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“I knew there was something else different the moment you stepped into this room.”

“What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, Ulfric stood up and grabbed her by the shoulders, motioning for her to stand up as well. “I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, I just felt it. And I couldn’t feel more proud.”

“About me being Dragonborn?”

He shook his head once more, gently squeezing her shoulders. His hands were big and warm, and she could smell a faint but sweet aroma from him, possibly mead.

“I’m sure you’ve spoken to the Greybeards. How is Arngeir, and the rest of them? When I left, it wasn’t in a good note.”

Ahing in understanding, Thales smiled and looked up at the high ceiling. “He said I reminded him of you. Actually, he was the first person to suggest you as my father.”

“He is an incredibly perceptive man, a Greybeard after all. I remember the good old days when he was my mentor.”

Thales’ face flushed in excitement; her and Ulfric had something in common other than their blood. It was an incredible feeling.

“He was hard on me, but I learned much from him.”

Sighing, the man let her go and began pacing again. “Although I am disappointed at the fact that you cannot remain with the Stormcloaks, I understand the justification behind your decision. After all, you have proven to be a valuable asset, and with good reason. When will you be leaving?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, the Imperial began to think about that little fact. It was better to leave as soon as she could, there was a horn she needed to retrieve for Arngeir. But she wanted to remain by her father’s side. They are finally together! And who knew the outcome of both of their wars. It was disheartening to think that they might not see each other again.

No, she couldn’t think like that. They are Ulfric, leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion, and Thales the Dragonborn and daughter of said man.

“As soon as I come up with a plan. I cou—”

“Do come and say your farewell to me then. After all this is over, Talos allows us, we will have all the time in the world to become acquainted with each other.”

With a nod, Thales saluted him but as soon as she turned to walk away, Ulfric grabbed her by her arm and turned her back around. With slow movements, he pulled her to his chest and softly kissed the top of her head.

~

Her heart quickened at the sight of Vilkas talking to one of the insufferable Thanes in this city. At least he seems to be getting along with the idiot. As soon as he spotted her walking towards him, the Companion wrapped their conversation up and walked towards her, meeting halfway.

“How did it go?” There was a giddy tone in his voice, probably anticipation on hearing good news.

“Vilkas, I honestly don’t know what to say. Perfect, that’s the only way to describe it.”

He smiled widely and grabbed one of her hands, bringing it to his lips so he could kiss it. “I’m happy for you, my dear.”

The endearing term knotted her stomach and she jumped to wrap her arms around his neck. His arms rapidly going around her body, pulling her to him as both kissed chastely. The beautiful moment didn’t last long as she backed away with a hiss. her ribs were still hurting, and maybe the adrenaline from meeting her father made her forget, but she can certainly feel them now.

“Your ribs. I have some potions with me, you can drink one once we go to the inn.”

“Let’s go. I need to speak to the others as well.”

The walk to the inn wasn’t long, but the cold made it unbearable. Vilkas had chuckled at her shivers and wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders in a chance to pass heat from his body to hers.

“You’re back.” Brynjolf spoke as they walked into the big room in the second floor of the inn. “I take it it went well.” His smirk didn’t bother her this time, she felt too lighthearted to care for his teasing.

“Yes, yes it did. But there’s been a change in the plans, so I need all of you to listen.”

Ralof stood up as soon as she was done with her sentence, ready to leave.

“You don’t have to leave Ralof, it’ll be quick. Afterwards you all can go back to having fun.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind leaving, I should probably go to sleep anyway.”

Before he could walk, Sapphire grabbed his tunic and pulled on it as hard as she could, sitting him down on the chair. “Just stay out, you heard the boss.”

“Boss?” He whispered as he rubbed the elbow he hit with the table when the woman sat him down by force.

“Sapphire, we’re no longer in the ranks. If you want to go back to Riften with Brynjolf, that’s fine. The woman raised her arms in excitement, wincing as her body hurt all over with the sudden moves.

“Brynjolf, I’m going to have Farkas and Vilkas check on Serana, but I need you to go with them.”

The redhead man tilted his head in question, probably wondering why on Oblivion is he supposed to travel with a pair of Companions. “Lass, what could I possibly be needed for?”

“I need you to convince her to join us.”

Both the redhead and Sapphire exclaimed “What?” while Ralof was trying to figure out anything they were talking about.

“I can almost guarantee it won’t be a hard task. Unfortunately I can’t do it because I have some business to take care of, but I know you’ll be able to accomplish this for me Bryn.” She smiled at the man reassuringly, and he nodded at her.

“Is there anything else, boss?”

Shaking her head, Thales wrapped one of her arms around her middle and Vilkas immediately grabbed both of her shoulders from behind. Her stomach fluttered at the fact that he was always in tune to what she was doing.

“Okay, it’s time for you to take care of those injuries.” He began to pull her away.

“You still haven’t looked at your injuries!? This girl, I swear.” The indignant shout from Sapphire was heard by everyone, and it made Thales want to chuckle, but she suppressed the urge. She’ll laugh once she downs two or three healing potions.

Although she suppressed the chuckle, a giggle did escape her lips, and Vilkas’ ears perked in wonder at the sweet sound.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” a chuckle finally escaped her, and her middle hurt like a bitch, but she couldn’t help it anymore. Thales stopped walking and felt the love of her life press up to her from behind. His arms wrapping around her as he rested his chin on the top of her head. “Not a thing.”

