#she really looked at everyone in jarl’s life and said I can fix them and I love that for her

[jegulusofwesper]

Nina Zenik loved two things; Fjerdans and waffles. Not necessarily in that order.

[trassellynn]

ABOUT THAT WRONG THING

Here’s the analysis I promised. *** CROOKED KINGDOM SPOILERS *** WHY WAS MATTHIAS HELVAR’S DEATH JUST WRONG? 1. THE WAY IT HAPPENED 1.1. The Hand of the Author “The Hand of the Author” is an expression that indicates how much we feel the presence of the author into the story, the moments in which they intervene to manipulate the events in a forced and unrealistic way instead of following the coherency of their own plots. Now, let’s think about the sequence of the scene: a) Matthias if left alone and unarmed at job done; b) the boy has been able to follow him despite the messy situation; c) Matthias decides not to defend himself and talks to him in a kind and totally reasonable manner; d) the boy shoots him anyway. This death is absolutely anti-climatic, forced and disrespectful for such a character and the scenes from chapter 38 to 40 seem to be completely disconnected from the rest of the story. It looks like the author (despite her statements) was going to finish the book and said : “Oh, no, I cannot end this story without killing at least one main character, let’s kill the one I think the readers like less!” Even though Matthias was the worst character to kill off, as I’m going to explain in Chapter 2, if the author desperately wanted to kill him, she could at least give him a more decent death, like, for example, making him sacrifice to save someone. 1.2. Confusing sequences Matthias is shot by the young drüskelle, but he is still able to run to Nina. What does this mean? Why does the boy let him go, after shooting him? I honestly doubt Matthias has killed him to escape. Maybe he has knocked him down, but that wouldn’t make more sense to the entire context. 1.3. Fjerdan mentality Matthias gives the young drüskelle valid reasons to put his gun down: he has no weapons and cannot go anywhere. Do Fjerdans, filled with hatred but also obsessed with honour and discipline, really teach their young soldiers to be blinded by anger and kill a wanted man (“Dead OR ALIVE”) who is unarmed and willing to cooperate? The boy could have become a Fjerdan hero, if he had brought Matthias as a prisoner to his companions, rather than shooting him for no reasons and then being also unable to prove he killed him. 1.4. Double standards An author cannot build an unrealistic plot armor to some characters (for example, Kaz, a limping boy, who defeats all the Dregs alone) and kill others in a totally “random” and anti-climatic way, at job done. As I say in my small guide “Five simple rules every author should know about characters’ deaths”, double standards compromise the logic and the coherency of the story. 2. THE WAY IT BREAKS BASIC NARRATIVE RULES 2. 1. Character development Matthias’ storyline is mainly focused on two topics: his relationship with Nina and his character development. He literally spends two books to work on himself, unlearning everything he was taught since he was a child and finding a new purpose based on his change of heart. When characters are made to evolve during the story, the most logical choice is to give them an opportunity to make their development useful and significant outside of their safe zone (for example, their group of friends). And, most important thing, an author should never kill their characters if they haven’t complete their development. And that’s why Matthias was the worst character to kill off at the end of Crooked Kingdom: first of all, he hadn’t fully complete his development (he was still very insecure during social interactions and was still fighting against crumbles of Fjerdan mentality); secondly, no one out of the Crows has seen his development, since the author made him fail during his first real attempt to demonstrate something. I think people would need practical demonstrations to make a change possible, it can’t really be enough for them to hear his story from Nina. It’s just not realistic. Killing Matthias in that way and in that moment, made the character uncompleted and his entire development vain. I’ll conclude the subchapter with a simple example: why do you think it was Jack to die in Titanic, instead of Rose? Because Jack was a complete character, while Rose was still completing her development and had to put it into practice. The criterion is the same. 2.2. Characters’ deaths and their impact on the story Authors owe respect to their characters and have to build their paths properly from the beginning to the end, to guarantee quality to the story. Unless they’re writing a story about random events of human life, they should kill characters only when their deaths make sense to the plot and can give a valuable contribute to other characters’ storylines. A story lacks of quality when characters (especially main characters) are killed just for shock value, to add unnecessary angst and suffering to other characters or because “I cannot give a happy ending to everyone, happy endings are for children”. Matthias’ death was anti-climatic, useless and has so little impact that, if a reader jumps chapters from 38 to 41, it almost seems nothing has changed. 2.3. The failure After everything Matthias did to change and evolve, the author made his first attempt to put in practice what he learnt a huge, undeserving failure. First of all, even though he is unarmed, Matthias is fully able to defeat the boy but he doesn’t do that, that means he chooses not to defend himself. He wants to give the boy a possibility, he wants to demonstrate that there’s still hope for Fjerda. And his faith is repaid with death. These kind of plot choices SOMETIMES (and not in this case) can make sense if written at the beginning or in the middle of a story, not at the ending, when everything seems to be resolved. What is the author trying to suggest us? Fjerdan people are hopeless? If Matthias hasn’t been able to persuade a young boy, who, despite his anger and hatred, should have a more “elastic” mind, how could it be possible to convince older people in Fjerda, who have lived with their beliefs for decades? Does the author really think it is realistic that Nina’s words will be heard by Fjerdans? I’m starting to think her and Matthias’ dream is just destined to fail… * SPOILER FROM NIKOLAI DUOLOGY * (Please, don’t mention me the Nikolai Duology, which I tried to read but I abandoned due to several reasons, one of them, I consider the Crows’ arc closed, after that ending, and I don't like the idea of using the group only as a "passage moment" for both a character and a major plot. And to be honest, I think it’s just not fair that the work Matthias started to change Fjerdans’ mentality would be finished by a character who is just similar to him (well, even too much similar) but hasn’t faced everything he went through with Nina. It sounds like Bardugo is trying to replace him and this is bad. 3. THE AUTHOR’S STATEMENTS And now, in the third and final part of my work, I’m going to report some statements the author said during interviews about this choice and explain why I cannot help but strongly disagree with her. 1. “Matthias didn’t deserve a happy ending because he spread too much hate, he had to pay.” Okay, first of all, Matthias didn’t just wake up one morning, deciding to spread hate for no reasons. Do we need to think about his background? 1. He had always been taught to fear Grishas and see them as monsters; 2. A group of those monsters killed his family and he has been taken by a man who took advantage of his trauma to turn him into a weapon. He received bad teachings (and not only from Jarl Brum, but also from Grisha people who burnt his family alive), he has also been able to unlearn those teaching and decide to do something to repair and make things better. About the “he had to pay” stuff, excuse me, but he has been tortured in Hellgate for a year, being forced to kill wolves, that were not only sacred to him, but also reminded him of his own pet wolf, and living with the belief that the girl he fell in love with had betrayed him. Wasn’t that enough? And, last but not less important, here we go again with double standards: Matthias, who understood his mistakes and was determined to fix them “didn’t deserve a happy ending,” but Kaz Brekker did? Kaz is a great character, but he also did terrible things and I’m sure he’ll never do anything to fix them because he’s too broken and rotten inside. That’s okay, not all the characters are made to have a great development, but statements like this, when we compare the two characters, just sound a bit incoherent. 2. “He has been killed by the younger version of himself” Does the author really think this is a great symbolism? Doesn’t she know that being killed by a younger version of yourself, especially after you went through a great redemption arc, just means “Regression”? She’s basically saying that it doesn’t matter if you worked hard to change and to fix your mistakes, you don’t deserve to be forgiven, you are your past and you’re destined to be destroyed by it (unless your name is Kaz Brekker). Past is a part of us, of course, we cannot change it and we can be hurt by it, but we cannot let it “kill” us. The message the author gave is just wrong and filled with extremist, unnecessary moralism. It definitely doesn’t fit the atmosphere of a Young Adult novel, which should promote progression, instead of regression. As I said, she also seems to be willing to demonstrate that Fjerdans are just evil and will never change. I wonder if Bardugo has ever seen “The Lion King”, because Rafiki would be very disappointed by all of this. 3. “I knew from the beginning I would have killed him off” Even though the way she killed him seems to demonstrate something different, Bardugo has always stated that she wanted to kill Matthias by the moment she created him. Okay, we can believe it, but I can still speak against this statement. How? I’m sure this thing has happened to many writers: we create characters and decidespecific endings for their storylines, but, while we’re writing, those characters “come to life” into our hands and they sometimes evolve out of our control and start to lead us to a different path. Since the story is made by our characters, we should follow the directions they take, for the sake of the plot: we shouldn’t listen to fanservice or to old plans, we should listen to our characters. That’s why it can happen we end up saving a character we were meant to kill of at the beginning, as well as killing a character we hadn’t plan to kill off. It is just wrong to stubbornly follow an old idea that doesn’t fit the story anymore, that’s why authors cannot use it as an excuse to justify their mistakes. (The finale of “How I Met Your Mother” is a great example to explain this concept). 4. CONCLUSIONS “Geez, what was that for?” - It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. “Yeah, but it still hurts!” - Ah, yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or… learn from it. (“The Lion King”, 1994) Matthias wasn’t even running away from his past. He faced it. He wanted to do something about it. He was ready to rise from the ashes of his past and work for a better future. And those are all the reasons his death is just wrong from every kind of perspective: narrative, logic, symbolism. Matthias Helvar deserved better. Not only from his life, but also, and especially, from the author who created him. *** Hope you agree with me. Haters stay away, I won’t change my mind. Don’t make flame under my post. If you agree with me and like my work, feel free to share. Thanks for reading!

