Balgruuf the Great ch 37 (Patreon)

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Sybille Stentor/???

The morning started like no other for the Blue Palace. If one had open windows, the crashing of the waves against rock and shore could be heard from the sea below, the call of seagulls flying about, and the wind from the frigid Sea of Ghosts streaming in to chill one to the bone. For Sybille Stentor however, she felt all these and more, twice over. Her senses were greater than that of a normal human. Enhanced even. She could see distances greater than most, hear even the smallest droplet of water in a dark alley, smell the scent of a rabbit burrowing into the soft earth. This she could all do for she was one of the Molag Baal's own misbegotten creations, a vampire.

It was a secret that only a few people in the Blue Palace knew. A necessity for if the entire city heard about it, she would no doubt have to contend with hordes of big burly Nords armed to the teeth and ready to acquaint her with their sharpness.

She was as quiet as a ghost as she stalked the halls of the Blue Palace. Even at this early of a time, the Palace was still active, with servants going here and there, the odd guard standing sentinel at their post or making their rounds. Despite her secret being kept to the lips of a few men and women, she still had her own ominous reputation, garnered from her visits to the Solitude dungeons. Thanks to that reputation, the servants and guards parted when they saw her, wary looks on their faces as she sauntered here and there.

Sybille was amused by this. Really, her Order had trained her well in keeping her urges in check. As far as she was concerned, the Nords that changed the sheets, that patrolled the halls and populated the Blue Palace did not have to fear her or anything. Well, maybe if she was going to the dungeons. That usually meant that her urges were simply getting hot and she needed a drink or two. But now? Not quite. She wasn't heading into the dungeons and drink from a prisoner or two but rather, she was going off into the Jarl's chambers.

Now, some might whisper dark and otherwise degenerate thoughts with that. The sultry comely Court Mage making a sojourn into the room of young handsome Torygg but to Sybille, they were fools. No, she and Torygg did not have such a passionate and charged relationship as they were thinking. Their relationship was much more familial. She and the entire court practically raised Torygg considering how young his mother had died and good king Istlod was busy with matters of state.

Speaking of the court...

She rounded a corner and there, Bolgeir Bearclaw stood before the Jarl's chamber door. He was on the brink of falling to sleep but still, he stood tall like the meat guard he was.

''The Jarl truly can rest easy knowing he has such dedicated men protecting him,'' she remarked, making an effort to let her steps echo as the rouse the sleepy Housecarl awake. That did the trick however as he craned his head towards her, blinking his eyes as to get himself awake.

''Court Mage,'' Bolgeir acknowledged her. Stentor clicked her tongue in disappointment. She was expecting him to say a snarky line or two. Stentor shook her head, stopping before Bolgeir and crossed her arms. ''How is he? Torygg?''

Bolgeir sighed. ''What do you expect? One vote versus six? That is no battle. That is a outright massacre. And we both know that the only reason Jarl Igrod voted for Torygg was that her pitiful little marsh relies on Solitude for everything."

Stentor could do nothing else but nod and agree to Bolgeir's little observation. The vote the previous night was rather one-sided. Stentor couldn't blame the vote considering how grossly overqualified Balgruuf was and that the blonde stallion had pulled a legendary crown out of nowhere. Oh, she had heard the rumors of the Whiterun Jarling sending poor unfortunate souls to freeze in the Central Mountains in Skyrim. But to think that they had actually found the crown...

As a Breton, Stentor was more than aware of lordlings using symbols to rally men and women around them, considering how often that was inside High Rock. Inside of her, Stentor felt a manner of disappointment in herself. So much time raising Torygg as if he was her own flesh and blood....

She clearly failed him.

She would have to apologize to him for sabotaging his development. She should have raised her as Istlod commanded her, to be a fine Prince worthy of Skyrim instead of a son.

In a way, she had to blame Istlod a little bit for that. The boy just lost his mother and the way that he looked up at her, with tears in his eyes...

Stentor bit back a sardonic laugh. And they said vampires were dead in the inside.

"I will go and see our Jarl now, Bearclaw,'' Stentor declared. "Be a good bear and step aside, will you?"

Bolgeir narrowed his eyes at her. ''The Jarl asked not to be disturbed. He'd be asleep at this time. Come again when he allows for visitors.''

