4E 202, Ivarstead
Esbern
"So that is the Throat of the World. It certainly is more imposing when you see it from up close."
Their newest companion, Mjoll the Lioness, said with awe as they rode alongside Jarl Laila's retinue. Aerin, her partner and ever faithful, followed her gaze toward the looming peak, his expression thoughtful rather than reverent.
Esbern smiled faintly. Few sights could inspire such awe, even in an age scarred by dragons and Daedra.
"Aye," he said. "It has loomed over Skyrim since time before memory. A mountain not just of stone, but of legend, where many great events of history took place. I would say even the Divines themselves carved it as a marker, so that man might always remember his smallness before the world."
Mjoll hummed in thought, though her warrior's eyes gleamed with the same fire Esbern once saw in recruits long ago, men and women who sought more than their own survival, who lived for a cause greater than themselves.
It was that very fire that had compelled her to join them.
When Jarl Laila Law-Giver had approached, requesting that the Blades serve as her escort to High Hrothgar, Delphine had accepted swiftly. They hadn't known a summit of Jarls and leaders was planned, but once they heard of it, they knew they needed to attend.
When Jarl Laila claimed that the Dragonborn and Dragonslayer themselves would be present, it only affirmed their next destination.
It seemed as though fate had carved their path. They were just about to leave for the College when Jarl Laila came into the Smoked Mammoth Inn looking for them.
Just as they left Shor's Stone the next day, they were intercepted by Mjoll and Aerin at the gates of the town. The two had heard of who Esbern and Delphine really were and the order that they represented. Mjoll stated that she had an interest in joining them.
From what Esbern had seen, Mjoll was the type of warrior who would always fight injustice whenever she could find it. With the destruction of Riften, her previous task of combating the corruption of the city disappeared.
Shor's Stone was more than capable of defending themselves, so she wasn't needed there either.
She was seeking a new path in life, a new purpose to serve. And here was a reborn order not of thieves or killers, but guardians, protectors, dragon-slayers. It was a cause that called to her heart.
The Blades actions in helping the children of Honorhall Orphanage had affirmed both Mjoll and Aerin that they were a force of good and more than worthy in joining
Delphine, cautious though she always was, hadn't hesitated. Mjoll's reputation as a warrior was ironclad, and Aerin, while no great fighter or mage, was deadly with a bow and carried a keen mind. Both would be valuable additions.
Esbern found himself quietly grateful. The Blades had been dwindling, shadows of their former selves. Yet slowly, steadily, they were growing in strength once more.
"The Throat of the World can be seen no matter where one stands in Skyrim," Esbern said, half to himself. "With sharp eyes, it is a landmark unchanging. Even in Riften, when the sun sets, its shadow swallows the land whole. That permanence is… comforting, in a way."
"Wahaha!" Fultheim barked, interrupting the moment as he jostled his saddle and pulled out a skin of mead. "Comforting, he says! Tell me, old man, what do you think the Greybeards are like, eh? Aren't they supposed to be as old as dirt? Do they crumble if you sneeze on 'em?"
Aerin bristled immediately. "Show some respect, Fultheim! The Greybeards are holy men. An order of monks who have existed since the First Era!"
"Tch. Yeah, yeah. My bad," Fultheim muttered, clearly not meaning it, though he tucked the mead away with a sheepish shrug.
"Everyone be quiet and focus." Delphine's serious voice cut over the banter. "We've arrived."
And indeed, as their party crested the final rise, Ivarstead revealed itself below. The first thing Esbern noticed were the numerous banners around, depicting the coats of each of the nine holds with two key exceptions. The Rift and the Pale.
That quickly changed when Laila's own standard-bearer hoisted the symbol of the Rift high, and Esbern did not miss the way many eyes turned, some in pity, some in hardened acknowledgment. The Rift was broken but not gone, its Jarl still riding among them. That meant something.
But Dawnstar, the Pale, was another matter.
Everyone knew that the Rift and the Pale were two of the Holds that had fallen. Esbern remembered hearing it in the Smoked Mammoth Inn from a couple of travelers who had returned from there.
Dawnstar's fall was quieter than Riften's because according to the travelers, the city had not fallen in battle, but to slumber. Every last citizen, from Jarl to babe, none were spared.
There were rumors that the people of Dawnstar often had nightmares, but it seems whoever the cause of it had changed tactics and opted to just put the entirety of the city to sleep.
What had everyone worried was the sheer power behind the obviously magical phenomenon. Thirty thousand souls lived in the city of Dawnstar, and all of them were silenced in an instant.
The Vigilants had cordoned the city, fearful of what lingered within. Even the Khajiit caravan, upon entering the outskirts, had collapsed mid-step, claimed by the unseen affliction. The effect endured, as though the city itself had been cursed.
Esbern's jaw tightened beneath his hood. Few beings could wield such power, perhaps a Daedric Prince, or some long-slumbering horror. Whatever it was, it would be spoken of at the Peace Summit. Skyrim was not beset by one enemy, but by many.
It only made Esbern realize that the Peace Summit wasn't just to handle the threat of the Dragons, but to handle all of the threats in Skyrim.
And yet… in that, he saw a kind of hope. Because in every era, when the darkness grew, heroes arose. They always had. They always would.
It was a dying province, but the one thing Nords always do is to never take death lying down. Whenever a proper nord warrior falls, they always take at least one of their enemies down with them.
The group began its descent into the crowded town. Soldiers and Jarls, warlords and emissaries. Skyrim's fate was gathering here.
It was a place of opportunity to learn of all the problems that beset the province. A chance that Esbern would take to listen and learn about. After all, they had heard that Kiera Fendalyn was also a Vigilant. The Daedra was her enemy. And as servants and protectors of the Dragonborn, her enemies were their enemies.
