Sonin, a Skyrim Story

To say Sonin was crestfallen after her battle at Winterhold would be an understatement. The tumble with Balimund was but a distraction from the disappointment of the near defeat she faced yet again at the hands of a powerful enemy. Her mind raced with self doubt.

“Who am I if I cannot handle a mage without calling upon a daedric prince? What kind of Dragonborn falls in battle to a dragon? Why does my chest tighten when I think about Vilkas, Farkas, Brynjolf, and Sam?”

A sharp breeze cut across her face, pulling her traveling hood down with it as she looked up at the sky from the back of the horse drawn wagon. Sonin didn’t know why she told the driver to take her to Solitude. Maybe it was the furthest place she could think of from Winterhold at that moment when the weathered man asked, “where to?” Perhaps, if she were to be honest with herself and reflect on her feelings, she would find that a certain experienced general came to her mind as having answers for her. Balgruuf wasn’t a bad choice to bounce ideas off of either, but Tulluis had far more worldly experience.

Sonin took a deep breath to clear her mind and rapidly developed nerves, her breath coming out in a visible cloud. It was always too cold in Skyrim. She pulled her hood back up around her face and shivered slightly, not willing to risk a fire clocking spell should it spook the horse drawing her carriage. It was going to be a long ride to the city.

…

The stones that made up the floor of Castle Dour chilled Sonin to the bone through her fur lined traveling boots. She brought a gloved hand to the tiled wall, tracing the mason work silently as she stepped closer to the voices arguing over the map of Skyrim. She wasn’t really supposed to be there and wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop, but it wasn’t her fault they were lacking in guard detail. She smirked at the image of Tullius’ grumpy scowl that was sure to appear when he saw her there unescorted.

“I’m telling you, Ulfric is planning an attack on Whiterun. He will not hold the truce,” Rikke’s certainty made Sonin’s smile drop and she froze in place.

Tullius replied, “He’d be insane to try. He doesn’t have the men.”

“That’s not what my scouts report, sir,” Sonin didn’t make out the rest of the conversation as a high pitched ringing took over her sense of hearing.

Could they be right? Ulfric was angry the last time she interacted with him and made it clear she was going to have to choose a side soon enough. Surely he understood rushing the war before the defeat of Alduin would mean nothing if the World Eater made him a king of ash lands? Sonin wanted nothing to do with Ulfric anymore, and even less to do with this petty civil war, but Whiterun was her home and she would defend it even if Alduin had to wait.

“…and your bloody sense of honor.” Tullius’ words slowly gained volume over Sonin’s distressed thoughts.

“Sir?” Rikke nodded her head to the woman’s unsteady approach.

Tullius grabbed at his sword and his Legate followed suit. Sonin supposed she must have looked travel worn and unrecognizable in the dim lit room, “Are my men now giving free reign to anyone who wanders into the castle?” He gave a pointed look to Rikke. “Do you have some reason to be he-“

“More than one now,” Sonin said as she lowered her hood and revealed her face. Tullius relaxed his stance, but Rikke stayed alert. “I will not let Ulfric take Whiterun.”

“So you are finally seeing reason and joining the Empire?” Tullius questioned with a hint of surprise.

“Absolutely not,” Sonin smirked, “No fun in reason now, is there old timer?”

Rikke bristled visibly, “You will speak to the general with respect!”

“Nol voder rok perhappe,” Sonin snorted a laugh, earning a confused look from both the imperials. ‘Never mind, Whiterun is my home,” she pointed to the marker of the hold on the map spread across the war table, “Balgruuf is my Jarl. I am his Thane and as Thane of the Hold it is my duty to protect him and all of his hold’s people from the threat Ulfric has made himself to be.”

“Are you sure you will be up to such a task…given your history with Ulfric?” Tullius asked, no hint of malice in his tone though Rikke gave a raised brow at the suggestion.

“More so given our history now,” Sonin raised her chin up at Tullius with determination, “He has broken too many promises. He had already proven himself a shite man to me, but now with his preparation to break the truce on the cusp of my final battle with Alduin? He has lost his right to be called a True Nord.” Rikke lowered her gaze at that. “Early in my travels and into this rebellion there may have been a time Ulfric could have swayed my approval and support, or at least my non-interference. Now?” Sonin walked over to Tullius, stiffly taking a knee and ignoring the sharp pain from her still recovering injuries, and reached her hands to the back of her neck to undo a clasp there.