[thenorthernrecords]

Family Matters

[ The following  is a log of a scene between Jacob and Carolina, shortly after the Sargenis family meeting. ]

@seawitchtales​

Well that was exciting! Carolina’s heart hurt for Lani, she could completely understand the pain she felt from her Brother’s actions. Sea-colored irises watched Jacob as he told everyone goodbye, and closed the large doors of the long house. “...I don’t really know what to say about all of this. What a mess..” Using her arms she pulled herself up to stand using the help of the table. With a little wobble she’d reach into the pocket of her dress to pull out a flowered crown. With a weak smile she’d extend it out to Jacob. “... I was able to make you this..” And she was proud! (D)

So, dinner had been served, and he got to do some chitchat with the two elder 'cousins', which was nice, and for the most part, as messy as the situation was, dinner wasn't so bad! Riley had chosen to stay in a spare room in their home, and she went in for the night (probably to cry more) while the Areli family went to stay in the inn. Jac practically looked drained by the end of it. He rubbed the back of his neck, as he approached the table. "The man was a fucking prick. I'm glad you didn't get to meet him. The way he insulted his own sister?" He still got pissed off over it. Now, Michael Blackwood was horrible, but Eamonn Sargenis had an edge to his cruelty that made his blood boil. "Lani's holding up better than her two older sisters. It's a fucking mess, but his departure means we never have to worry about that idiot ever again." Good riddance! Jacob sat down with a huff, but the sight of a flower crown did make him feel better. He took it and just placed it on his head. "Look at you! You've recovered enough to start making me these again." Plus she was standing! He looked so proud of her progress. [d](edited)

