Balgruuf the Great ch 35 preview (Patreon)

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Torygg/Bolgeir/Ulfric

He stood over silently over his Father's sleeping form, the burning of candles, the lingering smell of incense, it all added into the sanctity of the place. Adding more onto that was Nin-no, Eight stained glass windows both looking down at him and pouring light on his Father's corpse.

The Temple of the Divines beauty had a sort of reverential aura to it, what with the stained glass windows and their niches, bearing the shrines of the Divines.

Some would consider it distasteful to so speedily elect a new King when the old one had died but the shorter any interregnum was, the better. After all, the last time that the Moot failed to elect a High King into office, Skyrim lost all of its overseas territories as the Moot descended into a chaotic mess. They would still need the Moot to meet to confirm that though. But to Torygg, he could care less about the Moot. He had lost something far me important to him than any crown and that was his father.

The new Jarl of Solitude and yet to be chosen High King of Skyrim stood silent over the embalmed corpse of High King Istlod. For now, he had requested some time to himself and his father and for that, the Temple of the Divines had been made scarce of visitors save for the priests and acolytes that lingered in the halls performing their functions and the looming but silent shadow of his housecarl standing sentinel in full plate.

His father would be held in state for a day then he would be interred with the countless dead in Solitude's Hall of the Dead. Such a thing was how his people honored their dead for as long as he remembered. It wasn't the only way to honor them though. Rich and influential families could choose to put up their dead in their own private barrows but to Torygg's knowledge, his family didn't have such massive tombs in hand. If they did, they probably forgot about it. There too was fire burial where his father could be set over a pyre but such a thing was uncommon and only happened when it was requested by the deceased before they passed. Then there was ship burial which he had read about but the specifics, Torygg didn't exactly know. He sighed, taking his musings on burial customs out of his mind for a bit and instead, turning to his father. He could only hope that he was in Sovngarde, feasting and making merry with the honored heroes of old.

"Are you alright, my Jarl?'' came the concerned and accented voice of his housecarl.

Torygg took a second to breathe in and relax. He would take a second to wipe away at the tears that had formed in his eyes. He had already wept far too many times. He was running out of tears to shed. ''I...I am well as I can be, Bolgeir.'' Torygg said softly. He cleared his throat, finding his voice. ''I am...I was just running out of tears to shed.''

He would turn back to his father's corpse, so still and peaceful. If the old man was still alive, he would smile at Torygg, asking him what was wrong. In fact, he could imagine it right now, hazel-brown orbs smiling at him and asking him about his day...

Torygg thought that he had run out of tears.

He was wrong.

Fresh new ones streamed from his eyes as his heart fell into his stomach. Grief gripped him as he fell to his knees, clutching at his father's robe. He buried his face on Istlod's side, crying silently. He wept for what seemed like an eternity, until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He would look up and in the light, he thought he saw his father's face smile at him. As his eyesight became clearer, he could only see the stoic form of Bolgeir glance down at him.

''My Jarl," Bolgeir said softly, his hand comforting to Torygg. With a sigh, Torygg would stand up, wiping away at his face again.

''I'm sorry for that...Bolgeir. I was...I was..." Torygg seemed to stumble. Bolgeir shook his face.

''It is alright, my Jarl. You have just lost your father. No one will find fault in that,'' Bolgeir explained. Internally, Bolgeir knew that while some allowance was allowed for Torygg to weep, such frequent shedding of tears could be construed as weakness. Already, he had heard of rumours and whispers within the court on how best they could capitalize on using the young and inexperienced Torygg to their advantage. The idea that such people would manipulate their Jarl instead of giving aid to him angered Bolgeir.

Torygg would nod at his housecarl's words, turning back to his father. After a few seconds of silent watching, he found himself the strength to speak. "Can I speak freely with you, Bolgeir?"

The housecarl nodded. ''I shall answer to the best of my abiltiies, my Jarl."

"I...I'm afraid," Torygg found himself admitting. ''I...I'm not my father, Bolgeir. I don't know anything about ruling. I don't know anything about being High King.''

Bolgeir stood silently, listening to the pained but honest admission of Torygg. A part of Bolgeir had to agree with Torygg's assessment of himself. He was young, inexperienced. That was very much true. But the rest of Torygg's doubts?

Unfounded.

"No one ever does know especially when they have just inherited the position, my lord,'' Bolgeir found himself answering. He would press on. ''It is true that you are young and inexperienced but that will change in time. We are not always young and inexperienced.''

''But...I don't know what to do?'' Torygg said with open uncertainty.

"As I said, no one ever does. I cannot tell you what road to take nor can anyone out there,'' Bolgeir replied. ''But what I can tell you, my lord, is that it will not be a road you will take by your lonesome. You wife, Lady Elisif, shall be with you. As your swornsword and Housecarl, I shall protect you. Though there will be many who will mislead you, there are also countless others that shall aid and advise you. I am sworn to your family and to you, my lord. I have not regretted that oath ever since."

For the first time in days, Torygg found himself smiling. His heart and spirit lifted a bit, thanks to the words of his stalwart housecarl. ''I am fortunate then, that my father and family has your loyalty and support.''

"For Solitude, Haafingar, and Skyrim," intoned Bolgeir, a closed fist held against his chest.

Torygg nodded at him, feeling better at Bolgeir's open loyalty. Oh, he was still afraid. But he was just reminded that no, he wasn't alone in this. He had many ministers, housecarls, thanes and whatnot who would be there to advise him, should he need it. He has Elisif and he has Bolgeir.

And after all, he made a promise to his father to rule well. He would be damned and shamed if he failed in that promise.

Rule well, his father asked him.

Once he would be chosen by the Moot, he would make that promise into a reality.

