Chapter 1

[Author's Note: Welcome back to the continuing adventures of Marcus Dragonborn. If you have not read my two previous efforts, "Into the Maelstrom" and "Into the Darkness", you might want to consider doing so, as there are many references back to events which took place in those stories. Know that this is the third installment of the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim saga, told with my own quirky twist: Marcus was born, lived and died in our world, Gaea, having never played a video game in his life. After his death, he learns his soul was always bound to Nirn, and that it is his fate to be the Last Dragonborn. Life has been pretty good to him so far, this time around, vampires and dragons notwithstanding. But Marcus will soon come to realize that being a Dragonborn means more than being able to out-Shout someone, and that the Aedra are not the only ones who have power over the lives of mer and men.

Disclaimer: All copyrights of canon materials are held by Bethesda Software. I own nothing except my original characters, and a few fabricated plot lines and back-stories.]

Marcus of Whiterun, called "Dragonborn," looked over his little daughter's shoulder.

"What are you drawing, sweetheart?" he asked the child in amusement. The paper on which she scrawled abstract blobs of brown, tan and gray didn't look like anything he recognized. Lying next to her paper were brightly-colored sticks of beeswax that Tamsyn, his wife, had made and colored with dyes to resemble crayons. Julia had ignored these in favor of the earth tones.

"Book," two-year-old Julia announced. She picked up her green crayon and continued coloring, but oddly enough, only on the right-hand side of her paper. The left-hand side remained blank.

"You're writing a book?" Marcus chuckled. "Have I got another budding Bard in the family?"

The toddler shook her dark curls and carefully drew another irregular shape on the patchwork image she was creating. "Book," she repeated insistently.

Marcus merely nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then, baby," he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head. He turned to Jordis. "We'll be gone for most of the day," he told her. "Weddings are always a big deal, and this one will be no different."

Jordis bobbed her head in agreement. "I know, my Thane! Isn't it exciting? We'll have both a High King and a High Queen, ruling Skyrim jointly. Such a thing has never happened before!"

"It hasn't happened yet," the Dragonborn cautioned. "That will be for the Moot to decide, and as I understand it, they'll be holding it tomorrow, so Ulfric and Elisif will have to delay any honeymoon plans they may have made. So the least said about this, the better. I know I can rely on your discretion."

Marcus knew that his Housecarls were clued in on much of the plans the Alliance was preparing to initiate across Skyrim to thwart the efforts of the Aldmeri Dominion in taking over Tamriel. Lydia and Gregor, back at Heljarchen, were practically the central clearing house for getting messages to the Dragonborn. Argis the Bulwark, in Markarth, had deep connections to the Reachfolk, who remained hopeful that their cooperation in the ongoing campaign would result in getting their lands back. Marcus also knew he was placing an enormous amount of faith in his Housecarls, that they wouldn't let the wrong word slip to the wrong ears, but part of accepting their service meant – for him, anyway – taking them out on patrol with him, or running bounty jobs for the Jarls, in order to get to know them and their skills better. Jordis was as formidable with her steel as she was close-mouthed around strangers. Marcus knew he could trust her.

"Are they really in love, my Thane?" Jordis asked now, a worried expression crossing her face. "I know this is supposed to be a political marriage, one of convenience. But are the rumors true? Do Ulfric and Elisif really care about each other?"

Marcus nodded. "So much so that Elisif moved the date up," he chuckled. "I never would have believed she would care for Ulfric as much as she does, but it can only be a good thing for Skyrim."

Relief flooded his Housecarl's face. "That's wonderful!" she sighed. "And to think not that long ago, we all thought of the Jarl of Windhelm as a traitor and a murderer."

Marcus said nothing. It had taken quite some persuasion on his part to keep High King Torygg's involvement with the Aldmeri Dominion a secret. He and the others of the Alliance had debated long and loud over this; it was finally agreed that while progress was being made to prepare their resistance for another war with the Dominion, they were still not quite ready.

"Let the Dominion make the first move," he had insisted. "If we let them know how much we know, we've lost any advantage we might have if they move against us before we're capable of getting dragons in the air and the rest of our troops trained up."

Surprisingly, General Tullius had agreed with him. So they played the waiting game and kept all knowledge of Thalmor infiltration of the court of Skyrim out of the public minds. All that was revealed was that Ulfric had learned of Torygg's involvement in an assassination attempt on Emperor Titus Mede the Second's life. With Elisif backing him up, few in Skyrim were foolish enough to counter public opinion. In just a few short weeks, the cease-fire truce Marcus had first negotiated to deal with the "dragon threat" became a thing of permanency, and it was becoming more and more common to see Imperials and Stormcloaks sharing a drink in the local taverns.

"This is needed," his wife, Arch-Mage Tamsyn had said. "We can only pretend hostilities for just so long before they won't be a pretense any longer. We need to start normalizing relations between the two factions." No one needed to point out that the Thalmor wouldn't be happy about it, and might attempt to circumvent their plans.

To that end, both she and the Dragonborn had remained vigilant to any trouble around the Empire. News travelled faster for them, due in part to the transportation portals Tamsyn's scholars at the College of Winterhold had managed to perfect. In addition, she had developed a form of personal communication shared only by the Alliance and a few trusted outsiders. It was a simple device, really, but Tamsyn was quite justifiably proud of it. A simple earring stud had been enchanted with a combination of Conjuration and Illusion magic. When worn and touched, the wearer could concentrate on whomever they wished to contact – assuming they also wore a stud – and be able to speak to them across the length and breadth of the Empire.

"It won't allow us to do conference calls, just yet," Tamsyn had grinned. "I'm still working on that."

The first convert had been Jarl Balgruuf himself. As Head Coordinator of the Alliance, he swiftly embraced the power that had been given to him to relay orders and messages in minutes, rather than days. Documents, however, still had to be sent by Alliance couriers.

"How do I look, my love?" came Tamsyn's worried voice from their bedroom. She had been fussing with her hair all morning, and now gingerly settled her Arch-Mage's Circlet into her carefully coifed head. "Do you think my circlet smacks too much of a tiara? I don't want to steal Elisif's thunder."

Marcus came up behind his wife and slipped his arms around her. Gazing at her in the full-length mirror in front of them, he smiled. "You look beautiful no matter what you wear. More beautiful when you're not wearing anything," he leered, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Besides, after all the trouble you took to redesign your Arch-Mage's robes, it would be a shame not to show them off."

"Not that anyone will be looking at me, of course," Tamsyn added hastily. "All eyes are going to be on Elisif today. Endarie and Taarie have been practically over the moon designing and making not only my robes, but Elisif's wedding gown as well."

Her new robes were actually composed of a loose tunic belted at the waist and worn over comfortable trousers, which gave her freedom of movement. An official overtunic – a surcoat, in fact – emblazoned with the crest of the College of Winterhold was worn over this, reaching to her knees, but was meant for state occasions only. There was no hood this time; Tamsyn wore her silver and moonstone Arch-Mage's Circlet that she had enchanted with spells to regenerate and fortify her magicka. It was even more powerful than the one she had inherited from her predecessor, Savos Aren.

Marcus said nothing as he slipped easily into the dragon scale armor Balimund and Blaise had made for him to wear around town. It was lighter than the dragon plate he usually wore, but was still very impressive. He liked the helmet design better, as well. It didn't inhibit his vision as much.

He thought back again over the last two years. Tensions between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire were heating up. An assassination attempt against Emperor Titus Mede the Second had failed, and Marcus knew that his Sworn Dark Brother, Cicero, had had something to do with uncovering the plot, under the guidance of the Cyrodiil Thieves Guildmaster, known to some as the Grey Fox. Exactly what his involvement had been, the little Imperial refused to say.

"It's business," he said firmly, and Marcus knew he would have to be satisfied with that.

Only Marcus and Tamsyn knew the extent to which the Breton Guildmaster – whom they knew as Dante Greyshadow – had assisted them in undermining the Dominion strongholds deep within the Ayleid ruins scattered across Cyrodiil. The information Dante had liberated from the Thalmor outposts had served to put the Dragonborn and the Arch-Mage on notice of several plots the Dominion had currently in the works. But it was the Guildmaster's alter-ego, an unassuming antiquities dealer named Lance de Fer, whom the Emperor singled out as the man who had saved his life. There had been no mention of Cicero, and the jester preferred it that way.

