“So, you wish to master the arcane arts?”
Edwyn Wickham stood there for a moment, staring at Farengar Secret-Fire, the court wizard in Whiterun, and trying not to allow his mouth to drop open.
There have been relatively few times in my long existence that I have dearly desired to shed my mask, open my mouth, and rip the throat out of some nincompoop who desperately deserved it. This would be one of those times. Here I stand in the attire of the Archmage of Winterhold and he asks whether I wish to master the arcane arts.
It is not as though I simply walked up to the gates there and said ‘Hello, my fellow scholars! I wish to become the head of your organization!’ No. I worked long and hard for this position. Or perhaps long-suffering might be a better description of it. The mages in Winterhold may be magically talented, very much so; but so many of them are utterly insufferable and incompetent in every other avenue of life. I’ve enjoyed recent visits to Cyrodiil more; and those idiots were truly idiots, each of the ‘schools’ of magic so easily led to believe that the other was creating problems for them.
I command mastery of all schools of magic, though conjuration is my forte. I am already master of the arcane arts, my dear court wizard.
Ah but this is getting me nowhere, and I do need to be on my way to Riften. Perhaps the nitwit does not recognize my robes. I suppose that Savos Aren had no real occasion to visit Farengar of Whiterun very often during his tenure at the College.
“Yes. I have read that there is a spell which allows horses to travel over water. I was hoping you might have a copy available. I am in a position where it might serve me very well indeed.”
“Ah yes. I believe I do.” Farengar walked to the back of his workspace and into an antechamber filled with bookcases. He returned bearing a tome, quoted Edwyn a price, took the coins and surrendered the book all without spending more than a fraction of a second looking directly at Edwyn.
“Thank you, sir,” Edwyn murmured. “This will be most useful.” He turned to leave, flipping through the leaves describing the spell and nodding to himself. It was an interesting bit of advanced magic, like nothing he’d used before, but he was certain that he could perform it.
“You know, if you have the aptitude, you should join the Mage’s College in Winterhold.”
Edwyn stopped in his tracks and turned slowly back toward Farengar. His face broke into a slow smile, lips pulled well back over the alarmingly large and white fangs that not even his Mortal’s Mask illusion spell could completely conceal.
“Thank you for your most excellent suggestion. I’ll keep it in mind.”
He was afraid that everyone would be able to hear the sounds of his eyes rolling back into his head as he left Dragon’s Reach. It was clear, though, that people in the keep had more important matters on their minds. Whiterun had fared none too well in the attack on it not long before, and the people in charge were completely absorbed in planning repairs and bolstering defenses. Walking through the city he heard nothing significant. At the gate, though, two of the city guards were gossiping; and Edwyn used his sharp hearing to pay special attention to their conversation as he walked past.
“Did you hear about that big battle out at Fort Sungard?”
“Hear about it? They conscripted a bunch of us to go bury dead! What a mess.”
“Looks like the Stormcloaks are getting the upper hand everywhere, doesn’t it?”
“Well they still haven’t gotten hold of Solitude, have they. As long as the Empire holds the capital, I think we’ll be good in the end.”
“Shh. Do you want to get us in trouble? If anyone hears we were with the Imperials we’re dead. It was hard enough to steal these Stormcloak uniforms off the bodies as it was.”
Edwyn raised one eyebrow.
Hmm. Unrest near home base would be very bad. I suppose it’s almost time for me to put that part of Lord Harkon’s plan into motion. Otherwise, it’s going to be difficult to spirit Elisif in and out of the city. But in the meantime…
He waited until he was just past the stables, then gathered magic into his left hand and snapped the spell out to the side. There was a loud humming and the distinctive blue sphere of a conjuration spell, and a skeletal horse appeared before him.
“Hello, Arvak. Ready for the second half of our journey?”
Arvak pawed the ground three times.
