Dragonborn Rising Ch. 01

4^th Era, 205 – The Blue Palace, Solitude

The High Queen of Skyrim knew theirs was a Sun's Dusk and Sun's Dawn relationship, but it didn't matter. She was content. It had taken some time for her to get used to the arranged marriage with Ulfric Stormcloak, but that arrangement had brought peace to Skyrim. She smiled at that thought. Her native land was a cold and storm-tossed landscape – politically as well environmentally.

She pondered that thought as she gazed at her image in the looking glass of her dressing chamber. She was still Elisif, the Fair. As a Nord, she was tall and with a slender and regal frame. Her face was framed by shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair. Although far from the glamorized visage of the 'strong Nord woman,' she was striking to behold, with her fair-skinned features, polished style, commanding voice and noble manner.

She held her right hand up before her and examined the gold ring of matrimony she wore. Who would have thought that she would ever wed the man who killed her first husband – Torygg, the High King of Skyrim. With the help of the Dragonborn, Ulfric had swept across the frigid reaches of Skyrim in a successful campaign to free it from the crumbling empire of Cyrodiil. After Ulric's Stormcloaks had defeated the Imperial forces of General Tullius, the Dragonborn had carried a message from Ulfric to her, who at that time was Jarl of Solitude.

Elisif smiled and shook her head. Naadia Heart-Striker, she thought, now there's was your classic Nord woman! She was as tall as most Nord males. Although without the fair skin of Skyrim's natives, she was the product of a Nord father and Redguard mother. Her skin was brown and her curly hair, raven black – all features she must have inherited from her mother's side. Her well-built and endowed frame, ice-blue eyes and commanding voice were all features from her father. She truly was the classic warrior-maiden of the North.

She had saved Solitude from the evil plans of a cult that worshipped the dead Wolf Queen and was Thane of not only Haafingar, but Whiterun and several other holds. She was the Arch Mage of the College in Winterhold and the Harbinger of the Companions. Some rumors also held that she had connections with the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood, but she always chose to ignore them.

Naadia had brought a message from Ulfric asking for peace. She went on to explain and helped her to understand that the Jarl of Windhelm hadn't murdered Torygg, but had rightly challenged his claim to the throne, considering the decisions he had made concerning relations with the Imperials. She was mortified when she realized she had sent an innocent man to his death. Her decree had ordered the execution of Roggvir, a simple city guard and gatekeeper. The Dragonborn had pointed out everyone make mistakes. The crucial point was learning from them. She agreed.

Ulfric wanted peace as much as she did – if not more. He agreed to back her as High Queen before the moot that he would call for and in exchange, she would agree to marry him to unite Skyrim so that the deep wounds caused by the bloody civil war could heal. As the High Queen's Regent, he would defend the North against all foes and help her to rebuild the country. She agreed.

Before their meeting, Elisif was barely acquainted the Ulfric. She saw him as brash, boastful and rude – your typical Nord male. She smirked and shook her head at that prejudice. It was all quite different. The day of their meeting was a clear and sunny – a rare day indeed during Evening Star, Tamriel's twelfth month, when winter takes it grip upon the northern reaches. The fires in the city had been extinguished. The winds had swept away the smoke and the smell of death that had hung over the city for several days. She stood at the gates to the Blue Palace and watched as the leader of the Stormcloaks and his retinue rode through the long street. He dismounted and bowed deeply before her and introduced himself. Gone was the brashness and bluster. He looked tired and his face haggard, as if he hadn't slept for days. Before her stood a man, who was deeply tired of war and the killing that came with it.

Naadia Heart-Striker was conspicuously absent from the party. She had inquired and Ulfric had told her that she felt her presence may unduly influence this meeting.

True to his word, Ulfric called the moot of all Skyrim's Jarls. With the assistance of the Dragonborn, he arranged for the meeting to be held on neutral ground, near the summit of the Throat of the World – at High Hrothgar. Unlike the previous summit, the Greybeards opened their arms wide for this meeting. Naadia again served as the arbiter. It meeting was swift and deliberations. Most importantly the vote was unanimous. It seemed everyone was tired of war and was just wanting to move forward to hopefully brighter days.