Everything is finally beginning to fall in place.

~

I can't wait to wrap this all up and give you guys a conclusion! ALSO I couldn't help myself, so I decided to write smut! I'll give it to y'all in the next chapter :D THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS!

These chapters are welcome! I like the dialogue father and daughter! They are very beautiful together, and Ulfric is fine in this part! I hope you will give us a little more about this story ... and I want to know the plan of Thales! Glad you decided to obscenity eheheheh! The story is very nice .. but even so, whether it is for romance ... I'm lost! that's nice! I wait for you! Ps I'd like to know if it's Brynjolf that will convince Serana! eheheheh

Title: A Hero for Skyrim

Summary: Einarth reflects on the disciple Arngeir wanted and the one he got.

Tags: char:arngeir, char:delphine, char:einarth, char:elenwen, char:elisif, char:esbern, char:F!NPC, char:F!PC, char:galmar_stone-fist, char:general_tullius, char:jarl_balgruff, char:legate_rikke, char:M!NPC, char:ulfric_stormcloak, kink:angst, kink:family, kink:rivalry, es:skyrim, race:altmer, race:breton, race:imperial, race:Nord

Author’s note:
This is my first fill, so please let me know if I’ve messed up anything! I’d prefer not to repeatedly screw up protocol, posting, tags, etc. I’ve taken a few liberties with the timeline and circumstances, so those who want lore purity may not like this. Please don’t hurt me! But for the most part, I’ve tried to remain faithful to the spirit of things. Special thanks to the Passerby!Anon who kindly provided the context for this prompt!

Warning: Spoilers ahoy!

-----------

“You were not invited here. You are not welcome here.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Einarth was fairly certain he saw the Dragonborn flinch before dropping her gaze to the floor. The statement was not meant for her, but Arngeir’s disapproval of her association with the Blades was palpable.

“We have as much right to be at this council as all of you.” The woman ploughed on, “More, actually, since we were the ones that put the Dragonborn on this path.”

There was no mistaking the expression on the girl’s face this time. Her shame was plainly visible to anyone who saw her…

“Were you? The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds.”

Well, he quietly amended, it was obvious to everyone but Arngeir. The look he leveled at the girl while he addressed the female Blade was completely unnecessary. Einarth knew the girl well enough to realize that she had already been punishing herself for this summit. It was entirely possible she had been doing so before she had even mustered the courage to request the assistance of the Greybeards. At this moment however, the girl kept her silence, even as the older woman continued to press the issue...

“If it were up to you, the Dragonborn would sit dreaming on this mountain doing nothing!”

It was then that her companion cut in, “Delphine, we're not here to rehearse old grudges.” He then turned to address Arngeir: “The matter at hand is urgent. Alduin must be stopped. You wouldn't have called this council if you didn't agree. We know a great deal about the situation and the threat that Alduin poses to us all. You need us here if you want this council to succeed.”

At last, a voice of reason. Einarth surmised that it might have been this man, and not Delphine, whose council the Dragonborn child had heeded. He may not have appreciated the source, but he did not need to in order to recognize the pragmatism driving the man’s words. The man may be a Blade, but he had demonstrated good sense and an understanding of what was at stake. A bit dramatic perhaps, but it might prove advantageous to have a well spoken participant whose position was relatively neutral in the proceedings. Be that as it may, Einarth knew that it was not his place to speak for the Greybeards. The girl would have to speak up, and soon, if she wanted the Blades present at this event.

She did not get the opportunity, for Arngeir heaved a sigh and granted them entrance, and the Blades moved past the old masters into the room that would host the peace council. The child made no move to follow them, but stood before her teacher, struggling to find the appropriate words to speak. This time too, Arngeir did not give her the chance. “So, you've done it. The men of violence are gathered here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace.”

At that, the girl’s eyes snapped up to meet Arngeir’s as he continued to lament the turn of events. “I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving ourselves in such matters.”

“Don’t worry. I”ll get them to agree to peace.” As she spoke, Einarth saw that she had not allowed herself to hide behind necessity, even if it was truth; the girl would not be able to secure Jarl Balgruuf’s aid without a peace treaty. Saying so might have spared her some of Arngeir’s displeasure, but she was Dragonborn, and she did not shy away from difficulty. Her courage and integrity were qualities that her generally reserved nature belied.

Arngeir gave a mirthless chuckle. “Peace? I doubt it. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting. They are not yet tired of war. Far from it. Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? ‘Season Unending...’ So it has proved.”

The girl quirked a sad smile at that, and for a moment, they shared a look of commiseration as Arngeir ushered her forward. “But regrets are pointless. Here we are. Take your seat at the council table and let us see what wisdom we can find among these warriors of Skyrim.”

As the stragglers moved into position at last, Einarth sighed inwardly. It was a rare moment when Arngeir and the Dragonborn were of the same mind, and it was not for lack of effort on the girl’s part. She was blessed by the gods, as was her birthright, and (unlike many favored beings) was possessed of a self-awareness that granted her wisdom beyond her years. Her openness and humility might have been unexpected from one of her ilk, but life had seen fit to burden her with extraordinary responsibilities. Responsibilities that could not, and would not, be denied. But to say that she had borne such difficulty with grace would have been… insufficient. Perhaps ‘endured’ was a better word for it. One does not go with joy to a probable death.