When Jacob sat down Carolina took the opportunity to sit back within his lap, but this time she faced him. Gently both of her hands held his face with thumbs toying with his beard. For a long moment she looked into his eyes. She had thought she was damned to be trapped forever within the horrors of her mind. “...I’m so happy that you are real, Jac..” Her voice squeaked just a little bit as tears were held back. Her arms would wrap themselves around his neck so that a tight embrace could be given. “...I’m also glad that I never met him. He sounds like a real peach..” A rotten one. (D)

Jacob frowned, and reached up to stroke her cheek with his thumb gently. "Of course I'm real, sweetheart, and I'm not going anywhere." He smiled a tired, yet sincere smile, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly for a moment, reflecting just how damn happy he was that she was wake and with them again. Then, he scoffed. "Oh he was. The man was miserable -- I still can't believe I'm blood related to that man." Plus, they looked a little similar too, which annoyed him further. "I actually felt bad for him for a moment, but after today? Fuck that, and fuck him." He turned his head and spit on the ground because he was super serious! "That's another destructive relative I don't have to worry about anymore." [d]

Slowly Carolina leaned back so that she could lean against the edge of the table to watch Jacob as he spoke. “...what is it about Brothers? I mean everyone we know has the same issues including myself. We’ve got to make sure Erik is a good Brother, or I swear to Odin that I will hang him from his toes..” Because fuck this shit, their children would NOT be like this. Headache city. “..you look exhausted, my darling Jarl. We could go get close under the furs and sleep..” Before their darling children woke them up at the ungodly hour of the morning. (D)

Jacob let out a short sigh, leaning his head back so he can look up at the ceiling. "I don't know. Each case I know about has this odd sense of unearned entitlement, and maybe, their sisters have made them feel insecure, so they had to lash out." Jacob let out a snort, "But it proves just how weak and ball-less they were. This one --" Meaning Eamonn, "--respected me more than his own sister, but that's not saying much. Did you read the letter? ‘Jacob may carry our name if he wishes.’ As if I need his permission when I have Slania's already." Jacob simply chose not to carry it. "No, our children will be better because I'm making sure Erik never harms his sister, or lets harm come to her. I'm not going to coddle him and shit if he does." He raised his head to look at her. "We could, but we haven't had any time to just be together. It's been so long since you and I just spoke like this, without a care in the world. I missed it." Did he pout? Yes. Yes he did. [d]

A brow perked as she watched her Husband, pout? Carolina couldn’t even hold back a giggle. “...what’s this, Jacob Adair?” A content sigh was given as she leaned forward so that her face was directly in front of his. Her finger reached out and poked his nose. “...I missed it too, Jac, and I missed you. Don’t get me wrong..I missed our children. But the love I have for you is just different if that even makes any sense at all. I thought that I was going to die that night in the fire, and I was...well..never mind about all of that. Tell me everything that I missed, even if you think I wouldn’t be interested..” She had missed a whole lot, she was sure! (D)

The pout vanished almost instantly, and Jacob shrugged. "What's what? I don't know what you're talking about." He said casually, as if the pout never had occurred in the first place. But, he still smiled and gave her a wink. "Are you saying I'm more lovable than a child? Carolina Adair, I never!" He teased her, grinning ear to ear like the dork he really was inside. "Well, as you heard, Lani got hurt, but that big big guy, what's his name ... Keiran, saved her. You should have seen it, He came in with her in his arms, bleedin' all over him, and the man was worried." Which surprised him because it looked like Keiran had a sour grape in his mouth at all times. "But she recovered, thankfully. Benjamin Areli got hurt too, but he was nursed to health by Harper Maxson I believe." He raised his brows at that one. He had a feeling Katy wasn't feelin' too happy about that. "Oh, we rebuilt the orphanage, or rather, made it bigger and better.  Most of the city is rebuilt, with newer defenses too.  Leviticus has a brand new forge now -- the apprentice has become the master." And they totally did not want to give each other the biggest hug ever when Jacob told him he was to have a new forge because that would be crazy. Jacob then looked pensive, as if trying to decide something. He then let out an annoyed groan, and decided it was best to let Carolina know what had come in for her. He fished a letter from his pant's pockets and held it up to her. "So... this was for you. I normally would not open your letters but ...It's from your brother, Michael." He looked so disgusted just saying his name. [d]

“...you are the only man I will e v e r love the way that I love you, Mr. Adair...” Forever and always this fire would burn. Carolina watched Jacob as he explained the happenings over the past few months. “...Keiran is a good man, so I’m glad that he has decided to stick around.” Destiny would of never summoned him if there had been any doubt. Now a brow rose when Jacob mentioned Leviticus, followed by another giggle. “...you guys are disgusting, you’re going to have to control yourself with your mistress. She’s still a newlywed.” Oh ho! Quick with the jabs, lulz. And then her stomach fell. For a long moment she peered at the letter that Jacob held out to her. Slowly a hand would reach out before her gaze fluttered across the words that her Brother had written. By the time she was done reading, her whole body was shaking.

Rage.