There had been a private meeting between the merchant and the Emperor, and the Breton man's star was soon on the rise. He was named a Council member, and trusted advisor to Titus Mede himself. With Amaund Motierre dead, his entire network had fallen apart, and it revealed the complicity of several key Council members, and the extent of their involvement with the Thalmor, including Chancellor Lorena Polus. She, in turn, with a promise of leniency, began naming names within the Arcane University, and divulged the locations of several places where magical artifacts were being hoarded away by the Dominion. Tamsyn was ecstatic when the Grey Fox and his Guild began funneling some of these items to her College through the portals, including spellbooks containing magic once lost. Tamsyn and her scholars were kept busy for quite some time, making copies of these to send to Mzulft, Bthardamz and Blackreach.

Serana Volkihar had joined the Alliance in Mzulft, and had spent the better part of the last two years teaching Conjuration. Reluctant at first to indulge in a school of magic that included raising the dead, Serana pointed out to the soldiers there that the Thalmor would have no such qualms, and they'd better be prepared to fight someone who once fought alongside them. Skirmishes with the Falmer in the Velothi Mountains were frequent, and she soon proved her point.

It was also during one of those skirmishes that a small group of Snow Elves were liberated, held as prisoners and slaves by their corrupted descendants. There weren't many – perhaps only a dozen or so – and at first there were a few mutterings by some of the Nords that they should be put out of their misery. Serana, however, exerted her authority as having the ear of the Dragonborn, and the Snow Elves were carefully and respectfully tended of their injuries and illnesses before being sent to the Forgotten Vale by way of the portal to Bthardamz. From there, they were treated as honored guests by Madanach and his people, and escorted all the way to the Vale.

"I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Tamsyn sighed. Marcus brought his mind back to the present.

"Mommy! Mommy!" little Julia cried, leaving off her drawing and running to Tamsyn. "Up!" Two chubby arms reached up, and Tamsyn scooped her little girl into her arms.

"You be good for Jordis, okay, sweetie?" she crooned, smooching the child's cheek. Instead of giggling, however, Julia clung to her mother.

"Hug!" the toddler whimpered. Her deep green eyes, so like her mother's, were wide with fear.

"Of course I'll hug you, baby," Tamsyn soothed. "Whatever is the matter with you? Daddy and I will be back later."

"Mommy! Book!" Julia insisted.

Tamsyn gave an exasperated sigh. "Mommy can't read to you right now, darling. We're going to be late. Jordis, take her, please."

"No, Mommy, no!" Julia screamed, struggling to stay in her mother's arms.

"Julia!" Marcus rumbled warningly. "Be a good girl. We'll be back later." He leaned over and kissed his daughter's cheek.

"I can't imagine what's gotten into her," Jordis remarked with a worried frown, and Julia dissolved into keening. "She's been such a good girl all morning, sitting there coloring."

"It's probably separation anxiety," Tamsyn smiled, unflustered. "All toddlers go through it. They want to be independent, because they're discovering they're their own person. But it's also a bit frightening, so they cling to the parent they're trying to push away from."

"You really understand children, my Lady," Jordis marveled. "I'll see if I can't get her to take a nap. She was up with the sun, so she's probably tired now. I'll tell her a story, too, since she seemed to want you to read to her." She carried the toddler back into the bedroom, with Julia whining, "Mommy! Book! No!"

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Marcus asked, looking after them as he and Tamsyn headed towards the stairs.

"She'll be fine, my love," Tamsyn assured him. "Once she's had a nap, she'll be her sunny self again."

Marcus smiled. "You're probably right," he agreed. "Shall we go, then? They aren't going to hold off the wedding for us."

Together, the Dragonborn and his Lady left Proudspire Manor and walked up the hill towards Castle Dour and the Temple of the Divines. Almost everyone who was anyone had been invited, and Marcus knew that somewhere, hiding nearby, Cicero and his growing band of Dark Brotherhood agents – he refused to call them "assassins", though he knew in his heart that's what they were – were on the alert in case anyone attempted to ruin this day for the bride and groom by doing anything as stupid as an attempt on their lives.

They entered the Temple first, to make offerings to the Eight Divines. Nine, Marcus said firmly to himself, touching his chest briefly where the Amulet of Talos still lay, hidden. Someday soon, he promised himself, I won't have to hide that I'm wearing it.

He stood in silent prayer at each of the shrines to the Divines of Tamriel, pausing longest in front of Akatosh. Tamsyn, he noticed obliquely, had stopped in front of Julianos.

I don't know if you're listening, he thought privately, but if you could bless Ulfric and Elisif's marriage today, that would be great. He didn't expect an answer; the Dragon God of Time had been silent for some months now, so he was surprised when he actually got one.

It's not exactly my bailiwick, came the amused reply. That's really more Mara's area of expertise. But you needn't worry about Ulfric and Elisif. They will have a long and happy life together. Quite a few children, too. That should make Elisif very happy. You and Tamsyn have done well in uniting these two. They are just what Skyrim needs.

Thank you! Marcus thought back, sincerely. I wouldn't have believed it myself, four years ago, but it seems Tamsyn was right all along.

When will you learn to trust that girl? Akatosh chuckled indulgently. Then his tone grew serious. I don't wish to put a damper on the upcoming festivities, but you need to pay attention.

Instantly alert, Marcus acknowledged wordlessly that he was listening. Trouble coming? he asked.

Of course, Akatosh drawled. I wouldn't have bothered you today, but as long as we're speaking now, it's as good a time as any. You must travel to Solstheim and deal with the cultists who have been attacking you. Miraak's power is growing. You must stop him before it's too late.

Marcus remembered the attempts that had been made on him. There had been two more in the past two years. Each time it had seemed to him the cultists were stronger than the ones who had come before them, and each of them had carried the same enigmatic note referencing the mysterious Miraak.

How much time do I have? Marcus asked now. There were still so many irons in the fire, and he'd been running all over Tamriel trouble-shooting and putting out fires where he could.

Sooner is always better than too late, Dragonborn, Akatosh replied with finality. With that, the Presence faded, and Marcus knew he was alone. Tamsyn was standing at his elbow with a troubled look on her face.

"Communing with the Boss?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yeah," Marcus murmured. "Seems I've got a trip to make when we're done here."

"Really?" she blinked. "Where?"

"Solstheim," he replied, and Tamsyn shuddered.

"Dear gods, not that," she breathed, looking pale.

"You're going to tell me what you know after the wedding, understand?" he told her firmly. Tamsyn merely nodded, her face troubled.

To the rest of Tamriel, the Arch-Mage was something of a legend in her own right, renown as a formidable mage and gifted Seer. She often seemed to know things before they would happen, and see things in the future that could derail their plans. Marcus knew some of that knowledge came from her having played hundreds of hours of the video game in which they had both found themselves after their lives in Gaea had ended.

He was also honest enough to know that she had not been idle while he had been getting strong enough to kill Alduin and destroy Lord Harkon of the Volkihar vampire clan. Her exploration and experimentation with magic was partly game knowledge, and partly due to the fact that she was the daughter of the God of Magic himself, Julianos. There were days when he didn't feel worthy of being her husband. Then she would smile at him and gaze at him adoringly with her deep green eyes, and kiss him with all the fire and passion that echoed his own desires, and he knew that she loved him as much as he loved her.

They joined the rest of the crowd of people who settled in the courtyard outside on the benches provided, and bore witness to the marriage of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, and Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude. Marcus stole a glance around.

Siddgeir was here from Falkreath, lounging indolently in a far back corner. He was attended by his Housecarl, Helvard. Apparently his Steward, Nenya, had remained behind to manage things in his absence. He looked bored, peevish and decidedly sullen.

Laila Law-Giver was sitting closer, aided by her younger son, Saerlund, who nodded and smiled at Marcus. A debilitating stroke last year had left Laila paralyzed on one side. It made speech difficult for her, but she managed with few words and fewer gestures to communicate her intentions through Saerlund. Marcus knew it probably wouldn't be too long before Saerlund would be taking over as Jarl of the Rift.

Brina Merelis, Jarl of the Pale, sat rigidly at attention with her Housecarl Horik next to her. As Marcus watched, she slipped her hand up to her eyes and dabbed at them with an embroidered handkerchief. Marcus grinned. The old softie! She'd have everyone believe she was tough-as-nails, yet attending a wedding made her cry.

Jarl Idgrod of Morthal was next to Brina, on her other side. Looking older than Marcus remembered, with most of her hair gone white, she was attended by her Steward-husband Aslfur, and her daughter and son, Idgrod the Younger and Joric. The boy was staring off into space, not paying any attention to the ceremony.