For once, Tullius seemed caught off guard, “What is this?”

“A promise to support your Empire in it’s endeavor to crush Ulfric and his Stormcloak rebellion,” she kept her gaze locked onto his as she handed her amulet of Akatosh to him, “Until I can replace this amulet with the betrayer's bloodied head.”

“Well, that isn't exactly the Empire’s Oath,” Tullius took the amulet from the mage’s hands, noticing they were bruised and battered, “but it will do for now.”

Sonin smirked at that, “I’m sure a man of your experience could think of more exciting ways for me to prove my willingness to serve while on my knees in front of you than to recite some oath.”

Tullius and Rikke sputtered at that, but it was the legate that shouted in response, “THAT IS INAPPROPRIATE!”

Sonin rolled her eyes as she groaned and stood up, her knees protesting loudly at the movement, “yeah, yeah just having a laugh to lighten the mood a bit.”

…

Tullius had led Sonin to an isolated portion of the castle that was about as comfortable as any portion of the gods-forsaken damp stone building could be. It was clearly used as a private study, though whether anyone but Tullius knew of its existence, Sonin couldn’t be sure. There were no obvious signs of regular maintenance of castle staff, nor regular officer use. A few bottles of wine and cheese wheels with stored meats were over in one area, with a fireplace and small table on the opposite side. Plenty of parchment and writing materials were scattered about among the cabinets and bookshelves with a small bed wedged in the last corner.

“My, my Tullius,” Sonin couldn’t help herself, “didn’t realize when you said you wanted to discuss the war efforts in private you meant THIS private.”

Tullius’ groan clearly came from a place deep in his soul, “This is my private study and I would appreciate you not telling anyone about it. Not even Rikke knows where it is.”

“Of course,” She took a seat on the chair he waved a hand to, “everyone needs a place to get away from the rest of the world.”

“Is that so?” Tullius gave her a calculating look as he sat down with a sigh, “I take it you have a hidden room or two across Skyrim, being the Dragonborn and all?”

Sonin rolled her neck and took pleasure in each pop as it stretched, “Actually, my hideouts are tiny pockets in Oblivion planes.”

“You’re joking,” the general replied sharply.

“No?” She cocked her head, “I summon dragons from the sky and speak to gods, but a seasonal getaway in Oblivion is too much to imagine?”

Tullius poured them both a glass of wine, “When you put it like that- I suppose not.” He shook his head, “I am just glad you are on our side for now.”

“You do not trust me,” Sonin turned her head to the fire and sipped the spiced wine.

“I would be a poor General if I did,” he replied matter-of-factly.

The halfling gave a snort at that, “Fair point,” Tullius noted how the brown and green hues of her eyes sparkled and picked up the warmth of the flames.

A few moments of silence and wine sipped between them passed before Tullius asked the question he brought her here to discuss, “You had a different reason than Whiterun to come here and see me.”

It was Sonin’s turn to look unaware as her unfocused gaze returned to him, “ah. Yes I did…though I am not even sure how to ask it of you.”

“In my experience, a direct and straightforward approach with soldiers works best when asking for favors,” he directed.

“I-,” she hesitated, “I am unsure of myself.” Tullius didn’t reply, taking a sip of his wine as he waited for the woman before him to continue. He watched her shift uncomfortably in the wooden chair, her fingers fidgeting on her tankard. “There was a battle at Winterhold. Your scouts may have given a report on it by now?”

“Yes,” Tullius confirmed shortly.

Sonin looked away again, her eyes misting over at remembering Savos’ too still and broken body on the bloodied snow. How it had been her fault. If she had been there instead of running away from the role she had been prepared for, none of this would have happened. She would have been Archmage. She would have never let the Thalmor in! The Eye of Magnus wouldn’t have been in the College in the first place and everyone would still be alive and-

“SONIN!” Tullius shouted while shaking her shoulders.

She blinked at the older man whose face was much too close to her. When did he get there? Why was her face wet? Why did he look at her like that?

“What-“

“Go get some rest,” Tullius pointed to the bed in the corner.

“Oh, wait I didn’t get to finish-“

“Rest. That’s an order,” Sonin didn’t argue this time.

…

Tullius was perplexed by the image of the woman before him. She looked like the Dragonborn he had met before. The scars were more faded and she was travel worn, but otherwise a match. Yet the fire and passion that bubbled and overflowed through every pore of her being that made her almost too bright to look at…it was gone. This imposter was but a shell, a husk of the Dragonborn that commanded a dragon from the sky in the middle of a training ground to let soldiers take pot shots at it. The same woman who threw herself over him and cast a ward in moments to save him from dragon’s fire, then patched him up in record time.

