Dardeh stepped down from the Mournful Throne’s niche and away from Markarth’s Jarl, Thongvor Silver-Blood. He frowned, looking at Roggi, and leaned in toward his ear.
“So he’s offered me the chance to be a Thane.”
Roggi looked startled for a moment and then laughed. “You’re going to end up ruling Skyrim in spite of yourself, love.”
Dardeh growled. “No. Don’t even joke about that, Roggi. But it feels weird. I mean this is – or at least it was – my home. When I’m here, I feel like just a miner. And here I am, being offered a title and talking to the Jarl about the High King.”
“Ok,” Roggi said, leading Dardeh down into the main keep. “Speaking of that, what did he say?”
“Oh he’s with us as far as backing Ulfric at the Moot,” Dardeh said, walking out past the intersection marking the court wizard Calcelmo’s domain. On one side was the Dwemer Museum entrance; on the other was a passage leading to the excavation of Nchuand-Zel, the Dwemer city on which Markarth rested. “He says that Ulfric was a hero for saving the Reach from the Forsworn all that time ago. He’s not going to be a problem.”
Roggi glanced at him. “But…”
“Yeah. I questioned him about the Forsworn, and he told me there are none in the city. Ulfric got rid of the Forsworn, he said. Anyone who says otherwise must be sick in the head.”
“That’s not what Frina told us,” Roggi said, shaking his head. “And that’s not what the people at the inn said, either.”
“Right. And I know better; the Forsworn are everywhere in the hills. There’s something odd going on. I’d wager it has something to do with the silver mines.”
“Well, his family is rather fond of making money, so I would be surprised if he wasn’t trying to put the best light on things, and putting pressure on the mines on the side. But at least he’s with us. And then there’s Dengeir.”
They’d stopped in to see the Jarl of Falkreath before heading west. Dardeh had no real doubts that Dengeir would support Ulfric even though he’d made no secret of the fact that he didn’t necessarily trust the man’s motives. The Jarl hadn’t even looked up when they’d alerted him that the Moot would likely be happening soon. But when Dardeh told him about Lord Edwyn Wickham, he had risen to his feet and stared at them intently.
“I’ll be certain to be there. And I’ll bring my stoutest guards along. It would be bad enough to see Elisif on the throne but I’ll die fighting before some mage takes it. The only thing worse would be a Thalmor.”
“I’m sure you won’t need to do any fighting, Jarl Dengeir,” Dardeh had told him. He was sure of no such thing. Judging by the frown on Roggi’s face, neither was he. “But trust me, we all agree with you about the Thalmor.”
“Including Ulfric,” Roggi said.
“Including Ulfric,” Dardeh agreed, nodding, and smiling, but internally wincing that once again they’d had to talk about him. What was it Roggi said? It’s always, always Ulfric.
That was the frame of mind Dardeh had been in, leaving Mammoth Manor to make their way to Markarth. He’d been uneasy. He would have thought that visiting his hometown again might have made him less uneasy. It hadn’t.
Dardeh squinted up into the bright sun as they exited Understone Keep. “Yes. At least he’s with us. So we know we have Whiterun, Falkreath, Markarth…”
“… and Riften,” Roggi added.
“Yeah. What’s next?”
Roggi stroked his beard. “Well I would assume we should steer clear of Solitude, for obvious reasons. Let’s hit Morthal.”
___
Brynjolf smiled as he approached the jetty. Agryn Gernic and Vyctyna Tardif were waiting for him, as they had arranged.
“Thanks for meeting me. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Agryn said. “Just tell us where we’re headed once we reach the island.”
“Yeah, I really would hate it if Edwyn spotted us first,” Vyctyna said.
Brynjolf nodded. “Just keep low. The entrance is on the north side of the island, so we’ll head around to the west as soon as we hit land. I can’t imagine that anyone would be expecting us to show up, but just in case, let’s be safe.”
He transformed into his winged form, followed by the others. They hovered just above the water’s surface, gliding slowly across the expanse between the mainland and the island. It was slower than Brynjolf would have liked – slower than rowing, certainly, and much slower than actively flying using their great wings – but it was also silent. He didn’t want to risk the sound of an errant oar splashing or the regular, thumping whoosh three pairs of wings would make. All it would take would be one out-of-place noise to alert another vampire’s keen ears to their presence.
