Rise of House Sigeweald Book One (Skyrim Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Eleven gallows on your sleeve

The ride to Solitude was long and made slow by storms throughout The Pale and Hjaalmarch. But by the time they got to Haafingar Hold, the weather had cleared and after a long night of twitching and discomfort, Elspeth woke up in the cart to clear skies. She breathed in the cool air as they rode along the road adorned by granite foothills and pine trees. The hold seemed so peaceful compared to the others, but it was early still and she knew how quickly things could change.

"Solitude is still very much a city in mourning," said Lydia as they disembarked at the stables. She had been there on several occasions since King Torygg's death and each time the mood had lifted only slightly. The young king had been popular with all his subjects—Imperial and Stormcloak supporters alike—and they were shocked and saddened by the news of his death by Jarl Ulfric's thu'um and sword.

But Lydia loved Solitude with all its shops, the Bard's College, the Blue Palace. Even with the Imperial army marching about, it was a beautiful city, the very cradle of Nord culture and civility and she was eager to show Elspeth.

"Because of all the turmoil of late, there aren't as many festivals as there used to be," she explained. "But there is always something happening."

And sure enough, as they arrived they walked into a crowed gathering by the main gate, looking up toward a platform where a man in rags and wrist binds stood, flanked by an Imperial captain and headsman.

"Roggvir. You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg. By opening that gate for Ulfric you betrayed the people of Solitude."

As the captain proclaimed the Roggvir's guilt the crowd responded, shouts of support and protest ringing through the air.

"There was no murder! Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the High King in fair combat. Such is our way! Such is the ancient custom of Skyrim, and all Nords!" Roggvir's final words resonated over the crowd and their shouts grew stronger in response.

Elspeth scrambled and pushed her way past the crowd, ducking under a shop awning just as the THWACK of the headsman's axe sounded, breaking Roggvir's head from his body and cracking the cement below.

Lydia cringed—not so much for the execution but for how she imagined Elspeth felt. But when she looked up, Elspeth looked more annoyed than anything else.

"Really, is there any city in Skyrim not bent on reminding me of the most horrible things that have happened in my life?" she asked, shaking her head as they walked through the city.

The Blue Palace lacked the warmth of Dragonsreach, but it was equally awe-inspiring. The foyer and throne room, with their marble interior and engraved with Nordic knot patterns, were not unwelcoming, but they betrayed a cool bleakness that Elspeth imagined was enhanced by the inhabitants' grief.

The court was enjoying a rare moment of quiet when they arrived. The castle steward, Falk Firebeard, was talking quietly with the Jarl, Elisif the Fair. She sat primly on her throne looking just as Elspeth anticipated, beautiful and sad. Several members of the court knew Lydia, who had traveled to Solitude on many occasions, and so she brought them right over to the wizard. Sybille Stentor was pleased to see her

"Hello my dear," she said. "How are you? And how is Farengar?"

"I am well," she replied. "And Farengar is...well, Farengar."

"That to be expected I suppose," she said dryly. Sybille paused to look over Elspeth, "And who is this?"

"This is Elspeth," said Lydia. "From Cyrodill. We've come here looking for information on an Altmer woman who came here about 20 years ago, going by the name Harinde."