Stentor opened her lips slightly before pursing them back up again. She considered about throwing him aside like how one would dispose of rubbish. She could do it easily though she would have to explain to the guards who would no doubt be attracted to the commotion on how she could toss the massive, muscled, and plate-clad Nord housecarl aside. Resisting the urge to frown, she aquised instead and turned to leave.

Then she smiled.

''What are you smiling at?'' Bolgeir asked with a raised eyebrow. As if on cue, the door to his chambers were swung open. Bolgeir quickly stood to attention.

"Let her in, Bolgeir," rasped the dreadfully looking Torygg. His eyes were red, his shoulder was slumped and a overwhelming sense of defeat was about him. Stentor resisted the urge to simply march up and bring the boy into her embrace. Instead, she dipped her head in deference to her lord.

Bolgeir looked like he was about to argue but nonetheless saluted and stepped aside. Stentor raised her head and sauntered in, winking at Bolgeir who scowled at her. Behind her, the door was closed gently. With that, Stentor focused her attention back to Torygg.

Said man was walking back to sit on a couch. Next to the couch, his young wife was sat cross-legged. Thankfully dressed though in sleeping gear. She had a distressed look about her.

''My Jarl,'' Stentor began, walking up to Torygg as he slumped down. ''With all due respect, have you been sleeping?''

The look that Torygg gave her told her all she needed to know. She frowned. ''My Jarl, you must sleep. You cannot run Solitude tired and exhausted.''

Torygg laughed, mirth laced. ''Rule? Sybille, you saw what happened last night. If anything, that was a blatant display from the rest of Skyrim on their confidence in my abilities.''

If she could still breathe, she would have taken in a breath and sighed. Instead, she shook her head and turned to Elisif who had gone from sitting cross-legged to hugging her knees. ''I...I tried to convince him to sleep. But he just couldn't,'' she admitted, a tiny bit of despair in her voice.

Stentor stood, listening to the panicked and defeated tone in the young girl's voice. Humming, she turned back to Torygg. ''My Jarl,'' she began. ''I may be your Court Mage but still, I helped raise you from child to man. Though I no longer have extra duties such as raising you, I am still here to listen to you, of matters that do not belong to court." Torygg perked up at that. ''Forgive me for the intrusion, but would you be willing to talk with me?"

Torygg sat silently, a dark shadow over his eyes before sighing. ''What else is there to say? I have been totally humiliated in front of all Skyrim. When Lord Balgruuf gets coronated with the Jagged Crown, I would be reminded of that loss every single time I see him. I...I failed my father, Sybille. I failed my vow to him.''

At this moment, her replies would have been thorny and snarky. But no, such tongue lashing was to be used on idiots and the lickspittles in court. What Torygg needed was encouragement. While she wasn't...adept in that department, she would still try her best.

''I was there, my Jarl, when your father died and you made your vow.'' Stentor recalled. ''And I believe that his last words to you, the one he made you promise was not 'Be king,' but 'Rule well'''

She pursed her lips. ''As far as I'm concerned, my Jarl, you have yet to fail in your vow. You can still do it, make your father proud and rule Solitude as justly and ably as your father had.''

Torygg looked up at her. Stentor continued. ''The High Kingship is lost, yes. But you are still Jarl of Solitude, the richest Hold in all of Skyrim. The Hjaalmarch Guard is well-equipped and led. Our ships are the finest in all of Skyrim, sending Skyrim's trade around Tamriel and protecting our coasts from pirates and the like. Practically, speaking, you have not lost anything that truly matters save for the crown, my Jarl."

Their eyes met. Nordic Blue ones with her own malevolent red. ''You still have your wife,'' Stentor gestured to the red-haired girl listening to her with rapt attention who then blushed at the look and attention she was getting. Stentor then gestured to herself. ''You still have me,'' she then pointed out the door. ''You still have Bolgeir Bearclaw who stood sentinel outside your door throughout the night. You still have the Blue Palace, its servants and guards. You still have Solitude and your people. The rest of Skyrim may look to someone else but we, your people, we need you, my Jarl.''

She then bent her head low. "Jarl Torygg, lead us.''

