The scene at High Hrothgar was now dramatically different. The quiet serenity Harin had come to associate with the monastery was shattered by a palpable tension. The main hall, usually echoing with the whispers of the wind and the low murmurs of the Greybeards, was now a stage for political maneuvering and barely concealed animosity.
Arngeir stood near the central fire, his face etched with a deep weariness that hadn't been present before. The other Greybeards stood silently beside him, their expressions somber. The various delegations were arranged around a large, rough-hewn table, the atmosphere thick with distrust. Tullius sat stiffly, flanked by Rikke and Elisif, with Elenwen hovering nearby, her presence an unwelcome intrusion. Across the table, Ulfric stood with Galmar at his side, their postures mirroring the Imperials' rigid formality, but with an added undercurrent of barely suppressed defiance. Jarl Balgruuf occupied a seat slightly removed from the central conflict, his expression reflecting the heavy burden of his position.
Harin and Ibnor approach the Greybeards. As they did, Arngeir addressed them, his voice heavy with doubt.
"So," he began, his gaze sweeping across the tense faces around the table. "You have done it. The men of violence are gathered here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace. I… I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving ourselves in such matters."
Harin met his gaze, offering a reassuring nod. "Don't worry, Master Arngeir. I'll get them to agree to peace."
Arngeir let out a weary sigh. "Peace? I doubt it, Dragonborn. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting. They are not yet tired of war. Far from it. Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? 'Season unending'… so it has proved. But," he continued, his voice regaining a measure of its usual authority, "regrets are pointless. Here we are. Take your seat at the council table, and let us see what wisdom we can find among these warriors of Skyrim."
The council was about to begin. The air crackled with anticipation, the fate of Skyrim hanging in the balance.
Arngeir cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the tense hall. "Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin. I hope that we have all come here in the spirit of…"
Ulfric abruptly stood, his voice cutting through the air. "No. You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?" He gestured dismissively towards Elenwen.
"That didn't take long." Rikke muttered under her breath.
Galmar lets out a low, "Hear, hear!" Even Jarl Balgruuf could be seen shaking his head slightly, a wry expression on his face, muttering, "Diplomatic as usual."
Elenwen, unfazed by the hostility, offered a cool smile. "I have every right to be at this negotiation. I am here to ensure that nothing is agreed to that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordat."
Tullius's jaw tightened, his expression hardening.
"She's part of the Imperial delegation. You can't dictate who I bring to this council, Ulfric." he retorted.
Arngeir raised a hand, attempting to restore order. "Please. If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere. Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn's input on this matter."
Harin considered the delicate situation. Elenwen's presence was undoubtedly a provocation, but outright excluding her could fracture the fragile possibility of a truce. A pragmatic approach was needed.
Ulfric turned to Harin, his eyes pleading for support. "By Ysmir's beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh? To think that we would sit down with that… Thalmor bitch. Either she walks, or I do."
"What's the harm in her being present?" Harin reasoned, keeping her voice neutral. "Besides, Tullius doesn't seem particularly thrilled to have her here either."
"Maybe so," Ulfric conceded, his tone softening slightly. "But bringing her here is a deliberate provocation. Tullius needs to know I won't be pushed around."
"Let Tullius have his way on this one point," Harin suggested. "He'll have to give ground later on other matters."
Ulfric hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Hmm… it feels like a mistake to me, but I'll bow to your judgment on this, Dragonborn." He turned back to the table, addressing Tullius directly, his voice firm. "But she is to observe, nothing more. We are not negotiating with her. Is that clear?"
Elenwen, hearing this, directed a pointed remark at Ulfric. "Ulfric, why so hostile? After all, it's not the Thalmor that's burning your farms and killing your sons."
Rikke shot Elenwen a sharp, suspicious glance, muttering to Tullius, "She's supposed to be on our side?"
"You know exactly… No. Not this time." Ulfric simply glared at Elenwen, refusing to take the bait.
Arngeir, maintaining an air of weary patience, once again tried to steer the conversation back on track. "Now that that's settled, may we proceed?"