Once they reached Volkihar Island they resumed their human forms and gathered just beneath the stone walkway to the castle. Brynjolf pointed to their left and led them quietly around the shore toward the west and then north, keeping as low as possible. When they reached the old dock, he turned to speak to them.
“Alright. So far, so good. We’re going to go up these stairs into the oldest part of the castle. I don’t know how well it’s been kept up, so there’s a possibility we may run across skeletons or death hounds. Nothing we can’t deal with easily enough.”
Agryn looked around. “Interesting. As I told you before, we’ve never spent much time at the castle. I didn’t know this was here.”
“It doesn’t look very abandoned to me,” Vyctyna said.
Brynjolf nodded. “Yeah. We spent a good amount of time restoring the place, after we took care of Harkon.”
“You and Andante?” Vyctyna blurted out her question and then clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide. “I’m sorry.” she said between her fingers. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
Brynjolf couldn’t help but chuckle at her. “It’s fine. It was a good period of time for me in many ways. Much better than what followed. I’m glad to see it’s still in good shape.” He walked up the steps and pushed the door open. “Alright, let’s go.”
They made their way in to traverse the familiar upward spiral of passages toward the courtyard. The drawbridges in the cistern level had been raised again. It was probably a good idea for security reasons, Brynjolf thought, but annoying nonetheless because it meant that they needed to go the long way around, and because the chambers that he and Andante had once cleared of hazards had accumulated a few more frostbite spiders and death hounds. The battles were short, but noisy; and he worried about being detected. Before long, Brynjolf was gathering the shadows around himself and cautiously poking his head up past the moon dial to see whether the courtyard was safe for them to enter.
It was empty of other people, though not of plants; and he turned to wave the others up the steps after him. He looked around and smiled.
Serana and Valerica have spent time here, I see.
“Oh!” he heard behind him as Vyctyna climbed up into the courtyard. “It’s really pretty out here.”
“Aye,” Brynjolf said. “It was a sorry mess when I first saw it. It’s good that it’s being used again.” He turned to face Agryn as he joined them. “I’m going to take you into the north tower. It’s where …” He paused to heave a great sigh. So many things we’d planned to do that never happened.
“Where what?” Agryn asked.
“We were going to live. If we’d stayed here. I doubt very much anyone else has moved in, if you two don’t know about it.”
Agryn shook his head. “No. As far as I’m aware Edwyn has been focused entirely on the College and Solitude. The only times he’s come here things went…”
“Sideways,” Vyctyna finished. “Real sideways.”
Brynjolf nodded as he led them to the door. “That’s what I understood from Serana. Poor Vingalmo. He wasn’t my favorite person but he surely didn’t need to die like that.”
The three of them made their way inside and down the steps into the main living area. They got a fire started for a bit of light.
Agryn spoke up first. “Alright, here we are. Now what?”
“Now,” Brynjolf told him, “I am going to go find Serana and bring her back here so that we can decide together what we ought to do next.”
“Won’t they recognize you the second you step into the main castle?” Agryn asked him.
Brynjolf reached into his pack and pulled an item out of it. “Probably. That’s why I brought this. Nobody will know who it is if they catch a glimpse.” He lifted his hands up toward his face and, when he dropped them, was wearing a facemask that matched his armor and completely obscured his features. “With my hood on they won’t see my hair, either.”
“That’s good,” Vyctyna. “A man in a mask.”
Behind the mask, Brynjolf grinned. Exactly. I may be old but never let it be said I didn’t learn something here and there along the way. He nodded at Vyctyna. “Aye. I’ll be very careful as I enter the court, as well. Honestly, I probably won’t really need it.”
“You’ll need it if Edwyn has gotten here before us,” she said grimly.
“About the last thing you want is for him to find out you’re a vampire again, Brynjolf,” Agryn added. “I’m not convinced the others wouldn’t be eager to tell him about it. Wear the mask. And good luck.”
Brynjolf nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He left them and slipped back outside, making his way across the courtyard to the entrance of the main keep. Walking up the steep stairs into the castle proper was bittersweet. It was impossible not to be reminded of working on this elegant old building with Andante and the others. It was impossible not to feel apprehensive about what might happen if, in fact, the rest of the Volkihar did not accept his presence as well as Serana had. And it was impossible not to feel guilty for having once more become a being that could safely walk the halls of the castle.