Ulfric had wanted a simple marriage ceremony, but Elisif knew better that weddings of this level were affairs of state and arrangements had to be made. It took several months to complete the planning but on 15^th day of Sun's Height, the following year – the longest day of the year – they were married in Solitude. The whole city was bedecked in finery and by royal decree it was declared an official holiday. It seemed that all of Skyrim's people were in attendance. Man, Mer and Beast joyously celebrating together. The two notable exceptions were representatives from Cyrodiil and the Thalmor. Both had chosen not to respond to the state invitation taken by courier to them.

Elisif shook her head again. In the five-years since the end of that bloodletting, there still was no replacement for Titus Mede, who had been assassinated by members of the Dark Brotherhood. To Oblivion with them all, she thought.

As she gazed at herself in the looking glass, her mind went again to the Dragonborn. Although a mighty warrior, Naadia displayed a unique feminine side in helping her arrange many of the wedding's details. They had become good friends and she used her connections with the owners of Radiant Raiment in Solitude and provided the wardrobe for her and Ulfric, including a stunningly sensual arrangement for Elisif, for the wedding night.

Once again, she thought, theirs had become an agreeable and passionate, arranged union. Although Ulfric was clearly her elder, he was a truly loving and caring husband. In public he was always the stoic and stately, but in the privacy of their personal chambers he was passionate, fun and very virile – like all Nord men.

She removed the Royal Cloak of High Queen and prepared to once again assume the role of dutiful wife. She was as giddy as a young girl in the throes of a teenaged crush. As she looked at herself again in the looking glass, she smiled. She was excited to share some news with her husband. Just then she heard some noise on the other side of the thick curtains that shielded her dressing areas from the rest of the Royal Suite. Ulfric must have tripped over something in the low light, as he entered the room for the evening. He had no problem holding his mead, so he must have just stumbled over something.

She untied the knots that secured her garment and let them fall to the stone floor. She was as graceful and stunning as ever. She placed her hands on her hips and looked at herself. Her skin was smooth and flawless. She cupped her bare breasts and let her hand fall back to her hips. She turned around and looked back over her shoulder, into the looking glass. Clearly, she was no warrior maiden, buxom and with well-defined muscles. She was quite fetching she thought, as she smiled and patted the cheeks of her butt. Ulfric had no problems becoming aroused when they spent quiet time together.

She turned to the side and examined her profile. Her hands moved from her well-defined bottom to the bump that had now appeared on her no longer flat stomach. When she did, she beamed the brightest of smiles. She was pregnant!

She had found out just that afternoon when she had a private visit with the Priest of Arkay, the Divine associated with healing and the cycle of life in Tamriel. She was going to share the news with Ulfric that very night. She donned a pink, silk robe and tied the sash loosely at her waist. Taking one more look at herself and arranging her hair just right, she turned and moved toward the curtain.

Elisif knew that her husband enjoyed beginning their lovemaking with sexy banter. As she parted the curtains, she was going to sweep into the room and declare the mighty Ulfric Stormcloak couldn't best this Nord woman. All those words were stolen from her lips when she beheld the horrific scene in the bed chamber. "By the divines," she managed to gasped. She had never seen this much blood before!

Ulfric lay dead, sprawled on their bed. His throat had been slit wide and his blood had pooled around him. Blood also drenched front of his clothes as it appeared that he had been stabbed repeatedly. His mouth was agape and his eyes were wide open. Before she could scream, a bloody, vise-like hand clamped itself over her mouth and she felt a sharp blade press against her throat. An annoyingly squeaky voice whispered in her ear, "Oh no my fair Queen! We shall have none of that. Cicero's work is not yet finished."

With that her head was pulled back and the High Queen felt the blade be drawn across her exposed neck. Searing pain coursed through her body and she felt the hot liquid of her life's blood gush and course from the wound that had been created. Cicero then released her with cackling glee. All she could do was clutch at her throat as her knees buckled underneath her. She fell onto her back and as her vision faded, she saw her killer standing over her. A strange looking man dressed as a court jester. He continued to cackle and laugh, but then shushed himself saying, "Mother would be quite vexed if Cicero were caught. Much work we have left to do!"