This woman wearing her face, that was now blank and starting to tremble at his table, was beginning to cry. When was the last time he had seen a woman cry privately? A decade ago? Two? What was he supposed to do? Surely attempting to coddle the Dragonborn of legend was a sin of some sort to these blasted Nords, but she was only half Nordic.

It was the battle at the College of Winterhold she mentioned before she froze…to Oblivion with it!

…

Sonin woke up with her eyes puffed from tears and her nose dry, the memories of the night before flooding her as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Tullius was at the table by the fire in casual clothing, freshly washed, and writing some letters. She pulled the furs over her face in embarrassment.

“I know you’re up now,” Tullius didn’t bother looking up from his parchment as he spoke, “there’s some clean water and soap in the bucket beside you. It's not warm anymore, but it was 2 hours ago.”

“Thank you,” Sonin cringed at just how small and cracked her voice sounded to herself.

“Hurry up if you will so we can continue our discussion. I DO have an army to run, if you remember,” yet again Sonin could detect no malice in his voice, just a sort of tired resolve and slight annoyance. She figured she too would be annoyed trying to squash a rebellion in a foreign land at an age where most retire to raise their grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Without further hesitation, Sonin threw the furs off of herself and leapt from the bed. The stone beneath her feet here was slightly more forgiving than other areas of the castle due to the close proximity of the fire. Feeling a need to overcome the embarrassment she felt from the night prior and gain an upper hand, Sonin took a page from Sanguine's book. She looked at the cold bucket of water, bit her lip, and glanced back at the general who was still completely engaged with his letters.

“Hope you enjoy this Sam,” she muttered under her breath and stripped to her underclothes.

She gave a slight curse at the first pass of cold water from the wash cloth, her skin pebbling as it ran down her body and onto the floor. Tullius sighed, already annoyed at what was sure to be her complaining about the water’s temperature, but his cutting remarks were caught in his throat at the sight of her. He was expecting her to rinse her face and maybe her arms and hands. Tullius was most definitely NOT expecting the Dovahkiin to be standing nearly naked, dripping wet, and nipples erect in his private quarters.

“I would stand for a portrait,” Sonin smirked as she pressed the cloth to her neck and let a seductive rush of water trail over her left breast, “but you did say you had an army to run..”

Tullius quickly snapped himself back around to his letters, blushing for what he thought might have been the first time in years, “WHY ON TAMRIEL ARE YOU NUDE?”

“I have my small clothes on,” she replied like it was a full answer.

Tullius decided it better to drop the question altogether, convinced she was just trying to get under his skin. How Ulfric put up with her, he’d never know. Actually, he corrected himself in his mind, he knew *exactly* how Ulfric put up with her. Or under her? He thought she seemed more the dominating type.

The general took a sip of his mulled wine to recollect his thoughts away from such unnecessary matters. Instead, he thought to every scout report he managed to pull on the Dragonborn since their first meeting at Dragonsreach where she pulled a knife on him. He ignored the current war report in front of him and pulled out a small, unassuming book of her accomplishments that established a pattern of reckless behavior and unrivaled skill. The most recent was the mysterious attack at the college, then her battle with Alduin, numerous dragon defeats, wiping out the thieves guild, leader of the companions, freeing Dawnstar of its nightmares…the list went on.

“My Tullius, I didn’t know you were such a fan,” the general sputtered his wine back into the glass as her approach was unnaturally silent, “want me to sign the book for you before I leave?”

Tullius slammed the book closed with one hand and managed to regain his composure, “If you intend to stay here and assist with the war efforts, you will need to learn it is unacceptable to sneak upon a commanding officer and leer at his reports.” He fixed what could have been an intimidating glare on a now dressed Sonin that took the chair across from him.

“There’s no fun in that, Tully,” Sonin waved a dismissive hand at him and could have sworn she heard his face crack with the way his eyebrow twitched at the nickname.

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?” Tullius put the book down on the table.

“Tully? I figured if we would be working so closely together we might as well get more familiar and comfortable,” she gave him an infuriating smile.

“Call me that again, and not even another Oblivion crisis will keep me from killing you where you stand,” he threatened simply before taking a bite of bread.

Sonin winked, “Yes General.”

