details of the Concordant was released, it was certainly not met with cheers and praise. After many years of bloodshed, and many friends and loved ones lost, only for the invader to extract one of the most important aspect of Nordic and Imperial culture. 

There had, admittedly, been many petitions for the Empire to set aside that stipulation but at this point, the Empire wasn't strong enough to just ignore the treaty outright. 

The best thing the Empire did was make strongly worded letters and 'officially' disavowing the worship of the Ninth Divine, and happily ignore the still wide-spread and underground worship of Talos. The Dominion on the other hand wasn't stupid and knew what the Empire was doing but the Empire easily disproved such worshipers as isolated incidents. Without any kindling to light the flame, the Empire could plausibly deny any hand in the 'zealousness of the few'. 

Then Ulfric had to go and make his request.

I glanced at the man in question, his features looking more and more belligerent as the Imperial ranted and raved. There had been rumours that Ulfric had been a Thalmor plant, his mind getting MKULTRA'd by the Thalmor when he was their prisoner. Hilariously enough, the Thalmor Ambassador Elenwen was also the one in charge in interrogating the poor guy. There was also the shit people said that Ulfric was simply an idiot, a well-meaning man who saw a chance to restore what had been crucial to Nordic culture for centuries and took it, but he was still an idiot nonetheless who only saw the short-term benefits and not the long term one. 

While I had read the papers at the Thalmor Embassy in the game, I didn't and still don't believe the guy was an Alex Mason for the Thalmor. It's entirely possible that the Thalmor had broken him and did some mindfuckery that makes MKULTRA look like a kid's birthday party but my own personal theory was that the guy was a unknowing asset for the Thalmor IE they planted ideas into his head during or after the war. With his poor mental and emotional state, it would be easy for planted agents to whisper shit that would goad Ulfric to do some nasty shit in the name of restoring Nord honor or something.

The idea was ludicrous at best and I would need some extra digging to prove it but it was entirely possible that the events of Skyrim begun as a Thalmor destabilization plot, with Ulfric as their unknowing agent who thought he was doing good, at face value, but was actually acting out what the Thalmor wanted to fuck with the Empire.

If I was Ulfric, I'd be careful of the people who were around me whispering me ideas. 

But conspiracy theories aside, I had to think of something fast or there would really be a Markarth Incident like in canon. 

And frankly, I had enough of war. All I wanted was to go home, get swoler, learn magic, and make babies with Irileth. Possibly wake up Serana and destroy the Volkihar before they become problematic or something. 

But that would have to wait for later. 

"The Empire would deny Skyrim its right to worship one of its own? Has the Empire sunk so low as to abandon its founder simply to please the Elves? Has the Empire abandoned its people like it has abandoned the man that made it?" Ulfric questioned with venom, his words getting more and more heated as he spoke.

"We do this not to please the Elves, Lord Ulfric, nor will the Empire ever abandon its people" the Imperial Captain answered, his colleague too red to reply. "The Concordant was signed to end the war."

"A war that we Nords fought and died for!" Galmar yelled. "And what was our reward? Worship of Talos taken!" 

"Let me remind you, Lord Ulfric, that Windhelm was late in this war. You should even consider yourself lucky that you and your city have a place at the negotiating table," Jarl Heorot interjected. Ulfric turned to my father, and glared. 

"Jarl Heorot, it is thanks to the bravery of my men and to my own power that Markarth was retaken. If we hadn't arrived, you all would still be staring at the wall wondering how to get past the constructs of the Dwarves!" Ulfric bit back, before turning to Jarl Igmund whose face showed open conflict on which side to pick.

"Jarl Igmund, I believe you an honorable man that would repay his debts. Windhelm asks not for gold nor silver, we have it aplenty. What we ask for is your support to help our people reclaim its honor. My Jarl, do what is right. Let us restore what was lost to us!" Ulfric declared, his mailed hand now a tight fist. From his seat, Torygg watched Ulfric with growing fascination. Flavio on the other hand just discovered a whole new color of red. 

Not going to lie, Ulfric was definitely convincing. His aura and voice just made one feel that shit was going to be alright, dude. Just do what I ask. 

Normally, I would sympathize with Ulfric. But what he asks for is not possible as of now, with the war still fresh. That road he was paving would lead to nothing but civil war, the fracturing of the Empire and all of Mundus destroyed by the capricious whims of delusional mer who saw themselves as fallen gods. 

As I listened to Ulfric, an idea formed in my head. The man wanted Talos worship didn't he? Well, if Talos was what he wanted, Talos he was most definitely going to get. 

Just not in the way he envisioned. 

"My lords! If I may?" I began. Hearing me, my Father nodded and motioned for his housecarl to get everyone's attention. 