Elisif the Fair, High Queen of Skyrim died, thinking how unfair life was. She had been prevented from sharing one piece of joyous news in this harsh and cold, northern land with her husband.

Near Rorikstead

The Dragonborn tried to pull her cloak tighter around her as she rode through the cold, driving rain. Shivering slightly, she knew the cloak was doing little good as it was already soaked through. At least she mused, the hood was keeping the rain out of her eyes. She was nearing the small town of Rorikstead anyway and would soon be out of this terrible weather. Immediately the tune, "Ragnar the Red" came to mind.

"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead."

Being a bard, she had memorized it and many other bawdy tunes. It had taken some time, but she had mastered the arts of lyric and verse. Most inns had a lute that she could borrow, while she was on her journeys. If the town had a resident bard, she would often join them for duets in the common room, as they played along. She was particularly fond of Lisette at the Winking Skeever, in Solitude.

"But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red. When he met the shield-maiden Matilda, who said ..."

"Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead, now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"

Her travels took her on the road quite frequently. As Dragonborn she had rarely been called on to act in that official capacity by the High Queen and her Regent. As Harbinger, she enjoyed protecting all of Skyrim's people. Inhabitants, she corrected herself. Although sentient, Argonians and Khajiit were far from people. She was glad she had encouraged Ulfric to soften his views on the rights of all who lived in Skyrim. Men, Mer and Beasts all had a place here.

Occasionally, she would visit Riften and check-in with Brynjolf. To see how the Guide was doing. She had spent the greatest part of the last year, trying to track down the loot Mercer Frey had stolen. She hoped he was frying in a lake of fire somewhere in Oblivion, for what he did.

She was proudest of what she had accomplished with the Dark Brotherhood. She had been able to reign in that psychopath, Cicero and establish Nazir as her Right Hand. The assassin's guild was now more of Fate's helper, rather than a daedra-worshipping, murder for hire organization. When things were a little too dirty for the Companions, the Brotherhood was always available. With her help, Ulfric also now used them as an information-gathering network. The Regent had completely compartmentalized their association, from the High Queen for the sake of deniability.

Thankfully, Sithis and the Night Mother were slowly becoming a thing of the past and good riddance.

Babette had been another matter entirely. During the Dawnguard crisis, she had her fill of the undead. Although she appeared to be a sweet-looking, innocent child, she was a vampire. Babette could be a useful asset in the Brotherhood's new role, but like Cicero, she was unpredictable. Nazir had given her some wise advice. "Naadia," the Redguard assassin had begun, "There is an old saying among our people – If you want someone to do something, make them an offer they cannot refuse."

She knew that persuasion was always the best approach, but from time-to-time intimidation had its place and shouldn't be overlooked. She asked Babette to go on a walk that evening after sunset. They left the Dawnstar Sanctuary and headed almost due west, until they reached an ancient dragon burial mound that was close to the old Imperial encampment. A nice secluded location to have a chat and make an offer that couldn't be refused.

Once they arrived at the dragon mound, she turned and faced Babette. She looked down at her and said, "Babette, the Brotherhood is changing, and I want to offer you a significant role in the new organization. Before I do; however, I want to know I can trust you."

"Oh Naadia," the vampiric little girl said charmingly, "You know you can trust me."

Naadia replied matter-of-factly, "No I don't," and continued by saying, "I need to know that I don't have someone who going to let her undead nature get the best of her."

Naadia glared at her and Babette dropped her head.

"I want to share a secret with you, Babette.' Naadia said. As Babette's head shot-up and she opened her mouth to enquire, the Listener continued by saying, "Something no one else in the Brotherhood knows. I'm doing it to make a crucial point."

"I'm all ears," said Babette beaming.

Naadia smiled coolly and leaned closer to the little vampire and said, "I'm the Dragonborn."

Babette's eyes widen at the realization and before she could say anything, Naadia said loudly, "Mul Qah Diiv!" Immediately she was engulfed in flames and it appeared that she had become a dragon. Babette stumbled back raising her arms to shield her eyes from the white-hot brightness of the flames.