Tullius rolled his eyes and continued his morning report review. Sonin helped herself to some of the salted meat and seeded bread on the table, skipping the morning wine and opting for water to rehydrate herself. In hindsight, using a muffle spell to sneak up on the general was not her greatest idea after being so tired from battle and travel.

“So,” Sonin gathered Tullius’ attention from what looked to be a riveting report on the need for more latrine materials, “I know you’re dying to know the original reason I came back here. I mean, aside to bask in your boisterous company.”

“To the point Dragonborn,” Tullius sighed and managed to hold his eyes in place this time as he set his parchment to the side.

“Right, so-,” she paused and darted her eyes to the water in her mug, “damn this is hard to say aloud to you? It shouldn’t be, since I doubt you even give a shite but here I am being nervous like a-“

“The point, Dragonborn,” Tullius didn’t hide this irritation still.

“I desperately need you,” Sonin blurted quickly and met his eyes.

A silence followed for several heartbeats as the two stared at each other. Tullius’ only sign that something seemed amiss was a single arched left brow. She realized in her apprehensiveness that the complete thought was not stated and she had just accidentally propositioned the general of the Imperial Legion, military governor of Skyrim, in his bedroom. Alone. After just teasing him half-naked while taking a cold bath. Fuck.

Images of the wild dream Sanguine gave her of Tullius her last stay at Dour unhelpfully rose to the front of her mind and colored her cheeks unmistakably, “I NEED YOUR ADVICE-,” Sonin cleared her throat to correct her raised voice, “excuse me, I need your advice. Desperately so.”

“Is that so?” Tullius cocked his head, clearly not convinced Sonin was of sound mind.

“You are already aware my first engagement with Alduin was less than successful. I was not as prepared as I thought I was. My…Master was hurt. I died? Everyone I trusted to be mature for just once in their lives couldn’t manage it. It was apparent that the fate of everyone’s existence relied on my ability to defeat Alduin, because the men left behind here would leave the world to turn to ash rather than settle their land disputes,” Sonin paused to look at Tullius again. He didn’t reply, only listened. She wasn’t used to that.

She took a sip of water before continuing, “In my time in Oblivion I learned new skills and trained harder than any time in my life before. I grew so strong, but not without costs. I have some wounds now that will never be entirely healed, but even with them I am stronger than ever before.” Sonin let out a deep breath and looked uncomfortably up at the ceiling, focusing on the way a slight layer of condensation formed on the masonry. “I went to the college to gather what I THOUGHT would be the last bit of information and preparation I would need before heading off to face Alduin again. Zu'u alwayye folaas.” The table shook slightly as the tongue rolled from her lips.

“You will have to repeat that one for me, Dragonborn,” Tullius replied.

“Ah, I apologize. I tend to slip into dragon tongue whenever I am tired or in the thro-,” she shook her hands with a blush and decided not to explain, “never mind. I was wrong. In my battle with Ancano at the college, I had been proven to be inadequate yet again to face the threat of the Akatosh’s First Born. I barely won that battle and I was not alone. I-I thought I had an ally to rely on,” Sonin crossed her arms for some feeling of comfort, “but in that moment he had proven I was alone. I am unsure how to proceed and wished any advice you could give me. I am feeling…inadequate”

Tullius seemed to mull over Sonin’s story, not quick to jump into verbally analyzing or discussing like the younger of her companions would have. A man with his experience would know better than to make rush judgements. Sonin squirmed in her seat slightly watching the man’s gears turn like a dwarven puzzle box.

Finally he spoke, “You know I can’t give you any advice on how you fight a dragon, that is your skill set.” She nodded in reply. “And although I have led battle mages in campaigns, I don’t think the new Archmage of Winterhold College needs a simple General’s strategies on fighting magika.”

“I wouldn’t call anything about you simple, Tullius,” Sonin flirted, still unable to help herself when the images of her naughty dreams still floated in the back of her mind.

“Right,” Tullius cleared his throat, “then what you are seeking from me is advice on how to regain your confidence before what may just be your last fight?”

“That’s the long and short of it,” she slid her head onto her hands and braced its weight on the table by her elbows, “It’s all rather frustrating to me. Clearly I’ve never been in this particular situation before, but in the past I would have turned to my mentors to figure out where a spell went wrong or had a night out at an inn with my shield siblings to relax and resolve the tension.”