The letter fell against the floor as she quickly stood from Jacob’s lap. That might of been a terrible idea because she was still way too weak to support herself. Both of her knees were shaking. “...why..why did HE kill Andrew. That was supposed to be..this motherfucker!” Carolina hissed, tears rolling down her cheeks. The one thing that had been promised to her was stolen. Andrew had only tortured her for almost her entire life. She always had to stay one step ahead, sleep with one eye open, and he still managed to catch her. Not once, but twice he almost succeeded in killing her. Because of him her whole family had been murdered. “...and I couldn’t even see the look on his face as he took his last breath..” Her knees gave way as she collapsed to sit on the floor, pulling her legs up under herself a bit. “...I’m going to have to go home, Jacob..” There was an emptiness to her voice, she couldn’t even look at her Husband. (D)

Jacob had frowned at the whole mistress bit. "Pfft. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. That man is an asshole." Said another man who was also an asshole. Now, when Carolina stood up, on instinct, Jacob reached out and put a hand on her waist, trying to keep her steady, but also, it would give him a chance to catch her if she stumbled. Jacob had a deep frown on his face. "If there's anything I know about your brother, it's that he acts before he fucking thinks. He also thinks he knows whats best." Which is a quality he shared with the shit brother he had just finished talking about. He began to rub her back, to comfort her, but then, he stopped. "Carolina, first of all, this is your home now. I thought we had talked about this," Jacob began, already beginning to feel that anger begin to boil, "You don't have to go home, and you don't have to fix his fuckin' mess. Didn't you just see what happens when you run and fix a shit brother's mess?! We just had a dinner with a set of sisters who did just that, and look how well that turned out!" Jacob was shaking his head. He didn't like this one bit. [d](

Carolina winced hearing Jacob’s tone, but she still never rose her gaze to look at him. Again her eyes scanned the letter as if somehow it would change. “...I cannot allow my Brother to be punished for killing a man that should have been hung in the Palace Square for his crimes. My parents are dead because of him, he’s tried to kill me multiple times. This is bullshit..” And in a small struggle she stood on bare feet, standing as strong as she could for the moment. “...family is always the most important thing, Jacob, even if they don’t deserve it.” Finally she looked at him, her long chestnut tresses spilling over just one shoulder. “If Caspian made these arrangements then there’s a serious problem brewing, and even if I wanted to ignore this..I cannot, nor will I.” Even if he was furious with her, she didn’t care. (D)

Jacob just stared, his face blank for a moment, but soon, he was breathing a little more heavily than usual -- an indicator of his growing exasperation. "He chose to kill the man, and even the right choices have consequences." He first state firmly. Oh, but the family bit? That made Jacob stand up and step away, his back towards Carolina for a moment. He tapped his foot, trying to not let his growing anger get the best of him. "What about our family?" He said slowly, strain in his voice as he turned around to glance at her, "Let's say something happens to you while you're out saving your idiot brother. What of our children? Shall they go motherless because you wanted to help the one family member who failed you time and time again? You just fuckin' came back to us, Carolina." He turned his face away, balled his hand into a fist and began to tap his fist into his other hand. "Just when I thought I was rid of all these cocksuckers." Yep, he was mad. His entire body was tensed up, but he was trying his hardest to keep it all from just lashing out. [d]

Irises narrowed slightly as she listened to her Husband. Oi, YES, my Brother is a fuckin’ douche...and then she sighed. Slowly the distance between herself and Jacob was closed as she stood in front of him. Both hands rose so that she could gently take his face and pull him closer to her level. “...Jacob, I will n e v e r leave you, nor our children. I love you more than I have ever loved anything else, and that is the o n l y reason I am standing before you today...” For a long moment she searched his face, her eyes starting to well up with tears. “...maybe I can bring a group with me. Harper needs to get her ass home instead of playing house with Ben..” Heh, trying to lighten the mood. “...we have peace for a moment, and I swear that this will be the one and only time that I return to Snow. If you allow it, I will never go back after this..” And she meant it. (D)

He crossed his arms tightly, and when she put her hands on his face, she would feel that his jaw was clenched. He studied her face silently, and when he saw the tears? He began frown, and looked away for a moment. He was trying to remain mad, but it was difficult to do so when his wife was being vulnerable. It made him feel like a dick. "... Tears won't work on me, Carolina." He said, but by the way he slightly pursed his lips? Yeah, it worked, much to his dismay. He let out a groan and aggressively rubbed the nape of his neck. The prospect of never having to worry about her going off to Snow Mystic was incredibly tempting. "Fine! Fine." He grumbled, extending his arms and letting them fall to his sides in defeat. "Yes, I want you to go with a group -- with at least one person I Trust." He crossed his arms again because he meant business! Clearly. [d]

“Really?!” Whoa! Mark this shit down in history, MARK IT DOWN. This was the same man that used to fight hard to push her away from him, y e a r s of being a dick. Carolina couldn’t help but to smile wide, wrapping her arms around his neck, basically climbing him so that she could wrap her bare legs around his waist. The Jarl’s wife may have attended a family meeting with nothing but Jac’s tunic on, heh. She was recovering! “...you can pick whom ever you want to, Mr. Jarl...Sir Jarl? Jarl Studmuffin..” Oooo, Daddy! Slowly she used her nose to turn his face back towards her so that the softest most sweetest kiss was offered to his lips. “....thank you, Jac..” Heh. Carolina’s cheeks may have been a little pink, but she was so...content. (D)

Naturally she started to climb him, he unfolded his arms and held her against him, with his hands in place beneath her. "Hah, now you're just patronizing me." He started with narrowing eyes, "If anything happens to you, I'm killing your brother. That's a promise." More like, the entire of Snow Mystic would burn to the ground if anything happened to his wifey, dammit. He'd have the army there in seconds, somehow. And like the softy that he begrudgingly was, he smiled slightly and gave her a peck back. And then another.  And then a third for good measure. What a sap. "...I love you too. I only get angry because I'm tired of bad shit happening to you and the rest of our family. But, if you doing this means I don't have to hear Caspian Fucking Maxson's name ever again, then I suppose it's a reasonable risk." Imagine?! He smiled at the thought.  "I'll pick, but you'd have to agree. I wouldn't want you to be in company you don't like either." [d]