They would stay in silence for a few more minutes, letting Torygg catch one last glimpse of his father before he decided he had enough. He'd already been here too long anyway and he still had to return to his wife and city. And so, he turned on his heels to leave, Bolgeir trailing behind him. The priests and acolytes that he passed by saluted him, as was tradition. That gave Torygg an idea of how to rule when he would be chosen. Should he be a traditionalist king, giving homage to what it meant to be a true Nord? The Old Holds of the Rift, Windhelm, Dawnstar, and Winterhold; they would surely appreciate and come to respect him should he choose to be a High King that honored tradition.

The doors to the Temple of the Divines was swung open and Torygg took his steps out into the courtyard of Castle Dour, the fortress in which the Temple was attached to. Its towers loomed over Torygg, casting a shade on him, the same shade the fortress was named after. Outside stood much of his guard, stout men in spectacle-helm masks and shining silver plate. They stood quiet, ready to move at his order. He greeted them with the traditional closed fist and they responded back. Smiling, Torygg walked off for Castle Dour's gates, and onto Solitude proper.

Compared to a standard city, Solitude was long rather than wide. It was after all built into a flat but narrow stretch on the north east point of the Kilkreath Mountains, overlooking the Sea of Ghosts. It would be a city extremely difficult to siege as not only it could count on the mountains to be a natural barrier, it was nestled high on a rock arch formation overlooking a bay, and thick grey walls protected it on all sides save for the mountain. Solitude was a long and storied city and it showed, mused Torygg as he glazed over the city. Most if not all the structures were built out of stone and had actual tiled roofing, of yellow and gold. The city as always was bustling. Travellers, citizens, and guards all mingled with one another. Shops ranged from simple but tasteful market stalls to cater to smaller and basic needs to the established and more specialized venues, offering larger services. Both were equal in the naked desired to gain coin for their owners however.

To supply it, the city had its very own port in the Bay below. Ships would sail into it from far and wide, dispersing cargo in the many warehouses available owned either privately or by the East Empire Trade Company, the Empire's premier economic arm. Once transferred into the docks and warehouses, it was a simple matter of transporting the stuff into the city.

It was there that Torygg descended into and his descent was not unnoticed.

"Hail, Jarl Torygg!"'

''Long live to you, High King!"

''Long live Jarl Torygg!"

He was greeted by his citizens and he in turn greeted them. Many did not fear to approach him, asking him to kiss their children or give them blessings in their marriage. These he had offered without complaint for to his people, his blessings would mean the world to them and cost him little.

Bolgeir watched quietly and with silent approval. There were boons to gain from being a beloved ruler. After all, a people that loved their leaders would most likely come to their defense when the need arose. Though High King Istlod focused more in matters of court, his son had picked up the slack and bridged the gap between the Blue Palace and the common citizenry.

They then continued on in their stroll, Torygg greeting and talking with his people while Bolgeir and the other guards shadowed Torygg carefully. Honestly, the relaxed and open air Torygg put on would have gotten the guards to relax as well. Torygg was surrounded by his people after all. What was there to worry? Still, Bolgeir kept his guard. Assassinations tended to happen when their guard was lowered after all.

"Bolgeir! What do you think!" came the voice of his charge. Bolgeir shook his head, glancing to where Torygg stood. He was hunched over a particular stall. Said stall had jewels and baubles of every kind. Necklaces, circlets, rings, and amulets. It was all well made and shiny but Bolgeir had no such interest in baubles so he didn't know how good such things were save for the glitter it had. Torygg on the other hand was holding a gold necklace. In the necklace, a sapphire was ensconced flanked by two smaller rubies. Behind the stall, the jeweller smiled with barely contained greed.

''Lady Elisif, she has red hair, yes?'' the Breton asked, rubbing his hands together. ''I highly recommend this color, Jarl Torygg. To contrast from her fiery red hair, jewels of a earthy or neutral color ought to be picked.  Trust me, I've been a jeweller for many years. I know my stuff.''

Torygg still looked unconvinced however, glancing to Bolgeir. ''Do you think this will suit my wife?'' he asked.

Bolgeir glanced at the necklace. It was undeniably shiny and pretty. If it was up to Bolgeir, he'd gift her a sword. Or a warhammer but alas, the fair Lady Elisif was not that type of woman. Bolgeir's type of woman were women who could absolutely crush his head with their muscled thighs.

Not that he'd tell Torygg or anyone that.

''It is beautiful,'' nodded Bolgeir after a moment's silence. ''I'm sure that Lady Elisif would be pleased with such a gift.''

Torygg smiled then turned to the Breton. ''I shall take this, my good man.''

Bolgeir swore that the man's eyes shone with literal Septims.

The exchange was made and Torygg was a few thousand septims poorer but nevertheless satisfied. It wasn't as if he had to worry about losing money as he himself was wealthy on his own. And besides, anything he bought or had was worth it as long as he could see Elisif smile.

Then, as they moved to return to the Blue Palace, a great horn blast echoed from outside the walls. There was a certain tinged melody to it that soothed Torygg's ears. There was only one hold that had horns such as that.

Whiterun.

A sense of excitement gripped Torygg. That would mean that the Whiterun contingent had arrived. And he would get to meet Lord Baglruuf again. He had of many things coming from Whiterun, most of it good. Would the man be amenable to becoming his advisor, once he would be confirmed by the Moot?

''Bolgeir, do you think I ought to include Lord Balgruuf as an advisor for myself, once the Moot confirms me?'' Torygg asked Bolgeir as they both made their way into the main avenue, to greet the coming lords. Bolgeir grew quiet however, earning a raised eyebrow from Torygg.

''Bolgeir, what seems to be the matter?'' Torygg asked, worried. Did Bolgeir spot an assassin or two?