“Well there’s no reason not to take a night or two to rest up and unwind before figuring out what your next move will be,” he shrugged at her surprised expression, “From my experience, I have found that individual battles are won by trained and disciplined men. You,” he pointed nonchalantly, “are far from those.”

Sonin gave a lopsided smile, “Love the brutal honesty.”

“If you cannot handle that then you should pack up and leave now,” Tullius suggested and crossed one leg over the other.

“No, no. Please continue, sir,” she took a not so subtle glance at his exposed calf that flexed at the motion.

“As I was saying, that’s how battles are won. Wars, like the one you are to fight as an army of one, are won by talented and exceptional individuals.” Tullius took a pregnant pause to let the Dragonborn catch his meaning before he stated it. “I can think of no individual alive in our time at this very moment that is more talented and exceptional than you have proven yourself to be.” Sonin heard the words falling from the general’s lips, but she couldn’t believe the compliment she was receiving from the battle-hardened man. “I also have come to learn that knowing your enemy is only going to result in hollow half victories and embittered defeats if you don’t also know yourself. You make it seem like you have done as much research as anyone could on this Alduin character. You have fought him once and through whatever weird daedric magic what-have-you, you are sitting here alive in front of me today,” Tullius waved his hands slightly as he explained, “the only thing you’re missing now, is knowing yourself how you need to before you rush off to war again. I can already tell from last night alone that something is off from the last time we encountered one another.”

“You know, the Empire is very lucky to have you at the helm here General,” Sonin sat upright in her seat.

“Is that so?” Tullius looked only mildly interested in her words, seeming to want to get back to his letters more than continue the conversation.

“It very much is. The Thalmor would be able to keep the strings of civil war pulled and playing much longer if your mind wasn’t here to guide the Empire’s forces,” that piqued his curiosity, “Oh don’t look at me like that. We both know the only people benefiting from this infighting is the grand old Aldmeri Dominion. Diverting resources, decreasing soldier numbers, lowering morale, frustrating allies, the list goes on.”

Tullius gave the woman in front of him a calculating look, appreciating for the first time that a political mind was hidden under that thick skull. Sonin fixed a soft gaze back as she thought on his words. There was certainly wisdom in them, but at the moment she was having a hard time focusing beyond him telling her he thought she was talented and exceptional. In fact, she thought, she would enjoy showing the general some of her other talents in appreciation right now.

“Well, I’m certain this is all terribly interesting to you and you would love nothing more than to monopolize the rest of my morning,” Tullius stood as he spoke, “but I have important matters to attend.”

“Of course,” Sonin awkwardly rushed to her feet to match him.

“You may finish breaking your fast here if I can have your word, on your oath, that you will not look through my things and read any sensitive Imperial documents. Rikke told me you Nords are honor bound to your oaths or something like that, I can never keep all your customs straight-“

Sonin chuckled at that and it wasn’t something Tullius was used to hearing when he made his causal complaints on Nordic culture, “You’d think their pricks would grow green and fall off if a Nord even thought about breaking their oath with how serious they get about it.” Tullius cracked a hint of a smile at the crude joke, “But yes Tullius, as half a Nord you have my full word on my oath. I will not plunder through your cupboards and try to find lascivious secrets to blackmail you with later.”

Tullius sighed, gathering his letters into a neat stack in his arms, and left the Dragonborn alone in his quarters feeling much better than when she arrived.

….

The air is thick with the taste of salt and musk on Athis’ heavy tongue as he lulled his head back against the wall of muscle behind him. Biceps much larger and stronger than his graceful elven ones come into his peripheral view, as even bulkier hands tangled in his amber hair tugged his neck sharper back. The Dunmer gasps, trembling at the growing stretch his Nord lover is producing at the angle change.

“Farkas~” he groans out, the man in question answering with a passionate but muddled kiss.

Farkas gave several heavy thrusts, swallowing each moan and struggled breath from the dark elf’s throat. His free hand moved to trail up the lean frame of the smaller man, dipping and tracing each ripple and outline of muscle and scar earned over a lifetime of battle and training. Athis’ cock twitched in overstimulation as Farkas tweaked his nipples, the elf squirming his hips slightly to seek additional friction from the erection buried to the hilt in him. Farkas parted and gave a teasing laugh from his chest at the man’s frustration for more, a trail of saliva visible as their lips disconnected.

“You are desperate, elf,” Farkas punctuated with a sharp thrust, then halted all movement.

Athis attempted to roll his hips back into the man but was stopped with a bruising grip to his hips, “Don’t ease me Nord.”