The Reach was represented by Interim Jarl Esmerelda, who had been appointed after the assassination of Jarl Nepos – Interim Jarl Nepos, Marcus corrected himself – two years previous. There was an older man sitting next to her that Marcus didn't recognize, but he knew enough about magic to realize it was probably Madanach under the Illusion spell. Esmerelda was, after all, a Master of Illusion. She had to be; few people of the Reach, or Skyrim in general, would be happy knowing the Jarl of Markarth was a Hagraven. Matriarch, he insisted firmly to himself.

Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun was sitting in the front row with Marcus and Tamsyn, and next to him was his Housecarl, the dark elf Irileth. Balgruuf's children were spread out down the bench, each dressed in their finest clothes, and Marcus realized with a start just how much they had grown. Frothar had shot up another three inches since Marcus had seen him last, and was bulking out. Balgruuf had insisted the boy spend time at court each day, listening to the concerns of the people, and giving him the opportunity to decide how to resolve conflicts. It would take time, but Balgruuf had that time, and was carefully grooming the next Jarl of Whiterun. Dagny was already betrothed to Saerlund of Riften, though he was several years older than her. She was already looking very much the grown lady, casting sidelong glances at her intended, who grinned back at her, and Balgruuf had sighed at how much she resembled her late mother. Nelkir, his illegitimate son, would never inherit the throne of Dragonsreach, and if Balgruuf had been a lesser man, that might have bothered the young man. But Balgruuf had sent Nelkir to Blackreach as soon as he was considered old enough, and he was already proving himself to be capable of handling situations that required stealth. Brynjolf had taken the young man under his wing – under Balgruuf's reproving frown.

"I'm not teaching him to steal, Balgruuf," Bryn insisted with a cheeky grin. "I'm teaching him to gather intelligence. Isn't that what you want?"

Marcus' own children, with the exception of Lucia, who was to perform after the ceremony, had been unable to attend. Blaise was busier than ever at the Scorched Hammer in Riften, and Sofie had one more year with Arcadia in Whiterun to finish her apprenticeship before moving up to the College of Winterhold to study Restoration. Alesan had gone to visit Lars Battle-born at Skuldafn Temple; Lars had become a full member of the Blades, and was being trained as a dragon rider. He hadn't told his parents that. All Idolaf and Afthild knew was that their son had joined a prestigious warrior's guild.

Conspicuously absent was the Thalmor Ambassador, Ramallion z'ha Cirdain. It seemed his invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.

Focusing his attention now on the ceremony, Marcus tried to keep his mind on the words of the Priest of Mara, who had come all the way from Riften to bless this marriage.

"It was Mara who first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children," Maramal intoned. "It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all."

Standing in front of the priest, Ulfric and Elisif faced each other. Ulfric had trimmed his hair and beard only slightly, but he was clean, combed and looking quite presentable in his finest clothes. Marcus was struck by the thought that he had always considered Ulfric to be old, when in fact, the Jarl of Windhelm was probably not fifty yet.

Elisif was positively radiant. Her gown clung close to her form, frothing around her feet, and was made of a fine, white satin embroidered all over with silver filigree. Over this was a layer of silk so sheer it almost seemed as though it was made from spiderwebs, studded here and there with crystals, like droplets of water caught on the fine strands. She wore no veil, but a tiara of silver, studded with diamonds, caught her flaming red hair up high on her head where it cascaded down in ringlets of fire. Ulfric was staring at her in awe.

He's probably thinking what I thought when I married Tamsyn, Marcus mused, giving Tamsyn's hand a quick squeeze. How did I get so lucky?

"We gather here today," Maramal continued, "under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship."

No romanticizing here, Marcus thought with a smirk. Marriage in Skyrim didn't mean a life without troubles, and Maramal was reminding everyone that the lives bound together by Mara's blessing were lives that would share the bad with the good. Not that either of them needs to worry about poverty, he thought privately.

Maramal turned to the two figures before him, seeming unaffected by their importance to the rest of Skyrim. To him, they were simply two souls who wished to be joined in marriage.

"Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?" he asked Ulfric.

Ulfric blinked, bemused. Clearing his throat, he said huskily, "I do, now and forever." His eyes never left Elisif's.

Satisfied, Maramal turned to Elisif and repeated his question. Without looking at the priest, Elisif replied breathlessly, "I do, now and forever."

Smiling, the Redguard priest turned to the congregation. "Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed. I present the two of you with these matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together."

He gave one ring to Ulfric and the other to Elisif. In a break from tradition, with some prompting from the Dragonborn, Ulfric was given Elisif's ring and placed it on her finger. Ordinarily, the priest would have handed each their own ring, and they would have put them on their own fingers.

Elisif giggled as she put Ulfric's ring on his finger, and murmured something even Marcus couldn't hear from the front row. The look of surprise, shock and amusement on Ulfric's face, however, was priceless, and he grinned broadly, whispering something to Elisif that caused her to blush as bright as her hair. But her eyes sparkled and she smiled breathlessly as Ulfric – in another break from Skyrim tradition – took his new bride in his arms and kissed her soundly on the mouth in front of all the witnesses. Elisif didn't hesitate, but kissed him back, just as passionately. Maramal shifted uncomfortably.

A gasp rose from the crowd, and a laugh from Balgruuf, who had been witness to a similar ceremony four years previous. Then everyone began to laugh and cheer.

"Did you hear what Ulfric said to Elisif?" Tamsyn giggled.

"No," Marcus replied, shaking his head. "You were closer than I. What did he say?"

"Elisif asked if the size of his fingers was an indication of the size of his manhood, since she was having trouble getting his ring on his finger," Tamsyn grinned. "Ulfric told her he'd let her see for herself later."

Marcus threw back his head and laughed. "No wonder Maramal looked uncomfortable!"

The banquet reception afterwards was set up on the grand terrace at the Bard's College. Marcus remembered belatedly that he was an ersatz member of the Bard's College, after returning Svaknir's journal with King Olaf's verse in it to Master Viarmo. Doing so had resulted in the restoration of the "Burning of King Olaf Festival," a practice that Balgruuf had found distasteful, considering King Olaf had been a direct ancestor of his. He didn't hold a grudge against Marcus for it, however. Nevertheless, Marcus had obliged a few of the faculty by finding a few lost instruments and singing a few songs for them he remembered from his previous life, and for this, he was rewarded the status of "official Bard", which pleased Lucia no end.

"I can see now where your daughter gets some of her talent from," Master Viarmo remarked. Marcus saw no reason to point out to him that Lucia had, in fact, been adopted, and not fathered by him.

Conversations flowed around him while everyone dined, toasted the bride and groom, and listened to the Bards perform. Lucia had her moment, as the most junior member of the troupe, and the guests were most appreciative of her performance of a guitar solo no one in this world had ever heard before – except the Dragonborn, who had taught it to her, and the Arch-Mage who, upon hearing the first few opening bars, whipped her head around to her husband and hissed, "'Bohemian Rhapsody'? Seriously, Marcus?"

"Relax," he murmured. "I didn't teach her the words."

Lucia played flawlessly, and Tamsyn had to admit, that even while the words rang in her head, as a guitar solo the song was beautiful on its own merit.

Marcus saw General Tullius in full, formal Imperial regalia seated to Elisif's right side. Rikke was beside him, on his right. Galmar, of course, was seated to Ulfric's left. Marcus and Tamsyn were next to him, and the Jarls were spread out down both sides of the banquet table.

By unspoken agreement, any talk of the Thalmor, the Civil War – which now seemed as though it might be over – or their ongoing plans to thwart the Dominion were kept strictly out of this happy occasion. Marcus had the feeling they would be brought up soon enough at the Moot the next day.

As soon as the dinner was concluded, tables were cleared away and the Bards stepped up to perform for those who wished to dance. Marcus and Tamsyn joined in the first reel, in which Ulfric and Elisif took part, but afterwards excused themselves and sat on the sidelines.

Ulfric and Elisif came up to them not long after.

"Are you enjoying yourselves, Dragonborn? Arch-Mage?" the Jarl of Windhelm asked. He looked younger and happier than Marcus could ever remember seeing him.

"I am, Ulfric," Marcus admitted. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer, though."

"I am," Tamsyn smiled, "but if Marcus wants to sit out, that's fine by me."

"Perhaps I should take you out on the floor, then?" Ulfric offered, extending his hand.

Tamsyn looked at her husband, who grinned and shrugged. "I can hardly say no to the groom, can I?" he smiled. "Go ahead, my love."

Tamsyn beamed and took Ulfric's hand as he led her out onto the dance floor.

"I'd like to sit this one out with you, if that's alright," Elisif said shyly. Her own childish hero-worship of the Dragonborn made her blush.

