The chill wind of Dawnstar whipped at the banners atop the newly fortified keep. Inside the keep, Ibnor stood before a large map of Skyrim, his brow furrowed in concentration. Harin entered, her red hair a vibrant splash of color against the stone walls.
"I've been hearing rumors," she began, her emerald eyes sharp. "About Tullius and Rikke. Are they prisoners?"
Ibnor turned, his gaze steady.
"They are under my protection, Harin. Not prisoners, but… guests. Their movements are restricted, though."
He gestured towards a door leading to a separate wing of the keep.
"They have comfortable quarters, befitting their rank. They are treated with respect, allowed to roam within designated areas. They are guarded by the King's Blade, not to imprison them, but to ensure their safety and… our security."
"And what, exactly, is this 'safety' you speak of?" Harin raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical.
"Their dignity," Ibnor replied, his voice firm. "They are valuable assets, not trophies. Humiliating them would breed resentment, not loyalty. We need their knowledge, their experience. And, if possible, their trust."
He paused, then added.
"They are allowed to do anything, just like our regular citizens. Within reason, of course. Their movements are monitored, their conversations… noted."
At that moment, the door opened, and Tullius and Rikke entered. They were dressed in clean, if simple, clothing, and their expressions were a mix of caution and curiosity. Two King's Blade guards stood silently behind them.
"General Tullius, Legate Rikke," Ibnor said, his voice formal. "I trust your quarters are satisfactory?"
Tullius, his gaze sharp, nodded.
"Adequate, considering the circumstances. But we are not fools, Ibnor. We understand our situation."
"We are grateful for the… respect. But we are soldiers and are well versed in tactics. We are aware that there are intentions behind these… treatment. We believe that you are an honorable warrior so spare us all of this mind games and be truthful, what is it that you want from us." Rikke, her expression more guarded, added.
Ibnor smiled faintly.
"Of course, there is no such thing as free lunch, and there is indeed something I wanted from both of you.
Tullius and Rikke turned serious.
"All I want from you is to experience how life in Dawnstar is. I want you to open your eyes, your heart and your mind. See, feel and think for yourself before you judge me like you did before. I have a vision, and I wanted everyone here to see it too." Ibnor begins.
"And after if you see it, no matter where you go after this, you will carry my vision with you. Then, the whole world… urgh!"
Ibnor couldn't finish his grand speech as Harin fingers snaked their way to his waist.
"What?" He turned to Harin, perplexed.
"Stop it! You make it sound like you're in a cult!" Harin hissed, her ears went red.
"Nonsense! They will surely und…" again, the words trailed off when he turned back to Tullius and Rikke.
Tullius and Rikke were trying hard to be stoic. But the twitch on their brows and the corner of their mouth gave them away.
"Argh! This is embarrassing!" Harin spat and stomped away to the table.
Tullius cleared his throat, his expression carefully neutral.
"Your… vision, Ibnor. What, precisely, does it entail?"
Ibnor, still slightly flustered from Harin's outburst, straightened his shoulders.
"A unified Skyrim. A land where Nords, Imperials, and even those who have been… misled, can coexist. A land strong enough to withstand any threat, be it the Thalmor, or worse."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room.
"A land where we are not defined by our past, but by our future."
"Lofty ideals, Ibnor. But ideals do not win battles. Nor do they feed hungry mouths." Rikke, her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow.
"They can," Ibnor countered, his voice firm. "If we have the will to make them real. Dawnstar is a testament to that. We have rebuilt, fortified, and prospered, even in the midst of war. And we have done it together."
He gestured towards the map.
"Look at Skyrim. Divided, we are weak. Prey for the Thalmor, or any other who would seek to exploit us. United, we are a force to be reckoned with. A nation that can forge its own destiny."
A tense silence filled the room. Tullius and Rikke exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable.
Harin, who had been silently observing the exchange, stepped forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"So, basically, you want to start a cult of personality?"
"No! That's not… argh, never mind." Ibnor groaned, burying his face in his hands.
He looked up at Tullius and Rikke, his expression pleading.
"Just… spend some time in Dawnstar. See for yourselves. Then, you can decide if I'm a messianic leader, or just a man with a plan."
Rikke, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes, nodded slowly.
"Very well, Ibnor. We will observe. And we will judge accordingly."
"But do not mistake our observation for acquiescence. We are soldiers, not converts." Tullius, his expression still carefully neutral, added.