“Beg for it,” Farkas demanded simply.

“Not if my life depended on it,” the Dunmer replied defiantly.

“Not your life,” Farkas leaned his head to the tip of Athis’ sensitive ear to let his breath glide over the skin, “but your pleasure.”

“Fuck,” Athis rolled his head toward the Nord’s mouth, Farkas responding in kind by taking the ear in his mouth and sucking gently.

The elf’s response was immediate. He bucked nearly out of Farkas’ inhuman vice grip. Though he no longer had wolf claws that would grow out and cut at the flesh of his lovers, Farkas couldn’t help the familiar growl that escaped his lips as his cockhead slipped out of place at the sudden movement.

“Mine,” he punctuated by piercing the elf once again with the full length of his shaft.

“Yours,” Athis agreed, feeling too lost in his own gratification to continue the role of the brat.

“Mine. Say. It.” Farkas demanded, each word ending with a keen slap of his thighs meeting Athis’.

The dark elf let his mouth hang open with each push forward as those steady hands kept him in place, unable to do anything but take what was given to him. Had any other male Nord in Jorrvaskr tried to top him, he would have slipped a knife in their neck. Farkas though? Farkas wasn’t like the others in his mind, as cliché as that might sound to his shield siblings or even himself. He knew he liked Nord women or really any women, but men were rather a new area for him. Farkas was also new to keeping the company of other men in the bedroom, which as far as Athis was concerned no one would be the wiser considering the way he was absolutely dominating him at this moment.

“Yours!” Athis pleaded, “Yours! Yours! Just-,” he swallowed the spittle pooling in his mouth, “just let me finish!”

“Do it,” Farkas gave his permission easily, removing one hand from his hip and wrapping it firmly around the base of his erection.

Their two bodies fell forward together on Farkas’ fur lined bed. Athis mewled in the heft of the Nord’s mass of muscle over him. They had been at each other for half an hour now, the accumulation of their efforts leading to this moment having left them both coated in a pleasantly warm layer of sweat. Farkas would never get the smell out of the saber cat pelt on top of the mattress and Athis took deep satisfaction in that knowledge.

With a practiced motion, Farkas flicked his wrist at just the right angle as he pushed further into the elf. Athis buried his face into the furs as he screamed his pleasure. His release came in heavy spurts that brought on Farkas’s completion. They both laid tired and satisfied together for several minutes before cleaning up and beginning a second round.

…….

Padding softly down the halls of Castle Dour, Sonin was taking care not to make enough noise to disturb the argument taking place between Tullius and Rikke. It was clear to her that they had been at this for some time given the strain in both of their tones. She made her way to the arch of the doorway farthest from the war table, leaning against the stone to support herself. Crossing one ankle over the other, she listened to Tullius address his second again.

“Tell me again, why I'm wasting men chasing after a fairy tale?”

Rikke sighed and braced both hands against the edge of the table as if she might fall through it, “If Ulfric gets his hand on that crown, it won't be a fairy tale. It'll be a problem.”

“Don't you Nords put any stock in your own traditions? I thought the Moot chose the king. We're backing Elisif. When the Moot meets-”

“Not everyone's agreed to the Moot. You've been here long enough to know that Nords aren't always sensible!” Rikke interrupted the general.

Tullius gave her a cold stare and sighed, “So what - Ulfric gets this crown and then suddenly he's High King? Is that how the Nords of Skyrim will determine their leader over their own vote, with jewelry?”

“No, it's not as simple as that-”

Sonin stepped forward to cut in this time, “Maw unleashing razor snow, Of dragons from the blue brought down, Births the walking winter's woe, The High King in his Jagged Crown." Tullius and Rikke snapped their attention to the woman entering the room. “The Jagged Crown is a potent symbol that would make for a great point for his rebellion to rally around. King Borgas was the last to wear it, with his death ultimately leading to the War of Succession. If Ulfric manages to get his hands on that helm of dragon bone and teeth then he would have won the war in the minds of all Nords.”

“I have not heard that verse in many a season,” Rikke spoke in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Tullius let out a huff of frustration, “Then we acquire it and give it to Elisif. Would that not satisfy the people and further legitimize her claim?”

“It would, greatly,” Sonin nodded in affirmation.

“Then I will give you the resources Legate,” Tullius turned to Rikke, “But I'm warning you, if this turns out to be a waste of time and men..”

“It won't be a waste.”