Carolina giggled after the third kiss, but made sure to return every damn one. Honestly if she could ride around like this on Jacob, everyday, she would do it! If she had to move Heaven or Hell for him, well, y’all get it. “...I know you were scared, Jacob, I felt it..that’s how I stayed connected to you. And you’ll still be connected to me when I leave. Plus I know you’ll have a pair of beady little eyes watching for you. If anything happens I know you’ll come for me..” This War had done a number on the both of them, and she knew this wasn’t the best time to be going to a whole other country on some fuckshit, but it had to be done. “...and I will be okay with anyone from here. I know and love all o u r people..” Daw, she was so proud of Jacob, and now he’d know. She hadn’t really had the chance to tell him anything, ya know, comas and stuff. (D)

The war had basically almost wiped out the family he gained, through marriage and discovery. So, he was terrified deep down for sure! One bad brother had caused a shitstorm, and now another was causing another. it never ended! He didn't have to say it, it was all over his face how much it had all affected him. "A certain crow would be wise to watch over my wife lest he wants to be a stuffed animal!" He said in a raised voice, knowing the black feathered friend had heard it somehow. "I have someone in mind, but I gotta convince 'em first." He was worried about that part. But! That was a worry he'd deal with in the morning. "We should get some rest. If you want to go on this journey, I want your fully recovered, and ready. I want you to be ready to give them all hell."

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

The Jagged Crown (Female!Dovahkiin/Ulfric)

The next part of my Pushing Boundaries series, featuring my female Dovahkiin Seirian.

You’ll probably want to read the previous parts first, otherwise this won’t make much sense.

Mid-Day, Sondas, Windhelm

“Did I not just leave you in Winterhold? Are you pursuing me?”

Squinting up through the flurries of snow, Seirian spied Ulfric trotting toward her on a horse the color of cream. She could barely make him out through the storm.

“Mira Hlaalu’s baby is due any day. I promised I’d attend her. And I want to see how the Blades are handling the Gray Quarter security.”

“With deft and aplomb,” Ulfric said, swinging down off his horse and handing the reins to the stable hand. “Stonefist hasn’t made a peep in months.”

“That’s certainly better for his health and longevity.”

Ulfric’s eyes crinkled. “And where will you be staying during your visit?”

“Candlehearth Hall.”

“Ah. No more rooms available, I’m afraid. The inn is full of revelers come for the Moot.”

“It’s three weeks away!” Seirian tucked her cloak more tightly around her and headed toward the city gates. Ulfric followed. She could feel his amusement, both at her consternation and her unwillingness to stand on ceremony and wait for the Jarl to lead.

“You know Nords love a good celebration, my Dragonborn.”

Seirian huffed, breath frosting in the air. “I suppose the Hlaalus could put me up until after the birth.”

Ulfric made a sound suspiciously like a “tsk,” but that might have just been the settling of the old city doors as they guards pulled them open.

“Stay at the palace, Dragonborn. As my guest. I promise,” he continued, seeing her arched brow, “your virtue will be safe.”

A laugh strangled in Seirian’s throat as she coughed behind her hand. “I’m not sure there’s much virtue worth worrying about.”

“Intriguing.” Ulfric’s eyes glittered. Then, “You’ll have a room waiting. I also have something—a job, if you will—to talk with you about at dinner. Until then.” He gave a shallow nod that held all the courtliness of a bow and headed toward the palace.

Seirian stared after him for a moment before shaking her head and turning toward the Gray Quarter.

# # #

“The Jagged Crown,” Galmar said, “is made from the bones and teeth of ancient dragons. It’s said to contain a portion of the power of every High King of who has worn it.”

“And you want me to track down this piece of myth,” Seirian asked as she took a bite of roast chicken.

“It is not myth. And no, I’ve located it.”

“Or so you say,” Ulfric murmured into his goblet. Galmar shot him a filthy look. Seirian pretended to inspect the mash of vegetables on her plate.

“It’s at Korvanjund,” Galmar said.

“I’m well acquainted with crawling through Nordic ruins and if I’m going to risk life and limb for an adornment, I’d like to know why.”

“Galmar’s concerned about the legitimacy of my standing with the other jarls.”

“The Moot’s in three weeks. There are still Jarls who are expressing their doubts, perhaps not publicly, but I have ears in many private rooms. This crown, worn by the High Kings of old, will show you as the true ruler of Skyrim.”

“And may quell the rumblings that could lead to the start of another Civil War,” Seirian murmured.  

“Even Balgruff will fall in line when he sees it,” Galmar said.

Seirian sipped her wine, put down the goblet with a heavy clunk. “Okay.”

Galmar raised his brows. “I wouldn’t have expected to have your support in putting Jarl Ulfric on the throne, Archmage.”

Seirian fixed her gaze on him. “I never officially chose a side in this war, as I believe you well knew when you had that archer shoot me down in the middle of Solitude.”

Galmar nodded, face placid.

“I don’t like war. It’s a waste of lives, a waste of resources. Death and destruction only breeds more of the same. I don’t like the Empire. They’re too entangled with the Aldmeri Dominion and they won’t stand ground where they should.”

Ulfric and Galmar shared similar expressions of smugness.

“That doesn’t mean,” Seirian paused, took another sip of wine, “that the Stormcloaks don’t have their own problems. Prejudice. Forgetting that this land isn’t just a home to Nords. It might have been once, but not anymore. Tamriel is far too large and interconnected for that to continue to be the case.”

“So you’ve said, my Dragonborn. And I’ve heard.”