The Nord did so by slamming his fist down on the stone table.

It cracked, a little. 

The argument stopped in a second, and all heads turned to Wiglaf who lifted his fist from the table, small bits of rocks dropping from his mailed fist. They all snapped to father as he spoke. "Lord Balgruuf wishes to speak," he announced as he turned to me.

I stepped up and turned to Ulfric, who eyed me keenly. "Lord Ulfric, make no mistake that each man here feels as strongly as you do. To be forbidden to worship Talos, it is unthinkable." 

The Nords all muttered ayes under their breaths. I continued, as I then asked a question. "But here's the matter, have any of you actually even stopped worshipping Talos?" 

Confused murmurs broke out. And for the first time, Ulfric raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Indeed, the worship of Talos is banned. But to be frank, has worship of Talos ceased? Has the Concordant somehow stopped you from praying to the Ninth Divine?" I asked the assembled Nords, making sure I met every man in the eye. 

"No...It hasn't. While His shrine is absent from the ninth plinth in the Temple of the Divines in Solitude, I continue to worship Him, and pray to Him," Torygg uncharacteristically answered. Ulfric's eyes widened in shock.

"And so have I," Ulfric muttered. 

"And me," Jarl's Igmund and Heorot answered. The other Nords all muttered affirmatives and nodded. Seeing their answer, I turned to the Imperial Captain who was also eyeing me but not with alarm but rather, curiosity. 

"Tell me, Captain...?" I trailed, waiting for the man to give his name. 

"Captain Gnaeus Agricola," he answered. 

I smiled. "Well, tell me then, Captain Agricola. The Empire has made Talos worship illegal so how many Talos worshippers have you arrested?" 

"I...haven't arrested anyone nor has there been arrests, Lord Balgruuf," the Imperial Captain replied honestly. "We have had a few private citizens who were too zealous but we had given them a warning to no longer disturb the peace." 

Flavio, who had cooled down significantly compared to earlier, cleared his throat. "I speak for the bureaucracy when I say that since the signing of the White-Gold Concordant that there are no Talos worshippers. There have indeed been a few agitators but they have yet to realize the fruits that will bloom from the concordant." 

"Yet Prince Torygg, the Jarls, and even others here have admitted as much that we still worship Talos. Are you not obligated to arrest us, Lord Flavio? Captain Agricola?" I asked, and at the word arrest, the Jarls and their housecarls bristled. 

Flavio gnashed his teeth, but answered eventually, "We would need a warrant to arrest you, my lords, but such a thing would never be granted. It is...improbable for members of the nobility to so...brazenly defy the concordant."  

"What are you trying to say, Lord Baglruuf?" Torygg asked, interest in his eyes. 

With that, I decided to get to the point. "The important thing is, the concordant has indeed made Talos worship illegal and we cannot worship him publicly anymore, but worship still occurs regardless. And that is the most important thing, worship." I turned my attention back to Ulfric and looked him square in the eye. "Isn't that right, Lord Ulfric?" 

"Yes," Ulfric answered, not to quickly but not too slow either. 

"Then I see an issue why Windhelm would request such a thing, Lord Ulfric. We all here do not have the authority nor the power to overturn the concordant, not unless you are suggesting that Skyrim rebel?" I hinted. 

Surprisingly, Ulfric's eyes widened slightly as my words settled. "I have fought to defend the Empire, Lord Balgruuf! I-I would never, ever raise a sword against what our ancestors built!" 

The man stuttered a bit. And I don't know if it was the light or my imagination but I thought for a second I saw revulsion in his eyes.

Despite that, I pressed on. "Even if Windhelm's request was granted, to do so would earn the ire of the Dominion and the elves would most likely ask and be granted unfettered access to all of Skyrim to 'root out Talos worship', so to speak," I pointed out. "They would have proof that that Empire hadn't fulfilled its end of the bargain and rectify the problem, taking aware our wives, sisters, and children in the name of the Concordant."

I let my words settle in and as it did, I never let my gaze leave Ulfric.  "Would you want that, my lord?" 

"I would die before I would let an elf lay their hands on any son or daughter of Skyrim!" he roared. 

I wasn't going to lie but I flinched as he did so. Fucks sake, dude could literally tear me apart with The Voice. Because of that, I flinched and felt a slight tinge of fear and intimidation.

But no one was going to know that. 

"Then, as a way of fulfilling Windhelm's request, may I offer an alternative?" I offered.

"What does Whiterun...suggest?" Ulfric started. The man was still pissed, but the guy was savvy enough to see that I was leaving him an out from his admittedly treasonous as fuck request. Hopefully the fucker develops a sense of looking ahead instead of doing shit without a double take. 