In a booming voice Naadia said, "If we're going to work together, we have to have a little understanding. Got it."

She made it brutally clear to the little vampress that if she started sucking blood without her express permission, she would pack her little ass full of garlic and tickle her fancy with a very special sword. When she was done with her, Babette would be begging to be put out of her misery.

Babette was visibly shaken and clearly understood her boundaries. As Naadia dropped her Dragon Aspect, Babette squeaked, "How will I sustain myself?"

Naadia smiled coyly and replied, "I hear skeevers are a pretty good replacement."

As the horse slowly plodded toward the small town on Whiterun's tundra, Naadia quietly sang the conclusion to the tune ...

"And so then came clashing and slashing of steel, As the brave lass Matilda charged in, full of zeal."

"And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more ... When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"

She swept her hand with a flourish and that brightened her dampened mood considerably. Seeing the buildings of Rorikstead in hazy distance, also served to lift her spirits. Viarmo, the Headmaster of the Bard's College had once told her in a conversation over some ale, "Bards are entertainers. Use props as well as an instrument in singing your songs." He looked around the library and leaned toward her, whispering conspiratorially, "Also, don't overlook using your physical assets as well," with a wink.

Before she could protest, he continued saying, "I'm not saying to sell yourself. A little giggle, jiggle and wiggle, as well as the occasional wardrobe slip can increase your profits considerably. You are quite lovely my dear. Use those gifts to your advantage."

Naadia smiled remembering what the old High Elf had said. He was one of the few Altmeri she truly liked. Most were snobs or worse, entangled with the Thalmor to varying degrees.

Following his advice, she had her friends at Radiant Raiment make her a custom outfit, based on the standard barmaid's wear. The white bodice was filmy and low and left little to the imagination, as it accentuated her firm, ample breasts. She would often not wear any undergarment, so the slight chill of Skyrim's night air would make her nipples come to attention under the linen. The deep red skirt was slit up the side, nearly to her waist to expose her muscular and sleek-looking legs. She could usually rake in quite a profit dressed like this on an average night. One hand dropped from the reins and reached behind her to pat the saddle pack where her business attire was stored, in oil leather to protect it from the rain.

As with Babette, she set firm boundaries as a traveling bard – you can look all you want, but unless I give you permission, you never, ever touch! That was the one rule her husband, Vilkas had specified when he agreed to her doing this. She respected him, and she expected her patrons to respect her rule, as well.

When she arrived in town, she quickly found the Frostfruit Inn and noticed there had been an expansion added in the year since she had been in the area last. She dismounted from her horse and led it to the stable, where she removed the saddle and packs. She led it to a stall, brushed it down and getting fresh hay and oats for its meal. Patting the withers, she said, "You've carried me a long way today, old friend. You deserve a healthy reward and a dry resting place as well."

The horse nickered and nudged her with his head. Naadia reached into her pack and removed an apple and presented it to on her hand. She laughed and said, "you old smoothie. You know just the right things to do, to charm the ladies."

As the horse crunched his treat, she gathered her things and headed into the warmth of the inn. As she pushed open the door, she saw that it was still early, and the taproom was empty. The only occupants were Mralki, the inn's owner and a trio of young barmaids. Mralki was pointing out things that needed to be done to make the place ready for the evening business.

She dropped her bags on the floor and pushed back the sopping cowl of her cloak and shook her mane of wet, black hair. "Naadia Hear-Striker! By the Nine, you are a sight for these sore eyes," said Mralki as he came out from behind the bar and approached her with arms wide.

"You're not still pissed-off at me about Erik are you," she asked wearily.

"Oh no," the innkeeper smiled, "I think it's one of the best decisions I ever made."

Naadia had encouraged the Innkeeper's son to become an adventurer. Last she had heard he had joined the Stormcloaks and had moved in the ranks, to become an officer.

The burly and balding Nord wrapped Naadia in in arms and gave her a warm hug and kiss on each cheek. He then stepped back and said, "I insist you stay the night. The lute is all tuned, there is a warm bed, fresh baked bread, smoked cheese and meat, a warm fire and good friends – all who will pay generously to hear you perform!"