“Yes. You’ve shown you’re willing to listen and to act. The Blades have told me you’ve given them more resources, and financially helped those Dunmer who had property destroyed. If you weren’t that type of person,” she shrugged, “I would not be agreeing to this rock warbler chase.”

Ulfric stared at her for a moment, then finally said, “You’ll have a contingent of soldiers with you.”

“It would be best to leave tomorrow. Early,” Galmar offered.

“That’s all well and good, gentlemen, but I made a promise to deliver a baby and I’m not leaving until I do.”

Galmar frowned. “How long will that take?”

“As long as it takes, Galmar. Babies don’t follow a strict schedule. Though it has dropped and Mira’s having some pains… I believe it will be within the next three days.”

Galmar grumbled something unflattering under his breath, but Ulfric nodded, said “We can round up the contingent and be ready to go as soon as your obligations are fulfilled.”

# # #

Mira gave birth just before dawn on Tirdas.

Seirian thanked Mara that the birth was an easy one, though you wouldn’t know it to look at Belyn who had fainted dead away as the baby began to crown and who was still looking at little woozy as he sat by his wife’s side, cooing at the little one. The baby had been born with a shock of black hair, a shade of red-violet eyes that made Seirian think of the sunsets back in Shornhelm, and a set of lungs that let out a scream that could be heard throughout the Gray Quarter.

After making sure the Hlaalus had what they needed for the evening and denying Belyn’s offers to give her something in trade for her time, she dragged herself back to the palace where she informed Jorlief that her duty was done. Then she fell into her bed and slept until dinner time. She woke long enough to eat, bathe and pack essentials for the trip to Korvanjund.

In the pale hour before dawn, she met the small contingent of soldiers at the stables and saddled up a borrowed horse. As the commander rallied her people, Ulfric appeared next to Seirian on the same cream colored horse she’d seen him on when she’d arrived at the city.

“You need to be on horseback to see us off?”

He shot her a look, clearly unamused at this early hour of morning. “I’m coming with you, Dragonborn.”

“No.”

“Are you attempting to give me an order?” His tone was light but the steel in his eyes said he would not look kindly at such an attempt.

“No. Yes. I don’t—why are you coming? Isn’t your armed contingent enough?”

“No,” he said, “not where your safety is concerned.”

“Are we really going to have a conversation about my safety? Really? Me? Who flew on the back of a dragon to Skuldafn to find the portal to Sovngarde and put an end to Alduin’s reign?”

“Yes,” Ulfric said. “Those were tasks necessary to your destiny as Dragonborn. This one isn’t. It’s something I’m asking of you. And as I have the time and the resources to accompany you, I shall.”

Seirian opened her mouth, closed it. “Fine. But please don’t make me have to explain to Galmar and all your supporters why I’m dragging the body of the once future High King of Skyrim back to Windhelm.” She turned her horse toward the road, following the soldiers as they headed out.

“I think you’ll find me quite capable, Dragonborn,” Ulfric called, voice nearly lost to the wind.

# # #

They arrived at their destination in the late evening, having been halted by heavy snows and low visibility at several points during the journey. Korvanjund was half buried in the snow and they nearly missed the entrance to it in the settling dark.

A couple of bandits were camped out near the doors to the tomb, but they ran as they saw the party approaching. It was the first time bandits actually seemed to have more good sense than greed, Seirian thought.

They crowded into the antechamber just as the snowfall began to pick up, the wind howling like a wild creature through the trees and the stone archways of the ruin.

“It was a long journey,” Seirian said, pitching her voice so she could be heard over the murmur of conversation. “We’ll camp here tonight, go deeper into the tomb tomorrow. I want everyone starting fresh.” Where she had expected resistance, she found none as the soldiers spread out to settle down for the evening.

Wandering over to the doors that led into the tomb, Seirian considered them for a moment, then closed her eyes, visualized the electric arc of lightning, how it looked crossing the sky, how it might look pooling in her hand and cast her fingertips toward the floor. The lightning rune glowed brightly for a moment before dimming, issuing a subtle hum that only those attuned to magic could hear. If anything tried to come through the door in the night, at the least they would be alerted. She thought doing the same to the main entry, then reconsidered at the idea of some poor soldier going to relieve himself in the middle of the night and setting off the rune. She could settle for the sentry the commander had posted.

With a warning to the nearby soldiers to stay clear of the inner door, Seirian headed for the fire the guard captain had gotten burning. She pulled her sodden cloak from her back and spread it out on a piece of broken stone to dry, then settled down in front of the fire, letting the flames warm the chill in her cheeks.

A piece of dried beef appeared in front of her, held aloft by a large hand. She blinked, took the food.

“Septim for your thoughts,” Ulfric said.

“I haven’t seen my children in weeks.” She’d kept the thought at bay, but being around Mira and her new family had brought back the heavy feeling in the pit of her belly, that feeling that she was not doing right by them, the little children that had fallen into her life, borne on the winds of a storm, the tide of blood spilled in war.

“How old are they?”

“Six and the other’s just turned three.”

“Young.”

“Young enough that the grief of losing their parents still makes them cry every time I leave them. Young enough to not understand why I must be gone so often. I’m not sure I understand it myself… Especially now. Alduin is gone. The Empire is out. The war is done. We’re at peace. Or as much as we ever can be.”

“And why must you be away so often?” Ulfric asked, drinking from a water skin before offering it to her.

“My duties to the College, mainly, at this point.”

“I imagine you won’t want to step down from your position as Archmage,” he said and she nodded. “Is delegation not an option?”

“That’s my next step. Tolfdir and some of the others aren’t keen on an Archmage who isn’t often in residence, but I’m working on them. Now that the war is over, post travels far faster and, well...let’s just say, as mages there are other ways of getting messages to each other that we should be working on perfecting.”