Edwyn had spent some time with Serana, walking through the restored Volkihar Castle, and had been intrigued by Valerica’s impressive alchemical laboratory. The curious portal in the center of the room was too much for him to resist; he’d gone into the Soul Cairn and explored, at one point discovering a horse’s skull atop a pedestal guarded by spirits.
“Arvak!” Serana had exclaimed. “I’ll bet that’s Arvak! There’s a ghost here. One of the spirits. He’s been looking for his horse for a very long time. We should find him, Eddie, and see whether this truly is Arvak or not. He was so sad about his horse.”
And because Edwyn could deny Serana nothing, nothing whatsoever, he had trudged all over the Soul Cairn until they’d found the spirit in question.
“You found him!” the man had cried. “You found my Arvak! Ah. He’s such a loyal beast. Here. I’ll teach you how to call him, that way he can get some exercise. Goodbye, hero! Take care of Arvak for me! Such a good horse.”
Edwyn had found that Arvak was indeed a very good horse. But casting the spell he had just purchased would give him the ability to run even faster, regardless of whether it was on land – or water.
Edwyn smiled and studied his new spell one more time, committing it to memory. Once more he gathered energy into his hand and released it. He felt energized; and once he jumped up onto Arvak’s back he realized that both of them were limned in a light green glow. When they started moving, the distances seemed to melt away. He’d barely blinked before they were past Helgen and moving through the pass toward the Rift. They would be there in no time at all.
___
“Are you sure this is the place?” Agryn said, looking back over his shoulder. They stood outside a wooden door in Riften’s seedy water-level area, a door he hesitated to open.
“Yes, it is. I’m certain of it. I was quite impressed with Maul.”
Agryn turned to her and frowned. “And by that you mean…”
She smiled. “Don’t be jealous, Aggy. By that I mean that he was very simple to persuade. I’m sure the man doesn’t have any more intelligence than a slaughterfish. Maybe not even that much. I did take a little of his blood to sweeten the deal but all I had to do was look interesting for a few minutes and he led me right to this door.”
Agryn smiled and cupped her face with one hand. “Alright. I’m sorry to be so jealous.” He leaned forward and brushed a light kiss across her mouth. “After all the years I spent alone in Cyrodiil it’s just impossible for me to imagine being without you.”
Vyctyna giggled, a musical little burble of a sound.
“Don’t worry, my love. I’m with you till the end. You’re my one and only. But I think we’d better go do what we came for, or Lord Edwyn will be here and we’ll have nothing to show for all this time other than a couple of big smiles.”
Agryn grinned. It had been a rather wonderful little vacation from Edwyn’s intensity. He always took things so very seriously, including himself and this set of prophecies of his, that once in awhile getting away and indulging in a little bit of average night-life – of all types – was a refreshing break. It’s good that we’re vampires, he thought with a wry grin, or we might inadvertently be making younger versions of ourselves.
But now it was time to tend to business. They’d gotten word to expect the Lord’s arrival at any time, and he still hadn’t determined whether or not the creature in question was in fact this Brynjolf they’d been tasked to find.
He pushed open the wooden door and preceded Vyctyna into the long tunnel. It looked as though someone had lived here at some point; there were the remnants of a cooking fire in an alcove and a rusty, old woodcutter’s axe nearby. As they rounded the corner he saw what looked like the type of hay piles that would hold bedrolls.
“There were people here?”
“Maybe. I don’t know, hun. Go around this corner and cross the drawbridge. Then take a left. It’s down there.”
“A bar.”
“Yes. The Ragged Flagon, they call it. If he’s around, that’s where he’ll be. He’s easy to spot. Red hair. And everyone does whatever he says. He looks like the boss. That’s what Maul told me.”
“Alright.”
Agryn did as she had instructed, and soon they found themselves standing in the dark but seemingly friendly confines of a tavern. Agryn smiled to himself. Dark. This is just exactly the kind of place a couple of vampires would enjoy. No chance of sun damage, day or night. If this is the person I’m looking for, it would be exactly what he and his right-hand man might want to use as a headquarters.