"I'd like that, Elisif," Marcus smiled again, gesturing for her to sit.

"So, we did it," Elisif murmured after a few moments. "Ulfric and I are – I can't believe I'm saying this – we're actually married!"

Marcus chuckled. "That you are. Nervous?"

Elisif blinked. "About being married to a man I once despised?" she asked. "No. Not anymore. I've come to really know Ulfric, and I understand how he became the man he is today. Once I might have been intimidated, but not now."

"He loves you, you know," Marcus said, knowing it really wasn't necessary. "I saw the way he looked at you during the ceremony."

"I know," Elisif dimpled. "And we're going to work together to heal Skyrim, and restore our place within the Empire." She dropped her voice so he had to lean in to hear her. "But it will be our place, on our terms."

"Best save that for the Moot tomorrow, then," Marcus advised, glancing around carefully.

"Of course," Elisif nodded. "You'll be there, won't you?"

Marcus blinked. "I didn't know I was supposed to be," he admitted. "I thought it was just the Jarls."

"I thought Ulfric was going to ask you," Elisif said hastily. "The Moot is a meeting of all the Jarls, of course, but there needs to be a mediator. Someone not connected to the issue, who can keep order and give everyone's voice a chance to be heard."

"I didn't know anything about this!" Marcus protested. "And does it have to be me? Couldn't you get someone like Master Viarmo, or Master Tolfdir at Winterhold to govern over the Moot?"

"Master Viarmo is an Altmer," Elisif explained. "There are still a few Jarls who don't quite trust that all Altmer aren't Thalmor. And Master Tolfdir is a Mage. Some still don't trust magic. But you, Marcus," she went on. "You're the Dragonborn. Everyone knows and respects your judgement. You successfully headed up the negotiations for the peace talks at High Hrothgar four years ago. Everyone remembers that. And Ulfric specifically asked for you. He said he wouldn't trust anyone else. Especially with the Thalmor Ambassador present."

"Wait…what?" Marcus spluttered. "Ambassador Ramallion will be there? I thought the Moot was to decide who the next High King or High Queen of Skyrim would be. The Dominion has no place there, any more than they did when we were negotiating the peace treaty!"

"The Ambassador insisted on being present for this. He said that whoever becomes High King or High Queen of Skyrim is someone with whom the Dominion will have diplomatic dealings with…or something like that. In any case, we couldn't say no to him without sparking an incident none of us are prepared to face right now."

Marcus frowned. He didn't like this one bit. According to his mentor, Akatosh, he needed to get his keister over to Solstheim to find out more about this Miraak person. But if the Thalmor Ambassador was going to be present at the Moot, it drastically lessened the chance for Ulfric and Elisif to be nominated as joint rulers, and according to Tamsyn, this had to happen.

"Alright," he sighed. "I'm not really prepared for this, but tell Ulfric I'll be there."

"Thank you, Marcus!" Elisif gushed. "You have no idea what this means to us both."

He smiled tiredly. "I have a pretty good idea."

"Your wife is an accomplished dancer, Dragonborn," Ulfric smiled as he handed her back to her husband and reclaimed his wife.

"That she is," Marcus replied, returning the groom's smile. "It's too bad she got saddled with a husband with two left feet."

"We'll see you tomorrow, then?" Ulfric asked, peering at him meaningfully.

Marcus nodded. "I'll be there."

"Wait. What are you talking about?" Tamsyn demanded as Ulfric and Elisif wandered off to mingle with their guests.

"Apparently I've been nominated to Chair the Moot," Marcus replied dryly.

"When did this happen?"

"Just now," Marcus said. "That little minx that Ulfric just married conned me into it. She said the Thalmor Ambassador will be there."

"Uh oh, that's not good," Tamsyn frowned. She blew out a sigh. "Well, then, I guess you'll have to be there, and I'll have to go to Winterhold alone."

"Why? What's going on at Winterhold?" Marcus asked. "And when did you find out you needed to be there?"

"I got a call from Tolfdir as the dance was ending," Tamsyn said, discreetly tapping her earlobe where the plain, silver stud was nestled. There was a matching one on the other side, so as not to arouse too much suspicion, but that one was not enchanted. Marcus surreptitiously brought his hand up to his own ear stud. "Someone's been snooping around in the Midden," Tamsyn continued, "and I need to get over there and find out what's going on, and if our research down there has been compromised."

"Damn," Marcus muttered. "We can't afford to have that get put out there in the open." He ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. Go see what's happening at your College. I'll join you as soon as the Moot is done. When are you leaving?"

"I have to leave now," Tamsyn replied. "I'll use the transporter in Castle Dour. Give Julia a hug and kiss from me. I love you both." She kissed Marcus briefly and threw her arms around his waist before slipping away into the crowd.

Marcus stayed long enough to be polite, but made his own farewells to the guests soon after Ulfric and Elisif slipped away. Lucia had officially moved into the Bard's College, and would be retiring there after their performances were done for the night, so it was a simple matter for him to slip into Proudspire through the basement door and head upstairs. He heard Julia crying as soon as he reached the stairs leading up, and made his way to his daughter's room, where a very frazzled Jordis was struggling to calm the baby.

"How long has she been carrying on like that?" he asked above his daughter's howls.

"She was fine most of the evening, my Thane," Jordis replied, "up until about an hour ago. Then she just started crying and wouldn't stop."

"Julia, Julia," Marcus crooned, scooping up the two-year-old. "It's alright, Daddy's here. Calm down."

"M-m-mommyyyy…" Julia whimpered.

"Mommy had to go back to the College for a little bit, sweetie," he soothed. "She'll be home soon. You need to get some sleep, baby girl. Come on, I'll rock you." He went over to the rocking chair he'd had made when Julia was born and sat down. "Jordis," he continued, looking over his still-keening daughter's head. "Why don't you take the rest of the evening off. Go next door and have some fun. They'll be at it for hours yet."

"Thank you, my Thane!" the blonde Nord woman sighed in relief. She bowed and left the room to head downstairs to her quarters and prepare herself for a better evening than she thought she'd have.

For the next hour or so, Marcus crooned and soothed his little girl, frustrated in his ignorance. What was ailing the child? Separation anxiety be damned. There was something else bothering her. He gently probed her gums with his finger, but it didn't seem she was cutting any new teeth. The only thing he could get out of her was 'Mommy,' 'book' and 'no.'

Finally giving it up, he rocked and hummed softly to her, until at last exhaustion claimed the child and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Marcus continued to rock her for another half hour or so, just to make sure, before getting up and placing her in her crib. He covered the permanent mage light Tamsyn had placed in Julia's room as a nightlight, and made his way to the door. Something white on the table caught his eye and he saw the piece of paper Julia had been coloring on earlier in the day. It was folded in half, lying face down, so at first he didn't recognize it for her drawing.

Turning it over in his hands, he could see the patches of tan, brown, green, yellow, gray and white on the front. The white part had a line with hash marks scrawled across it. Marcus opened the paper and saw a stick figure that was clearly meant to be Tamsyn, if the red smear across her head was any indication. A scribble on one side of the paper looked like something his daughter had started to draw, but was unhappy with and tried to obliterate. He smiled, carefully folded the paper and put it inside his tunic pocket, intending to show Tamsyn later. Perhaps she'd put it away with all of the other things the children had made for her.

He smiled wistfully, missing his wife already, and prepared to sleep alone in the great bed they usually shared.

Jarl Balgruuf met him in the entrance hall of the Blue Palace.

"Well, Marcus, I have to say I'm glad you'll be presiding over the proceedings," he smiled.

"I didn't even know I was going to be here until yesterday," Marcus said sourly. "I thought this Moot was just going to be all of you, the Jarls, sitting around deciding the matter."

Balgruuf cleared his through embarrassedly. "Yes, well…ah…things took a different turn when Tullius informed us the Thalmor Ambassador insisted on being present," he explained in a low voice, eyes darting up the stairs to the Jarl's Throne Room above.

"When did this happen?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Day before yesterday," Balgruuf replied, scowling. "And I don't mind telling you that not everyone was upset. Keep your eyes on Siddgeir and Saerlund."

"Saerlund?" Marcus blinked. "Laila's son? I thought he hated the Thalmor."

"He does," Balgruuf replied evenly. "But he has even less love for Ulfric and Elisif. He might be inclined to vote for someone else."

