The Great Hall of Dragonsreach wasn’t full, as it would often be at this time of day, with only a fraction of it’s usual guards and staff, and the long tables inhabited only by a bare handful of significant and influential people from the city itself and the greater Hold. In spite of that, some things were still the same. Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun, sat on his throne with his dutiful, ever-present huskarl Irileth standing to one side, his steward and brother to the other. Only one thing was missing from the usual panoply, and that would be his niece Lydia, who so often stood opposite her father at Irileth’s side. His niece, who had traveled to Riverwood to retrieve a number of very important guests. His niece, whom he knew was just moments from entering his palace.
His niece that he wanted safely back under his watchful eye
Balgruuf tried not to glower as Lydia finally appeared, the most significant of his Hold’s newest guests trailing along behind her dutifully, his cousin-by-marriage Elisif at the forefront as she ought to be. Not because of her, of course, regardless of the political compli cations her presence here might bring. She was family, after all, and even if that were not the case, she was a widow in mourning. Not to mention having recently escaped a dragon attack that had left an entire fortified town burning down around her ears and her huskarl -probably one of the few points of familiarity and stability the poor girl still had- dead amongst the ruins.
No, his ire was entirely due to his niece, at least in periphery. Irileth had, amongst other things, been more than happy to tell him in great detail about the interest with which Lydia seemed to regard this Constantine fellow. The sort of interest that she had never shown to any of the man and women who had tried to court her in the past, the sort of interest that made the man instantly suspect to the mind of a loving uncle.
And Jarl, of course.
Who knows what sort of dastardly plotting this stranger might hold, what cunning and clever intentions of ill repute he might have on his mind, what sordid manipulations he might deliver upon the unsuspecting heart of Lydia?
Oh, none of that was particularly fair, he knew. The man was by (almost) all accounts honorable and the sort of man that could be generally considered ‘good’, and he knew all too clearly that Irileth wouldn’t be treating the situation with such amusement and flippancy if it was something she thought they should be concerned about. She cared for Lydia just as deeply as he did, after all, in a way that was at the same time both motherly and sisterly. She would never play games or make jests about a situation if she thought Lydia actually stood to be hurt, in fact she would have been more likely to stab the man and be done with it.
It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d ‘warned’ someone away from Lydia, after all, even if this was the first time Lydia was actually interested.
But habits died hard, especially for a girl he oftentimes thought of as a daughter.
This meeting would prove a good way to take Constantine’s measure himself, however, and he leaned back in his throne as he sought the man ought towards the rear of the pack. His eyebrows rose, ever so slightly, as he took in the unusual (for an Imperial) height and bulk, the casual way he moved despite what he wore and carried, the way his eyes seemed to see everything in the hall without searching it blatantly. He was forced to agree with previous evaluations and statements: Constantine Valerius was no mere shopkeeper. Whatever he had done before, whatever service he had performed for the legion, he was not just a veteran soldier. He was something else, something much, much sharper. The sort of man that a king embroiled in a war would want at his table, if only to ensure that he remained within arm’s reach, and not in the service of some other Jarl or, gods forbid, his enemy.
Balgruuf could work with that. After a lifetime of leadership, war, and leadership in war, he was more than a little familiar with how to speak and act around and with such men. He was, after all, one of them.
“Elisif, cousin, be welcome in my hall, most welcome.” he greeted at last as they halted at the foot of his dais, rising from his throne and descending the stairs to embrace her warmly. An embrace she returned just as warmly, he was pleased to note. After a moment, they pulled back to arm’s length, and he examined her from head to toe, lips quirking. “Hmm. You look well, all things considered, though I’m not entirely sure what you’re wearing is what I would have expected.”
“Don’t be a beast, Balgruuf. The Valerii were very kind to lend me some riding clothes, I could hardly go riding down the mountainside and across the plains in a soot-stained dress, could I?” she scoffed, sounding much more like the young woman he had first met than the quiet queen he had last seen her as. It seemed she wasn’t trying to be the prim and proper courtly icon anymore, at least for the time being. Good. That sort of thing was never particularly suitable for Skyrim anyway, even in Solitude. Or perhaps especially in Solitude, given some of the other Queens that had once ruled there.
