Crossfire (A Skyrim Fan Fiction)

Chapter 3: A Dark Bargain

 Kisvar

My meeting with Maven- well, Jarl Maven- went exactly as I had expected. She showed the proper degree of surprise that I was alive, thanked me for my sacrifice during the Imperial uprising, and welcomed me back as the Dragonborn.

None of her words or facial expressions revealed the less than welcoming thoughts she must be entertaining about how my return would affect her status, how relations with the Guild would be affected, and how I would choose to use my status.

But really, why should my return be anything but good for her? Last we had dealt with one another, she had offered to pay for Redguard mercenaries to assist in the defense of Whiterun. I had sent a letter to UIfric detailing our negotiations and the payment that I had promised, but I had no way of knowing whether he had actually settled that agreement. I could owe Maven right now- and owing Maven Black-Briar, wittingly or unwittingly, was rarely a good thing.

When I had shown the veracity of my claim to be Dragonborn by Shouting, Maven's attendants and the guards at the door had had their fill of gawking at me, and a courier had been dispatched with a letter for Ulfric with the news I had survived the battle, Maven stood. "Dragonborn, will you accompany to my war room? There are matters I wish to discuss with you in private."

"Of course," I agreed with an inward sigh. I had wanted to wait until after I talked to Jiran to speak to Maven, but that was going to be impossible.

"Kisvar," Maven said after I shut the door behind us, leaning against the table that held the map of Skyrim all war rooms had. She stared at me, the lines on her face deepening slightly. "You have a knack for surviving, it seems."

"I got lucky," I responded untruthfully. There had been no luck, only a voice in my head with a terrifying power and a Daedric Prince that wanted a dutiful servant.

"Perhaps. How did you survive?"

"I was trapped in Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora's plane of Oblivion," I told her, unable to think of any other plausible way to explain my two-month disappearance.

"And the Imperial soldiers?"

"I killed them," I admitted, my gut clenching. "We were losing the battle and I was mortally wounded after defeating Miraak, so I made a deal with Mora. My soul for his assistance in winning the battle." I really needed to think of a better explanation as to how I had actually escaped Apocrypha than "Oh, I found a book in Mora's collection that he can see from anywhere at any time and used it to escape".

Luckily, Maven didn't press, probably realizing how I got out of Apocrypha had no bearing on her. She tapped her nails on the table, took a few thoughtful steps, then turned back to me. "This position suits me," she told me, waving her hand at the Keep in general. "I already controlled Riften, so accepting the title of Jarl only made it official. Even so, there are differences." She touched the Stormcloak banner on the wall. "I now have to take into account the wishes and politics of not only the Stormcloak ideals, but the simple soldiers as well. Not everyone appreciates the sacrifice you made at Whiterun."

Maven forestalled my reply by raising a hand. "You are a soldier, Kisvar. You have seen fields of corpses- men killed by you, men killed by your men, and your men killed by the enemy. Imagine an entire army collapsing, no marks upon their bodies, to join the field of corpses. The surviving army clutches their weapons, gripped with fear as they wonder what terrible power could do such a thing and terrified that they could be next."