Marcus had spent the morning at the Bard's College library doing his research. Giraud Gemane, the Dean of History there, had been delighted to pull a handful of books off the shelves when Marcus asked him what – exactly – the responsibilities of the Chairman of the Moot were. They had discussed the historical background of past Moots for a couple of hours, until Marcus felt confident he knew enough to negotiate his way through the procedure to come. So it came as no surprise to him that Ulfric and Elisif might not be the only candidates. As far as the other Jarls knew, only one of them would become High King or High Queen. A joint-rulership, in spite of the wedding, would not cross their minds.

So it was a slightly more self-assured Dragonborn who climbed the steps with Jarl Balgruuf to join the other Jarls, as well as the Thalmor Ambassador and General Tullius, in the Throne Room of the Blue Palace to decide the fate of Skyrim.

"You're here, too, General?" Marcus asked.

"I have to be, Dragonborn," the grizzled veteran drawled. "I'm the Military Governor of this Province until such time as the High King or Queen is selected, and Skyrim can govern herself again."

Marcus didn't ask why the General had not been picked to preside over the proceedings. Certain Jarls would have accepted him no more than they would the Thalmor Ambassador. Indeed, Laila Law-Giver was scowling angrily at both representatives of the Empire, but held her peace. Speech was difficult for her to begin with. To attempt a tirade would have exhausted her. Saerlund guided his mother to a seat, and she sat down heavily and gratefully.

The others took their places and waited for Marcus. The only seat left was the Throne itself, and he didn't feel comfortable taking it.

"We're waiting, Dragonborn," Jarl Idgrod prompted kindly.

Heaving a huge mental sigh, Marcus took the last remaining seat.

"I call this Moot to order," he began. "Let all know that the purpose of this conclave is to choose a new High King – or High Queen – to rule Skyrim for the foreseeable future. I would like to remind you that everyone here will get a chance to speak; your voices will be heard. You will all get a chance to nominate your choice and state why you support them. There will be a round of rebuttals, after which a vote will be taken. Only the Jarls will have the vote, is that understood?"

Nods went around the room.

"Very well," Marcus smiled. "Who would like to speak first?"

Siddgeir rose from his seat. "I will speak," he drawled. "I put my own name forth. As you all know, I am Siddgeir, Jarl of Falkreath, and I am loyal to Skyrim and her people. I know some of you don't think Falkreath is the most prestigious Hold in the Province, but all that can change with a vote in my favor. We have some of the richest mines in Skyrim, the deepest forests, and we are in good standing with the representatives of the Empire. No one can say that Falkreath has turned her back on her duty to the Emperor, unlike some—"

An explosion of protests broke out at this speech, and Marcus' first instinct was to call for order. But Giraud had warned him this would happen, and advised him to let it ride.

"They will shout themselves out," he explained. "Each of them secretly wants the Throne, whether they admit it or not, and each of them thinks they are the most loyal, most productive, most whatever, and that they are the only choice. Let them argue if they must. Your job as Chairman is to maintain order. Only step in if it looks like it might come to blows."

So Marcus let the Jarls rant at each other for several minutes before banging the table in front of him with a block of wood set there for that purpose.

"Order, please, my Jarls," he demanded, only enhancing his voice enough to be heard above the cacophony. "You will all have your chance to state why you believe yourselves to be the best choice. This is Siddgeir's chance. Jarl Siddgeir? Have you finished?"

"No," the Jarl sneered. "I just want to say this: those of you who turn your backs on the Empire that protects you are fools!"

"Better a fool than a boot-licker," Jarl Idgrod intoned.

And so it went on. Brina Merelis from the Pale was next, and not surprisingly, she threw her support to Elisif. Korir of Winterhold spoke next, and stated that Ulfric was the only High King Skyrim needed, Laila, through her son Saerlund, also supported Ulfric, though the young man didn't look happy about having to make the announcement. Interim Jarl Esmerelda, of the Reach, declared she would have Elisif on the Throne.

Ulfric and Elisif exchanged glances with each other, and to Marcus' surprise, voted for themselves, but not jointly.

What the hell are they doing? he thought in frustration. He had thought they might suggest the joint rulership. Had plans changed? Unable to say anything to that point, he could only call on Jarl Idgrod next.

"I know some of you think of me as an addle-pated old woman," she began. "I know most of you talk about me behind my back, and say I'm losing my sanity, claiming to see things no one else sees. Yet you accept that the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold has this gift, and think nothing of it."

Several pairs of guilty eyes turned from her piercing gaze.

"While I believe the Empire has done much good for Skyrim, I also foresee the need for Skyrim to remain independent. And I have seen a change come over the Jarl of Windhelm; he is not the man he once was. The darkness in his soul has been lifted. I believe we need his strong leadership in the times to come. I vote for Jarl Ulfric." She gave Marcus a keen, searching look as she sat down.

A gasp of astonishment came from General Tullius. Jarl Idgrod had been a staunch supporter of the Empire for many decades. To have lost that support was a shock he hadn't expected. Nor had Marcus, who felt certain Idgrod Ravencrone would have voted for Elisif.

Balgruuf was the last to speak. "I have spent many hours wrestling with my conscience over this vote," he admitted. "I didn't want to have to choose between two people I have come to know and respect." He gave Marcus a pleading look, as if begging him to understand. "But for now, I have to support the Empire that has been good to us all this time. I vote for Elisif."

Marcus was stunned. What the hell just happened? What happened to the idea of a joint-rulership?

He rose slowly, confusion and irritation warring for dominance on his countenance. "The vote stands at four for Jarl Elisif, four for Jarl Ulfric, and one for Jarl Siddgeir," he began. "At this time we'll take a short recess—"

"Forgive the interruption," Ambassador Ramallion broke in, "but I believe that at this time, other interested parties, such as myself, are to be given a chance to speak, to…enlighten the Jarls, as it were, to the advantages of voting one way or the other."

Marcus fumed. Damn the mer! He'd hoped the Ambassador wasn't familiar with parliamentary procedure, or whatever passed for it here in Skyrim. As gracefully as he could, Marcus inclined his head.

"The Ambassador is quite correct," he replied. "Forgive me for neglecting our guests in such a manner. You have the floor, Ambassador."

Ambassador Ramallion didn't even acknowledge Marcus as he turned to address the Jarls. "I only wish to remind the distinguished members of this conclave their duty towards the Empire. Now that your…internal strife seems to have been resolved, you should look towards maintaining the good relations that Jarl Elisif has always had with the Empire, under the guidance of her representatives here. By that I mean myself and General Tullius."

Tullius scowled, as if reluctant to be grouped with the Thalmor.

"I also need not remind you of the restrictions of the White-Gold Concordat, signed by all of you, that gives the Dominion access to your Holds at any time. In the interests of…peace…between our peoples, I urge you to begin enforcement of these laws immediately. To those of you who have complied all along, you have the gratitude of the Dominion and the Empire. To those of you who until recently defied the edicts, remember this: the Dominion is here, and we are watching you."

With that, he returned to his seat, but there was an uncomfortable silence left in his wake.

"General Tullius," Marcus invited. "Is there anything you wish to add?"

"I'm not one for making speeches," the General said, rising, "but I'll add just this: vote your conscience. This isn't a popularity contest here. You're deliberating the future of your Province. And while I might be slightly biased on which side of that fence I'm sitting, I won't hold it against anyone who votes based on what they feel is best for their country. This is your land, your people, and each of you knows what's best for them. Now that the Civil War is over, it's time for you to begin healing the hurts it caused. Vote for whomever you think can do that job the best. It's all you can do."

He sat down, still brooding. Clearly, he wasn't any happier than Marcus about the joint-rulership proposal not being raised.

"I think we'll take that recess now," Marcus said. "Let's reconvene in an hour and we will hear rebuttals, after which we will take another vote."

The Jarls rose and drifted off in twos and threes. Siddgeir was already trying to buttonhole Laila and get her to support his claim. The Ambassador remained where he was, and Tullius drifted over to Marcus.

"I hear Elisif has made some improvements to the garden," the General suggested.

Marcus picked up on the unspoken meaning immediately. "Really?" he asked, feigning surprise. "I'd like to see them, if you've got a moment."

The two men left the Throne Room and made their way down to the gardens where Elisif spent much of her time, digging, planting, pruning, and generally taking care of things herself.

"Are we alone?" the General murmured.

"Let's see," Marcus muttered. "Laas yah niir," he whispered. The only red blobs that showed up around them were the Solitude guards, loyal to Elisif. Everyone else was too far away to hear. "We're good," Marcus said in a low voice.

"What in Oblivion is going on in there?" the General burst out. "I thought we had it all arranged for them to declare a joint-rulership!"