“This ensemble does seem a touch more sensible, aye, and more comfortable as well.” he chuckled in agreement, firmly pushing aside his worry over the ‘soot-stained dress’ and the implications therein. After all, she was safely here in front of him, so there was little point in being anxious over it. Moreover, she was about to help her eclectic group explain everything that had happened, so his questions would be answered soon enough as it was. Squeezing her arms gently, he stepped back and looked around at the group at large. “For now, introduce me to your companions?”
“Yes, of course. Though, I imagine Legate Rikke is known quite well to you already?” Elisif asked, even as she stepped aside to gesture the first woman forward, and Balgruuf -despite his neutrality and the headache said woman’s presence was guranteed to cause him- didn’t even try to restrain his broad smile as he offered his arm.
“You’d be right about that. It’s good to see you again, Kassandra. It’s been quite some time.” he greeted his old comrade warmly, a warmth she returned as she clasped his arm with her own tightly, her honey eyes bright with genuine pleasure.
“Yes it has. Only a handful of times since you and that hothead over there,” she tilted her head towards Hrongar, who snorted and muttered something equally unflattering under his breath in response, her grin growing as a result. “had to muster out. I was sorry to hear about your father, he was a good man. Was sorrier still to lose the two of you from the Legion, you were good soldiers and better officers.”
“It was a change, and that’s no lie. Raised to rule or not, the life of a soldier at war was a much simpler one than my life now. And that’s not including this latest insanity you’re all here to tell me about.” he sighed, gesturing in amusement and enjoying the chuckle he received as she stepped aside as well.
“Hadvar, who is an Optio in the Ninth Legion and a native of Riverwood. With him are, of course, Ralof of Riverwood and his sister Gerdur, your trovärdig. Ralof and Hadvar were both at Helgen when Al…when the dragon attacked, and I’m sure I don’t need to explain why Gerdur is present.” Elisif continued, and Balgruuf nodded in greeting, restraining a grimace as he recalled that Gerdur’s brother had joined the Stormcloaks, according to the rumors and reports that had come his way. That had to make things awkward, given how closely the trio stood together, but at the same time, the presence of Stormcloak supporters and members would make this a bit easier. If nothing else, it would not be so easy to dismiss the result of the Thing as a naive old soldier being mislead by his former comrades for nefarious, unpatriotic purposes.
“Yes, of course. Gerdur, we will need to speak on other matters once The Thing is over, understood?”
“Of course, my Jarl.”
And they moved out of the way, finally letting the trio that he was most interested in move forward.
“And, finally, let me introduce Camilla and Lucia Valerius and their kinsman, Constantine. They own the Riverwood Trader, gave me these clothes, and…”
“Saved your life. Constantine Valerius.” Balgruuf interrupted, stepping forward and gesturing for the man to do the same, which he did with barely a heartbeat of hesitation, even as Proventus stepped up at Balgruuf’s elbow holding a leather folder full of parchment. Raising his voice, Balgruuf continued. “You showed great wisdom in pointing out the potential risk to the people of Helgen, a feat that saved many hundreds lives, and great courage and honor in risking your life to save that of Elisif jarlskona, whom I count amongst my kin. Alas, for the former I cannot reward you, for Helgen lies in the lands of another jarl. But for the later? For the latter, I will see you richly rewarded when this Thing has concluded. For now, accept this paltry reward: the deed to a small farmstead just outside the city, and the right to sell your wares at a stall in the central marketplace as and when you see fit.”
“If you consider this a paltry reward, then I shudder to see what you plan for a rich one, my Jarl.” Constantine murmured as he accepted the folder with a bow, and Balgruuf couldn’t -and didn’t try to- restrain the bark of laughter that stirred in his chest as a result. “You have my gratitude, and that of my sisters as well, of course. Camilla, Lucia?”
“Ah! Yes.” Both girls stood up straight and curtsied instantly in unison, chorusing their own gratitude with the sort of rote ease that came from deeply ingrained training-born memories. It was, frankly, somewhat cute, the way they immediately looked to their kinsman for his approval. Which brought to mind…
“Elisif introduced you as their kinsman, but I was under the impression you were all siblings. You certainly have the appearance of siblings.” he asked, and Constantine made a gesture of moderation with his right hand.