"I wouldn't have it any other way." Ibnor smiled faintly.
The Stone Quarter of Windhelm, usually bustling with activity, was subdued. The recent victory in Solitude hung heavy in the air, a mix of triumph and unease. Ulfric Stormcloak, his face etched with weariness, stood before the war map in the Palace of the Kings. Galmar Stone-Fist, his loyal second, stood beside him.
"Messengers have been sent to Markarth and Solitude," Galmar reported, his voice gruff. "They carry your proclamation, Jarl. Or should I say, High King?"
"Titles are meaningless without true power. We must solidify our hold on these cities. Ensure the garrisons are loyal, the Jarls… cooperative." Ulfric waved a hand dismissively.
He traced a finger along the map, his gaze lingering on the border with Eastmarch.
"And Ibnor. We must address this… complication. His swift rise is unsettling. He has split our forces, Galmar," Ulfric said, his voice low, tracing the lines on the map.
"Markarth and Solitude, far to the west. Windhelm and Riften, here in the east. It's… too clean. Too convenient."
"He gave us Riften with barely a fight. And Solitude… he withdrew, left it ripe for the taking. Almost as if he wanted us to have them." Galmar grunted, his gaze following Ulfric's finger.
"That's what troubles me. He's not a fool. He understands the strategic value of these cities. Why would he relinquish them so easily?" Ulfric nodded, his brow furrowed.
"He's consolidating his power in Dawnstar. Building his forces. Fortifying his position. But why?" He tapped a finger on the map, near the border with Eastmarch.
"A dangerous game," Galmar muttered. "He's playing with fire."
"Or he knows something we don't," Ulfric countered, his voice grim. "He's unpredictable, Galmar. He doesn't follow the usual rules. He's not like the Imperials, or the Thalmor. He operates on his own terms."
He paused, his gaze hardening.
"We need to understand him. We need to know his intentions. Why did he give us those cities? What is he planning?"
"We'll send scouts. Try to gather information." Galmar nodded, feeling confident.
"No," Ulfric said, his voice sharp. "Too risky. Didn't you see during the battle of solitude? He had forces that were hidden in the shadows. Our scouts are no match for such experts. We need alternatives. A third party. Those who can move unseen, unheard."
"There's another option. The Thieves Guild, perhaps?" Galmar asked.
"I am aware of them. Word is, they have been rising in recent years. Are you suggesting…"
"They are skilled in the shadows, and they will do anything for coins. We can hire them to find out everything they can about Ibnor, his forces, and his plans. And send word to the holds. We need to reinforce our garrisons, particularly in Riften and Solitude. We cannot afford to be caught off guard." Galmar suggested.
"Alright, do so," Ulfric said, his voice hard. "But keep it under the table. Not a word to anyone."
"By your order, High King." Galmar saluted and turned to leave.
In Dawnstar...
Ibnor sat upon a newly crafted throne, its simple design reflecting his pragmatic nature. Illia and Brina, his stewards, stood nearby, their expressions attentive. The doors to the hall opened, and a richly dressed Imperial messenger entered, his armor polished and his demeanor radiating an air of superiority. He surveyed the hall, his gaze lingering with a hint of disdain on the rough-hewn walls and the stoic guards.
"King Ibnor," Quintus Varius began, his voice a carefully modulated baritone, laced with the practiced cadence of Imperial court.
"A pleasure, though perhaps an… unexpected one, to find such a… refined intellect in this… northern outpost." He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entire hall. "One expects… less, shall we say, in these wilder regions."
"Indeed, Quintus Varius. One also expects… more, perhaps, in an emissary of the Emperor. A less… provincial air, shall we say. But I digress. What brings you to this, wilder regions, Emissary?" Ibnor leaned forward, his expression sharp, but his voice smooth.
Quintus's eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He had clearly expected more of a rustic reception.
"Ah, yes. Reconciliation. I was entrusted to bring a message of reconciliation. A matter of… mutual understanding, shall we say. The Empire, in its infinite wisdom, recognizes your… strength, King Ibnor. Your… accomplishments. We believe a mutually beneficial agreement can be forged."
"An agreement?" Ibnor countered, his voice smooth as polished steel. "After years of war, after the Empire's… strategic miscalculations have been laid bare, you come to me with talk of agreements? Interesting."
Quintus cleared his throat, his composure slightly ruffled.