"I have something to say first," Ulfric declared, his voice ringing through the hall.
Rikke let out a long, suffering sigh. "Here we go."
"The only reason I agreed to attend this council was to address the dragon menace," Ulfric stated, his gaze sweeping across the table. "There's nothing else to talk about, unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce its unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim."
"I knew he wouldn't be able to resist." Rikke muttered to Tullius.
"We are here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn to deal with the dragons, nothing more," Ulfric continued. "I consider even speaking with the Empire a generous gesture."
Tullius finally lost his patience. "Are you done?" he snapped. "Did you just come here to make speeches, or can we actually get down to business?"
"Yes," Ulfric retorted, his eyes flashing. "Let's get this over with."
Arngeir, his voice calm amidst the simmering tension, finally managed to take control of the meeting. "Are we ready to proceed? Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius. This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn's request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?"
"Yes, let's get down to it," Ulfric agreed, his tone immediately turning businesslike. "We want control of Markarth. That's our price for agreeing to a truce."
Elisif gasped, her composure momentarily shattered. "So that's why you're here, Ulfric? You dare insult the Greybeards by using this sacred council to advance your own political ambitions?"
Tullius raised a hand, silencing her with a curt gesture. "Jarl Elisif, I'll handle this."
"General, this is outrageous!" Elisif protested, her voice rising in indignation. "You can't be seriously considering this demand! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!"
Tullius turned to her, his voice firm and laced with a hint of warning. "Elisif. I said I'd handle it." He then addressed Ulfric, his tone sharp and direct. "Ulfric, you can't seriously expect us to simply hand over Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you've been unable to take in battle? Is that it?"
"We've taken it before," Ulfric countered, his voice steady and unwavering. "I'm simply asking for what will be ours soon enough anyway."
Arngeir, his voice a calming presence amidst the rising tension, interjected, "I'm sure Jarl Ulfric does not expect something for nothing."
Rikke muttered dryly, "Yes, that would be entirely out of character."
Arngeir turned to Tullius, his gaze expectant. "What would the Empire require in return?"
Elisif sputtered, her face flushed with anger. "Wait! General, you don't intend to just hand over Markarth to that… traitor!"
Jarl Balgruuf added, his voice laced with disappointment and a hint of betrayal, "Is this how the Empire repays our loyalty?"
Tullius held up a hand, silencing the escalating protests. "Enough!" He turned back to Ulfric, his expression stern and resolute. "First, let's be clear. This council wasn't my idea. I think it's a waste of time. You are a traitor to the Empire and deserve a traitor's death. But I, at least, will negotiate in good faith." He then addressed Harin, his tone shifting to one of respectful inquiry. "Since we're all here at your request, Dragonborn, I'd like to hear your thoughts. What do you think Markarth is worth?"
Harin considered for a moment, weighing the strategic implications. "What about Riften?" she suggested.
Tullius's eyes lit up with a spark of interest. "Hmm… The Rift would secure our communications with Cyrodiil… and threaten Ulfric's southern flank…" He turned to Ulfric, a calculating glint in his eyes. "You hear what the Dragonborn suggests, Ulfric. We've made you a fair offer. Are you serious about these talks, or are you simply here to posture?"
Ulfric's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "I expected better from you, Dragonborn," he said, his voice laced with disappointment and a hint of accusation. "I came here in good faith, and now it seems you side with the Empire at every turn. As for you, General Tullius," he continued, his voice rising with anger, "I see now that Galmar was right. Talking to the Empire is as pointless as ever. If you think you can hold Markarth, you're as deluded as your Emperor when he signed away our freedom to the Thalmor. Skyrim will never again bow to your false Empire! Let's go, Galmar. I should have listened to you in the first place." He turned sharply and strode towards the exit, Galmar following close behind, his face a mask of grim satisfaction.
"You were always a fool, Ulfric," Tullius retorted, his voice dripping with disdain and finality. "You were no better at diplomacy than you were on the battlefield."