A slight smile curled Ulfric’s mouth then faded away as he looked into the fire. “Windhelm is quite a lot closer to Winterhold than Solitude.” He burst out laughing when she stared at him. “Spare me the dragon’s glare, please. I only mean, there’s a house for sale in the city. It’s a good house. Plenty of room for the little ones. You’d have Wuunferth close by for discussions of spells, potions, hexes. And you can make the trek to Winterhold in under three days when the weather is clear.”

She opened her mouth, shut it just as fast as he gave her the same steely look from that morning. “Would you say no, just because I offered the idea? I want you close, it’s true. I’ve made that desire—and more—known. If the conversation we had at your College is any sign, I think we’re getting somewhere with that. But this is not just about me or what we might have between us. Would you not make life easier on yourself and your children just because it means living in my city? I know you’re stubborn, Dragonborn, but there comes a time when stubbornness can become spite and I have not known you to be spiteful.”

That weight that had been sitting in her belly for weeks grew suddenly heavier and broke open in a flood of heat that raced through her veins, made her face burn. She looked away from Ulfric and into the flames again. It had been too long since she had someone willing to call her on the fierce and, she could admit, sometimes destructive independence she had cultivated.

She took a deep breath, let it out and turned back to him. He was still watching her and met her eyes.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s a much more reasonable location if I’m going to continue making regular trips to the College. I’ll speak with Jorlief when we return.”

“Good.”

“And…” Seirian said, pushing the words out before she could rethink them, “I suppose you’ll have to come to Sondas dinner after we’re moved in and settled.”

She felt Ulfric go very still beside her.

“An invitation to dinner, Dragonborn?”

“Well,” she said, “we’ve already done the demanding one’s presence at dinner. Or you have. And we—you’ve—done the surprise, late night dinner. And we’ve done the “you’re here so you might as well dine with us,” dinner. I think it’s time we did something properly.”

Ulfric’s grin was wolfish. “I accept.”

“Don’t look too satisfied,” Seirian said, turning back to watch the flames. “A few hours around my children may have you reconsidering this whole mess.”

“Oh, my Dragonborn, don’t you know by now that I love a challenge?”

# # #

There were no windows in the antechamber of Korvanjund but when Seirian woke, she knew it to be the small hours of morning. The air held a certain chill. The fire had burnt low as they slept. She stoked the embers, adding a few small pieces of wood and murmuring a flame spell. As the light and heat extended throughout the room, she heard coughs and curses as the soldiers began to stir. Across the fire from her, Ulfric sat up, eyes alert even as he yawned hugely and stretched before rising and beginning to pack up his bed roll and set it aside for later retrieval.

After a quick trip outside to relieve herself in the snow and a small breakfast of dried meat, bread and fruit, Seirian suggested they leave two men behind. They would need someone who could return to Windhelm with news if the worst should happen. Then she dismissed the sigil in front of the interior doors and they descended further into the tomb.

The captain took point, at Ulfric’s command. Seirian followed close behind, letting go of the argument she wanted to make that, as someone who had likely been through more tombs than any of these soldiers combined, she should lead. She resolved to be extra vigilant.

Ulfric took up his place on her right side with a soldier called “Quix” to her left.

The tomb was quiet, save for the whisper of their breaths, the rasp of boot on stone, the soft swish of leather armor and rattle of metal buckles.

As they entered the Korvanjund halls and were welcomed by the honeycombed array of tombs that held Nords long dead, Seirian kept a close eye on the walls, looking for any signs of movement. There was none and the absence made her look harder into the shadows.

Passing an alcove, she called out for the captain to wait. She knelt, examined the body lying bent forward on the floor like a poppet whose strings had been cut. Worn leather armor hung on limbs that were mostly bone and sinew, the muscle and flesh having rotted away centuries ago. An arrow stuck through the front of the throat and out the back.

“What is it?” asked one of the men.

“A draugr,” Seirian said, “the undead who protect the tombs.”

“Dragonborn?” Ulfric’s voice was pitched low, out of respect for the dead or the need for stealth. Perhaps both.

“It’s truly dead now. Someone’s been through here. Keep your eyes open.”

“Weapons at the ready,” Ulfric commanded as they moved forward.

The hush they carried with them now was tense, expectant. They came across more draugr, dead in their tombs, on the floor.

“Ugly things,” muttered a soldier.

“Speak ill of the dead and the dead will enact ill on you,” hissed another.

“I’ll remove both your tongues if you don’t shut up,” muttered another.

The bickering faded away as they entered the Hall of Stories, the walls etched with murals of long dead dragon priests and their followers. At the end of the hall, in front of one of the large puzzle doors Seirian had seen in other tombs, lay three bodies. Two Imperial soldiers and a draugr that looked far more like a man than many Seirian had seen, its half open eyes glowing an eerie blue. One soldier lay propped against the door, his throat torn away from claws or teeth. Next to him, just out of reach of his hand, a dragon claw shaped out of ebony.

Seirian picked it up, spoke softly to Ulfric as he drew close, examining the claw over her shoulder. “This is the key to the door. Looks like the Imperials had the same idea as Galmar.”

“They didn’t factor in the draugr,” Ulfric said, voice tight.

“No. Not if they only sent two men.” She lowered her voice further. “I haven’t seen a draugr like that before, Ulfric. I’m not sure what we’re going to find past this door. I need to take point.”

Ulfric nodded. “Captain, with me. Lead on, Dragonborn.”

The halls leading to the Korvanjund crypt were quieter, colder, the old stones leaching the warmth from the air. Their breath made pools of frost in front of them.