“A distant cousin, actually, but a direct one, and one that has acted as their elder sibling since he found them in Skingrad. Not least by chasing off cads and wastrels that thought themselves worthy of my sweet girls. Or keeping my dear Cammy from running off into the mountains to fight bandits.” he explained, and Balgruuf laughed again alongside many other present at both his words and at the outraged noise Camilla made in response, her cheeks crimson and her eyes promising the sort of punishment only a sibling could deliver.
“Ah, I see. I can commiserate, if only to a certain degree. I’m afraid my niece has inherited more than a few traits from her father.” Balgruuf replied with a wink, finding himself oddly at ease with this young man, attempts to build rapport with him or not. Perhaps it had something to do with the flicker of kinship, born from their nature as comrades in the ancient and universal struggle of trying to keep headstrong, independent women away from the world’s abundant supply of trouble.
He’d likely pay for that later, he knew, he could feel the ice crawling up his spine from Lydia’s frosty, expressionless glare already, but it was both true and entirely what she deserved for being interested in this man to one degree or another. Gods knew Hrongar lacked any non-violent fatherly instincts.
Which wasn’t to say he was a bad father, or a distant and unloving one, but conversation and contemplation and evaluation of a stranger’s nature had never been strong points of his.
“Now, from what I gathered from Gerdur trovärdig’s letter and messenger, you have some depth of information to share with all of us. So let me introduce the men and women who have answered my call for a Thing, and then you can do exactly that.”
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She’d almost come out of her chair, dagger in hand, when she’d smelt him walk in, his rich and thickly-powerful scent utterly undisguised by the regular mortals he’d come in with. In fact, she would have come out of her chair if it wasn’t for Kodlak’s iron-firm grip landing on her shoulder. Something that , she could see, he was also having to do to her oldest friend on his other side, Skjor’s expression fierce with teeth half-bared.
“Sit down, both of you, and stay seated.” he’d rumbled lowly in warning, voice carrying to their ears and no further, and she exchanged incredulous looks with Skjor even as they obeyed.
“He’s a vampire, one that can move in broad daylight, and we’re not going to do anything?” she’d hissed incredulously, her fellow grunting in agreement, and Kodlak had huffed at her.
“Not all vampires are evil and deserving of death, any more than all werewolves are. We know nothing of this man’s nature, save for the fact that he has lived in Riverwood for some time without issue. And you can hardly argue that those he came with are enthralled, they are far to aware of themselves for that.” had come the rebuke, and a rebuke is exactly what it was, and she’d grimaced. Though he hadn’t say it, she’d been able to hear the unspoken words buried within, that she was thinking of this man the way that the Silver Hand thought of the shield-children of Ysgramor, and she was slightly shamed for it. But only slight, because Divines dammit, that was still a vampire in close proximity to two jarls, and -at least in her opinion- one dróttning.
He was a handsome fellow, she’d give him that, and didn’t look anything like the other vampires she’d ever met over the years. They were mostly pallid, crimson-eyed, with a facial structure that was sallow-cheeked and more bat-like than any normal person could possible be. He, on the other hand, was bronze-skinned, healthy, and his eyes -while most certainly not a normal human eye color, to be sure- were more beautiful than disturbing.
And he very much did not look like a beast.
Oddly enough, though, the look that he had given her when she had been introduced had been…almost surprised. Oh, he’d disguised it well enough, a regular person likely wouldn’t have noticed, but she’d seen the way his eyes widened, the way he’d examined her a second, more careful time. And, unlike most men and women that did something like that, it wasn’t purely from lustful interest either. It had looked strangely like recognition, which was odd, given the fact that she was positive she had never met him before. She certainly didn’t recognize his scent, at any rate, and it wasn’t the sort of scent that she would be able to forget either.
Whatever was the cause, though, things moved on quickly from there, and though she watched carefully, it didn’t happen again. The only recognition she saw from him was the same sort of vague recognition that would come from knowing the names and positions of important people in the Hold. Hardly anything special.
“…the introductions completed, if you could begin your explanations, master Valerius, starting from the point you deem relevant.” Balgruuf finished, sitting down at the head of the long table and getting comfortable as the vampire folded his hands behind his back.