They sauntered into the seating area; Vyctyna took a seat at a round table near the bar and gave one of her most winning smiles to the barkeep standing nearby. Agryn wandered around the area, glancing at each of the people there and shaking his head. Finally he turned to face Vyctyna again and broke into a smile. Slouching at the bar was a large man, a Nord from the looks, wearing dark leathers. And he had red hair. It looked more brown than red in the dim lighting but there was no question that if he stood out in the blazing sun it would glow like fire.
Now then. Is this the man.
He took a seat across from Vyctyna, and ordered a mug of ale. They sat and chatted quietly for some time. Mostly, though, he listened, with the heightened hearing that came with the Gift he’d received from his lord, Edwyn Wickham. It wasn’t very long before they had confirmation. Both the bartender and the large brute of a man he assumed was the bouncer leaned in close and asked “Brynjolf” questions; and an older man with the air of authority and a shaven head wandered in, ordered up a drink, and said “hi, Bryn. How’s it going?”
He looked across the table at his lovely mate and smiled. If they got going right then, they might have enough time for some private fun before their master arrived.
___
The sun was rising when Edwyn spied the standing stones atop the hill. That was the landmark. He guided Arvak around the base of that hill, past the farmhouse, and straight for the door of the cavern.
Arvak took very little convincing to dissipate once Edwyn had jumped down off his back. “That was well done, friend,” he said to the skeletal horse. “Thank you.” Arvak had tossed his head with the sound of clinking bones, and had returned to the Soul Cairn, no doubt to see his master. Edwyn made his way to the concealed sewer hole that was the front door of their home on this side of the province.
Beneath the unglamorous covered entrance was an old crypt filled with coffins that were said to hold the remains of the original Dawnguard. Edwyn sneered every time he passed through this space. The Dawnguard were annoying. Vampire hunters, or so they said. They certainly tried very hard with their silver weapons and trained huskies to wipe out the vampires; but mostly they were an annoyance, interrupting business at the most inopportune moments. Regardless of whose remains were in these coffins, though, the real prize in this space lay beyond. Edwyn strode to the empty torch sconce on the far wall and twisted it. A portion of the wall just in front of him swung inward, opening onto a descending stairwell carved into the hillside.
“Agryn? Vyctyna?” he called as he walked down the stairs to the perfectly appointed living space. It was set up to meet the particular needs of vampires, with two caged thralls on the next level down, an alchemy station that included special facilities for brewing blood potions, and a smithing room complete with a forge that emitted only a low, blue light. Edwyn’s research at the College had tipped them off to its existence, and Agryn had fought through the bears that had set up house in the entryway’s cave, allowing them to take this place for their own.
He heard muffled sounds from the side bedroom and grinned. Doubtless they were not expecting me to arrive quite so quickly.
“Don’t stir yourselves on my account, my dears,” he called. “I’m exhausted. I’ll just take a nap. We can talk when I have refreshed myself.”
On a raised platform at the far side of the space was his master quarters – a lovely antique coffin standing upright, perfectly preserved over the years and one in which he found himself able to sleep soundly. He stepped into it and closed the lid.
Ah yes. To sleep like the dead.
When he stepped out of the coffin Agryn was at the foot of the dais waiting for him.
“I’m sorry we weren’t right here to greet you on your arrival, my lord,” he said. “We were, somewhat, um…”
Edwyn laughed. “Give it no concern, Agryn. I knew you were here and I was, in fact, quite fatigued. The trip took much less time than usual. I have learned a new spell that allows my mount to run like the very wind.”
“I see. Thank you for your understanding, my lord.”
Edwyn couldn’t help but be amused watching Agryn try, and fail, to keep his mouth from curling up into a grin.
“Now then. What have you for me? Have you learned anything about our friend the thief?”