The day she had arrived upon the doorsteps of High Hrothgar, they had mistaken her for a simple deliveryman. The villagers of Ivarstead often left tribute to the Greybeards, as did the occasional pilgrim, and the Dragonborn had trudged up the seven thousand steps bearing such as well. Even when she had presented herself, she bore a largely unassuming appearance, save for the lingering fear and fire in her eyes. When she Shouted, it had been with consternation, and when she spoke, she had all but begged for answers.

Arngeir had shared her dismay, but his stemmed from a very different source. The girl was a far cry from what the fabled hero of legend could have been expected to be. She was small, and not particularly gifted in either the art of war or magic. Furthermore, the prophesied Hero of Skyrim was not even a child of Skyrim. Indeed, the ways of the Nords were almost barbaric to her at first, but she could hardly be faulted for her fear given the nature of her arrival; only Sheogorath could have found being wrongfully sentenced to death charming. The timing of her visit was rather unfortunate, but destiny seems to have played no small part in this; she claimed to have been kneeling upon the chopping block, moments away from death, when Alduin himself had appeared and razed Helgen to the ground. Einarth suppressed a snort. If that was truly the way it happened, then it seems fair to say that Akatosh had a decidedly heavy-handed way of announcing the potential doom of Tamriel to his chosen.

The girl had accepted her destiny without much complaint, but it was evident that she did not feel as though she had any choice in the matter. Arngeir too, had seemed resigned to his duty to instruct her, and made little effort to understand the one who would likely become his greatest student. Perhaps he never would, for Arngeir still mourned his past failure with another student: Ulfric.

Ulfric had been a son in all but blood to him, but the boy was not suited to this life. Even before The Great War, it was obvious that the boy was far too passionate for the life of study and reflection that his master hoped he would follow. Ulfric had simply had too much of his father in him to not be lured by the stories of great men and their gloried feats.

It was this same passion however, that had made him a joy to teach, despite his impulsiveness. The boy had arrived, not with with fear and dismay, but with eagerness and awe. His father had instilled within him a profound reverence for the old heroes and their ways, and the pride in his stance, even as he bowed before them, was unmistakable. He was born to be a leader of men, and Arngeir had hoped to shape the boy into a man who would eventually lead the Greybeards when the time came.

Indeed, the boy had become a leader, but not the one that Arngeir had wished for. The disappointment had weighed heavily upon them all, but it was Arngeir who had taken it the hardest. Sorrow was not an emotion easily displayed by Nords, and Einarth often wondered that if he had shown the boy what he had truly felt… Would Ulfric have stayed? It was easier to turn one’s back on anger directed towards them, and the bitterness of the days leading up to his departure only served to poison everything they had shared prior.

The irony of it was not lost on the junior Greybeard: Arngeir had always been the most passionate of them, and though he had grown since, his path to wisdom had always been at odds with his nature. The difference was that Ulfric had felt the call of the world below too keenly. Lacking such impetus, Arngeir had channeled his passion into mastery of the Voice. For all they had said about the other, they were not so different as they believed.

Einarth sighed as he moved to stand at the far end of the room. He had no desire take part in this, but it was necessary for the Greybeards to help the Dragonborn mediate this mess. The girl needed people supporting her throughout this ordeal, people who could actually be present in the way that the grandmaster, Paarthurnax, could not. Arngeir certainly could not be counted upon to support her. If anything, the man hardly approved of anything she did outside of study and meditation. This could be acceptable if it helped their leader maintain his neutrality, but if the mild-mannered girl had to reign in tempers at the council... Einarth was uncertain as to how much of his authority the Elder would be willing to lend her. After all, Arngeir hadn’t wanted this meeting to happen at all. It had been Paarthurnax who had made the decision.

Paarthurnax…

The old man shifted uncomfortably, as though he feared even thinking about the Grandmaster in the presence of such bloodthirsty people would reveal their most carefully guarded secrets. What would they do, he wondered, if they knew that their Dragonborn was a disciple of Alduin’s dreaded second? It was a line of thought that did not bear consideration. No one who followed the Way of the Voice voice would betray the one who had helped bring about not only their order, but the downfall of the World Eater. It was an act of courage worthy of respect; one that brought their master pain. That the old dragon could overcome his nature was proof that he was worthy, and even if he had accomplished nothing else, it would have been enough.

Well, Einarth amended again, enough for anyone with a measurable amount of compassion. It was a bitter thought. He suspected that no one who had answered the Dragonborn’s call could see the significance of such sacrifice. Truthfully, he had worried a little when the girl prepared to meet the Master for the first time: she was, after all, a born dragon killer. The energy has been wasted however, for the child had forged a bond with The Old One. Perhaps he was getting old, but Einarth found the solace that the lost child and the weary soul found together comforting. Such sentiment bordered on the saccharin, but it could be forgiven. On a more serious note, it meant that the child would protect Paarthurnax from whatever ills might befall him. Such as the Blades. It was unfortunate that they had learned of the true nature of their master. The girl swore that she had not breathed a word to them, but how it happened, was of little import. She knew where her loyalties lay, and even Arngeir had been impressed with her fury. The shy thing had been beside herself, and while Einarth had been proud, he saw a flicker of something on the other Greybeard’s face. It was the second time they had witnessed such righteous anger, and the sudden similarity had been a bittersweet reminder of the lost disciple.

Would Ulfric have felt the same way on this matter?