''I...I think you should be wary and careful, my Jarl,'' Bolgeir replied. The housecarl had meant what he had said. While he too had heard many good things coming from Whiterun, he had also heard of things that were concerning. Apparently, the young Horselord had sent a party of his own housecarls into the mountains in Central Skyrim. For what purpose, he could not know but it bode ill omens for Bolgeir and deep in his gut, he felt that Balgruuf wouldn't be an ally to his Jarl.

''What for?'' Torygg asked, bemused.

Bolgeir sighed. ''Rumors, my Jarl. They say that Lord Balgruuf sent housecarls deep into the mountains in Central Skyrim, to find...something. I do not know what sort of thing would warrant sending your own household guard into the mountains but I am suspicious.''

Torygg however laughed. ''I have met Lord Balgruuf, Bolgeir. And he is a pleasant man, motivated by duty to the Empire, to Skyrim, and to our people. What have we need to fear from him?'' Torygg ended with a chuckle as they finally made their way into the main street where crowds had gathered.

Soon, the neighing of horses drew both of their attention. They watched, alongside many others, as horses of black, chestnut, and white strode upon the cobblestone of Solitude. On the horses, riders in brown and gold held their reigns, capes of yellow wrapped around their necks and shoulders. Golden-yellow banners fluttered in the wind, the Whiterun Stallion proudly flying in the breeze. But Torygg's attention was focused solely on one man. At the head of the column, there was of course Jarl Heorot, his armor much more elaborate than the rest of his men and a thick fur coat around him. But riding next to the Jarl was the man Torygg was most interested in.

He had grown older than the last time he had seen him, Torygg mused. There was a beard around his face and cheek, braided in the typical Nordic style. He seemed to look taller, muscled despite the armor he wore. But it was the eyes, Torygg found, that had changed the most. Oh, it was the typical Nordic blue. But they seemed to glow with a fierce intensity that seemed to burn into his soul.

Torygg felt small, when the very same eyes turned to meet him.

"Jarl Torygg, well met!'' Balgruuf greeted him, a smile on his face. At that, the column stopped. Jarl Heorot and his housecarl turned to him, dipping their heads in acknowledgement. On another horse, a dunmer wearing black armor and a hood simply watched, red eyes glowing underneath the hood she had on her.

"Jarl Torygg, hail,'' Jarl Heorot followed afterwards. ''We came as soon as we heard the news. High King Istlod shall be remembered as a good and wise king,'' the man offered.

Torygg smiled. ''Thank you for your kind words, Jarl Heorot.'' He glanced at their party, noting the assortment of races they had for guards. One of the riders, an Imperial, carried with him a heavy looking chest. This Torygg noted with interest before turning back to the Jarl and his son.

''Now, my lords, I'm sure you all have travelled far. Please, head on to the Blue Palace. Rooms have been made available. The Jarl of Markarth and Morthal have already arrived,'' Torygg offered, noting the dirt on their faces. Jarl Heorot nodded and urged his horse forward. Balgruuf and his dunmer remained however.

''I would go visit High King Istlod first, Jarl Torygg,'' Balgruuf said, his tone sympathetic, to Torygg's appreciation.

"'His wake is held at the Temple of the Divines, my Lord. I had just visited it,'' Torygg replied, doing his best to keep the mourning out of his tone. He was welcoming guests. He had to appear jovial for them.

''For what it is worth, High King Istlod lead Skyrim through a difficult time. Hopefully, his successor can lead Skyrim through the dark days ahead,'' Balgruuf said with a certain glint in his eye. A glint Torygg noticed but paid no mind. Perhaps Lord Balgruuf was complimenting him?

"I certainly hope so, my lord,'' Torygg sighed before continuing. ''The Moot will have to be assembled first to vote, then we shall have my father's successor. Has your father decided on a candidate?''

"The candidate was decided with no question,'' smiled Balgruuf.

''Then he'll rule Skyrim well, if Whiterun has chosen immediately,'' Torygg replied.

''Oh,'' There was that glint again. ''Oh don't worry. He will,'' Balgruuf agreed before he excused himself, riding off to join the rest of his party. Torygg's eyes turned to follow as the man rode on ahead and becoming a speck in the distance and he was slowly being left behind. The sun was setting now, and the light seemed to be catching up to Balgruuf, his banners flying. The shadow of the wall, blocking the suns rays, was engulfing him. He glanced at a nearby wall where the banner of his Hold lay, the Wolfshead of Haafingar.

Some form of dread gripped him, as the shadow of the wall slowly consumed it.

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Bolgeir

As soon as the door was closed, Bolgeir watched in amusement as Torygg found himself surrounded by the warm and loving arms of his wife.

If there was anyone in the world who didn't fail in cheering him up, it had to be Elisif. Smiling, Torygg wrapped his own arms around her and pulled her even closer. ''Oh, I missed you, my love," Torygg whispered into her ear. First nuzzling into his chest, Elisif pulled back, smiling. Against the light of candles, her eyes seemed to shine.

''I missed you too, love,'' Elisif whispered back. She was younger than him by a year, having met in a party that his father had thrown way back then. He remembered how her hair seemed to flow freely, like a dandelion in a field. To him, she looked like the fairest woman in the entire world.

''What have you been doing while I was away?'' Torygg turned, glancing at their bedroom. Elisif smiled. ''Why, I've just returned from meeting with some ladies from High Rock. I was just taking a rest, reading a book." And sure enough, there was a book that lay on their table.

Their table.

Their chambers were, by all accounts, opulent. Fine stone cut in the Nordic style and whose furniture was a blend of Nordic and Imperial tastes, reflecting his Holds long history as a center for Imperial power in Skyrim. A fine rug of many colors, imported from Hammerfell, lay at their feet. Their bed, carved from the best oak supplied from Falkreath and with a soft mattress once more imported from High Rock. Scented candles wafted the room, filling his nose with scents of plant oil didn't know the name of but it was calming his senses. But he would rather smell his wife than any dumb candle. She was a high born woman and her skin was smooth, smelling of cream.