Stentor locked her eyes at the rug floor, lips thin and posture deferential. For a minute, there was nothing else to hear but the distant cry of seagulls and the crashing of the waves. For Stentor, she could hear their heartbeats and breathing.

Then she heard the creaking of furniture.

''Lift your head, Sybille,'' she heard a commanding voice from above. She did so and found herself looking into Torygg. There was still doubt on his face but there was something else.

''I...I don't know what it is you see in me, that you have such confidence,'' Torygg said slowly. He then swallowed. ''But I made my promise to my father. And you...you are right. I cannot stay here in the darkness of my room, not when Solitude, not when my people need me. I will...no, I shall lead. But I cannot do it alone, Sybille. Are you...are you with me?''

''To the end, my Jarl," Sybille Stentor vowed.

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The Organization

The Winking Skeever.

That was a peculiar name for a tavern. Allegedly and the owner swore that its name came from a pet skeever he had that would wink at him when he was younger. Curious names for taverns aside, he and his merry band were here for a different purpose. He cupped a mug of fine ale in his hand, he glanced around the room their little organization had rented out from the owners. There were seven of them, wearing the same dark hood save for the insignias on their chest pieces. The Fox, the Bear, the Hawk, the Moth, the Serpent, the Owl, the Whale and lastly, the Dragon.

''So, Owl, how fares the Moot? Are we to have the same old High King from the same family and city?'' One of his brothers asked, a dark hood covering his face save for his mouth. On his chestpiece was a fox. His voice was soft, like a gentle breeze in the wind.

Owl shook his head. ''Nay, a challenger came forward and took the crown away from him, with the Jagged Crown no less!" An excited murmur came about the table.

Another voice joined, rough and bawdy. He had the Bear on him. ''So? How best do we make use of this?"

"Why, we set them apart of course,'' the Serpent hissed. ''We need that to happen for the final part of the prophecy to take place. You all saw the signs, hadn't you all?''

''We all know the prophecy. The fourth Omen had just happened. We only need the fifth one.'' the Whale interjected. "When the Snow Tower unites and sunders under a Jagged Crown,"

A sweet voice added."...the World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn." They all turned to the Moth who was breathing too steamily for their comfort.

"Tch, remember why we fight, Moth,'' The Wolf added, disapproval present in her face. ''We fight this long war to return Skyrim to her true rulers, so that they may lead us to glory again.''

''Enough, you two.'' Another voice spoke. His was deep. The Dragon. "Hawk, speak,"

The Hawk glanced up. She stayed silent for a moment before speaking, nodding at the Serpent. ''As the Serpent said, the final Omen calls for the Snow Tower to be sundered but the question is-"

''How?''

No one said it but it was clear in the assembly on what the question was.

"I may have an idea," Hawk offered. The Dragon nodded at her. "Firstly, we can make use of the opportunity the blasted elves have given us, the ban on the worship of the Ninth Divine."

They all glanced at another. Hawk continued. "I suggest that we agitate, make our misguided kin wail for the Ninth. Make them wish for him to return. I imagine it will make it easier for when our Lord returns, we can claim him to be the Ninth Reborn. It would also be easier as well to restore the worship of...our rightful Lords."

"There is sense to this plan," Whale interjected in support. And so did many others.

"It will take time and money, and men." Dragon added.

Hawk glanced to him. "We have plenty of time. We only need to begin our work immediately."

''I suggest we start in the Eastern Holds," suggested Serpent. "Much more agreeable to agitate for the Ninth, Old Holds as they are."

Shaking his head, the Dragon stood. ''Then we are in agreement." He glanced at each every last one of them. ''Remember why we fight, my friends. Remember all those that died, all those that were betrayed. Once the final omen occurs, all we must do is simply wait and Our Lord shall return. When the first blood is spilt, get to your positions with the Priests. There, we all shall lead the everlasting faithful against the betrayers, the cowards. Remember, my friends. Remember Forelhost."

Each member of their group snarled, growled, frowned or balled their hands into fists.

''We remember,'' they all intoned.

''Then let us get to work. Victory...or Sovngarde.''

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A/N: I have plans for Torygg. And owo, what's this? Creepy cooltits?

EDIT 2: I have changed a few things, to better fit the storyline that I have in mind.