“Of course, Balgruuf jarl. Setting aside my own past, and that of my sisters and how we came to be here, I suppose the story begins quite simply: when bandits broke into the family shop in an effort to steal our golden dragon claw. It is an ancient artifact, dating back to the Dragon War,” he owned something from Late Merethic Era! She would love to get a look at it… “and something of a family heirloom. Unfortunately for them, I’m something of a light sleeper,” she’d just bet, he was a damn vampire. “And confronted them. They didn’t survive, and I acquired the journal of the leader, which stated the rest of their group were hidden out in the temple-tomb of Bleak Falls Barrow. I decided to seek out Imperial help from Helgen in cleaning them out.”
“You were aware of my stance of neutrality on the war, were you not? And that calling Imperial soldiers into my Hold was not something even Gerdur would have had the authority to do?” Balgruuf asked, the questions clearly rhetorical and demanding he explain himself, and Valerius nodded with a distinct lack of concern, though he did not go so far as to be disrespectful.
“I know that, my Jarl, but it would have taken days to reach you, convince you of the danger, and return with sufficient forces. Outside of myself and a bare handful of others, Riverwood had no defenders until your assigned soldiers arrived with Lady Lydia. The likelihood that the bandits would attack before help could arrive was not-insignificant, and I would rather beg forgiveness for destroying a threat than watch Riverwood destroyed and it’s people pillaged.” he explained calmly, which seemed to make sense to most present, and with a way Balgruuf ushered him on. “I went to Helgen, hoping that they would lend me a dozen fresh recruits for the sake of mutual benefit. Dead bandits for us and Falkreath Hold, and some easily-garnered experience for the greenhorns. However, when I arrived, I instead discovered that Ulfric jarl had been captured and was awaiting execution. Naturally, no soldiers could possibly be spared under the circumstances, and indeed I didn’t even have the opportunity to ask.”
“Due to the dragon attack I imagine, yes. Gerdur’s letter said you believed the matters somewhat connected?”
“Yes, I’ll reach that shortly. At any rate, I expressed concern to Elisif jarlskona and Optio Hadvar that rebel forces might launch an attack on Helgen in attempt to free their leader, and that the civilians of Helgen would therefore be both in the way of any defensive efforts, and endangered because of it. Legate Rikke appeared to agree, and all but the heads-of-household were sent into the keep. It was when Ulfric was about to be executed that the dragon attacked.”
“Divine intervention for the sake of the righteous, praise Talos!” Avulstein Grey-Mane, present as his father’s heir, crowed, slamming a fist onto the table before him with a fierce grin, earning a mixture of approval and disdainful looks from the rest of the room, depending upon one’s loyalties.
“Hardly.” Valerius’ voice was cold, dismissive, as he denied the claim instantly. “Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact, but perhaps I shouldn’t hold your lack of knowledge against you.”
Avulstein spluttered in offense, clearly trying to decide whether he was more offended by the dismissal of his idea or the dismissal of his knowledge, but Valerius rolled over him mercilessly as he pulled two books and a long scroll out of a satchel, tossing the books onto the table -they landed with a very satisfying thud- and putting the scroll down far more gently.
“I trust you are all familiar, to a greater or lesser degree, with The Book of the Dragonborn.” the question was rhetorical, of course, not even really a question so much as a statement, but everyone murmured in acknowledgement all the same, heads all around. “Good, then I won’t waste time giving a rendition of it’s contents, save the part most relevant to our discussion. The very last page of the book, ‘The Prophecy of the Dragonborn’, reads as follows:
“When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world,
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped,
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles,
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls,
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding,
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.”
Everyone in the room, regardless of what side they were on or which gods they worshipped, felt a chill of icy glide down their spines at that. He didn’t let them linger on it, though, gave them only a handful of a moments -a minute at most- to absorb the words before he was moving on again.
“If you combine this with a certain stanza from the original dovahzul version of The Song of the Dragonborn, which says that Al-Du-In will return ‘when brothers wage war’, and things start to take a rather unfortunate image.” he picked up the scroll and unrolled it, revealing what seemed to be an Akaviri ink painting depicting a wall. She didn’t even try to resist the urge to shoot to her feet and look at it closer, those on the opposite side of the table circling around to see it better.