He could feel Elisif''s breathing hitch as he-

A rough and awkward cough got both of them back to reality. Elisif turned beet-red and Torygg fought to keep his own face from turning scarlet as Bolgeir gently rocked the box he was carrying. Cleaing his throat, Torygg spoke up. ''I have brought you a gift, my love."

At the mention of gift, Elisif brightened immediately, her eyes shining in excitement. ''A gift?''

With that, he nodded at Bolgeir who lifted open the box, revealing the contents inside. Elisif looked to it and her hands went up to her mouth in surprise. Slowly, she made her way to the box and reached into it. She held it up to see it and marvelled at the gold.

''What will you name it?'' Torygg asked her, pleased to see that his wife was indeed happy with the gift. Bolgeir resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Nobility, no matter where they were, were so fond of naming their baubles. 'The Star of this' or the 'The Rose of That'.

''I shall call it, The Sun Sapphire!'' Elisif declared.

''Put it on you, my love,'' Torygg urged her. Cheekily, Elisif put the necklace back in the box, turning around and offering her back to Torygg.

''It'll be difficult for me to reach my back, husband, Would you mind putting it on me?'' Elisif asked, her tone so sweet and innocent. Bolgeir watched as Torygg gulped, taking the necklace off the box himself. Ah, young love, Bolgeir thought to himself. So sweet and so disgusting at the same time.

''May I return to guarding the door, my Jarl?'' Bolgeir asked, hoping it to be granted. Torygg nodded quietly to..attend to his wife. Thanking the Nine, Bolgeir set the box aside and quietly opened the door to leave. It didn't take long for him to hear giggles as he left.

He closed his eyes then took in a breath.

''Ah, young love,'' drawled a deep, sultry feminine voice. ''At least we won't have to worry about them not making any heirs.''

Bolgeir opened his eyes to see a lone woman clad in blue mages robes leaning against a wall. A hood was over her face, hiding most of her save for the outlines of her chin, and two bright eyes that glowed with barely restrained evil. Despite the conservative look of mages robes to make them look as neutral as possible, there was no hiding the curves beneath that. But Bolgeir was not simple man, to be drawn to flesh when he knew what truly lay under that hood. Bolgeir resisted the urge to take his sword and slam it down her heart but he remembered that she was as loyal to the House of Solitude as much as any true servant was here.

''The Jarl's privacy is not yours to break, Stentor,'' Bolgeir said flatly. In response, the Court Mage shrugged her shoulders.

''Oh please, I am not interested in anyone's privacy, Housecarl,'' Stentor said dismissively. ''It's simply not my fault when I can hear anything your ears couldn't. Honestly speaking, they haven't done anything yet, just some odd giggling here and there. Honestly, I would find it adorable if I wasn't sickened by it.''

At least they could agree on that. What he didn't agree on was getting information on his charge. ''I'd rather not know,'' admitted Bolgeir.

''Of course. We have bigger worries to think about than young Torygg's proclivities,'' Stentor said seriously. Immediately, Bolgeir frowned.

''What has happened?'' He half asked/demanded.

''Oh, while our young Jarl is charming his wife, another Jarling is speaking to his supporters, making friends and impressing them with his tales,'' Stentor said, turning on her heels and urging Bolgeir to follow her. Bolgeir hesitated and this Stentor noticed. She turned for moment, glancing at him and the door. Rolling her eyes, she held up her hand and it glowed with blue magicka. In a flash, Bolgeir found himself staring at his own image.

''That will do for your duties,'' Stentor said, pulling her hand down. ''Now come,'' she half requested/ordered.

Bolgeir blinked, watching his...clone silently stand by where he stood. Then, his legs moved. As he walked, his ears registered low murmuring and the clinking of mugs. Soon, he found himself standing before a balcony and glanced below. Stentor silently took her place next to him, leaning forward and resting her hand on the balcony railing.

The Blue Palace, for all intents and purposes, was packed. The Lords of Skyrim had come, from the valleys of the Reach to the frozen fangs of Winterhold. All the Jarls were there, save for one.

"Look to Whiterun,'' commented Stentor. ''They've been busying themselves.''

Sure enough, the Jarl of Whiterun and his son were deep in conversation with what looked like the Jarl of Dawnstar. The Jarl was seated down on a couch, his housecarl and son standing by his side. Immediately, Bolgeir felt ill in his stomach, glancing at the blonde-haired form of Blagruuf. Something in his gut told him that the Jarling of Whiterun had other ideas in mind that a paying homage to his deceased High King. Stentor watched Bolgeir carefully, before turning back to the man.

How devious, plopping themselves down to make the others come to him.

''What is he saying?'' Bolgeir quivered, looking at Balgruuf converse with the Jarl of Dawnstar. Twin orbs looked on dispassionately.

''Nothing too important,'' Stentor said nonchalantly, listening in. ''He is simply asking the Jarl about his health, and for the possibility of purchasing Iron from his mines.''

Well, from a certain point of view, it was unimportant. It was simply business. But considering that Whiterun had been purchasing lots of things, that was to take note of. And judging from the look Stentor had, she was also having the same thoughts.

''You know how the succession for the High Kings has always been a de facto affair?'' Sybille Stentor started. Bolgeir nodded. It had been a uninterrupted line of Solitude High Kings, each position simply being passed to the next son by the Moot.

''I am aware. I know my history,'' Bolgeir confirmed.

''And you also know that the only reason it has stayed that way is that no other Jarls have been worthy challengers to the throne, or they were simply uninterested in the position?'' Sybille continued, eyes still glancing at Balgruuf. Ice gripped Bolgeir's heart.