"I know, I know!" Marcus sighed. "I don't know what's gotten into them. Giraud warned me they might all try to claim it. I guess that's just human nature."

"Who's Giraud?"

"Dean of Histories at the Bard's College," Marcus explained, and told the General of his research studies earlier in the day.

"Hmmm…" Tullius frowned. "That's all very well and good, but it doesn't help us now. Is there anything you discovered in your research that would let us introduce the subject?"

"No," Marcus scowled, shaking his head. "As Chairman I have to remain neutral. The Jarls will take another vote, and we'll have to see if that gets them out of gridlock. It has to be a majority vote for one of them – or they'll have to come up with the idea themselves. We aren't allowed to suggest it."

"I thought Balgruuf at least knew what was at stake here," the General groused.

"I thought he did, too," Marcus worried. "But I guess the lure of power is stronger than reason. Maybe Balgruuf thinks we can all guide Elisif into making the right choices."

"That's not going to sit too well with Ulfric, if she gets the vote," Tullius remarked.

Marcus blew out a sigh of exasperation. "You're right about that," he worried. "Ulfric is a proud man."

"Proud and stubborn, like most Nords I've met," Tullius drawled. "We should get back. There's nothing more we can do here, and I don't like leaving them alone too long. I want to know what's going on in there."

"The usual schmoozing, I'm sure," Marcus replied.

"'Schmoozing?'' Tullius raised an eyebrow.

"You know," Marcus grinned, "political maneuvering, brown-nosing, boot-licking. All the intrigue that makes up negotiating a better deal. I'm sure they're all trying to convince each other to change their minds."

"I'm so glad I was never a part of all that," the General sighed in relief. "I hate the posturing. Just give me an enemy to fight and point me in the right direction."

Marcus chuckled. The more he came to know General Tullius, the more he appreciated the older man's acerbic wit.

He spent the rest of the hour seated quietly to one side of the entrance hall. Everyone knew he was there, but no one consulted him. They couldn't. Balgruuf saw him and gave a guilty start, before rallying a smile which the Dragonborn did not return. It was a good thing the Jarls couldn't speak to him right now, because he would have given Balgruuf a piece of his mind.

At the end of the hour he met up with General Tullius again, and they mounted the stairs together. As they re-entered the Throne Room, they could see most of the Jarls had returned. Only Laila Law-Giver was absent. Saerlund, however, was still there.

"Where's your mother?" Marcus asked kindly. "Is she feeling alright?"

Saerlund smiled sadly. "This morning has been…difficult for her," he admitted. "She's gone to lie down for a while, at Elisif's insistence. She asked me to represent her interests here. I hope that's alright."

"If the other Jarls don't object, I have no problem with it," Marcus replied, patting the younger man's shoulder. He stepped back to the Throne and banged the block of wood on the table. "My Lords and Ladies," he called out. "It is time for us to reconvene."

When everyone was seated once more, Marcus called the proceedings to order again and spoke to the assembled nobility.

"My Lords and Ladies," he began. "When we recessed, you were at an impasse. The vote count stands with four for Elisif, four for Ulfric and one for Siddgeir. I now open the floor for rebuttals. You will each be given a chance to explain why one of the nominees is not a good choice for High King or High Queen. We will start with the last person to cast his vote, Jarl Balgruuf."

Balgruuf rose nervously and wouldn't meet Marcus' eyes. "Well, as you know, I've never been on good terms with the Jarl of Windhelm in the past. And while my opinion of him as a man might be changing, and while I think he's a strong man, a force to be reckoned with, I think he lacks the diplomatic polish that Elisif has, young as she is. Ruling Skyrim isn't just about being the strongest; it's also about being fair, and making the right choices, even when you don't like the ones set in front of you. Fighting for what you believe in is a fine thing, but there are times when diplomacy will get you more than a fight."

He cleared his throat and continued. "As for Siddgeir, I don't have a lot to say. Any Jarl who neglects his people in favor of an inflated lifestyle, who allows a city to remain ruined when he has the resources to rebuild it, and who has dealings with criminals – until they are of no further use to him – is not a good Jarl in my opinion, and we certainly don't need that type of High King in Skyrim!"

Balgruuf sat down even as Siddgeir rose to challenge him.

"By what right do you make these accusations about me?" the younger man demanded hotly.

Balgruuf rose again. "By the evidence of my own eyes and ears, Siddgeir!" he countered. "I know for a fact that you sent a letter to Marcus, here, when he first became known as the Dragonborn, just to curry favor for yourself."

"A letter he ignored!" protested the Jarl of Falkreath. "He never replied, and never showed up at my door. How is that currying favor?"

"Just the fact that you sent it is enough," Jarl Esmerelda remarked. "None of the other Jarls had the audacity or temerity to do such a tactless act."

"Even in the Pale, we've heard how the Jarl of Falkreath lives while his people suffer," Brina Merelis added. "Helgen still sits, destroyed, abandoned and deteriorating while you live in comparative luxury. What happened to the people who lived there?" she asked.

"They all died," Siddgeir shot back defensively.

"Not all," Korir supplied. "A few of them came through my city, looking for work. That's how we heard of the dragon attack."

"That attack came nearly five years ago," Jarl Elisif supplied helpfully. "Surely in all this time, you might have been able to raise the funds needed to rebuild the town? Especially if, as you say, you have the resources within your Hold to be considered as a candidate for High King, thus making Falkreath the capital of Skyrim."

"And I've Seen your dealings with the seamier side of Skyrim," Jarl Idgrod intoned. "You might think you can hide it, but you had a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary actively recruiting in your Hold until the Dragonborn shut it down. You still have a robber's den not far from Lake Ilinalta, don't deny it. They prey on people along the roads, and you get a cut from it."

"Alright! Alright!" Siddgeir yelled. "Enough! I withdraw my claim," he fumed. "But don't think that means I'll vote for any of you! I'm done here!"

With that, he rose and left the Throne Room.

"Can he do that?" Elisif wondered.

"Yes, actually, he can," Marcus admitted. "His vote remains a permanent abstention. Which means the eight of you who remain are now evenly divided between Elisif and Ulfric."

This wasn't good, he thought to himself. If the remaining Jarls couldn't decide among themselves to give either Elisif or Ulfric the nod, they remained deadlocked. Nothing would happen, and Skyrim would still be without a ruler.

"Do we take another vote, then?" Esmerelda asked. Her illusion of a middle-aged Reachwoman remained firmly in place, but Marcus couldn't help noticing how Idgrod kept staring at the younger woman. He hoped it wouldn't present a problem.

"We need to allow everyone a chance to speak," Marcus replied, as much as he would like to get the matter resolved. "Jarl Balgruuf, you were first to speak. Have you anything else to add?"

"Aye, Dragonborn, I do," the Jarl of Whiterun nodded. "I've been giving this a lot of thought lately, and it seems to me that what Skyrim needs most is a strong ruler who is also skilled in diplomacy. Someone who is fair to all but won't be pushed around."

Please don't nominate yourself, Balgruuf, Marcus pleaded privately. Please don't nominate yourself!

"Since we seem to be unable to find all those qualities in just one person," Balgruuf continued, "I propose we consider a joint-rulership of the two newlyweds, Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm, and Jarl Elisif of Solitude."

Murmurs went around the room, and there was a decided gasp of dismay from Ambassador Ramallion. For his part, Tullius seemed to relax considerably. Marcus knew he himself barely suppressed a sigh of relief.

"It makes sense," Idgrod mused aloud.

"I don't like it," Korir scowled, not surprisingly. The man was a staunch supporter of Jarl Ulfric, and a Stormcloak to the bone.

"I thought we were going to discuss why someone wouldn't make a good Jarl," Saerlund complained. "This isn't according to procedure."

"Neither was Siddgeir storming out like a child with a temper tantrum," Jarl Brina said drily. "I have no objections to considering a vote for a joint-rulership."

"What does the Chairman say?" Ulfric asked, looking at Marcus for all the world as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"As Chairman I must remain neutral in this," Marcus reaffirmed. "But once the rebuttals are finished, we may consider this in the vote. Does anyone else have anything to say?"

There were murmurs of dissent around the room.

"I guess not," Saerlund replied. "Though I'm not sure what Mother would think of all this. It never came up for discussion. Would we be allowed a short recess while I consult with her?"

"Of course!" Elisif said generously, and since the Jarl of Solitude did not object, no one else could be expected to be so crass as to do so. Gratefully Saerlund rose and left the table, to return a short time later.

"The Rift has nothing more to add," he said enigmatically. "We are ready to vote."