“This is…the Dragon War?” she said, fingers brushing over the left-most portion of the scroll, depicting dragons breathing fire onto armored figures and buildings. One particular beast caught her eye, a massive one that seemed to radiate malice and power even through this third-hand depiction, and she tapped it. “Alduin, I assume? The Death God?”
“Correct. The First Born of Akatosh, the World-Eater. The next section, here, shows the first three Tongues using the power of an Elder Scroll to cast Alduin out of their time, leaving him adrift in the river of time itself.” he gestured to the image of Alduin’s head amidst a swirling portal of some kind, obviously the magic of the Elder Scroll depicted as best as a mortal could manage. “That much isn’t part of the Dragonborn prophecy, but the rest of it is. You seem to be a student of history, so perhaps you can speak on the first line I recited?”
“Misrule could refer to any number of times, but this image…a staff broken into eight pieces? The only thing that makes sense to me is when Jagar Tharn usurped the throne using the Staff of Chaos, back in the Third Era. That’s…when was this Prophecy written?”
“During the reign of Reman II, 2812 of the First Era if I recall correctly. The Akaviri Dragonguard built a temple-fortress, east of Markarth, known as Sky Haven, and there they carved in stone the very same images you are seeing now. So yes, the thought crossing your mind is quite true. These events were predicted well over a thousand years before they happened.” he confirmed, sounding entirely to blase about the subject, and for an absurd moment she wondered if he was old enough to have been there, immortal as vampires were, before dismissing it. He was entirely too modern for that to be the case, so it was far more likely he had simply spent however long he’d been alive studying various histories. “The next is a bit obscure, but it refers to the activation of Numidium during The Warp in the West, in the Third Era. The next part, however…Huskarl Irileth, perhaps you could speak to it, hmm?”
“The Nerevarine casting down the False Gods of the Tribunal, and the Red Year that resulted when Red Mountain erupted and destroyed Vvardenfell. I, and in fact everyone in this room, are well aware of the next part as well. The symbol alone gives it away.” the dunmer growled, moving past the reference to her own people promptly and without hesitation.
“The Oblivion Crisis, the deaths of the last Septims, and the sacking of the Imperial City during The Great War.” Vignar Grey-Mane grunted, speaking for the first time since the Riverwood group had arrived, a dark scowl on his face as he drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m not oblivious or stupid enough that I can’t see where this is leading, boy. The second to last line refers to Torygg’s death, the civil war, and Skyrim, does it not? You’re saying that the Death God of old has returned, that he destroyed Helgen, and he did it because Ulfric killed the boy-king.”
“I’m saying that the last of the requirements for his return were fulfilled, and that Al-Du-In now flies the skies of Nirn once more. Which means that he will have to be stopped, if we don’t want him to reestablish his empire or, far more likely, simply wipe us all out and devour the world to begin the next kalpa.” Valerius responded, and this time she couldn’t resist the scoff or the headshake.
“He needs to be stopped, is it? Easier said then done, we’ve no notion of where the Last Dragonborn could possibly be, and less idea of how well they’d manage their destined fate! What would you have us do, send out heralds to every town and hamlet asking if a semi-divine prophesized hero has popped up in the last few days?”
“Amusing as that would be, no. The Divines have always sent a hero when the world needs it the most, and they’ve always been placed in a situation where their nature reveals itself. Inevitably, there will be another dragon attack, and more likely than not, the Dragonborn will be there. Given the proximity Whiterun holds to Helgen, and the fact that Al-Du-In flew this direction instead of deeper into Falkreath, I would expect it happen somewhere in this Hold. And soon, more likely than not. Everything I’ve ever read about dragons refers to their insatiable, inborn need for conquest and dominance.”
“Isn’t it possible that desire will have been sated at Helgen?” Elisif proposed softly from her place at the table, looking up at Constantine with an odd look on her face, and he waggled his head back and forth thoughtfully.