Bolgeir glanced back to Torygg's room, the hallway to their back before turning to the assembled Jarls. "If Torygg continues to dote more on his wife than his kingdom, we might see a new High King by tonight.'' The more Stentor spoke, the more his heart sank.

''We must do something about this,'' Bolgeir said quietly.

Stentor raised an eyebrow beneath her hood. ''And do what? Convince the other Jarls? How?" She leaned back from the railing to cross her arms. ''We both know Torygg, we know his heart. But it is not up to us to speak for him. We are his advisors and confidants but this is his arena, this is his battle. A young bird is taught to fly by its mother pushing it off the nest, not by the mother holding its hand.''

This angered Bolgeir. How could Stentor speak so casually of their Jarl? His mouth moved to speak but Stentor cut him off. ''You know what I mean, Bearclaw. Even if we went down there extolling our Jarl's virtues, that will not convince the other Jarls of his eligibility. He needs to be down there, speaking to them.''

As much as he hated to admit it, that was true.

''We need our Lord. We need our Jarl,'' Bolgeir said quietly. "Do we have any allies at least?"

''That we do,'' Stentor answered to both of what Bolgeir had said. She would glance towards a lone woman sitting in a chair, wine cup in hand. ''The Jarl of Morthal is firmly with us. Morthal relies on Solitude on everything, their trade, their food. A pity that the marshlands of Hjaalmarch cannot produce anything other than wood and fish. For bearing the name of Morihaus, it is not living up to the legend it is named after.'' 

''Stentor,'' Bolgeir said with warning. 

''Oh, pshaw, I'm having some fun, Housecarl. It is simply the truth that Hjaalmarch is wretchedly poor. Now, there is the usual Western Holds that have always supported solitude.'' Stentor continued, looking towards the Jarls of the Reach and Falkreath, both deep in conversation. "But as you no doubt know, Jarl Igmund owes Whiterun a lot for recovering his throne. I do not know much with the Jarl of Falkreath but I know his niece is in Whiterun as well.'' 

''So, we must assume that we have lost the support of Markarth,'' Bolgeir said with a sigh. It would have been a great pity, considering that Markarth was very rich with its silver-mines and was a major Hold to boot. Torygg would have lots to leverage if the silver of Markarth could be used to support him. ''And Falkreath?'' 

''Torygg could try and gain Falkreath's support,'' Stentor speculated but her eyes shone with doubt. ''But I'm not quite sure if there's anything he can offer surly Dengeir.'' 

"Anyone else?'' Bolgeir asked, a little too desperately. Torygg was running short of allies. ''What about the Old Holds?'' 

Stentor gave him a look. ''Bearclaw, the Old Holds haven't had a single original political thought for years save for following Windhelm's lead. They are the wildcard here. Jarl Ulfric, he must be brought into Torygg's orbit. Now as for other allies, I suppose we can go and look to them,'' Stentor pointed to two Imperial's having their own little conversation.

''The Imperial representative and the East Empire Trading Company!'' Bolgeir said with a click. Stentor nodded. The Housecarl then blinked. 

''But only the Jarls can vote, not the representatives of the Empire or the East Empire Trading Company,'' Bolgeir pointed out. He then thought about it some more before his mind clicked again. ''Their influence,'' he said slowly. ''It could be useful.'' 

''You have a brain between your ears, how fortunate of Torygg to have a reliable housecarl,'' Sybille Stentor drawled to Bolgeir's ire. ''Then you know who you have to direct Torygg to. Now shoo, Bearclaw. Votes must be secured.''

"I am on it,'' Bolgeir grit his teeth, turning on his heels. Stentor watched him leave before turning back to the crowd below. She, Bolgeir, and others loyal to Solitude could do everything in their power to push Torygg to do his duty to the city and his father but she knew that no matter what, Solitude was going to lose tonight.

But if that was the case, they needed to look like they were trying at least instead of being seen as half-wits getting their sweet rolls stolen from under them.

+++

Ulfric 


Solitude. 

Despite being Skyrim's de-facto capital, he hadn't found any reason to be here. Windhelm itself had its own ports thanks to the Darkwater River having direct access to the Sea of Ghosts. That was how he had arrived at Solitude after all, taking their family's longship, The Bear's Roar, and hugging the coasts to get to Solitude. Water travel was way easier and faster than going through land after all though it was significantly colder. 

The only time he felt himself warm was when they sailed under Solitude's arch and made port at the docks. Thanks to the Kilkreath Mountains, he and everything east of Mount Kilkreath was spared from the worst winds coming from the Sea of Ghosts. 

But he was here for a far greater purpose rather than mulling on the weather. No, he was here to do his duty for Skyrim and elect a new High King. 

And from all the people that dared call themselves Jarl, there was only one among their number he found worth following, worth crowning. 

He and the rest of the Eastmarch contingent watched as the Jarl of Whiterun and his son finished up their conversation with the Jarl of the Pale. Judging from where they were turning, they were going to go and chat up with them. Surely enough and not a second later, Ulfric found himself exchanging salutes with Jarl Heorot of Whiterun and his son. 

Ever since his conversation with the Jarling of Whiterun, he had been deep in thought. The Markarth Incident, as it was now commonly known, it represented a opportunity for the sons of Skyrim to reclaim two things lost to them, a proper Nordic City and the right to worship Talos again. By Shor, he had asked for that as a boon for Windhelm's assistance in retaking Markarth. Unfortunately, they had arrived to late and even if he hated the fact he had to comprimise, having a 'museum' built instead of a new shrine rankled him. He hated it, the secrecy and double-meaning. It was anathema to everything a Nord ought to be; open, sincere, and honest. 