"Anyone else?" Marcus asked, picking up the wood block.

"One moment, please," said the Thalmor Ambassador. "This is highly irregular. Are you actually considering having both a High King and a High Queen in Skyrim? Such a thing is unheard of!"

"Not really, Ambassador," Marcus replied smoothly. "I believe Wayrest in High Rock was ruled jointly by King Eadwyre and Queen Barenziah back in the Third Era."

"He's right," Ulfric rumbled, surprising several Jarls around the table, who hadn't given Ulfric credit for knowing much about history. "I believe there were also joint-rulers in Elsweyr, before it became that Province. I refer to Keirgo of Anequina and Eshita of Pellitine."

"Dunmer, Bretons and cat-men," Ramallion said dismissively. "We're talking about Skyrim in this era, not some long-forgotten history lesson."

Balgruuf spoke up, "A good friend of mine once told me, 'Those who do not learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.'" Here he shot Marcus a sly look. "Why shouldn't Skyrim be ruled by a strong King and Queen, governing together? Each one will guide and advise the other, bolster the strengths, and shore up the weaknesses. It can only be a good thing for all of us."

"It's not as if the Dominion has any say in this matter, Ambassador," Jarl Idgrod reminded him. "Your presence here at these proceedings is merely a courtesy we've extended to you. You have, in reality, no actual vote here."

"I'm aware of that, Jarl Idgrod," Ramallion said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "I would only wish to caution you of the problems that can result from joint-rulership that you may not have considered."

"What problems?" Elisif asked, dismayed.

"Egos very often get in the way, Jarl Elisif," the Ambassador continued, smiling benignly. "One partner, let us say, the High Queen, gives an order which her partner, the High King, countermands. The High Queen then begins to wonder if she has any real power in the relationship. So she begins to assert herself, and only gets rebuffed for her efforts, and told to leave matters to her 'betters', who have had more experience."

Oh, he's very good, Marcus seethed inwardly. He's already planting seeds of doubt in the mind of a young Jarl who has always questioned her own abilities. Elisif looked stricken, and wouldn't look at her husband. Ulfric was livid, but Marcus broke in before the Jarl of Windhelm could speak.

"I'm sure that happens in relationships that aren't built on love and trust," he interjected. "I'm also sure you're aware that I'm married to the Arch-Mage. She's powerful in her own right, as am I. But we don't struggle with each other over who is better, or who has the right to make decisions. We talk it out between the two of us when there's a disagreement, and we never forget that we love, respect and trust each other. Communication is the essential key to success, in marriage as well as in life."

Elisif looked relieved, and threw a questioning look at her husband, who smiled at her warmly. She visibly relaxed. The Thalmor Ambassador looked less happy.

"I'm sure you're correct, Dragonborn," Ramallion said. "You've apparently been very fortunate, so far."

The underlying meaning of his last two words weren't lost on Marcus.

"Let us take the vote, then," Jarl Brina suggested.

No one objected, and Marcus banged his block of wood. "Right then. The proposal is for a joint-rulership of Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm and Jarl Elisif of Solitude, to rule Skyrim together as High King and High Queen, equal in all respects to the other. How do you vote?"

Jarl Brina stood first. "The Pale votes for joint-rulership," she stated.

"Hjaalmarch also votes for joint-rulership," Idgrod intoned.

"Winterhold votes no," scowled Korir, surprising no one.

"The Reach votes for joint-rulership," Esmerelda said mildly. It was really their best hope of reclaiming their land, Marcus knew.

"The Rift votes no," Saerlund announced, and Marcus threw him a surprised look. "Mother refuses to vote with the Empire," he shrugged. "She knows she'll probably be in the minority on this, but it's her choice. She's still the Jarl."

"Whiterun stands with Hjaalmarch, the Reach and the Pale," Balgruuf said, smiling. "We vote for joint-rulership."

"And Falkreath abstains," Marcus added, speaking for the absent Siddgeir. "That just leaves Haafingar and Eastmarch," he added, turning to the two respective Jarls. "How do you vote?" He knew the answer, even as Elisif's eyes twinkled, and the corner of Ulfric's mouth lifted in a smirk.

"Joint-rulership," they chorused together, squeezing each other's hand.

Marcus felt a tangible weight lift from his shoulders. He smiled.

"Then the decision of this conclave is final," he announced. "The vote stands thus: on the subject of joint-rulership, with Jarls Elisif and Ulfric being High Queen and High King respectively, the majority of the votes decides in their favor with six for them, two against and one abstention. Congratulations, Your Majesties!" He bowed formerly from the waist and stepped down from the throne. Ulfric stood and gave his hand to Elisif, helping her up. Together they went to the head of the table, where only one throne waited. It was slightly awkward, and the other Jarls shifted uncomfortably until Ulfric sat down and pulled a squealing, giggling Elisif into his lap. Cheers and laughter broke out around the room, and Marcus saw General Tullius give a broad grin. The Thalmor Ambassador, Ramallion, left in a huff.

"Now the real work begins," Elisif said, raising her voice to be heard among the well-wishes. "We have much to do to heal Skyrim of its hurts, to solidify our relations with our neighbors, and to prepare ourselves for the future." A glance towards Marcus told him she was referring to the next Great War that the Alliance knew was coming. Putting a High King and High Queen on Skyrim's throne together might just have accelerated the Dominion's plans in that area. They counted on the strife in this Province to keep the Empire busy while they prepared. With that crisis now averted, Titus Mede could now concentrate on rebuilding his own crumbling Empire.

"Dragonborn! Marcus! Are you there? Can you speak freely?"

The slight tingling in his earlobe told him someone was trying to contact him. The voice was unmistakably Tolfdir's. He moved into a quiet corridor, away from prying eyes.

"I'm here, Tolfdir," he replied, touching the earring. "What's the problem?" He knew the Master Wizard would never contact him unless it was an emergency.

"Something has happened to the Arch-Mage. You need to come at once!"

"Tamsyn?" he repeated in alarm. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"We're not sure," came the old mage's voice. "Just please, come as quickly as you can."

"I'm on my way," he replied, his heart sinking to his stomach. Was this related to whatever was going on in the Midden? He should have asked Tolfdir, but the old man seemed reluctant to divulge too much through the 'ear-buds,' as the Alliance had taken to calling them.

He returned to the Throne Room, where the Jarls were still mingling.

"My Jarls, I have received a message that I'm needed at the College of Winterhold. I beg your leave to find out what's going on. I believe we can consider the Moot adjourned."

"Go, Dragonborn," High King Ulfric said. "Find out what the trouble is. Our blessings go with you that all turns out well."

"Thank you, my Lo—I mean, Your Majesty," Marcus caught himself. "And my thanks for the blessing. I hope you're right."

"I'll head out with you, Dragonborn," Tullius said. "I need to file a report to send to the Emperor, anyway."

As they fast-walked up the boulevard to Castle Dour, Tullius remarked, "I wonder if they had that planned all along. I mean, Balgruuf, Ulfric and Elisif, springing the joint-rulership on the others like that."

"I wouldn't put it past them," Marcus acknowledged with a wry smile. "They've done something similar in the past."

"Don't I know it!" the General groused. He'd been caught flat-footed at the peace talks at High Hrothgar when Ulfric demanded the Thalmor Ambassador be removed or he'd walk out. While Marcus had no doubt that the Stormcloak was prepared to do just that, it turned out to be a staged confrontation between the three Jarls to give Marcus an opportunity to dismiss the Ambassador in a diplomatic manner, to enable them to speak freely about the future of Skyrim, which included getting rid of the Aldmeri Dominion. Five years later, they were still working on that problem.

And now he had another one. What had happened to his wife?

As they passed Proudspire Manor, Marcus ducked inside to let Jordis know where he would be. She was trying to comfort a desperately crying Julia.

"Mommyyyy! Mooooommmmmyyyyy!"

"I'm sorry, my Thane," Jordis pleaded, completely frazzled. "I can't seem to calm her down."

Julia sniffled and turned to Marcus.

"Daddy?" she pleaded, stretching out her arms. "Hug?"

"Of course, baby," he soothed, taking his daughter from his Housecarl. Making a snap decision, he decided to take her with him. Perhaps one of the Illusion Masters could put a Calm spell on her while he found out what had happened. They all doted on Julia there, anyway, and spoiled her abominably.

For her part, Julia calmed down immediately, now that she was in her Daddy's arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and sniffled.

Marcus grabbed the bag they kept by the door whenever they needed to go out with their daughter. It contained a supply of all the things she might need. Tullius raised an eyebrow when he saw Marcus emerge with his daughter.