He swept his gaze across the room before reluctantly settling his eyes upon the boy he once knew. Grim thoughts came to the elder as he studied the former student. Einarth did not fail to notice that when the girl had spoken of the world below, she had chosen to be diplomatic in her assessment of Ulfric. She had been rather reluctant to say that Ulfric had deliberately broken their teachings, but they had heard his Thu’um. Her embarrassment on the boy’s- man’s behalf, while touching, had done nothing to assuage Arngeir’s outrage and grief. Truly, the boy was lost to them. It was a sentiment that seemed to weigh upon them still. Arngeir spared his former protegé little more than the barest of acknowledgements, even as he began the talks in earnest:

“Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin. I hope that we have all come here in the spirit of…”

“No.”

The Dragonborn bristled at the interruption. Einarth vaguely recalled her saying that Ulfric claimed to have “nothing but the greatest respect” for the Greybeards, but for him to actually cut off his former master before anything had yet to occur…!

“You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?” Ulfric spat.

There it was. The boy had loved his heroes, and the White-Gold Concordat had been an attempt by the Aldmeri Dominion to take them from him. Even so, this… brash behavior was unseemly, and out of place for the purposes of this meeting. A meeting that, though barely begun, was already getting out of hand...

“That didn't take long.”
“Hear, hear!”
“Diplomatic as usual...”
“I have every right to be at this negotiation-”
“You can't dictate who I bring to this council…!”

Amidst the rising cacophony, Einarth took the opportunity to examine Ulfric. He was disturbed by what he saw: gone was the earnest face, the inquisitive eyes, the hopeful outlook. Even the sly, sidelong looks that the boy had worn, signaling mischief, were preferable to this. The world had not been kind to him, and the man wore the marks more openly than he might have known: his eyes burned with hatred and his whole body tensed... but it was the sheer venom in a voice that was once cultivated to utter praise and worship, that truly cut the old man. That the boy would take such a blessing and twist it into something so base…

Perhaps, Einarth bitterly reflected, Arngeir was right to regret taking that boy in.

“Please. If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere. Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn's input on this matter.”

Well. He certainly hadn’t expected Arngeir to call upon the girl to settle the matter. And he certainly hadn’t expected her to actually be able talk the upstart down. A smile actually pulled at his mouth at that, and hope stirred within him. Granted, it wasn’t much, but then the elf soured whatever amusement he might have found in the incident, by taking a none too subtle jab at the boy. Ulfric, for his part, could not help but take the bait. Einarth pursed his lips. For all that they had worked to instill patience and caution in the boy, it seemed to have come to nothing. And yet, it was painfully clear that none of the individuals gathered here wanted the Thalmor Agent there. Not even the Imperials. Politics.

Arngeir addressed the gathering again. “Now that that’s settled, may we proceed?”

“I have something to say first.” Einarth felt a rush of exasperation at yet another interruption from Ulfric. It seemed he was not alone in this sentiment, for one of the Imperials muttered something under her breath. The old man wished he could see the Dragonborn’s expression, but judging from the barest tilt of her head, he imagined that she was far from impressed.

“The only reason I agreed to attend this council, was to deal with the dragon menace. There’s nothing else to talk about. Unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce it’s unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim. We’re here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn here, to deal with the dragons. Nothing more. I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture.”

What was he playing at? Such pointless posturing served no purpose. If the boy hoped to model his behavior after that of Skyrim’s heroes, it was a poor imitation. Perhaps even a mockery. The only thing such grandstanding accomplished was demonstrate his insecurity. Arngeir had maintained a largely stone-faced composure, but the set of his jaw betrayed his emotions. Einarth felt sympathy for his peer, though he did not share the depth of his pain. A pain that had surely been renewed in light of his disciple’s behavior.

Arngeir was notably short in his third attempt to begin the meeting. “Are we ready to proceed?”

This time, there were no interruptions, and the elder continued: “Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius. This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn’s request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do your best to begin the process of achieving lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?”

Yet again, it was the boy who spoke first. Einarth suspected that he was beginning to feel the onset of a headache.

“We want control of Markarth. That's our price for agreeing to a truce.”

That impudent…!

He might have staggered, for all Einarth knew. The ferocity of the boy’s avarice was beyond comprehension. What sort of man would allow such pettiness to override the gravity of the situation? If they failed to secure a truce, the Dragonborn could not stop the World Eater! She would not be able to get near enough to even make an attempt. And the God of Destruction could NOT be allowed to escape again. As one who had immersed himself in Skyrim's most revered traditions and lore, Ulfric had no excuse for his behavior. If even one who had studied the prophecies did not care, what hope was there to be had of the others?

The old man grit his jaw in frustration. What could he say to those warriors and politicians to sway them? What would compel the minds of those who played with the lives of others and valued so little? How could he even speak to them at all? His very voice was a weapon, honed through years of training, and he lacked the level of mastery that Arngeir had reached. No, he could do nothing. It was not even his place to do something. And as a Greybeard, speaking out might be viewed as a sign that the elders were not in fact, a neutral party in all this. It would have rendered the sacrifice of tainting the halls of High Hrothgar invalid. So he raged quietly, as both sides turned on each other and themselves.

It was the new Jarl of Solitude who spoke out this time. “So that's why you're here, Ulfric? You dare to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position?”