I wonder if she’ll ever forgive me.
I suppose it won’t matter if Edwyn takes over. He’ll never accept me as a member of the Volkihar. He’ll just try to erase me.
It was quiet inside the castle; not that it was ever especially noisy, but often enough there were arguments – good-natured and otherwise – going on in the main hall. Not this night. He rolled his eyes behind his mask. After the lengths to which he’d gone in order to smuggle Agryn and Vyctyna into the castle, it seemed as though they might just as have walked in the front door. He turned right at the top of the stairs and made his way past the entrance to the cathedral; and he couldn’t help but glance at the heavy doors, remembering both the fantastic battle that had gone on inside and the sense of pride they’d had once the place had been cleaned up and polished once more.
There usually was at least one person roaming these upper balconies. He didn’t see anyone at first glance, but then the sound of quiet breathing on the balcony to his left caught his attention. Two chairs overlooked the main hall; and in one of them, munching on something that looked bloody and smelled divine to him, sat Serana. He crept closer, staying low after spotting Orthjolf in the hall below.
“You realize I would recognize the sound of your breathing anywhere, don’t you?” Serana said quietly without turning around.
Brynjolf chuckled, the barest of sounds escaping his lips. “It seems I’m out of practice.”
“Don’t forget that I’ve been listening a lot longer than you have.”
“I’ve brought some people you need to meet. Come with me so we can talk freely.”
“Alright.” Serana’s voice was barely audible. She stood and turned to face him. One eyebrow rose at the sight of him in his mask, and one corner of her mouth rose as well. “Leaving nothing to chance, I see. Well done. Let’s go.”
Brynjolf grinned beneath his mask and led the way back to the north tower. Only when they were safely inside did he remove his mask and turn to face her.
“So I see everything went well,” Serana said.
“Except for my wife kicking me out of the house, yes. The poor thing tried hard. She won’t betray me, but she’s a Redguard.”
“Ah,” Serana said, nodding. “The Redguard and their feelings toward the undead. I’m sorry, Brynjolf. Or should I be calling you Lord Brynjolf?”
“No, lass. I told you before. Andante left the castle to you.” He rubbed his chin for a moment and then grinned. “On the other hand, if it would help convince the others to help us…”
Serana chuckled. “Well, as it happens…”
“You’re back!” Vyctyna chirped from her spot in front of the fireplace. “Took you long enough, Bryn.”
“Come over here and I’ll introduce you properly,” Brynjolf told Serana. To his surprise, though, Serana looked more uncomfortable by the moment as he ran through the introductions.
“What is this, Brynjolf? You brought me here to turn me over to Edwyn’s two closest lackeys?” she said, standing in a defiant pose with her eyes flashing.
“Hardly, lass. I…”
“We’re not his lackeys anymore, Lady Serana,” Vyctyna interrupted. “Not since that pervert tried to… well, let’s just say that it’s likely a good thing his wife wasn’t at home.”
“He crossed the line. The one and only boundary I have ever set for him. And I have had several hundred years of working my fingers to the bone for the man only to be completely taken for granted. I’ve had enough,” Agryn said dryly. “So we are more than happy to assist you and Brynjolf in ridding the world of him; assuming that is what you’d actually like to happen, Lady Serana.”
Serana looked both of them over and then turned back to Brynjolf. “I see I’m not the only one he’s managed to alienate recently. And what is all this ‘Lady Serana’ business?”
Brynjolf couldn’t help but smile. “I told you before, Serana. I’m not in this for the castle, or to take the lead in this clan. I could, I suppose, if there was a need for it, but there’s no need. Andante and I were very close but you’re his named heir. What I want is to make Skyrim safe from Edwyn. I have plenty of fires to be tending in Riften already.”
“Yeah, like those three big ones out at the bee farm,” Vyctyna said with a giggle.
“Lass.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“Lass.” Brynjolf snorted, laughing in spite of himself. “Be serious. I’m nobody’s boss. Second-in-command at most. Unless Serana’s mother intends to rule the clan, Serana is its rightful leader.” He shook his head. “Now then, Serana. What is the status of things here? If I step out into that hall, is Orthjolf going to come at me? Or any of the others?”
“That is the question,” Agryn said. “I never got much of a chance to talk to any of them. Edwyn has a way of dominating the room.”
