Bond Of Blood

Chapter 49

Elisif The Fair smiled slightly as she looked outside the carriage window, the plains of Whiterun a stark contrast to the mountains that she had become accustomed to in Solitude. She rested her chin upon her hand and smiled a little more as she caught sight of Dragonsreach.

It had been three weeks since the Battle of Windhelm, and in that time, she had spent every single day feeling as though a gigantic weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Despite being initially outnumbered, the combined forces of the Empire and that of the Forsworn had defeated the bulk of the Stormcloak army.

But the costs had been staggering.

Over three hundred Imperial soldiers. Three quarters of the remaining forces in Skyrim all gone.

Elisif closed her eyes for a moment, praying for all those brave men and women to find peace in the afterlife. She opened her eyes again to see the massive red dragon swoop by, the wing membranes almost translucent in the strong winter sunlight. She spotted the two figures holding onto the ancient beings' back and smiled even more.

Six dragons had fallen, all of them fighting on the behalf of their new master. She had heard reports from several sources that the Dragonborn had found all six dead or dying dragons and had absorbed all the souls before immolating the skeletal remains with dragon fire forged from her powerful Voice.

She wasn't certain why she had liquefied the remains until Sybille pointed out that Morgan had been exceedingly quiet when she had returned to deliver the outcome of the battle. Looking back in her memory, Elisif now kicked herself mentally at not seeing how Morgan had been so quiet while speaking.

Then it struck her.

She wasn't just angry. After killing Ulfric, everyone assumed that whatever demons haunted the Dragonborn would be exterminated. But after running through her words, Elisif realised that Morgan was no longer angry.

She was livid.

Her jaw had been tight, those smouldering eyes seemed to pierce straight through her soul. And while she knew that the anger wasn't directed at her, Elisif knew that even she couldn't extinguish the fire within the Dragonborn.

She sighed as the red dragon accelerated into the sky, a deep bellowing roar echoing across the sky.

It had taken three weeks but finally, after all this time, the Moot had been called. The Jarls of Skyrim would convene and a new King or Queen would be selected. Elisif frowned now, her good mood slowly evaporating. The years had not been kind to the Jarls of late, and she worried of the inevitable back room games that would surely be in play.

Myself. Balgruuf will undoubtedly play the neutral party seeing as the Moot takes place in his Hold. Shea has been nominated as the Jarl of Markarth but she is more loyal to Morgan than myself. Windhelm has sent a temporary Jarl but none seem to know who that person is. Siddgeir for Falkreath of course. Riften has Laila. Dawnstar has Brina. Winterhold has Korir.

Elisif crossed her legs and smoothed her dress down, idly picking at a few small strands of loose silk.

She was nervous but also pleased that the war was over and they could rebuild the province. But she never forgot that the Thalmor would not sit by and do nothing. If the past was anything to go by, they would use overwhelming force to subdue the land and its people.

Which is why I must win the Moot.

Jarl Balgruuf pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and fought the urge to reach for his axe. The other Jarls had only been in Dragonsreach for an hour and already were issuing threats, demands and insults. He sighed heavily and stayed in his seat, letting the others blow off steam.