He quirked an eye at that. Perhaps there were a few who still respected the Greybeards, but for a defense to have come from one outside the order, to another who had been a member, was shameful.

Tullius attempted to cut her off. “Jarl Elisif, I'll handle this.”

“General, this is outrageous! You can't be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!”

A wry smile smile tugged at his lips. This “Elisif” was a fiery one. The Dragonborn had spoken of her in passing, but had not been terribly impressed. The girl had seemed to consider the widow a friend, and Einarth wondered how the girl could find the lady wanting. She was not wrong in her understanding of what they hoped to accomplish here, though perhaps a touch naive. He could respect her indignation, but her effort to take Ulfric to task for his attempt to subvert the purpose of this meeting was… less polished than one might expect of the wife of the late High King. Still, polished or not, it mattered little: the damage had been done. Whatever objectives this meeting accomplished, a lasting peace would not be among them. This petty squabble over territory ensured that. There was no conceivable way that the people gathered here would be willing to let their perceived property go for long.

“Elisif! I said I'd handle it.” The general then turned to address the Jarl of Windhelm, “Ulfric, you can't seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you've been unable to take in battle, is that it?”

Einarth was not sure whether to be more impressed or wary of this warrior. While Tullius lacked Ulfric’s grand style, he spoke with the careful words and inflection of a politician; the hallmarks of a dangerous man of uncertain allegiance. It was clear from his brief exchange with Elisif, who was truly the one in power. Small wonder why the Dragonborn was wary of both sides in this war. Though the child felt that this was not her war, or even her country, she did not want to turn Skyrim over to a side she did not trust. What the girl wanted however, did not matter: this truce was going to be determined by trading holds and the people who lived in them. Taking part in this business meant that she would be called upon to settle the score in the end. It was only a matter of time now, and Einarth wondered if the girl realized that. If not, she would doubtless learn very soon, if the anger expressed by the Jarls was any indication.

“I’m sure Jarl Ulfric does not expect something for nothing.” Arngeir said dryly.

More muttering from the Imperial Nord seated to the Dragonborn’s left. He had to wonder at the frequent sarcasm directed at Ulfric. The wayward disciple was certainly frustrating, but the constant grumbling was starting to look personal. He did not have much time to ponder the thought, for Arngeir had pressed forward, ignoring the woman, in favor of brokering an exchange. “What would the Empire want in return?” When the general paused, the responses from his constituents were furious and swift. The Dragonborn tensed at Jarl Balgruuf’s caustic reaction, and Einarth worried on the girl’s behalf. If the man left now, their efforts would be for nothing. And, he supposed, the child feared losing the jarl’s esteem: Balgruuf had looked past her unjustly given criminal status without question, and set her on the path towards her destiny. It would be a terrible blow for her to lose his respect.

“Enough!” the general snapped. “First let’s be clear: this council wasn’t my idea. I think it’s a waste of time.”

The Greybeard heard, rather than saw, the creak of the girl’s leather gloves. She had probably balled her hands into fists at this latest insult, and Einarth worried at how much more stress she could take. What would she do if they could not broker a truce?

Ulfric seemed no less incensed than the Dragonborn, "Master Arngeir, are you just going to let him continue to--"

“You are a traitor to the Empire and deserve a traitor’s death. But I at least will negotiate in good faith.” Tullius, it seemed, had some grandstanding of his own to do, though it seemed to be more for his delegation than anything else. He then turned to the Dragonborn and asked her to determine the value of the trade. She started briefly, and took a calming breath as she considered her answer. The old man found himself resenting the Imperial, but he had to concede the skill with which he dealt the girl a terrible hand: the man had wasted few words trying to position himself favorably in the eyes of those present, and then had swiftly dropped the responsibility for the trade on the Dragonborn. If she chose poorly, it would damn her to one or both parties, and at best she could only hope for begrudging compliance. The fact that she had to choose at all damned her, for it meant she could not hide behind the choices of others. The girl was now not only responsible for this meeting, but for everything that went into this treaty. She would be responsible for all the lives affected by it as well. Well played, you conniving...

Slowly, the girl spoke, “How about Riften?”

The Imperial considered the idea, and seemed to approve of her choice. But Einarth could not be certain of the trade, for Ulfric and his second stood up from their seats in anger. Of course, the general could not resist a jab of his own, at that. “You heard what she said, Ulfric. We’ve made you a fair offer. Are you serious about these talks or are you just here to posture?”

The Jarl of Windhelm ignored him and accosted the girl. “I expected better from you Dragonborn. I came here in good faith, and now it seems you help the Empire at every turn.” He did not allow the girl a chance to defend her decision, and launched into another tirade: “As for you, General Tullius. I see now that Galmar was right: talking to the Empire is just as useless as ever. If you think you can hold Markarth, you’re as deluded as your emperor was when he signed away our freedom to the Thalmor. Skyrim will never again bow to your false empire! Let’s go Galmar. I should have listened to you in the first place.”

When Ulfric turned to leave, the girl seemed to have recovered from her shock. Alarm filled Einarth as she grabbed the table and made to stand. She looked furious, and he worried at what she might do until the general spoke up, unable to resist a parting shot. Whatever fight she might have had in her utterly deflated in that moment, and Einarth saw the girl turn desperately to face Arngeir, himself at a loss for words. Einarth closed his eyes in resignation. As loath as he was to even think it, Ulfric’s companion may not have been too far off from the truth. Perhaps it truly was hopeless to try to reason with warriors…

“Stop! Are you so blind to the danger, that you can’t see past your petty disagreements?”