Serana sighed. “Yes, he does. And he has to be put out of our collective misery, as soon as possible. But no, I don’t think any of them would attack you, Bryn. They respect you and Andante for defeating my father and for restoring the castle. And they are absolutely mortified by what Edwyn did to Vingalmo.”
“With good reason,” Brynjolf said.
“Well, if all of us gang up on him, it probably won’t even matter how good a mage he is,” Vyctyna said.
She has such a way of putting things. She’s likely right. And if the two of them, Serana, Orthjolf and Feran Sadri, even Fura Bloodmouth are all aligned against him…
He sighed heavily.
“What is it?” Agryn asked.
What is it, he asks. He’s not married to a mortal woman who has a deep-seated fear of vampires.
What have I done?
He shook his head. “Nothing, really. I’m wondering about Garan Marethi. What do you think about him, Serana?”
Serana smirked. “He is above the petty squabbles here.” She chuckled. “I don’t know, Brynjolf, but I’m fairly certain he will not stand in our way even if he doesn’t join us in fighting Edwyn.”
Brynjolf nodded. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want to cross him. What about Valerica?”
Serana looked sad for a moment. “She keeps to herself, mostly up in her tower. She really hasn’t been the same since Father… died, in spite of their estrangement. I suspect if I asked her to help us she would, but only reluctantly.”
“Hmph,” Vyctyna snorted. “With as much firepower as we have just in this room we can take Edwyn. I’m pretty sure of it. Add those other two or three? No question of it.”
Brynjolf nodded. “So will you take us back in there to talk to the others, Serana?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She started back toward the door and then turned back to look at Brynjolf. “I can almost smell the question burning in your mind. No, I won’t have a problem with this. He utterly betrayed me. And he betrayed Elisif of Solitude as well.”
“And me,” Agryn agreed in a low growl.
“And definitely me,” Vyctyna added. “Besides. He’s out of his mind. I don’t know what happened to do it but he’s plain crazy and we can’t have someone that powerful who is also crazy running things.”
“What about you, Brynjolf?” Serana asked quietly.
The lass is perceptive. She knows.
“I agree with all of you about him. No question. He needs to die so that the world can get back on track again. It’s just that…” He hesitated for a moment, and then decided that his own misgivings couldn’t make the bizarre situation they found themselves in any worse. “I feel as though maybe I really didn’t need to do this.” He waved at his own face.
“Oh,” Agryn said. “It hadn’t even occurred to me that you wouldn’t want this. Forgive me, but you’re one of the strongest vampires I’ve ever met. And I’ve met Harkon.”
Brynjolf smiled sadly. “Yes. I was born into a great deal of power and worked hard at getting the rest of it. It’s just that I also have children. And a wife who I love very much. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve just managed to split myself off from them for no real reason.”
Serana shook her head. “Not for no reason, Brynjolf. Don’t be fooled. That man is extremely dangerous. Especially if he’s not quite in control of his own mind.” She waved them toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Alright,” he said, nodding. As they all made their way back into the courtyard he couldn’t help but hope that Serana was right.
___
“Well he was certainly in a hurry to leave, wasn’t he?” Roggi observed after they disembarked from the carriage. “You’d think the vampires were on his tail, not yours.”
Dardeh smirked. “Maybe they are, who knows? I’ve heard the stories about the one who used to live in a cave out this way. He was taken care of a long time ago, to hear it told. But that doesn’t mean someone else hasn’t taken over the place.”
Roggi shook his head. “Yeah, maybe. But this area is just loaded with interesting plants, Dar. In fact, I ought to pick a few of them while we’re here. We could plant them outside the house and I wouldn’t have to travel to find ingredients! At least not the ones you have to grow. Giant’s toes will always be a rare find.”
Dardeh laughed. “If you want. If you can keep the cuttings going long enough for us to get them home, why not?”
He looked around the settlement that passed for a hold capital. He’d never been especially impressed by Morthal and time had done nothing to improve the place, as far as he could see. There simply wasn’t much there aside from the alchemist’s shop and a small lumber mill. It had no port, at least not one that could accommodate ships that drew any depth to speak of. But it was, after all, one of Skyrim’s holds with a Jarl who would vote at the Moot. The banners fluttering outside one of the wooden buildings identified it as Highmoon Hall, the Jarl’s residence. While he was familiar with all the other new jarls, he wasn’t sure about this one’s leanings.