“Yes we have,” Agryn said. “It seems that this Brynjolf is not only a thief, but a person of some stature in the Thieves Guild. Vyctyna was able to persuade one of their associates to reveal the location of their headquarters, and both of us have seen the man: a Nord, middle-aged, with red hair and a facial scar, wearing black leathers. Several of the people there referred to him as Brynjolf, or Bryn, and while I wasn’t able to get close enough to hear what he was saying he did appear to be giving them orders.”
“That’s our man, then!” Edwyn said. “Splendid. Please lead me to him. I am most anxious to meet him again and to learn exactly what it is that he wants from me. I also want to gauge what sort of strength he and his associate have.”
Agryn frowned. “That’s the odd thing, sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I didn’t see anyone with him who looked like a lieutenant. There was an older man there, a Breton, but if anything I would judge him to be even more senior in the organization than our red-haired friend. And there’s something else.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“I didn’t sense any vampires in the area aside from Tyna and myself.”
Edwyn frowned. All the information he’d had up to that point said that there was a pair of immensely powerful vampire lords situated in high places in the Thieves Guild. It had been his private intention to see what he could do about eliminating such rivals before they realized they were rivals. If they were not there, then…
“Well. Let’s be off. I need to see these people for myself.”
They made their way up and out of the crypt. In spite of the heavy overcast it was still daytime. Edwyn sighed as his skin began steaming, as it always did, when exposed to the sun.
I can understand the appeal Auriel’s Bow had for my lord Harkon. The idea of not needing to worry about disintegration every single day is tempting, to be sure.
Then he stopped thinking about it altogether. Vyctyna Tardif was waiting for them, looking impatient with her arms crossed over her chest, her lovely face set in a frown.
By the gods she is an exquisite thing. Agryn is beyond fortunate to have found her.
“Good afternoon, Vyctyna,” he said, smiling. “It is good to see you again.”
“Thank you, Lord Edwyn,” she said, not smiling. “I thought you two were going to keep me waiting all day. Are you ready to head into town?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. She tried her best to be deferential, but in truth Vyctyna was a child of her times, modern, short-tempered, and not inclined to the false politeness of ages gone past. He found her delightful. And he could feel Agryn’s eyes on him, their gaze practically burning its way through his clothing.
Ah, don’t worry, my friend. I have my own exquisite creature back at Castle Volkihar.
His blood nearly warmed, thinking about it. Serana had welcomed him with all the fervor he remembered from eons past, leavened with the loneliness she’d experienced in the interim. And he had remembered what it was like when Harkon had been father figure to them both, the two of them sneaking off to find the rare moment of privacy out from under his stern watchfulness. What a reunion they’d had.
It was a horrid shame that he was going to disappoint her yet again.
He looked around the dingy place and tried not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. He’d seen worse places, undoubtedly, but this was hardly the sort of establishment that would attract high-end clientele.
No doubt that is the point, though.
He’d not gotten too far into the space when a low chuckle sounded behind him.
“I wondered how long it would be before you found me, lad. Figured you wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation.”
He turned to his left and looked down. Seated at the nearest table, munching on a piece of bread, was the man he’d met at the Blue Palace.
“Brynjolf. We meet once more. What is it that possesses you to call me ‘lad’? I can almost guarantee that I am older than you.”
“I’m certain of it,” Brynjolf said calmly, grinning up at him. “But you look no more than thirty. It’s a figure of speech, lad. A bad habit. An affliction, you might say. So. What brings you here outside of curiosity?”
“Well,” Edwyn said, dropping his voice, “there was a burglary at Proudspire Manor. It was the strangest thing. All the precious gems were left in place but the valuable weapons and armor were all taken. It was almost as though the thief knew exactly what was in the home and what he wished to steal.”
“Is that a fact!” Brynjolf answered, eyes widened. “What a shame. And you came to me because…?”
Edwyn’s own eyes narrowed in spite of his desire to keep a neutral expression. This man is infuriating! He knows perfectly well that he was the thief, and that I know he was the thief.