It was Delphine’s companion who spoke, and Einarth dared to hope that the man might be able to salvage the situation. “Here you sit arguing about nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!”

“Is he with you, Delphine? If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue.” Ulfric did not bother to hide his disdain for the old man, and his voice dripped with disgust.

The Blade’s response was sharp. “He is with me. And I advise you both to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash.” Her companion resumed his speech after her reprimand:

“Don't you understand the danger? Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?”

“A very pretty speech, but what does it have to do with-”

Ulfric cut off the elf he abhorred so much. “Shut up. If he's right about Alduin... we both have just as much to lose here, Tullius, remember that.”

“I don't know about the end of the world, but this dragon situation has gotten out of hand. If this truce will help the Dragonborn here put an end to that menace, we both gain.” The general seemed skeptical, but as an outsider who was willing to negotiate, his inability to accept the magnitude of Skyrim’s prophecies might be overlooked. This time, at least. Einarth suspected that the man did not care much for the province he had been sent to deal with. It was a worrying thought. He put it aside however, in order to observe the talks. There would be plenty of time to consider the implications of this treaty later...

The rest of the meeting progressed without serious incident. Arngeir was eventually able to lay out the terms of the treaty, and though both sides could not resist taking a final jab, it was ratified and the endeavor concluded. It was hardly surprising when both parties had stated that this was only a temporary agreement, but at least they had been open about their intent for once. Einarth wondered just how long she could put off becoming further enmeshed in the war. After everything that had transpired this day, she could not possibly avoid it indefinitely. For now at least, the participants parted on civil terms. Ulfric had even granted the Dragonborn the barest acknowledgement of her fairness as he departed the room.

Not everyone was pleased with the outcome however. The elf had remained impassive, and Elisif had seemed satisfied, but Balgruuf minced no words, “Giving up Markarth was a heavy price for this truce, Dragonborn. I hope it was worth it.” The Dragonborn held his gaze, and the Jarl seemed to accept the resolve in her stance.

Einarth saw the girl take a moment to lean back and sigh. It was a pleasant surprise, to see the Imperial soldier who had grumbled at Ulfric lean over and give her a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. "I hope this truce gives you what you need. It won't last." The Dragonborn turned to the woman, and they shared a grim smile. Perhaps the Legionnaire was not as disagreeable as he’d first thought.

Arngeir quickly turned the remaining company to the task for which this peace was arranged. “Jarl Balgruuf, I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn’s plan?”

“Yes. I am ready to do my part. Just say the word, and my men will help you spring this trap.”

“But the difficulty remains: how to lure a dragon to Dragonsreach at all?”

Salient point or no, Einarth cared not. Just how poorly did Arngeir regard the Dragonborn for him to put her on the spot like this? Especially when he knew the girl had thrown all her energies into convincing these people to even be in the same room at all!

“Well, that’s an excellent question! You haven’t overlooked that little detail, have you?” There was a dangerous edge in the general’s voice. The Imperial delegation’s collective eyes bored into the girl, and Einarth found rage quickly replacing the shocked stupor that the carelessness--or was it callousness?--that his peer’s words had induced in him. What was he thinking?! If he discredited the girl now, the Dragonborn could be reduced to little more than a laughing stock at best. Who would listen to her then? What help would they allow her to provide? Would she be marked as irredeemably undependable? Would they use and sacrifice the girl in a misguided sense of self-preservation? And what of the treaty? Would it fall apart, aborted as it were, by the actions of the Greybeards?

It was the male Blade who came to the girl’s rescue:
“I believe I can be of help here.”

Something in Einarth seized, and he prayed that the man would be able to sway the gathering again.

“I anticipated the problem. While you were arranging the meeting, I was busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore… but the important thing is that the Blades recorded many of the names of the dragons they slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine’s map of dragon burial sites, I believe I’ve identified one of the dragons that Alduin has raised up.”

The Dragonborn quickly jumped upon the information, and a plan was formulated soon after. The panic that had begun to build in the Greybeard subsided, and Einarth marveled at the irony present in the day’s events. Peace had been upheld- rescued even! - by the actions of the Blades, agents of violence, and not the Greybeards, who maintained lives of peace... It was a humbling revelation, and though he detested their ways, the elder accepted it without malice. Thank the divines that the girl had sought their counsel. Or rather, the wisdom that one of the Blades possessed. Einarth had an inkling of whose idea it was to kill the grandmaster. Indeed, no sooner had the Dragonborn solidified plans to capture the dragon called “Odahviing,” the woman approached her to press her point again. He was proud to see that the girl held firm, even when Delphine had called her ungrateful. But it was worth noting perhaps, that the Blade was not truly angry. Mutual disappointment seemed to be what connected them now, and the Greybeard wondered how much the loss of their companionship hurt the child. The Dragonborn thanked them and bade them farewell, and Einarth himself nodded at their uncertain glance in his direction.

As the last of the Imperial party began the journey down the seven thousand steps, the Greybeard wondered where the Stormcloaks had gone. They had not seen footsteps heading back to the small village below when they had opened the front doors. Einarth shared a look with Arngeir, and at his nod, began to search the halls for the former student and his second. He had not thought that he would ever find himself trying to find the boy hiding yet again in the cold halls of High Hrothgar. A small smile tinged with sorrow surfaced, as the old man thought back on better days.