But Lord Balgruuf had convinced him that now, now wasn't the time. Oh he still remembered their conversation after the reclamation of Markarth. He still remembered the vision that Balgruuf gave him. Walking in the streets of Markarth and seeing the chaos and carnage left, of weeping mothers and sons picking up their dead. The city needed to rebuild in order to recover what it had lost. And he thought about it a bit more carefully. Cyrodiil was ravaged by years of war and quite literally had no strength left. While Skyrim was untouched, there could have been no doubt that the Empire would have raised taxes on the kingdom in order to fund its war, High Rock too for that matter. 

But knowing what they were fighting for, the right to worship the Ninth Divine, a part of him felt it would have been worth it. He knew that his father Hoag would have raised taxes as well, to make sure the elves couldn't make that outrageous demand. 

But then, the Empire or rather, Cyrodiil was tired and in hindsight, they had no navy as the Imperial Navy lied at the bottom of the sea. So even if the Empire drove the High Elves to the sea, what would happen next? They wouldn't be able to contest the elves at sea and the Summerset Isles would be safe from invasion. The Empire would have been forced to stand on the western coast, angrily shaking and yelling as the wily Elves laughed at them from their ships. 

No, as much as it rankled him to admit it, Lord Balgruuf was right. They needed to rebuild, they needed to restore their pre-war strength so that when the time came, the Elves would get what they deserved. 

And as far as he was concerned, Balgruuf had the right of it. Ulfric was not blind. He had seen Whiterun quietly build itself. Merchants had often told him of new mills being constructed by its rivers, belching out not just smoke but weapons and arms of quality and quantity. He had seen as well the prices of produce imported from Whiterun, and how absurdly cheap they were. The little things that few would notice.  

Whiterun was preparing for war, that he could see. 

If Balgruuf was elected High King, he would be the one, the only one, who could prepare Skyrim for the next war. 

''Deep in your thoughts, my lord?'' spoke the voice of his housecarl, Galmar Stone-Fist. 

Ulfric nodded. ''Just thinking on who to vote, Galmar.'' On hearing that, a grave look fell on Galmar's face. 

''Still planning on voting for the Jarling of Whiterun?'' Galmar asked with a raised eyebrow. Ulfric nodded. 

''That I am. You've heard of the things that have come from his Hold,'' Ulfric pointed out. ''Compared to Torygg, I know who between the two is preparing for war. And besides, father has agreed with my assessment.'' 

Jarl Hoag would have loved to come, to make his vote. But alas, father was growing weaker day by day. Ulfric knew his father's time was ending. And soon, it would be his turn. 

''Why vote for either of them? Why not vote for yourself?'' Galmar queried, crossing his arms. Oh, this question again. 

He sighed. 

''Who would follow me?'' Ulfric whispered softly. It was unlike him to whisper as he was naturally loud and bold in his words. Not in this case. Not when he was shamed. "I won no great battles, I made no great names. While our brothers and sisters fought in the fields, I wasted away in a prison. No one would want to follow me, Galmar.'' 

Galmar stood and listened, taking note of his Jarl's words. He shook his head. ''You are wrong, my lord. Someone, many would follow you.'' 

Ulfric resisted the urge to laugh, looking at Galmar incredulously. ''Really? And who?'' 

''Me,'' Galmar answered without hesitation. ''Not only that, your people will follow you whether it be through the fields of Cyrodiil or on the beaches of blasted Alinor.'' 

"Why?'' Ulfric asked slowly. Galmar in turn saluted him. 

''Because you wept with us, when our brothers and sisters returned home on their shields. Because you were angry with us, when the Concordant was signed. Because you will be Jarl, and if the Gods deign it so, our King.'' Galmar replied, without hesitation or pause. 

Ulfric smiled. "Your loyalty is inspiring, Galmar.'' 

Galmar Stone-Fist shrugged. ''It is what a housecarl and a friend should do. You will be the Jarl of Windhelm, the Lord of Eastmarch. Poppycock to anyone who says otherwise.''

''My Lord Ulfric,'' a woman's voice spoke, bringing them out of their conversation. Ulfric swirled to see the robed form of Jarl Leila of the Rift come close to him, flanked by the Jarl of Winterhold, Korir. Ulfric saluted them, first at Leila then Korir. Ulfric was more than aware that despite their long and prestigious histories, both of the Jarls were effectively powerless. The former having had his city swallowed by the Sea of Ghosts, the cause of such a collapse still being unknown and the latter being well, the Jarl of possibly the most corrupt Hold in all of Skyrim. Leila, she meant well as a Jarl but in terms of effectiveness, she was rather lacking in that. He hadn't spoken to the Jarl of the Pale yet but from what he had heard and from what his own father had told him, Skald Felgeif was a dour and humorless grump. 

If he could help it then he would have to keep his conversations with him short. Just thinking about him made him uncomfortable. 

Oh, how their ancestors would be like to see the venerable Old Holds of Skyrim reduced to...whatever they were now. 

''Jarl Leila,'' he greeted her. ''I hope you are well?'' 

''I am, Lord Ulfric. Should the Moot need consultation on the law of succession, I am willing to offer my expertise, myself having signed many laws in Riften, I can be counted on knowledge of the law.'' Jarl Leila declared with surestone confidence. Ulfric simply resisted the urge to tell her that her laws were at best considered guidelines in Riften. 

''The Moot will call on you, should it be necessary,'' Ulfric offered her, more than aware that if anyone's opinions on issue be taken seriously, it would either be him as the Jarl of Windhelm, Balgruuf's or Torygg. And speaking of anyone's opinions...

''Has Windhelm decided on who to vote, Lord Ulfric?'' Jarl Korir not-so gently asked. ''If anyone asks me, I think that the throne of Skyrim would benefit having someone with good pedigree and blood. Have I ever told you that Wintehold used to be High Kings of Skyrim? I was researching on our history and I happened to find that. Interesting, isn't it?'' 

Ulfric didn't know if he ought to look at Korir and offer him a sympathetic look or laugh at him. 