“Because, as you are perfectly aware, you were the last person other than myself to have access to the home. And my sources tell me,” he added, leaning forward and dropping his voice, “that this fine establishment is part of the headquarters of the Thieves Guild and that you, sir, may in fact be one of its high officers.”
Brynjolf’s expression never changed. “A thieves guild, here in Riften? Interesting. So, tell me why the Archmage of the College of Winterhold would care about a home in Solitude to begin with? Seems to me you have a fancy place up there in the College.”
Edwyn smiled. At least someone recognizes these robes when he sees them. My faith in human intelligence has been restored, at least for the moment.
“Clever, aren’t you? And smart. So where are the things you stole from me, Brynjolf?”
Brynjolf yawned, covering his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. I have nothing of yours. You gave me the robes Andante and I used to wear when we were rattling around that big old place. I took those, yes, and a uniform that belonged to him, and a few books he’d scribbled in, smart lad that he was. I’ll take you over to my house right now if you want to check. Honeyside’s only a few steps away.”
Edwyn stared down at him. I know he’s the one who robbed me, but what he said about his house just now is the truth. I can sense that. What is this man’s story, after all?
“No, no, that’s quite all right. I believe you. I assumed, though, that if you are in fact the Guildmaster you would know who else might be good enough to have gotten into my place. Never mind, then. I’ll be off. Thank you for indulging my flight of fancy with such good humor.”
“No problem, lad. Lord Wickham, I mean,” Brynjolf said with a grin. “Archmage. Be careful out there. I understand the civil war is heating up.”
“Yes. So it seems. Sorry to have taken up your time.”
Edwyn turned on his heel and strode for the exit, scowling. He gestured to Agryn and Vyctyna, who had been pretending to shop in the merchants’ stalls surrounding the old waterway, and they all made their way back out of the Flagon.
“Sir?” Agryn said once they’d gotten outside once more. “Is that the man?”
“Yes, it is,” he snapped. Then he sighed. “I am sorry to be cross. That is indeed the same man I met in Solitude, and his quick side-stepping when I mentioned the Thieves Guild convinces me that we were right about his position in it.”
“Well that’s good then, right?” Vyctyna asked. “You can get your stuff back?”
“He maintains that he does not have it, and while I don’t believe him at all, that’s not what is troubling me,” Edwyn replied, still scowling as he headed toward the Temple of Mara.
“What is it then, sir?” Agryn asked.
Edwyn turned to look at his two closest associates and shook his head.
“I was led to believe that there were two powerful vampires running the Thieves Guild. I saw nobody who I would consider his right hand. Just as you said, Agryn.” He shook his head again.
“More importantly, that man is not a vampire.”
“Is that important?”
It is. But I don’t know why.
“Not in the slightest,” he said, smiling. “I thank both of you for your diligence in finding him for me. As I told you before, the theft was not the issue. Now then. Round up your horses and I will fetch mine. We ride for Solitude. I have something important to take care of here,” he pointed at the Temple,” and there at the capital. There is no more time to waste in concern over the man named Brynjolf.”
“You have a horse?” Vyctyna said. “I didn’t see one anywhere around.”
“Yes, my dear,” Edwyn smiled. “I’ll fetch him in a bit. Let me meet you outside our home and you’ll see for yourself.”
He watched Agryn and Vyctyna make their way toward the city gate and allowed his face to fall back into a scowl. He looked up at the doors of the Temple for a moment, then took a deep breath and released it. This ought to have been a task he would be doing joyfully, not only because it was what Lord Harkon had asked him to do but because it was something he himself had wanted to do.
And now it feels as though I am sentencing myself to prison.
Why, Serana? Why did you have to be there?
It didn’t take him long to locate the priest, Maramal, and to purchase an Amulet of Mara. These courting customs in Skyrim were ancient, and quaint, and a bit cumbersome as far as he was concerned but they were what was done in this part of the world, and so he would do what was expected of him.