…
4E 202, Ten Thousand Steps to High Hrothgar
Legate Rikke
The Ten Thousand Steps to High Hrothgar wound upward like a great scar carved into the mountain, forcing Jarls, generals, mages, and monarchs alike to march shoulder to shoulder.
Rikke kept her pace half a stride behind Jarl Elisif and the Emperor, watchful as always. To the untrained eye she looked calm, but her hand never strayed far from her sword hilt. This was the highest concentration of power in Skyrim gathered in one place in centuries, opportunity enough for diplomacy or for disaster.
It was why each Jarl was allowed two personal guards to accompany them, leaving the rest of their retinues back in Ivarstead. Elisif herself had Rikke and Sybille Stentor, while the Emperor chose General Tullius as well as Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus.
Their party had arrived in Ivarstead just days ago, and the climb to High Hrothgar began.
She cast her eye across the procession. Each jarl was easy enough to pick out, even swathed in cloaks against the biting wind. Laila Law-Giver of Riften, walking with a quiet dignity despite the shadow of her hold's ruin. Igmund of Markarth, the only one among them armored in full dwemer plate. Idgrod Ravencrone, the oldest of the jarls leaning on her staff. Siddgeir of Falkreath, young and smug, though Rikke wondered how long his pride would last among such company.
And then, of course, Ulfric Stormcloak.
Even here, amid the thin air and biting wind, he carried himself like a man with something to prove. His storm-gray eyes lingered often on Titus Mede II, narrowing when they thought no one noticed. Rikke noticed. She always did.
The Emperor's presence had certainly surprised the surrounding Jarls. Rikke had to give it to the Penitus Oculatus, it was a magnificent feat in hiding the arrival of the Emperor to Skyrim. When Titus Mede had emerged in Ivarstead days ago, the look on Ulfric's face had been worth a hundred victories, shock barely masked behind his warrior's bearing.
The Penitus Oculatus were oft called the Spectres of the Empire, and they sure lived up to their name. To hide the Emperor's movements through a war-torn Skyrim? It was a feat of brilliance, and a reminder to friend and foe alike that the Empire's reach was not so weak as it appeared.
But if the Jarls had been surprised, none more so than Ulfric. Titus Mede II was the man that everyone had fought for during the Great War, the man who had earned the people's respect.
Much of that respect had waned in recent years, none more so in Skyrim.
It was a debate that had been on everyone's lips the moment that the Civil War started. Was Ulfric truly right in his rebellion? What kickstarted it in the first place? Was it the Markarth Incident? The Talos ban? The so-called murder of High King Torygg? Or were the embers fanned way back during the signing of the White-Gold Concordant?
Whatever the reason was, everything will be discussed in the coming summit, one that Rikke is very much looking forward to.
She had seen herself the threats that are plaguing Skyrim. And not only that, she had also seen first hand the power wielded by the Dragonborn, Kiera Fendalyn. If such a figure was the one leading the coming conflict, then perhaps they had a chance of surviving after all.
"This must be familiar to you, eh Ulfric?" Balgruuf the Greater spoke to the Jarl of Windhelm. He was the one man who had enough authority and gall to remain neutral in the war that spanned the entire province. A man worthy of his station, that was for sure.
Balgruuf was accompanied by his housecarl, the Dunmer Irileth, as well as Vilkas, a member of the companions.
It was odd to see a member of the Companions here, though Rikke surmised that they would want a voice and a representative of their own in the coming talks, considering the circumstances.
Ulfric's reply was measured, though Rikke could hear the pride in it. "Aye. I was but a lad the first time I climbed these steps. Knew nothing of the world then. The Greybeards taught me much… and for that, I am grateful. It will be good to see Master Arngeir again."
Balgruuf nodded at the answer. The two of them were probably the only ones making conversation. Even the Emperor was content in walking in silence. Everyone here knew the seriousness of the coming meeting, and nerves were obvious all around.
Rikke's eyes flicked past them, up toward the higher stretches of the path. The Ten Thousand Steps was certainly appropriate for its name. Not just anyone could make this journey. Rikke surmised this must be a test of some sort enacted by the Dragonborn and the Greybeards.
If the Jarls were truly serious about fighting for peace, then they could prove it by doing it themselves.
Further back in the procession, she noted Savos Aren, the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, striding with surprising endurance for a man of his years.
The Thalmor's brazen attack on his College had already spread, and it shook Skyrim deeply. It had shaken Rikke, too. The Dominion claimed dominion over the Empire, and yet they had struck at one of its great institutions as if it were nothing.
What emboldened them so? Especially during the height of the Civil War where anything could tip the flames of war.
When Elisif and Tullius heard of it, they had sent summons to the Thalmor Embassy for Elenwen to answer, but they had heard nothing from the Thalmor Ambassador as of yet.
It was certainly odd. News of this peace summit was no secret, but the Thalmor had remained silent on the matter. It was very much out of character for them to not want to participate. It made Rikke suspicious.
She caught General Tullius' eye briefly, walking just behind the Emperor. His face was a mask of stone, but Rikke had fought alongside him long enough to recognize the tension in his stride. Even he, the unshakable Legionnaire, was wary of what was to come.
The climb dragged on, the silence broken only by the crunch of boots, the howl of mountain wind, and the occasional cough of Jarl Igmund adjusting to the thinning air.
Rikke allowed herself a single, quiet thought as they ascended ever higher toward High Hrothgar's gates. All she hopes for is that the coming meeting would be the betterment of all of Skyrim.
…
AN: And the climb has begun. All the Jarls, the Emperor, the 'good' factions that have allied with Kiera and Gerron are finally here.
Thus the beginning of the Peace Summit. The next chapter shall start it all.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 65 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!