“Temporarily, maybe. It could buy us a week or two, but I’m not sure how much we could rely on that. The last thing that Al-Du-In experienced was, according to the history and the mythology, was having a fragment of his father’s power used by the same rebellious mortals that were busily burning his empire to the ground to throw him out of Mundus and strand him in time. While I can’t speak to the average, daily mindset of a dragon-god, I can imagine that he might be…displeased.” this mysterious, seemingly-well-educated and learned man responded, sounding less than sure of the idea but willing to feel some slender hope.
“Hmm. Then we need to start developing strategies to handle the matter. Legate Rikke, I’ll need to consul with you and yours on everything that you might consider useful in the slightest. I’ll not have my people being destroyed without a fight, regardless of whether the enemy is man or dragon-god.” Balgruuf grunted, stroking his beard. “Master Valerius, I must request that you lend a hand to my Court Mage, he has a few leads on where further information can be collected. Once that is settled, we will need to meet again. This is a subject that will require a great deal of thought, and even more conversation. For now, however, you have been riding all day and the hour is growing quite long. We’ll approach things again after everyone is well-rested and well-fed. You’re all dismissed, for the time being.”
There were murmurs of understanding and agreement, though more than a few looked like they felt as surprised as she felt by the abrupt end to the meeting, and she had to wonder if there was a reason for it, something that the rest of them didn’t know about. Did Balgruuf know something that the rest of them didn’t, was there another, unknown layer to this? Or was it simply, as he had said, getting late and he was trying to show a certain degree of gentleness for people who’d been in the saddle for hours on end?
She didn’t know, but she couldn’t deny that she was curious.
And she couldn’t deny that she wanted to know what else Constantine Valerius might know either.
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Balgruuf knew that he’d been abrupt, almost rude, when he’d shut down the meeting -not yet the full Thing, though the Valerii likely didn’t know it- as quickly and as suddenly as he had, but he’d had little choice. For the first thing, and quite truthfully, there had been the fact that every one of the travelers had been quite obviously exhausted and extremely hungry. They’d soldiered on, of course, but none of them -save, perhaps, Constantine and Rikke- had been remotely approaching their best, and even Rikke had been looking a bit ragged around the edges. So it was hardly unreasonable for him to bring proceedings to a halt and let them get the food and rest that they so desperatly needed.
But the other reason was the far more prominent and important one, and that was that he was feeling somewhat overwhelmed.
Not a feeling he was used to, after everything that he’d dealt with through his life, but the way that Constantine had laid out the information he had, the way that he had relentlessly rolled on, implacably informing all of them just how utterly fucked he thought they all were…well, the feeling certainly seemed to suit the circumstances.
So he needed to consult. He needed to speak with his most trusted advisors, he needed to speak with his family, he needed to speak with Irileth and he needed to speak with the gods. The first could wait until the earliest hours of the morning, he had no doubt those self-same advisors were busy consulting with each other and acclimating the knowledge that they had been given. Divines knew that he was particularly looking forward to advice from Kodlak. The old Harbinger had seen things even Balgruuf couldn’t imagine, and the lore held by Jorrvaskr was ancient in a way nothing else in Skyrim could compare to. Oblivion’s Planes, Ysgramor had lived in the time before the Dragon War himself, surely his Companions had lessons and knowledge that had been passed down from those that had lived during the age of the Dragon Cult!
No, now wasn’t the time for advisors, it was the time for family, Elisif included. Between the three of them, Irileth, Lydia, and Elisif would be able to give him a great well-spring of information about Constantine and how highly he should regard the man’s words, though he was afraid that he already knew the answer. Oh, it was possible that he was a charlatan, that he had faked that Akaviri scroll and much of the knowledge that it had contained, but he’d read the very same Prophecy Constantine had recited during the days of his youth, in High Hrothgar. He’d read it, and with the benefit of hindsight, it was starkly, unreservedly accurate to the current day.
“Uncle, you seem distressed.” Lydia’s soft voice drew him from his thoughts as a gentle hand landed on his forearm, and he smiled at her even as he placed one of his own over it and squeeze just as gently. He marveled, sometimes, at the fact that this radiant, calm, clever young woman had come from his brother’s loins. Hrongar was a good man, loyal and fierce and strong and devout, but he was also the epitome of (nearly) every negative stereotype the rest of the world had about the Nordic peoples. Not his daughter, though. Nor was she anything like his own children, spoilt brats that they were, and not for the first time he wondered at how it had come to be this way, that his niece was the person who showed him the most non-romantic affection in his life, and so dutifully and lovingly supported and aided him. And to think, the stupid, unworthy boys that had so often swaggered into his hall seeking to steal her away had the foolish, maddening audacity to call her ‘cold-hearted’, or worse! If they couldn’t earn her affection, they didn’t deserve the slimmest shred of warmth, and if they couldn’t recognize that warmth for what it was when it did appear, they didn’t deserve her love. “Uncle?”