He heard Roggi make a noise behind him, and turned to look. “What is it?”
Roggi pointed to Dardeh’s belt. “Are you ever going to take that thing off? It’s really creepy, you know.”
For a moment Dardeh wasn’t sure what his husband was referring to. He wore two items on his belt, both related to his time on Solstheim. One was one of the black books he’d acquired while trying to get to Miraak and the other, of course, was Miraak’s mask, carefully arranged with a harness of leather strips. He turned back toward the longhouse and grimaced. He’d never told Roggi that he couldn’t seem to remove the black book from his belt no matter what he did. He could take off his armor, of course; but the book had remained firmly affixed to it since the moment he’d slung it there to make carrying it a bit easier.
Hermaeus Mora really does have his tentacles in me, whether I like it or not.
“I assume you mean Miraak?” he said, not wanting to pursue this line of thought farther if he could avoid it.
“Yeah. Why keep that around, Dar? It’s just…”
Dardeh turned to Roggi again and smiled. “I wear it to remind myself, Roggi. To remind myself that it’s easy to be warped by so much power.” He placed his right hand on Roggi’s shoulder, and his voice grew soft. “And to remind myself that there was a very important reason to get back to Skyrim, even when I had almost lost my way.”
Roggi stared into his eyes for a long moment and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I get it. But you still could get rid of the mask. I’ll always be here to remind you why you came home.” He grinned.
And that’s exactly why I won’t take it off. Call me superstitious. I want to make sure you’re always here.
“I know. But I wear it so that I can’t possibly forget.” Because when Miraak died, I absorbed his soul, and the energy of all those dragons he had killed. No one person should be this powerful and yet I am. I wear this mask so that I never forget what can happen to a person who rises too high. And so that I remember how easy it would be for Hermaeus Mora to take control.
He pushed open the door to the longhouse and looked toward the throne. There, at the opposite end of the great hall, sat a woman. She was in common clothes, not the sort of finery he was used to seeing on Jarls. To the left of her throne stood a well-muscled and frankly intimidating Argonian male. Both of them glanced at Dardeh but appeared to take no particular notice of him.
Dardeh veered left into what had once been the Imperial Legate’s war room and greeted the man in Stormcloak officer’s armor standing there. He smiled to himself looking at the map of Skyrim covered with blue flags, where once he had seen more red than anything else.
“Commander?”
The man, a Nord with a long, sharp, thin nose, turned to face him and smiled.
“Arrald. Arrald Frozen-Heart. And I know who you are, Dragonborn. It’s an honor to meet you in person. What brings you to my city?”
Dardeh grinned at him. “I’m doing a few small errands for Ulfric Stormcloak, who is busy getting ready for the Moot. And, uh, I wanted to ask…”
“What is it?”
“The new Jarl?”
“Yes. Sorli, the Builder. She and her husband Pactur are from Stonehills. Used to run the mine there.”
Dardeh nodded. “Yes, I had heard of them. I hate to ask this but… is she trustworthy?”
Arrald furrowed his brow and was silent for a moment, clearly weighing what he might reasonably say about the new jarl. After a pause he nodded, then spoke.
“Well, sir, I’m sure she isn’t a Talos worshipper, and,” and with this he leaned a bit closer to Dardeh and lowered his voice, “I’m not convinced of her motives. I’ve heard some of the townspeople say she’s only in it for herself. She used to work for one of the Thanes in Solitude, after all. I think she’s a bit of a climber, if you know what I mean.”
Dardeh frowned. “Yes, I do.”
Arrald nodded again. “Still, sir, I’m certain she’s not an Imperial sympathizer the way Idgrod was. That makes her better than what we had before and, truthfully….” He shrugged. “Well, look around. There’s not that much to defend, here. We’re up to the task, the men and I.”
Dardeh smiled again. “Thank you, Arrald. And it’s not ‘sir.’ Just Dardeh. I guess I was one of Ulfric’s officers, but if not for this big mouth of mine I wouldn’t even rank as high as my husband.”
To Dardeh’s great surprise, Arrald looked past his shoulders and grinned.
“Hi, Roggi. Or should I call you Inquisitor, sir? It’s been a long time.”
Dardeh heard Roggi chuckle behind him. “Yes, it has been. And just call me Roggi. We’re not on active duty anymore. Not officially, anyway.”