"The Empire is willing to acknowledge your rule over Skyrim, King Ibnor. Your… autonomy. In return for your fealty, of course. And your… assistance in restoring order to these… troubled lands."
"My fealty? The same fealty the Empire demonstrated when they… capitulated to the Thalmor's demands? The same fealty they exhibited when they abandoned Skyrim to the whims of the Dominion? I think not, Quintus." Ibnor chuckled, a low, humorless sound.
He rose from his throne, his gaze piercing.
"If the Empire had approved of Dawnstar's independence in the first place, things wouldn't have come to this. But now? You come to me instead of Ulfric? It's clear who needs who, Quintus."
"King Ibnor, you must understand the gravity of the situation. The Empire offers you a chance for legitimacy, for recognition. A chance to be a part of something greater." Quintus's composure began to crack.
"A chance for what?" Ibnor scoffed, turning away. "To be a puppet? To be a province, while you take the lion share of the profit? I'm building a nation here, Quintus. A nation of my own. I don't need your legitimacy."
"But I will consider your offer, if you meet my demands." Ibnor turned back to Quintus, his eyes blazing with otherworldly fire.
"Demands?" Quintus raised an eyebrow. "You are in no position to be making demands."
"Oh, but I am," Ibnor countered, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. "My first demand is simple. The Empire will formally apologize for the White-Gold Concordat, and for their treatment of Skyrim. A public apology, mind you. Not some whispered agreement."
"That is… preposterous! The Emperor would never-" Quintus's face flushed red.
"Is it?" Ibnor countered, his voice dangerously calm. "Let us not forget why Skyrim joined the Empire in the first place, Quintus. Protection. Protection against the threats from the north. We were the shield of the Empire, a bulwark against invasion. And how did the Empire repay that loyalty?" He paused, his gaze piercing.
"Now, the Thalmor threaten us, and yet you offer no protection. Skyrim pledged its strength to the Empire for the promise of security and shared prosperity. Yet now, security is nowhere to be found, and security remains a fleeting dream. Tell me, Quintus, why should I remain bound to such a hollow pledge?"
"King Ibnor, the Thalmor threat is not the Empire's fault," Quintus insisted, his voice regaining a measure of its earlier confidence. "The Dominion, with their trickery and lies, have manipulated the situation. The Empire is also a victim in this situation. You must see that we are both on the same side."
Ibnor raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"On the same side? Quintus, you insult my intelligence. The Empire, the supposed bulwark against the Dominion, allowed them to dictate terms, to ban our faith, to weaken our borders. And now, you claim to be a victim?"
He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous.
"You come to me, seeking an alliance against the very enemy you inadvertently helped empower. You seek to use me as a weapon against the Stormcloak, after using Skyrim as a shield against the Thalmor for centuries. Tell me, Quintus, do you take me for a fool?"
"There's nothing more to discuss," Ibnor said, turning away. "Illia, Brina, see our guest out."
"You can't be serious!" Quintus shouted, his voice rising. "You would throw away this opportunity over pride?"
Ibnor turned back, his eyes narrowing.
"Pride? This isn't about pride, Quintus. It's about respect. Something the Empire has shown Skyrim none of. You come to me, offering me scraps from your table, as if I should be grateful. But the truth is, right now, the Empire needs Skyrim far more than Skyrim needs the Empire. More specificly, the Skyrim that's under my lead. Remember that."
Ibnor turned away, gesturing to his stewards.
"See him out."
Quintus, his face a mask of fury, stormed out of the hall, leaving Ibnor standing tall and defiant.
As Quintus stormed out, the heavy doors of the King's Hall slammed shut, echoing the finality of Ibnor's words. Illia and Brina exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of admiration and concern. A low murmur rippled through the gathered advisors.
"Bold," Illia said, her voice measured. "Perhaps… too bold?"
"Boldness is what brought us this far. We cannot afford to appear weak." Brina countered.
"The Empire will not take this lightly. They will see it as a declaration of war." Nazir commented dryly.
"They already see us as a threat," Illia replied, her eyes flashing. "Did you not hear the man? They seek to use us, to bleed us dry for their own gain."
"But to reject their offer outright?" Esbern, interjected, his voice laced with concern. "We could have used their resources, their legions. A united front against the Dominion."
"At what cost, Esbern?" Delphine asked, her voice sharp. "Our freedom? Our dignity? We are not their puppets. We are building a nation, not a vassal state."