Ah, he had drifted off into his thoughts again. She was sounding downright worried, now, and he squeezed her hand again.
“I’m fine, my dear, simply thinking about what your clever friend has told us all. When we reach my chambers, I want you to tell me everything you can about him, do you understand?” he reassured her, and she frowned faintly at him -she didn’t believe him entirely, of course, because she wasn’t an idiot- but nodded dutifully all the same.
The moment they were safely inside his rooms, and the enjoyable but somewhat perfunctory demurring of Elisif’s praise of his library and artifact collection was completed, she started talking.
She told them about meeting Constantine, about how immediately obvious it had been to her that he was not faking her familiarity with his armor and weapon, his experience with warhorses and long journeys. His cryptic yet, they could all admit, blatantly true statement that he hadn’t always been a shopkeeper. Something they knew was fact, each and every one of them, and Lydia admitted that the way he had said it, she almost felt as if he was instead saying that he hadn’t always been a simple soldier, either. A fact reinforced by the way he had immediately called her out on her feigned surprise -his hands tightened imperceptibly as she mentioned quite casually the complimentary epithet he had addressed her with-, before she moved on to touch briefly on their discussion about Hod and Gerdur. Most prominently, she noted the deep respect he had to seem for Balgruuf and the apparent understanding he had for his jarl’s moral compass.
That was…honestly quite flattering. Even if the young Imperial had been trying to flatter him to his niece for the sake of influence -which Elisif had immediately interject to protest against the very idea of-, he had spoken quite articulately in doing so. Few people put as much thought into ass-kissing as Constantine would, if his words really were hollow.
Then she’d gotten into the ‘brass tacks’ of the matter, and Balgruuf had felt the air in the room change, the pressure and temperature and the strange tingling he recognized all to well, as Lydia had calmly laid out his arguments and explanations for the convergence of events he believed was taking place, and those that had happened in the past. Things that Balgruuf hadn’t known about, or known only in the most vague of circumstances, but likewise things that the likes of Irileth were able to confirm for him. He did note, with interest and approval, that Elisif seemed neither distressed nor offended that Constantine considered the Thalmor a threat-factor to the current ‘convergence of crises’, and might -dare he say it?- agree on some level.
Then again, he’d long known that Elisif wasn’t stupid, she might well have been the smarter and more worldly of the two between Torygg and herself, so perhaps it was no surprise that she was just as contemptuous of the oppressive little fucks as he was. Simply less blatant about it, which was very reasonable under the circumstances, than that narrow-minded and short-sighted idiot in Eastmarch.
Elisif’s own explanation, and Irileth’s, had been longer and shorter, respectively, and he almost smiled at the way his niece frowned faintly at the beautiful Queen of Solitude as she waxed eloquent on the virtuous of Constantine Valerious. Inexperienced as his niece was in the matters of the heart, she clearly wasn’t familiar with jealousy, nor particularly good at dealing with it. Then he almost immediately was restraining a frown, because dammit this was his niece, that was his cousin-by-marriage, who was a widow in mourning, and unless he’d entirely lost his touch the boy had caught the eye of The Huntress as well. Though that, at least, might blow over. The scholar-Companion was well-known for loving all things ancient and dusty and historical, perhaps even more than she was known for the bloodthirsty ruthlessness in battle and utterly lethal marksmanship that made her a Companion of Ysgramor rather than a member of the College.
Three hours later, well into the darkest hours of the night, as he slipped between the spread thighs of his lover and slowly pushed himself into her warm and wet depths, the last ‘respectable’ thought on his mind was an exasperated one.
Love triangles, my niece’s first crush, a civil war, and a dragon death-god all on top of it! Please, Divines, let this be all of it! I don’t think I can handle any more than this!