Winterhold had been a mighty city until the Sea of Ghosts suddenly had a freak storm and swallowed most of the city. Now, it was a pitiful ram-shackle of stone and wood, barely afloat and if it hadn't had the College of Winterhold right on its soil, it would have been abandoned a long time ago. Ulfric knew what Korir was doing and if Korir got himself elected as High King somehow, it would no doubt restore prestige and life into his h0ld. Ulfric could respect that Korir was trying to salvage his hold but it simply couldn't be. Winterhold was laughably small and the least powerful of all the Holds and its only winning card was the College but then again, it wouldn't be a guarantee that said College would assist Winterhold should there be war. 

''Interesting, Jarl Korir,'' replied Ulfric, putting on his best interested look but he was far from that. ''But that is not up to me to decide but the Moot. As for my vote, I already have one in mind.'' 

''Who, if I might ask?'' Jarl Leila asked with a raised eyebrow.

''Would they be a friend to Winterhold?'' Jarl Korir added, earlier swallowing his bitterness. 

''My Jarls, they would be what Skyrim needs, no, what the wider Empire needs, for the future.'' Ulfric answered honestly. 

''Ah, Lord Ulfric!'' called aloud the Jarl of Whiterun., finishing up his conversation with Jarl Skald. The younger Ulfric made his way to him, Jarl Skald stepped aside to let him pass. Ulfric allowed himself to bow slightly, showing reference for his political and literal senior. Jarl Leila and Korir followed suit. ''A sad day, that the High King has passed.'' Jarl Heorot said with sadness. ''He was a good man that kept the kingdom together during the war.'' 

''Indeed,'' Ulfric agreed, his feelings on the war still quite bitter. Instead of fighting in the fields, he was rotting inside an Aldmer prison. He forced his face to show his bitterness however. There was much glory to be gained in the next war. ''Let us hope that his successor can lead Skyrim through the next years, my Jarl.'' 

At that, there was a certain glint that Ulfric saw in Jarl Heorot's eyes. Was that pride? Hesitation? He would have to keep note of that for later. ''Yes...yes. Quite.'' He cleared his throat. ''I must offer you my condolences in regards to your father. How is he?'' 

Ulfric smiled, a genuine one at that. ''My father has ruled Windhelm well in his years. I hope to follow in his example afterwards. I...I hope that he mends but his condition worsens each day.'' 

''I'm sure you can, Lord Ulfric,'' Balgruuf spoke up, smiling slightly. ''Windhelm is a long and storied city, with services and ports available to you. Eastmarch itself is rich in timber, mines, and so much more. With a little work, it will be quite rich indeed.'' 

It would be a lot of work to develop his lands, Ulfric surmised. But he paid heed to Balgruuf about the wealth in his lands. ''I would like to hear your expertise on that matter, Lord Ulfric. I have heard good things on your stewardship for Whiterun.'' 

''Oh aye,'' laughed Jarl Heorot. ''He's pretty much made my own Steward jobless. Spends more time putting his nose in numbers and papers than hunting or doing more noble, manlier things.'' 

''I've been preparing to rule, Father,'' Balgruuf coughed. ''Forgive me for my diligence.'' 

''Preparing to rule alright, in more ways than one.'' Jarl Heorot said, his voice bordering on innuendo. The Jarls simply blinked.  Ulfric turned to Balgruuf, wondering and hoping. Was he..?

Balgruuf simply smiled. "Lord Ulfric? A word?''

"Aye?''

Excusing himself, he allowed himself to be lead by Balgruuf who brought him to a little corner where a orc, a breton, and a Imperial stood guard over a little ornate chest. As they walked, his shadowy Housecarl followed after them.

''Allow me to show you this, Lord Ulfric,'' Balgruuf declared as he lifted the lid. Ulfric peered inside, wondering what was in. Then he saw it, the scales, the bones.

''The Ja-!'' Ulfric was about to exclaim but Balgruuf held up his finger to his mouth. That quickly quieted him. Questions, so many questions stirred in his mind. He peered into the chest even more. It certainly looked heavy, with black scales that and bones that jagged on both ends. These could only have come from a dragon.

''Is this...is this genuine?'' he whispered.

''Aye, it is. It was quite a hassle trying to find it but find it I did,'' Balgruuf revealed then gestured to the three that guarded it. ''These three were part of an expedition I sent to recover the crown.''

Ulfric turned to the three. The orc had a single metal hand, with a grave expression. The Breton looked uncomfortable in her robes, as if she was used to wearing something else. The Imperial, he looked at home in his armor. ''You three...you have retrieved one of Skyrim's lost treasures." Ulfric said with a quiver.

''It was our duty,'' the Imperial replied. ''A duty to our Jarl."

''Not to Skyrim?'' Ulfric asked again, a little disappointed. The Imperial shook his head.

''Still, they did it for Skyrim of sorts, my lord." Balgruuf answered, making Ulfric turn to him. ''You know why anyone would bother getting this crown.''

He wasn't a fool. He knew. ''I do.''

''Then when the time comes, you know what you must do?'' Balgruuf asked, his tone suggestive.

''I presume when you present this crown?''

Balgruuf smiled.

+++

''My lords and ladies, Jarls of Skyrim, I bid you welcome to Solitude!'' came the booming voice of Jarl Heorot. The Great Hall of the Blue Palace had been totally transformed. A dais had been raised, flanked by tables in a semi-circle. Behind the chairs sat the Jarls of the Holds, each one looking as puffed up and important as they were though their practical worth was determined by their wealth and military power. Ulfric could well afford to sit normally. Well, as normally as he could. 

To act as their speaker, it was tradition that the eldest of the Jarls would speak for all of them and naturally, that role fell to the Jarl of Whiterun. If his father was here, he would have been the one speaking but the journey here would have killed him. Sitting in his place, there sat Balgruuf as his representative. Ulfric stole glances at him and saw the Jarling pay close attention to his father, his housecarl silently standing behind him. 