He trudged back to the Crypt, slowly, wishing he could convince himself that following Harkon’s master plan was not a good thing to do. The problem, he decided, was that even though Harkon was no longer around to pull the strings from behind the curtain, he wanted what they had dreamed of together on his own account.
I will have the power. I will. No matter what it takes.
Once he was back at the Crypt, he refreshed himself with a sip of blood from one of the thralls, then readied himself for the journey. Vyctyna was delighted to meet Arvak, in much the way that a child would squeal in delight over a gift on her name-day.
“Are you ready?” he said. “I have yet another surprise.” He cast his new spell and mounted Arvak, then rode in a large circle around Vyctyna on her bulky Riften horse and Agryn on the sleek paint horse they’d purchased in Cyrodiil. All of them took on the same subtle green glow as he and Arvak had.
“Ride like the wind, my friends,” he said. “We shall be in Solitude tonight.”
And ride they did. Straight down the surface of Lake Honrich, across the roads, and on toward the great plains of Whiterun Hold. They passed more than one smoking battlefield, reminders of the civil war in progress across the province. Each one of these made the furrow in Edwyn’s brow even deeper.
Brynjolf was correct. I’m going to have to deal with this in some form or other. All the more important for me to complete this task, and secure my place in Skyrim even more solidly, so that I am ready to meet the consequences regardless of the outcome.
It had, of course, been Harkon’s conviction that the Imperial Legion would triumph over the rag-tag Stormcloaks. But Edwyn Wickham had seen and heard those scattered forces in hiding and imprisoned in Cyrodiil. He knew very well the deep-seated frenzy with which they battled against the idea of the Aldmeri Dominion and the iron-fisted authority of the Thalmor. As they passed the battlefields he saw more Imperial uniforms on the ground than Stormcloak, and he knew.
The outcome of this dispute is far from clear. In fact, I am concerned that it swings toward Ulfric Stormcloak and his forces. I have heard that he has a great weapon at his side – a man called the Dragonborn. If this is true, it is to my advantage to move much more quickly than Harkon ever had anticipated.
I am sorry, my beloved Serana. So very sorry.
They needed to stop several times so that he could refresh the spell that had all of their horses practically flying through the night; but as they approached Solitude it was still dark. They dropped the two mortal steeds off at the stables, knowing that the stable master would recognize them from previous visits and care for them, and Edwyn dismounted from Arvak, patting his bony shoulder.
“Thank you for your service, my friend,” he told the horse. “Tell your master how much I appreciate his loaning you to me. I shall see you again.”
Arvak tossed his skeletal head and pawed at the ground, whinnying. Then he disappeared.
“I’m glad the stable master wasn’t out here to see that,” Vyctyna snorted. “He’d be wondering whether or not he was drunk!”
Agryn laughed. “Yes, that would set me back several paces as well, if I didn’t know that such a thing could exist. And these Nords tend to be so very superstitious.”
“That’s the truth, isn’t it,” Vyctyna grumbled. Then she giggled and slipped an arm around Agryn for a quick hug.
Edwyn laughed as they started up the long, sloping road toward the gates of the capital.
“You two should go to the mansion. Get some food, some rest. Oh, or enjoy that lovely bath. Whatever suits your fancy. I will come with you long enough to make myself presentable. Then I will be going to the Blue Palace. I have a very important bit of business to take care of.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Amulet of Mara, staring at it.
“Oho!” Vyctyna said. “Is the boss about to get himself… hitched?”
Edwyn grinned, in spite of himself. “You do have such a colloquial way of putting things, my dear, but yes. That is my intention, as it was Lord Harkon’s wish that I do so.” He looked around himself and sighed. “It is part of a very long-standing plan. I intend to carry it out even though my late master is no longer with us.”
“Best of luck to you, my lord,” Agryn said.