Just as Ulfric and Galmar reached the doorway, Esbern stepped forward, his voice surprisingly strong and commanding, cutting through the tension. "Stop!" he shouted. "Are you so blind to our danger that you can't see past your petty squabbles? Here you sit arguing about… nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!"
Ulfric paused, turning back slowly, his expression hardening once more. "Is he with you, Delphine?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion and challenge. "If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue."
Delphine stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Esbern's arm. "He is with me," she confirmed, her voice firm and unwavering. "And I advise both of you to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash."
Esbern continued, his voice rising with urgency and desperation. "Don't you understand the danger? Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?"
Elenwen, ever opportunistic, began to interject, "A very pretty speech, but what does it have to do with…"
Ulfric cut her off with a sharp gesture and a harsh glare. "Shut up." He then turned back to Tullius, his expression now serious and contemplative. "If he's right about Alduin…" he said, his voice lower now, a hint of doubt creeping in, "we both have just as much to lose here, Tullius. Remember that."
The tension in the room subtly shifted. The air, previously thick with animosity, now carried a faint undercurrent of apprehension. Ulfric turned back towards the table, though his posture remained stiff and guarded.
"Back to the matter at hand," he said, his voice regaining its earlier firmness, but now tinged with a newfound seriousness. "Don't hand me a mug of sheep's piss and call it mead. These terms are still not acceptable."
Tullius, sensing the shift in Ulfric's demeanor, pressed his advantage with a more conciliatory tone. "I'm sure you have something else in mind, Ulfric. Let's hear it."
"Damn right we do," Galmar muttered from behind Ulfric.
Ulfric turned back to Tullius, his expression firm. "You surrender Hjaalmarch to us, and take Idgrod Ravencrone with you. Sorli the Builder will take over as Jarl of Morthal."
Tullius scoffed. "Where do these demands stop, Ulfric? You expect me to surrender all of Skyrim?"
Ulfric shrugged. "It seems I have no choice but to let the Dragonborn decide," he said, his gaze shifting to Harin, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "Although I'm starting to doubt your fairness. What say you, Dragonborn?"
Harin considered the proposal, weighing the strategic value of Hjaalmarch against the need for a truce. "I agree," she stated firmly. "The Empire should turn over Hjaalmarch."
"Spoken like a true daughter of Skyrim!" Ulfric praised, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I suppose that's the fairest deal we're likely to get."
Arngeir, observing the tentative agreement, spoke, his voice resonating through the hall. "It seems we may have an agreement. Jarl Ulfric, General Tullius, these are the terms currently on the table: Markarth will be handed over to Ulfric's forces, Jarl Igmund will step down, and Thongvor Silver-Blood will become the Jarl of Markarth. The Stormcloaks will withdraw from the Rift, allowing Imperial troops unhindered access. Jarl Laila Law-Giver will step down, and Maven Black-Briar will become the Jarl of Riften. Hjaalmarch will be turned over to Ulfric, with Sorli the Builder assuming the Jarlship. Do you both agree to this?"
Ulfric nodded, his expression serious. "The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements as long as the Imperials hold to theirs." He then turned to Elisif, a hint of mockery in his voice. "What about you, Elisif? Are these terms to your liking? Speak up. I'm sure General Tullius is waiting to do your bidding."
Elisif turned her back on Ulfric, her voice cold. "I have nothing to say to you, murderer." She then addressed Tullius, her tone softening. "General, you've proven yourself a good friend to Skyrim. I continue to trust that you will do your utmost to safeguard our interests."
Tullius nodded to Elisif, his expression reassuring. "Thank you, Jarl Elisif. I appreciate your loyalty." He then turned to Arngeir, his voice firm. "The Empire can live with these terms. For a temporary truce, until the dragon menace is dealt with. After that, Ulfric… there will be a reckoning. Count on it."
"Come on, Galmar," Ulfric said, turning to his second-in-command. "We have much to prepare." With a final glance at the assembled company, he and Galmar departed.