I turned to Jarl Igmund and asked. "My Jarl, would Markarth accept funding a museum dedicated to Tiber Septim, our first Emperor?" 

Interest sparked in his eyes, and from their seats, the Imperials leaned in. "After all, the city has suffered a period of rule from rebels. It would be important for this museum to be established as to remind the people that they belong to a great Empire, and not to the rule of rebels." I suggested, not entirely bothering to hid the hinting in my voice. 

Jarl Igmund sat back on his seat, a gloved hand rubbing the stubble growing on his chin. "I would not be opposed to this. It would do well for my people to remember their allegiances." 

I turned back to Ulfric, who was silent for entire exchange. "Would Windhelm be satisfied by that?" 

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. Fucks sake. 

For a moment, Ulfric sat in silence as the gears in his head turned. Then after what felt like an eternity. 

He nodded, albeit begrudgingly. 

I smiled, doing everything in my power to not release the biggest sigh of relief I had felt in front of everyone. 

"However," he then added. "Windhelm wishes for other assurances." 

FUCKS SAKE, YOU BLONDE FUCK!

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Eventually, an agreement was concluded. Markarth was going to pay Whiterun a nice fat stack of silver and dwarven ingots for a period of five years. For its debt to Windhelm, the Hold was going to get a wad of cash for its help though at a lesser degree compared to what Whiterun was getting and Markarth was also going to pay for the construction of a museum of Tiber Septim the Emperor, not the god, for the purpose of re-establishing the Imperial identity of Markarth after its period of occupation by the Reachmen. Solitude and the Empire wouldn't take anything from Markarth other than its allegiance and taxes though Jarl Igmund was assured he was going to get a tax break for a brief period to lest his city recuperate. 

After that, there was nothing else left except for a trade agreement between the cities and a pact of friendship. Time would only tell though if that pact was worth it. 

For me however, it only spelled the end of fighting and finally, I could go and enjoy the perks of being the son of what was going to be the most powerful Jarl in all of Skyrim. 

It meant that finally, I could fucking go back home. 

But before that...

"My lord," a deep basso voice said from behind me. I turned to see Ulfric coming closer, his helm strapped to his side. Next to him was Galmar, looking disinterested in the proceedings. Uncharacteristically, he had a troubled look on his face.   "Lord Ulfric," I greeted him neutrally.  

"May we speak?" started Ulfric. I thought about refusing him as I really wanted to fuck off back to Whiterun now but a part of me told me to hear him out. I nodded and motioned to a corner where we could converse. Naturally, Irileth and Galmar took positions behind us, silently staring at one another. Irileth had her signature poker face on while Galmar looked at her with an amused curiosity, perhaps wondering how a dunmer came to be a housecarl for a Nordic lord.

Ulfric paused for a second, thinking on what to say, before speaking. "What you've said earlier, about civil war, the elves. Was it true?"

I wasn't going to lie, I was kinda fanboying a little bit. I was speaking to Ulfric fucking Stormcloak and even though I was an Imperial through and through, the guy had been a larger than life figure to me. But in here, he was looking less like the man I had met and fought in the game, and more like to what he was before that, a traumatized veteran of the war.

I shook my head out of those thoughts. At this point, Ulfric hadn't been as embittered as he was in the original timeline. He was still a traumatized guy languishing in melancholy and dejection from the war.

"Make no mistake, Lord Ulfric, that I feel as strongly as you do. Denying the worship of Talos to us was an unthinkable thing the Empire forced to its people," I started softly. Make sure to let the other guy know where I stood. "I, like you, fought in the fields, in the streets, and in the forests and hills to defend the Empire, only to have the White-Gold Concordant signed. Believe me, my lord, the bitterness is there."

Ulfric nodded, the old fire returning to his eyes.

"Despite banning the worship of Talos, the Empire has ignored the existence of Talos worship and unless a religious revolt happens, it will continue to do so. It is shameful, but I would endure the shame for now, until the opportune moment,"

"So we should just stand and meekly let the Empire take away our traditions?" Ulfric said incredulously. I shook my head, keeping my voice level.

"No, no, you misunderstand me, my lord. Look, think of it this way. Do you sincerely believe that the question of the Great War is ended?" I asked. Ulfric took a breath and thought. After a few seconds, he answered. "No, the Empire and the Dominion ended in a White Peace. It will be inevitable that we shall be at war again, to settle the score once and for all."

I nodded. "Now with that, think about this. The Elves couldn't destroy the Empire, so it has sought to use guile what they couldn't do with force to do it. By adding in the clause of banning Talos worship for peace, it knew that it would drive a wedge between Cyrodiil and one of its most important provinces, Skyrim."