"You're bringing the baby with you?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," Marcus said firmly. Sensing it was the only answer he'd get, Tullius let the matter drop.

The transportation portal in Castle Dour was high up in the tower reserved for the General's private quarters. One room had been sectioned off, which included a private stairway to the main floor below, to avoid anyone encountering regular soldiers or civilians who didn't know the portal existed.

Marcus touched the symbol on the base with his foot that indicated the College of Winterhold – the same symbol embroidered on Tamsyn's new robes, and which was integrated into many parts of the College itself, from the front gates to the tiles on the roofs of the towers.

Still holding his daughter close, and hefting her bag on the other shoulder, he stepped onto the platform.

The sickening lurch of his stomach never ceased to unnerve him, as many times as he had been through the portals in the past two years, but by this time he was prepared and steady on his feet when he reappeared on the platform in the Midden. Enthir was waiting for him.

"You brought the baby?" Enthir blinked. "Was that wise?"

"Since I don't know what I'm encountering, probably not," Marcus said drily, "but she wouldn't be left behind. You tell her. Where's Tamsyn? What's happened? Was it something to do with the trouble in the Midden?"

"One question at a time, Marcus," Enthir replied, flustered, leading him towards the tunnels that led back to the College proper. "The trouble with the Midden has been resolved. We found Illarion snooping around down here, but he met with an unfortunate accident."

"Enthir," Marcus cut in warningly. "We can't afford to have the Dominion breathing down our necks here!"

"They won't be," Enthir assured him. "His body will be found at the bottom of the gorge. The bridge gets slippery this time of year, you know."

"So then what's happened to Tamsyn? Where's my wife?"

"She's safe…for the moment…I think," the Bosmer mage assured him, not entirely convincing.

"Enthir…"

"We don't know what's happened to her, Marcus," Enthir said helplessly. "When we finished…taking care of Illarion's remains…she retired to her chambers. She said she was going to wait for you; you were busy with the Moot. How'd that go, by the way?"

"We have a High King and a High Queen," Marcus reported, and Enthir smiled.

"Thank the gods for that!" the mage breathed. "Now maybe we can get some stability back in this country!"

"So Tamsyn went back to her chambers?" Marcus prompted.

"Oh yes…well…we didn't hear anything from her for several hours. Faralda knocked on her door early this morning to find out if she'd eaten yet, but got no answer. An hour later we still hadn't heard from her, so Tolfdir opened up her door."

"Well?" Marcus demanded, shifting Julia to a more comfortable position. He wasn't wearing his armor today, he realized, and felt unaccountably vulnerable.

"You need to see it," Enthir said in a low voice. "I'm – I'm not sure I can describe it. I've never seen anything like it."

The exit up the ladder to the College proper was negotiated by having Enthir go first, and Marcus handing Julia up before climbing up himself. From there it was a quick jaunt to the Hall of the Elements and the Arch-Mage's quarters.

Tolfdir met them.

"Oh my!" he exclaimed. "You brought Julia! I didn't expect that."

"Mommy!" Julia said, struggling to get down. Marcus dropped her bag on a nearby chair.

"Where's Tamsyn?" he asked, still trying to contain his wiggle-worm of a daughter.

"Behind the wall, Dragonborn," Tolfdir sighed. "Be prepared. She's unresponsive. I don't know how to reach her."

Fearing the worst, Marcus finally set his daughter down, who toddled off around the corner, calling, "Mommy! Mommy!"

Following, Marcus felt his heart constrict at the sight of Tamsyn, seated at a table, rigidly staring into an open book. The worst part, he realized with horror, was that he could see through her.

"Mommy. Book," Julia said sadly, not touching her mother, but giving her a wistful look.

"We don't know what's happened, Marcus," Enthir murmured. "We've got Sergius and his team working on finding a way to bring her back, but…" he left the sentence unfinished.

"It's a Daedric artifact, Dragonborn," Tolfdir said quietly. "I didn't even know she had it, or I would have strongly advised her never to look in it."

Marcus looked at the book in Tamsyn's hands. With a shock, he realized he'd seen that cover before. Wordlessly, he pulled Julia's drawing out of his tunic pocket, where he'd put it.

"What's that, Marcus?" Enthir asked.

"Julia drew this yesterday," Marcus said numbly, shoving it into his hands. "She knew. She knew, and she was trying to warn us."

He crouched down next to his daughter and took her in his arms. "You knew, sweetie, didn't you?" he asked gently. "This was what you were trying to tell me."

The little girl nodded. "Mommy," she said sadly, pointing. "Book."

"Julia drew this?" Tolfdir asked, amazed, looking over Enthir's shoulders.

The patches on the front of Julia's paper were almost exactly like the patches that made up the book cover, down to the scar with stitching that defaced the pale white section. Inside, the red-haired stick-figure gazed sadly out at them, with the scribble to one side of her.

"This…blob here," Enthir said slowly. "Are those…eyes? And tentacles?"

"I don't know," Marcus said, rising to have another look. "I wasn't really paying attention. I thought she just crossed out something she didn't like."

"I don't think so, Dragonborn," Tolfdir sighed heavily. "The multiple eyes here, and the tentacles reaching out to the stick-figure…which I'm assuming is the Arch-Mage herself…seem to indicate Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of hidden knowledge."

"Hidden knowledge?" Marcus echoed. "You don't think Tamsyn was consorting with…with Daedra, do you?"

"Not intentionally, I'm sure," Tolfdir said hastily. "But we all know how stubborn your Lady can be. Very often she will insist she can handle herself in a given situation, such as she did going down to Cyrodiil two years ago."

Marcus fumed. Yes, he knew all too well how obstinate his wife could be.

"She might have thought she could resist the lure of Hermaeus Mora," Enthir put in. "But the Daedra are not to be taken lightly. She may have become ensnared by him."

"Why?" Marcus demanded. "Why would he do that?"

"Hidden knowledge," Enthir shrugged. "Your wife knows things and has secrets no one but the two of you know." He raised his hands in defense at Marcus' glare. "Hey, she hasn't said anything to me, and I'm one of her closest advisors! But I've got eyes and ears. There's something very…different…about her. And that something is probably what Hermaeus Mora is after."

"Daddy! Mora!" Julia shrieked, running as fast as her little chubby legs would carry her and planting herself behind him, holding onto his leg. It made it difficult to move.

He turned to Tamsyn, only to see an amorphous cloud of eyes and tentacles hovering above her form. Marcus reached for his sword, only to realize it wasn't there. He only had the ebony dagger he carried for protection around town.

"Stay your blade, Dragonborn…." crooned a lethargic voice that echoed around the room. "You cannot harm me in any case. I…am Hermaeus Mora…guardian of the unknown."

"What have you done with my wife?" Marcus demanded. "Send her back immediately!"

"Or you will…what, Dragonborn?" Mora smirked slowly. "Rest assured…your wife is safe…for now. But you cannot reach her…unless you come…to me…"

"Why are you doing this?" Marcus snarled impotently. He took a swipe at a tentacle that came too close to Julia, who shrank against him, but the appendage dissipated into ether and was gone, only to grow again from another part of the Daedric Prince.

"I should have thought…that was patently…obvious…" Mora said smugly. "The Arch-Mage has secrets…secrets I wish to know. She will give them to me…willingly or no. So will you…if you wish to see her again."

There was a humming sound, as if Hermaeus Mora was exceedingly amused. "How interesting it will be…to have the First Dragonborn under my sway…as well as the last." The unblinking, double-pupiled eyes fixed all their gazes on Marcus. "Come to Apocrypha, Dragonborn…if you dare. It is the only way…you can save your wife."

With that, the horrific apparition vanished.

There was silence for a long moment, as each adult in the room digested the ramifications of that encounter. Finally Julia spoke.

"Daddy?" she asked. "Go Mommy?"

Marcus gave a helpless sigh. "Yes, sweetie," he replied, picking up his daughter and cuddling her close. "Daddy's going to go get Mommy."

[Author's Note: And we're off! This will be the Dragonborn DLC told in my own inimitable style. Marcus needs to find a way to this Apocrypha that Hermaeus Mora mentioned. And he still needs to…as he put it, "get his keister over to Solstheim" to find out more about the Cult of Miraak. He can only hope that Skyrim will be alright without him for a bit. I will update when I can; I have a new job since February – in retail – and my hours are all over the place, so I will work on Chapter 2 when I can. Stay tuned! And please take a moment to review, if you would. It lets me know if I'm staying on track.]