Balgruuf, if present, approached Harin, his expression troubled. "Giving up Markarth is a heavy price for this truce, Dragonborn. I hope it was worth it."
Arngeir then turned to Balgruuf. "Jarl Balgruuf," he said, correcting the slight mispronunciation of his name, "I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn's plan?"
Balgruuf nodded, his expression becoming more determined. "Yes, I'm ready to do my part. Just say the word, and my men will help you spring this trap."
Arngeir then turned his attention to the larger issue. "But the difficulties remain," he mused, his brow furrowed. "How to lure a dragon to Dragonsreach at all?"
"Well, that's an excellent question," Tullius agreed, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "You haven't overlooked that little detail, have you?"
"Ah, I believe I can be of assistance here," Esbern interjected, a gleam in his eye. "I anticipated this very problem. While you were arranging this… meeting," he said, casting a pointed glance around the room, "I was occupied in the library of Sky Haven Temple. I uncovered an unguessed trove of lost lore… but the important detail is that the Blades recorded many of the names of dragons they slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine's map of dragon burial sites, I believe I've identified one of the dragons Alduin has resurrected."
"How does that help us?" Harin asked, tilting her head in curiosity.
Ibnor interjected, "Dragon names are always composed of three Words of Power – Rotmulaag."
"Your companion is astute," Esbern confirmed. "Yes, their names are akin to Shouts."
"By calling the dragon with the Voice, he will hear you, wherever he might be," Ibnor explained.
"Why would he come when called?" Harin asked.
"They are not compelled to come," Ibnor explained, "but dragons are prideful creatures by nature. Few could resist such a challenge. Especially from you, the Dovahkiin."
"Yes," Esbern agreed. "Your Voice, in particular, is likely to pique this dragon's interest, especially after your victory over Alduin. I believe he will be unable to resist investigating your call."
"So, what's this dragon's name?" Harin asked.
"Ah, indeed," Esbern replied. "I'm no master of the Voice like these worthy gentlemen," he gestured towards the Greybeards, "but it's written here in this scroll." He unrolled a small parchment, peering at the ancient script. "Od-Ah-Viing. Winged Snow Hunter, as I read it."
Harin took a deep breath, a sense of grim determination settling over her. "Alright. Let's begin."
The remaining figures in the hall began to disperse, each preparing for their role in the perilous endeavor ahead. As Legate Rikke passed Harin, she paused, her gaze steady and her voice low.
"I hope this truce buys you what you need, Dragonborn. But I fear…" she trailed off, her expression conveying the unspoken truth. "…it won't last."
The last echoes of departing footsteps faded, leaving only Harin and Ibnor in the vast, echoing hall. The air, still thick with the residue of tense negotiations, felt strangely empty. Suddenly, Harin punched Ibnor lightly on the shoulder.
Ibnor blinked, a mixture of surprise and confusion on his face. He rubbed his shoulder absently. It hadn't hurt, not really, but the unexpected action left him puzzled.
"What was that for…?"
Harin's gaze lingered on the now-empty space where Elisif had stood, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Isn't she beautiful? Elisif the Fair… the name suits her."
IIbnor frowned, trying to decipher the connection between the punch and Harin's sudden appreciation for the Jarl of Solitude. A faint blush crept up his neck.
"I… I didn't…" he began, then stopped, realizing how weak it sounded. "Didn't even speak to her."
Harin turned back to him, her smile widening into a knowing grin, a playful glint in her eyes. "So I was right. You were thinking about it."
Ibnor sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew arguing was futile.
"Alright… fine. Whatever. It's my fault," he muttered, the sigh escaping his lips again, laced with resignation.
He knew Harin well enough to understand the playful jab. It wasn't meant to be malicious, just… Harin being Harin. Still, a small part of him felt unfairly accused. He hadn't exactly been ogling Elisif, just… appreciating the presence of someone who wasn't currently threatening to tear Skyrim apart. The contrast between her quiet dignity and the shouting match that had just transpired had been… striking. But he knew better than to try and explain all that now. He just sighed.