___
Lord Edwyn Wickham of High Rock, formerly of various parts of Cyrodiil, master of the Volkihar vampire clan and Archmage of the College of Winterhold, found himself fighting to keep his knees from knocking together as he mounted the grand curving staircase in the Blue Palace. He was about to do a thing that he had planned for many, many years; a thing he had promised his master to do. And he was terrified.
It wasn’t that Elisif wasn’t delightful. On the contrary, he thought, she is. Torygg was a fortunate man indeed to have had such a fiery bride. Their short time together had been most enjoyable. This would have been an event he looked forward to with great anticipation under almost any other circumstance. But when Serana had wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her bedroom to renew the relationship they had shared for so many years, so very long ago, he’d been lost.
What is it about her? Why can I not get her out of my mind? I am such a fool. This is what I must do. It’s been planned. Nothing else will go forward smoothly if this is not handled as we had planned.
Elisif was, as he had expected, seated in her throne when he approached. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she smiled prettily. He saw the color rise in her cheeks and smiled back. Yes, my dear. We certainly may do that again. I am completely at your disposal.
He stepped closer, and watched as her eyes ran over him. He saw the moment that they rested on the Amulet of Mara, and watched her pupils grow large, heard the slight intake of breath that he was certain nobody else could hear. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze once more, and as he bowed before her he smiled to himself, knowing that things were proceeding exactly as they should.
“Jarl Elisif,” he said. “It is once more my greatest pleasure to see you.” He raised his head, smiled at her, and waited.
“Edwyn,” she said breathlessly. “Lord Wickham. Is that an amulet of Mara? Does this mean that you are not married?” She looked – flustered. Excited. Maybe even a bit hopeful.
He smiled. “That is true. I have never before been married. However it is my most sincere wish to be so, soon, if the object of my desire is willing.” He took a step closer and reached for one of her hands, ignoring the growl that came from her housecarl, Bollgeir Bearclaw.
Don’t growl at me, sir. I can take you out in only a few breaths.
“Is there a possibility, my dear, that you might be interested in me? For it would be the greatest of honors if you would consent to be my bride.”
“Oh my,” Elisif said, the color in her cheeks growing deeper. “Edwyn. Yes, of course I am interested.” She dropped her voice to a near whisper. “I thought that after my dear Torygg was killed I would be a widow for the rest of my days. But you have brought joy back into my life, my dearest Edwyn. I would be more than happy to marry you.”
“Then it is settled,” he said, smiling. “I will travel to Riften and make the arrangements, as I am aware that your duties as Jarl will keep you here.”
Elisif rose and called out to her court.
“Everyone! Everyone! I have wonderful news. Lord Edwyn Wickham, the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, has asked me to marry him. And I have accepted his proposal.”
There was a collective gasp. Edwyn smiled, and smiled, and hoped that his face would not betray how very unsettled he was about this as well.
“That’s…uh… wonderful indeed, my Jarl,” Falk Firebeard said. He turned to Edwyn and said “Congratulations my lord,” but his eyes were dark with anger and suspicion.
“Thank you, Falk,” he answered, knowing that once the very powerful steward had given his congratulations, the rest of the court would be practically bound to follow suit. I know you don’t trust me. You’re a very clever man. But I am far, far older and more experienced. You didn’t really think you could outmaneuver me, did you? Your lovely Jarl is already mine. We are simply making it official.
Elisif made the rounds of her thanes and other court officials, receiving hugs and congratulations and offers of any assistance they might give. Edwyn trailed along at her side, just one step behind and in back of her, looking as courtly as he could and with great ease after the hundreds of years of practice in the great houses of Cyrodiil and High Rock. He nodded and smiled, and smiled and nodded, and finally, after all the congratulations had been said, he took Elisif’s arm and led her back to her private quarters.
Well, my lord Harkon, I have done it. All that is left is to have the official ceremony.
And it had best be soon. The storm is about to break upon Solitude.