“Yes, sir,” Arrald said, laughing.
“Thanks for the info, Commander,” Dardeh said. “Now I need to speak with the Jarl. Things are afoot.”
“Good luck,” Arrald told them as they returned to the great hall.
Dardeh stepped up to the base of the throne and cleared his throat, taking a good look at the new Jarl. He couldn’t tell how old she was. Not at all. For while her steely gray hair might have made her older than Ulfric, her face was even more youthful than his own.
“Greetings, Jarl Sorli. My name is Dardeh at-Dadarh and I am here on behalf of Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm.”
“Are you, indeed?” she said coolly. “I hope it’s more good news. I’m quite indebted to Jarl Ulfric for my current position. Finally, my leadership is being recognized. Hjaalmarch isn’t much, but it’s a good start. I’ll make a name for myself here, then maybe work my way up to someplace like Riften.”
Indeed. Riften already has a Jarl. I think Ulfric is going to need to watch this one. I don’t trust her.
“Well,” he said carefully, “I think it’s good news. The Moot is going to be called, very soon, and we’re here to be certain Ulfric will have your support when it is time to choose the new High King. A vote which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is very much overdue.”
Sorli looked at him with that same sort of condescending air he’d learned to expect from people who were going to be trouble. She looked him up and down, turned to grin at her Argonian housecarl, and then back at Dardeh.
“Well, as Teeba-Ei can attest, I’ve not completely made up my mind on the issue of who is best to elevate to High King – or Queen. Jarl Elisif might actually make a refreshing change of pace.”
Dardeh felt the embers of his internal fires begin to heat up.
“The problem, of course, is that she is very inexperienced in matters of rule, having only been on her husband’s throne for a short time compared with the Jarl of Windhelm.”
Sorli laughed. “Oh don’t hand me that line. My predecessor on this throne held her position much longer than Ulfric has, and you can’t tell me she would have made a good High Queen. Length of service hardly equals good leadership.”
Dardeh ground his teeth. How is it that we have taken an instant disliking to each other?
“And yet, as you say, you are indebted to Jarl Ulfric.”
“In a sense. That doesn’t mean I like him.”
In spite of feeling Roggi’s calming and reassuring presence somewhere just behind him and to the right, Dardeh wasn’t able to contain his temper. He took a deep breath and spoke again, purposefully inserting just enough power into his voice that he knew it would make an impression.
“Enough!” he said, watching the Jarl’s eyes go wide. The Argonian Teeba-Ei took a step closer toward her. “It has been long enough that you Jarls have delayed, and fought, and quibbled over details. I am the Dragonborn, and I say that you will have the Moot.”
“Dar,” Roggi murmured behind him. “Easy.”
Dardeh shook his head but didn’t break his lock on Sorli’s wide-eyed stare.
“You need to have the Moot now or I will personally find out how to light the Dragon Fires and assume the position myself instead of waiting for you people any longer. And you wouldn’t like that. I’m not a politician and I’m not a ruler, but by the gods I’ll do it if I have to so that we can prepare our province for the next Thalmor attack. It will be so much better for all of you if you just have the Moot and name Ulfric High King.”
His voice had vibrated with more and more power as he spoke until, by the end, small items on tables nearby rattled lightly.
Roggi tapped him on the shoulder. “Dardeh, I think you are tired and owe the Jarl an apology.”
Dardeh closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.
Yes. Yes, I do. And do you see it, Roggi? This is why I have to keep this mask with me. Sometimes it’s the only thing between me and exploding, and people get hurt when I explode.
He opened his eyes and smiled at Sorli. She was pressed back in her throne, looking taken aback.
“Yes. I am sorry, Jarl Sorli. I can only think of one person who might be less a match for the position of High King than I would be, and that’s the man who married Jarl Elisif. Just having him that near the throne would be a disaster. That’s why I want you all to support Ulfric. It would be very dangerous for all of us, otherwise; and Skyrim has already suffered enough damage pushing the Empire out. I do hope you’ll forgive my lapse of manners.”
“Just… let me know when the Moot will be held,” Sorli said quietly.
Dardeh nodded to her, then turned and headed for the door. He heard Roggi’s voice murmuring quietly for a moment, and then heard him running to catch up. He slammed the door open and stomped his way outside.
Winterhold is next, and then back to Ulfric. Always, always Ulfric.