Such a shame, really. The boy had shown so much promise. That the one Arngeir had chosen would turn into the man he did was distressing to say the least. Perhaps they should have seen the possibility, but who could rightly say? Ulfric had always been strong, stubborn, and always searching for more. What it was exactly the boy had been seeking, he could not be certain. But whatever it was he set off to do, whatever it was he set out to be… None of that had happened. He could hardly believe what he saw today.

He tried to think of when their old student had been spiteful or petty, and found nothing. Even the anger he saw today was nothing like the anger the boy had had when he had been frustrated with some teaching or other. It was nothing like the anger born of a sense of honor and duty he had seen when the boy rejected their admonitions of peace to fight in the Great War. There had even been compassion, a trait that had been notably missing when he had attacked the woman he widowed, and the girl who tried to bring peace in Skyrim, however brief it might prove to be.

They way of the warrior had surely destroyed the best of him. But even the Blade that the girl had looked up to had found peace and wisdom. And there were many great men who possessed both valor and charity. What could have possibly happened differently for the boy? Perhaps the world had been too hard for someone so bright and hopeful. But if so, how was it that his honor permitted his current behavior? What could have so warped his view of the world that he could not see blessings for what they were?

Voices. There were voices in the courtyard, and though his feet carried him to the door, Einarth stopped when he saw the former protege and the initiate standing side by side.

“I’ve never cared for the cold,” the girl began, “but the view is worth it.”

Ulfric scoffed, “Nords are not bothered by such things.”

“I don’t have your natural resilience,” she returned. “Doesn’t that mean I could love this more than a Nord, since I risk more to be here?”

He visibly stiffened. “Are you saying that foreigners have more right to Skyrim than Skyrim’s children?”

“No, that is NOT what I’m trying to say, and you know it.”

“I’m not certain I do, Dragonborn.” Ulfric said sardonically, “Would you be so gracious as to enlighten me?”

“You’re impossible,” the girl huffed. Einarth could not see Ulfric’s face, but the Greybeard didn’t need to in order to imagine the self-satisfied smirk he must have been wearing in response to the girl’s irritation. For all his charisma, is the boy as terrible with women as he is at diplomacy? Or is it just her? he thought dryly.

The girl took a breath before trying again. “I’m just trying to say that this is beautiful. And that I haven’t forgotten what you said.”

“And what was it that you believe I said?”

“You said you’d ‘retire from the world’ when fighting was no longer necessary. But could you really come back to this? Would you really want to?” She faced him directly this time, as though silently demanding an answer.

Ulfric barely turned his head to address her. “If you think I would turn down the chance to return to a life of peace and contemplation, you would be very much mistaken.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He was rather taken aback by the girl’s response. “You doubt my sincerity?”

“No, I doubt your perspective.” She looked at him rather pointedly when she said so.

“You think I do not see the oppression of Skyrim’s people for what it is?”

The girl sighed and turned back to the horizon. “That’s just it. You simply won’t let it be what it is.”

Now the Jarl was angry. “Is that why you do nothing? Why you do not care?”

“I hardly think hunting the World-Eater is ‘nothing.’” she said wryly. “And you cannot say that I don’t care: I’m still fighting, aren’t I? I’m still fighting, even though I‘ve already driven him from Tamriel. Sovngarde is not my afterlife, and it is not the souls of my heroes and kin he devours... but I’m putting and end to that, too.”

“That is your destiny as Dragonborn," he dismissed. "But what of Skyrim? What of the land that gave birth to and nurtured your legend? Do you feel nothing for her? For her people? Would you abandon her to the hands of an empire that allows her enemies to devour her soul?”

The Dragonborn was very quiet. It looked as though she wasn't going to answer until she finally spoke. “You’re a damned hypocrite, Ulfric. I’m fighting for Skyrim, but it isn’t your Skyrim. I can’t. You won’t let me.”

“Of course I would. Prove your worth and swear your loyalty to me, and I would gladly have you fighting by my side.”

“And why should I?” The force of her reply surprised the would-be king. “Why should I, when the Skyrim you envision is one that has no place for someone like me?”

“You are Dragonborn,” he replied. “Of course you belong to Skyrim.”

“Yes, the Dragonborn belongs to Skyrim,” the girl drawled. “But what about the person? Everywhere I go, it’s ‘Skyrim’s for the Nords!’ And I am not a Nord, in case you haven’t noticed.”

This is such a perceptive and well-written fill, and it jives so well with my headcanon (Arngeir and Ulfric being too similar to get along, notably) that it's almost eerie. Awesome look at both Ulfric and the Greybeards. Can't wait for more!

“Indeed you are not, but as the Dragonborn-”

“No.” This time, she was positively acerbic. “You do NOT get to make exceptions for me. Not when it’s to excuse the failings of my birth.”

Well, Einarth thought darkly, this couldn’t get any worse. The girl wasn’t wrong on the matter, but if that was how she felt, then it would seem that she had already determined her position in the war. He feared that if Elisif was named High Queen, there would have a puppet ruler who could not defend Skyrim. On the other hand, there were other worthy candidates, and if the Dragonborn supported them, there must be worthy individuals among the Legion. But that meant fighting Ulfric, and though his betrayal had cut deep, the old man still worried for the boy. He was too stubborn to surrender. He would probably embrace death all too easily. And there was Arngeir to consider: what would the man do if one of this students killed the other?