“The crypt is just beyond this door,” Seirian said, moving toward the double stone doors and pressing a palm to them. “According to Galmar, the crown was buried here with a member of the Dragon Cult. Stay behind me. Move quietly.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Somewhere in the crypt was a word wall. She could feel the thrum of power deep in her bones. But there was something else, too. Something nearly as old as the Wall. It's presence brushed against her skin, made her twitchy, set her teeth on edge.  “Do you feel that?” she whispered to Ulfric, who frowned, shook his head.

She led the group down the short hall that opened into a vaulted ceileinged crypt, dropping to her haunches just before the hall came to an end.

“Ulfric.”

“I see it,” he said, voice a hushed breath.

In the center of the room, on a throne made of stone, sat the figure of a man, tall and broad. Time had worn most of the flesh away, but magic had preserved the muscle and sinew, the white bone and teeth. The ebony armor gleamed wetly in the torchlight and the jagged crown of dragon bone and teeth sat atop its head.

“It has your crown.”

“At least Galmar was right about the location.”

“Is it dead?” one of the men whispered.

“No,” said Seirian, “and yes.” This was draugr but more than draugr.

“Ideas?” Ulfric said.

“We see if we can do this without waking it. But…. You men,” Seirian pointed to handful of men wielding swords and axes, “around the back, behind the throne. Slow and quiet. Keep your distance from it and watch your back.” She waited until they had slipped into position. “Archers, spread out, find whatver high ground you can. Quietly.” The archers vanished into the gloom. “Captain, Ulfric, flank it.”

When everyone was in position, she silently cast a strong armor spell and padded toward the throne, her eyes on the draugr’s hands as she reached for the crown. Her fingers had barely brushed the edge of bone when a rush of magic filled the air. The draugr twitched, began to wake. Its cold blue eyes found hers and she recognized something in it. The same something that was in Ulfric. In her.

“Ulfric,” she yelled, “it Shouts!”

Then the room exploded into chaos.

The shield she cast was barely strong enough to take the brunt of the thu'um that pushed her across the floor and into a pillar, stealing her breath from her and making her arms go half numb from the impact. The sharp, clear sing of steel rang throughout the room as several draugr spilled out from the honeycombs of the crypt.

Another shout made the walls of the cavern shake, sent pieces of rock tumbling from the ceiling. The captain's sword clattered to the ground and went spinning past Seirian. She watched as Ulfric's blade took a blow that had been aimed for the captain's head. The captain rolled away from the melee, came up with her weapon in her hand and was pulled into the fray of lesser draugr. Several lay on the ground already, riddled with slashes and arrows. The captain beheaded another.

Seirian turned back to the dark streak of ebony armor, the flash of Ulfric’s sword. She wove a spell into her hands, focused on the shape and form of it, shouted “Ulfric, back away” and released the bolt of icy air as soon as he was clear. The creature turned to her, mouth stretching in a lipless snarl as it opened it’s mouth to shout.

Rii Va—

The words tore into Seirian, through the armor spell and the shield she threw in front of herself at the last moment. They reached into her skin, between her bones, seemed to rip at her very essence and steal her breath, quicken her heart beat until her chest ached.

Then she dropped to her knees as the shout dissipated, incomplete. Ulfric’s blade stuck out of the chest of the ebony draugr and Seirian raised her hands, called the spell that had been on the tip of her tongue and drove lightning into the dead thing’s herat. The light in its eyes dimmed as it fell forward on it’s knees and then collapsed. Ulfric’s sword, pushed out by the impact, clattered to the ground next to it, arcs of blue and silver lightning streaming over the blade.

“Thank you,” she gasped as Ulfric knelt at her side.

“That draugr’s shout. Your eyes,” Ulfric said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and steadying her, “they turned silver as mist. I thought you were dying.”

“I think…I was. For a moment,” Seirian said. Her breath seemed to be coming back, her heart beat slowing to its usual tempo. The feel of the shout still crawled beneath her skin but the pain had gone. “The draugr—“

“All dead,” Ulfric said, nodding toward the group of soldiers, some inspecting the fallen bodies, others keeping an eye on the shadows. “Can you stand?”

No, Seirian thought, but she said, “Yes.”

“Let me help.” The words were spoken softly, a plea more than a command.

Seirian paused, nodded and leaned into Ulfric’s hold as he pulled her from the floor. She let him wrap her arm around his shoulders and his around her waist. It was an awkward position with their height difference and she could see the considering look in his eyes, but she’d be damned if she let him carry her.

“Don’t even think about it,” she whispered.

“Too late.”

Stifling a chuckle, she steered him toward the collapsed draugr. “Your sword should be safe to touch now. And this...” As Ulfric knelt to gather his sword, Seirian braced herself on his shoulder and pulled the jagged crown from the head of the draugr. “Is yours.”

Ulfric took the crown from her, held it up to the light, ran a thumb over the curve of a tooth and then gave it back to her. “Keep it for me?”

She looked at him curiously.

“Made of the bones and teeth of dragons and it was your killing blow that won it. It seems only fitting that you hold onto it,” he said as he adjusted her arm around his shoulders. “Captain, lead us out.”

“It has a certain charm,” she said tiredly as they fell into the center of the line of soldiers. “I’m not usually one for trophies, but this… You might not get this back.”

“I trust you.”

“I might even wear it.”

The corner of his mouth curled as he glanced down at her. “I’ll consider that practice.”

“I walked right into that one,” Seirian said, sounding surprised even to herself.

Ulfric’s laughter echoed off the stone and he held her tighter as they made the long trek back to the entrance of the ruin.