Ulfric rubbed his chin carefully, his mind grasping my words. "And inspire...rebellion." 

"Exactly. The discontent would fan the flames of rebellion and end with the Empire and Skyrim fighting and no matter the outcome, it would be a benefit to the elves. Men would be fighting amongst themselves and it would give them an excuse to send their agents in to ensure compliance with the treaty." I reasoned. From where they stood, our housecarls were doing their best to appear uninterested in the conversation but from how they stood, I knew they were listening well.

Ulfric on the other hand looked conflicted. "But the banning of Talos....it is still a great loss for many Nords, Lord Balgruuf. When my father received that letter from the High King, we saw an opportunity to overturn the Concordant. All we wanted was for the right to worship Talos back. Even now, my blood still boils."

I nodded sympathetically. "I know, my lord. Mine does as well. I was at the Red Ring, leading cavalry on charges. I was there when I saw the Unknown Champion hang the body of Lord Naarfin from the top of the White-Gold Tower. All that and believing we had won, only for the Concordant to be signed..." 

I sighed.

"But that's the price of politics. We have to endure the means if we want to see the end. Cyrodiil is devastated from the war and would need time to recover. Hammerfell yet still languishes from the Dominion and High Rock is far. At this point, Skyrim is crucial for the Empire if the elves invade again. The Empire will need us when the time comes again." I said softly. "Think of the White-Gold Concordant as a temporary arrangment, my Lord. Let us endure it, heal our wounds, and be vigilant of the Elves. And when the times comes...let us make the elves know why we call war 'Season Unending'. The Great War was fought in Cyrodiil but I promise you, the next one, it will be their land, their people, their blood," I finished with a glint in my eye.

Ulfric looked at me with cautiously, but as I spoke, his look turned attentive. "Do you mean that, my lord?"

"I swear on it, on my ancestors." I said seriously. Then I shrugged my shoulders. "Until then, let us first attend to our lands. Crops need to be planted, our cities have to be repaired, maintained, and expanded. The Empire is anxious for stability, and so are the Jarls. Home first, then we can explore our options later,"

"Perhaps..." trailed Ulfric, as he glanced over my shoulder and suddenly stood straight, saluting. "Hail, Prince Torygg," he greeted, a fist to his chest.

"My lords, please, I come to you as a fellow Nord, not as your prince," soothed Torygg. I joined the salute.

"It is only proper, my Lord," I answered, silently wondering what the hell the guy wanted from us.

The younger man smiled. "My lords, allow me to personally express thanks from my father for what your holds has done. The loss of Markarth had been a blow to our coffers and if you and your holds hadn't given your support, Markarth could have been lost to us forever."

I raised an eyebrow at the praise. "You'd have to thank our fathers, my lord. They are still the Jarls, not us. And truly? I do not think that Markarth itself could have remained independent for long. The Reachmen would be like the Orsimer of old, unrecognized by everyone and eventually destroyed."

The Prince of Skyrim chuckled. "I have already done so with yours, Lord Balgruuf, and Jarl Hoag is far in Windhelm, I hope you are alright with that, Lord Ulfric," he said, turning to the Jarling of Windhelm. Ulfric nodded. With that, he turned his head back to me "As for what you said, the Reachmen would be like the Orsimer of old? What do you mean by that?"

"Well, the Reach has always been recognized as a de jure part of Skyrim and the Reach are a relatively unknown people outside of our Kingdom. They can claim as much as they want but without outside recognition, their independence is worthless." I answered after a moment of thinking.

"I see..." Torygg trailed, gloved fingers rubbing his chin. "How so?"

"As I said, the Reachmen are unknown and at this moment, no one will recognize them. The Redguards are too busy fighting a war, the Bretons are their nearest relatives but High Rock's interests are Imperial Interests and would most likely follow through with what Cyrodiil declares. Morrowind is still under ash and Black Marsh is well, isolated. The Dominion I can see recognizing the Reachmen in an attempt to weaken the Empire but doing so, they would have to admit publicly that a race of Men is entitled to the rights of a state," I ended with a snicker.

"True," chuckled Torygg. He then settled himself but the smile never left his face. "Well, that was all I had to say. I shall take no more time from you, my lords. When you find yourselves in Solitude, never hesitate to visit me when you can."

And with that, he walked off. Ulfric and I saluted him as he left. But as we did so, I turned to Ulfric and found him staring at the retreating form of Torygg carefully.

The look he was giving him wasn't gentle.

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A/N: Finally finished it, ahhhh.

So, what do ya'll think?

I'm just going to lay this down now and say that the Civil War is still going to happen, but not in the way we remember it as.