“He still loves you, you know.”

Both men stared at the Dragonborn upon her admission. Ulfric, clearly incredulous, warily questioned her, “What makes you think that? Did you not see what happened at the conference? He barely spoke to me at all.”

“And how could he, when you went in there with the spirit of battle?” she replied. The boy looked like he would have liked to respond, but he held his tongue, and the girl continued, “I can see why you’re his favorite. You’re everything that a Nord should be. If you were the Dragonborn, everything would have been so much simpler.”

This time, the boy did respond. “And I disobeyed the philosophy of the Graybeards. Surely, I could not be his ‘favorite’ as you said.”

“Does a father stop loving his son even when he believes he has lost him?” she countered. “I spend a lot of time training here, and every time he teaches me something new, I see the flashes of memories in his eyes. When I’m too passive, he disapproves. When I’m too enthusiastic, he mourns. When I leave he never sees me off. And when I return, he always determines the purpose of my visit before anything else.”

The girl tilted her head back so her face was upturned to the sky, and Einarth suspected that she was doing her best to withhold her tears.

“You tell me. Who else could he possibly be thinking of?”

I'm continuing it right now, actually! I can't say when the next part will be up, but don't worry, I haven't abandoned it! :D

I'm so glad you're enjoying this so far!

A!A apologizes for the ridiculous wait and gives another chapter as a peace offering! Things are sort of starting to flow better and I kind of have some sort of idea where this is going, so... yeah. Chapter two!

--

Vilkas cleared his throat again, and I was drawn back to the present.

"Well, first things first," I told Shay. "He needs a makeover."

She nodded, looking him over. Of course, finding clothes might prove to be an issue - Vilkas towered over me, and even though my clothing of choice was a comfy, unisex band tee, they probably wouldn't fit him (and like hell was I giving it a shot; I loved those shirts).

"He looks to be around your dad's height... Can you grab something of his?"

Shay had a good point, but the correct answer to her question was 'not if I want to live to see tomorrow'. Of course, it would be easier to explain that they had the same shirt than an armored, armed Nord, so I would have to ignore my survival instinct for the moment.

I ran upstairs to grab a tee and pants, leaving Vilkas in Shay's (probably) capable hands. It didn't take long to find some nondescript clothing and head back downstairs... Where I found Vilkas fighting off Shay as she tried to clean off his war paint with a wet washcloth.

"Jade," Shay complained, "he's being difficult. Told you we should've got Farkas."

To her credit, Shay was able to hold her ground against the bigger Nord, tiny though she may be (those long years of martial arts really paid off...). But he wasn't about to give up, either. And apparently wasn't above stooping to her level to keep his paint.

"Your witch friend created water in thin air."

And no indoor plumbing. This was going to be harder than I thought.

"It's just a faucet. She's not a witch." I sighed. "And these are for you, whenever you decide to stop fighting a teenage girl who's like a foot shorter than you are."

"Hey!" Shay complained, but Vilkas relented a bit then - not without pouting like a stubborn child, of course - and let her clean off his war paint.

I set the clothes on the counter and debated what to do with the armor. It was too bulky to keep out in the open - people would notice it for sure. I could probably get away with hiding it under the mass of clothing that covered the bottom of my closet (the rest of my family had long since decided that it would be better for their health to stay away from what might very well be a hazardous waste zone).

So I waited until Shay had finished and immediately shoved Vilkas back into the bathroom with the clothes and instructions for him to put them on. My mom would be home soon with my sister and the situation would be odd enough to explain as it was, ignoring all of the issues that would arise if I had to tell her that I not only had an older male friend over, but he was wearing armor out of the thirteenth century.

Oh, boy. This was going to be painful.

I was going to have to be gone by the time they got home if I wanted to avoid it, and that might not be a bad thing. There had to be some way to get Vilkas home, and chances were it wasn't in my backyard.

That would be pretty awesome, though. And I should check before we left, now that I thought about it.

Now I just had to convince Shay to agree to my plan. We could leave and seek out... Well, anyone. Someone had to know something about people falling through inter-dimensional rifts; it wasn't exactly normal.

I made a face at Shay because this was soon to be more trouble than it was worth as I ran back up the stairs and out the door, popping the trunk of my car with the keys in my pocket (okay, so maybe it wasn't technically my car, but seriously it might as well have been), and sticking Vilkas' armor in there. I dropped it in unceremoniously and hit a couple of buttons on my phone in an attempt to find out what I could about video game characters falling out of the sky spontaneously.

Unsurprisingly enough, there was precious little on the topic. What did exist seemed to be some sort of twisted fanfiction about an annoyingly self-centered girl named Jayde and her Skyrim obsession.

I sneezed and kept looking.

Almost done, so the rest of this story should be up in the next several days!

Have you started to write this story? fantastic, I love this and I love the idea of Vilkas to learn alchemy and magic! Oh please continue!

I was commenting two stories on Vilkas , and I was wrong to write a comment! Your story is absolutely fantastic! Poor, poor Vilkas! I can only imagine the huge frown on his face! I'm curious to know how hebreak the ice
deal with this new world and if your oc will help him! Look for yourself!

Ulfric and Thales are in my heart! I like what you want to do for the next chapter!

This is so amazingly well written, I cannot wait

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