Jarl Heorot continued. ''It is unfortunate that we must gather again for the High King has died and it falls upon us n0w to select amongst ourselves a new one. Some might say it distateful that we must choose a new High King, not when the seat he sat remains warm. But we all here have studied our history. The Empire that our forefathers buiolt from conquest, lost from their inaction to select an heir to succeed King Borgas.'' 

Each Jarl and two Jarlings nodded, all if them knowing their history. The War of Succession happened in the First Age, when the Jarls of Skyrim dithered on selecting a High King to succeed King Borgas, the last of legendary Ysgramor's line. Because of their inaction, they lost their Empire and generations worth of work was undone due to their forefather's inaction. 

This reminded Ulfric that a strong leader was needed for Skyrim, not with war with the elves on the horizon. A strong leader to lead them, the guide them, to victory. 

And no matter how much he tried to open his mind to Troygg. 

He just couldn't see it. 

''We are not our forefathers however. We have learned their lessons and are wiser in our judgement,'' Jarl Heorot then continued. ''Thus, I declare this Moot open. Who shall be our next High King?'' 

At that, the Jarl of Morthal rose. She was old, Ulfric saw. Old but not crone like. ''Hjaalmarch announces its support of Jarl Torygg of Solitude. He was High King Istlod's natural son and obvious heir. By tradition, the crown ought to fall to him/ Haalmarch knows no other High King, but Torygg.'' 

The speech was rehearsed and well-received and from his seat, Torygg smiled, clearly pleased. It made Ulfric want to roll his eyes however. He turned to Balgruuf who seemed to be whispering something into his housecarl's ear. The dunmer nodded and for a moment, stayed still to glance at Balgruuf before disappearing. 

Interesting. 

balgruuf turned, and immediately stood. ''My lords and ladies of Skyrim, I beg that you lend me your ears for a moment.'' 

There was some slight murmuring but from the dais, Jarl Heorot nodded. At that, Balgruuf smiled and continued. ''My lords and ladies, it is well and good that we honor and respect tradition. Our father and forefathers fought and died for it so that we their children would inherit it. It is also well and good that we fight for it too, so that our children can inherit it from us and to their children, give it." His tone was oratorical. Then, it turned steely. ''However, there are times that we must look at the world around us and realize that we work with the times we live, not the other way around.'' 

The hall went quiet as the Jarls, the Thanes, the Clan-Heads and Chiefs, all watched Balgruuf of Whiterun. ''Tamriel stands on a precipice, my lords and ladies. Elsweyr and Valenwood have long been lost to us, stolen from the Empire by the Aldmeri Dominion. Morrowind is in ashes, what's remaining is being fought over by the Dunmer and the Argonians. Cyrodiil is still recovering from the ravages of war. In Hammerfell, the Crowns and the Forebears struggle alone against the full might of the Dominion. High Rock? High Rock is quiet. What shall become of Skyrim?'' 

He stayed quiet, letting his words sink in with the assembly. Balgruuf then continued. ''I tell you what Skyrim must be in this chaotic time. Skyrim, our Fatherland. Skyrm, the birthplace of Men. It mustn't let itself be consumed by the chaos of this Fourth Age. Nay, it shouldn't be in chaos at all! Skyrim! Skyrim must be strong in these dark times! Our people, our homeland, it must be wily as the fox, outsmarting our enemies and competitors but strong as a bull, charging and trampling those that dare stand in our way!'' 

Ulfric leaned forward, his interest long since piqued. His eyes and ears, reserved only to Balgruuf. ''What Skyrim needs, my lords and ladies, is a High King that will lead our people to glories and prosperities never seen before. What Skyrim needs is a ruler capable of steering the ship of state through the chaos of this Fourth Age, to make us and the Empire rise even higher. The Empire, that glorious inheritances left for us by Tiber Septime, that Empire that many of us so recently fought and died for." 

In a corner of his eyes, Ulfric could see Balgruuf's hosuecarl return, a elaborate chest in her hands. He and the Jarls saw her approach and plant the chest on Balgruuf's table. Ulfric found himself speaking. ''And who, my lord? Who should lead Skyrim into this new age?'' 

Balgruuf stood, listening to his question. "The nominee that I shall put forth. Indeed, the throne of Skyrim ought to be handed to Jarl Torygg of Solitude, being the son of our last High King. But, our tradition tells us that should be so when the heir has no challenger to the throne.'' 

''And who is this challenger?'' the Jarl of Hjaalmarch queried. With a smile, Balgruuf plopped the chest open and reached inside. Gasps, loud and audible, broke out from the assembly. Ulfric's eyes nearly bulged as Balgruuf pulled his hand out of the chest and held it up for all to see. 

It was helm-like in appearance, with either black metal, no. It was scales, grey-black in color, that formed its band. Bones were constructed into it, jagged, on either side. 

A Jagged Crown. 

Immediately, he stood to his feet and yelled for all to hear. ''As the representative of Eastmarch, I, Ulfric Stormcloak, nominate Balgruuf of Whiterun as the next High King of Skyrim!''

Silence descended at first, a stillness that made Ulfric hear his own heartbeats. As if on cue, Balgruuf lowered the Jagged Crown onto the chest, a lone finger tapping on the crown. He glanced around the room, looking at each single man and woman in the eye. Then it started, a low rumble, murmuring of those that were still trying to come to terms on what had happened.

Then, the room exploded.

+++

A/N: This took me way too long. I hope ya'll enjoy it. 

Once again, a thousand thanks to all my patreons. All ya'lls support sustains me. Without ya'll, life would be a little bit more difficult.

Note: Edited thanks to the input of Thanatos!