"The man has a point. The Thalmor are a formidable foe. We cannot face them alone." Nazir pointed out.
"We are not alone," Illia said, her voice firm. "We have the Dragonborn. We have our own forces. We have… allies."
"Allies?" Nazir raised an eyebrow. "Who? The Stormcloaks? They are as unpredictable as the weather. And the other Holds? It's good enough that they don't drag us down."
Brina stepped forward, her gaze sweeping across the room.
"We have His Majesty the King. He surely has a vision. A vision that surpasses petty squabbles and old grudges. He sees a Skyrim united, strong, and free."
A tense silence filled the hall. The advisors looked at each other, their expressions a mix of doubt and reluctant admiration.
"He risks much," Nazir said, his voice low. "But perhaps… he sees something we do not."
"He always does." Illia nodded, her eyes gleaming.
She turned to Brina.
"Send word to our agents. Inform them of the Emperor's… message. We need to know everything about their movements, their intentions. We cannot afford to be caught off guard."
"It will be done." Brina nodded, her expression grim.
In Riften, the damp, stone walls of the Cistern echoed with the usual low murmur of thieves and the clinking of tankards. Brynjolf stood near the flickering lantern, his expression a mix of weariness and quiet authority. Delvin Mallory, his face unusually grave, strode in from the Ragged Flagon, his footsteps unusually hurried.
"Brynjolf," Delvin said, his voice low and urgent. "We need a meeting. Now. All the core members."
"What's happened, Delvin?" Brynjolf's eyebrows rose, sensing the gravity of Delvin's tone.
"Just get them here," Delvin replied, his eyes darting around the Cistern. "It's… important."
Within minutes, the key members of the Thieves Guild had gathered: Vex, in her usual impatient manner, Karliah, and a few other long-standing members.
"Well, Delvin?" Vex snapped, her voice sharp. "Out with it. We haven't got all night."
"We've just received… a job. The most lucrative job, perhaps, in the history of the Guild." Delvin's expression remained grave.
"Lucrative, you say? What's the catch?" A ripple of excitement ran through the group, tempered by Brynjolf's wary gaze.
"Just tell us, Delvin!" Vex urged, her eyes gleaming.
Delvin, instead of replying, suddenly let out a cackle, a sound that bordered on madness. He pulled a crumpled parchment from his pocket and spread it out on the table.
"Read it," he said, his voice laced with a strange mix of amusement and disbelief.
The others crowded around the parchment, their eyes scanning the text. A stunned silence fell over the group, broken only by the occasional gasp or muttered curse. Vex stared at the parchment, her usually sharp tongue silenced. Some shook their heads in disbelief, others began to chuckle, and some just looked around in confusion.
Brynjolf, his expression unreadable, finally spoke.
"Investigate Ibnor? The King of Dawnstar? That's the job?"
"From Windhelm. They want us to find out everything we can about him. His forces, his plans, his… everything." Delvin nodded, his eyes gleaming with a strange light.
"Do they know who they're talking about?" Karliah asked in her low husky voice.
"Do they know who they're asking?" Brynjolf looked at Delvin, his eyes narrowed.
Delvin shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"They just want information. And they're willing to pay… handsomely."
A tense silence filled the Cistern, quickly followed by a series of snorts, chuckles, and outright guffaws. The thieves exchanged glances, a mix of amusement and mischievous glee in their eyes. Vex, unable to contain herself any longer, burst out laughing.
"By the Eight, this is rich!" she exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes. "Windhelm wants us to spy on Ibnor? They've got to be kidding!"
"Imagine his face when we show the lad this," Delvin said, a wide grin spreading across his face. "This is going to be the best laugh we've had in years."
"They clearly have no idea who they're dealing with. Or who they're asking us to deal with." Brynjolf, a rare smile gracing his lips, shook his head in amusement.
"This isn't a job, it's a bard's tale waiting to be told. And our Guild Master, the main character." Karliah, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, added.
"We'd be fools to pass this up," Vex said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not for the septims, but for the sheer tale it'll make."
"Alright, alright! Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We'll take it, but we'll do it our way. And the first thing we're gonna do is show this to the lad." Delvin clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling.
The Cistern erupted in laughter and excited chatter as the thieves began to plan their next move, their minds filled with images of Ibnor's reaction and the sheer absurdity of the situation.