Skyrim's Sovereign

Chapter 6

          I shiver at the biting cold beneath my fur coat. How I wish I could shift into werewolf form just to keep the frigidity of the night away from my skin. Breathing out, I watch the cloud puff in front of my face.

The rustle of skirts catches my ears.

I perk up in the direction of Elisif's chambers.

A graceful figure sways toward me out of the hallway's shadows. Aela looks like a goddess stepping into the moonlight, dressed in her blue gown I bought her recently and the deep blue gemstones glinting from her neckline.

I smile, asking the question with my eyes.

She beams back. "She's agreed. It took some convincing though."

"Aye," I bob my head, taking her hands. We kiss each other to congratulate the other's success. "Ulfric wasn't the hardest to convince, it was more Galmar."

Aela laughs, a melody that ravishes my heart.

I plant my hand on the small of her back, ushering her back to our assigned quarters.

"Falk wasn't too keen on the idea either," Aela retorted. "Elisif almost threw a designer cairn at my head."

"By the Divines," I state, catching my breath and looking her up and down. "You're okay, right?"

"Dear husband," she giggles. "I am Aela the Huntress. I've gone against monsters more powerful than that queen."

I shrug, "This is true." I wink at her as we step into our chambers.

"So, first thing in the morning," she turns to me as I close and lock the door. "You'll make the announcement and they'll give their consent. I'm assuming we'll leave drafting the contract to the Greybeards?"

I nod, placing my hands on her waist. I move my lips to hers.

The only sound we can hear is the crackling in our fireplace. Spending our quality time together, we're ignorant of the shadowy figure sneaking down the hallway outside. We have no idea of its plot to ruin our plans.

_____

I wake to a hair-raising shriek. The early morning sun slaps me full in the face as I leap backwards out of bed. The quilt I was entangled in earlier that night trips me and I flail on the floor.

Aela rises, her bow and arrow flashing almost out of the air like magic. She's already pointing the projectile at the bedchamber's door by the time I'm finally balanced on my own two feet.

I lunge for my trusty sword.

Dragonsbane sings when I unsheathe it.

Both Aela and I glare at the door, waiting.

Nothing happens.

There's a tumultuous commotion on the other side of the door, but no one is barging in.

I march toward it.

"Husband," Aela calls my attention. "Dress yourself."

I look down, realising I'm only in my night briefs. I grab a robe from the chest at the foot of the bed then storm for the doorway while Aela dresses herself. When I yank the door open, she's behind me, bow and arrow ready.

I catch my breath as servants rush past us. "What's going on?" I yell.

"His majesty and her ladyship have been murdered!" Someone hollers back.

A shudder through my very core has my sword hand shaking for a minute before I regain control.

I mutter Nordic curses on whoever the murderer is.

Aela and I join the party storming down the hallway.

Arngeir the lead Greybeard appears out of nowhere.

"How?" Is all I have to ask.

"Strangled," he looks at me as if the end of the world has taken place.

At first, I think it's just all the feet running back and forth down the hallway. Then the rumbling grows in strength.

"What under Magnus is that?" Arngeir blurts out, his face turning away from me.

"Teacher," I grab his arm. "It's the Voice."

"No," Arngeir meets my gaze. He is thinking the same.

Being both masters of the Voice, we have a gut feeling we both don't want to believe.

His long beard flaps in the wind as he rushes for the foyer of the temple.

Aela and I are hot on his heels.

"Look what you've done!" Falk Firebeard is on us before we can reach the foyer.

"It wasn't us," I state, my temper seething.

"It was your idea to bring her here!"

"You!" Galmar appears around the next corner, his fat finger waving at me. "He's dead because of you!"

"Silence!" I boom. I'm ready to shift into werewolf form. My wife's hand on my shoulder is the only thing quelling this. The four of us march into the foyer to find Arngeir standing in front of Borri.

I've never heard Borri speak, he's one of the Greybeards who took vows of silence years previously because a mere whisper shakes the foundations of High Hrothgar—which is exactly what's happening before my eyes as Borri mutters like he's in some kind of penitent trance.