Whitney Writes…

The gravel crunched beneath Ulfric’s armored boots. It had been a farce of a mission. He had known that before he had even set off from the palace. But it had been even more of a farce of a mission than he had thought. There had been no point to it. To any of it. And that stung Ulfric’s pride. For as ineffectual as Fadiya had been as queen, she had never sent him on a purposeful waste of time errand such as this.

As he trudged past a field with a measly, falling apart scarecrow in it, an unwelcome thought began to form in Ulfric’s mind. What if this had all been for a reason? Had been some sort of play? Ralof had been strange towards him, as of late. It had started months ago – had it been years by now? – when the boy king had been crowned following his mother. The look in Ralof’s eyes when he’d looked at Ulfric had begun growing colder, and colder.

Had he never gotten over the Stormcloak children being put forth as possible rulers? Ulfric wondered. Surely Ralof had known that had simply been a technicality? An attempt to look unbiased towards the ruling family? It was how moots were always conducted. All eligible candidates were to be put forward, regardless of the known outcome. They had all known it would be one of Ralof and Queen Fadiya’s children who would be crowned. They just had not known which.

Three days later, when he finally arrived in his apartments within the palace, Ulfric was greeted by a commotion. His children were up in arms, shouts that could be heard down the halls. He watched them, his brood of children, nearly all grown. They were not fighting one another. They appeared to all be shouting in agreement.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with all of you?” Ulfric barked, his voice booming above his children. He glowered at them, knowing they would likely have woken Harza and the baby at this rate.

Galdir, Ulfric’s eldest child, stepped forward, his chest puffed out with importance. “Father!” he cried. “We are most grateful you have returned. Something simply must be done about the king!”

“He has slighted all of us, Father!” Lucie declared. “We cannot stand for it any longer!” Ulfric rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had worried this was coming.

“How do you mean?” he asked, slowly, pained to even be thinking about this.

“Every job slot that has been filled, we have been passed up!” Tangarion exclaimed, motioning to his two elder siblings, and three younger that were old enough to work.

Ulfric resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his son. His children were nearly as useless as Ralof’s children. They likely did not earn or deserve any of the job slots that had been filled. “I am afraid, my children,” Ulfric said slowly and carefully, “whatever it is you are planning to do, you must do so without my assistance.”

“But FATHER!!!” they all began to roar in unison.

“No, I won’t hear it,” Ulfric said. “That boy has been a good king to the common folk. Whatever you go forth and do, you make certain you earn your places with the next ruler. I will not stand in your way, nor rat you out.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Now, this is important: but not a hair on that boy’s head is to be harmed. Do you understand me?“

“What is it?” Rolund I asked in wonder, looking at the small, golden trinket upon the tray being held out by a servant.

“It is a Dwarven Seeing Eye, Your Grace,” said the traveling Argonian merchant. “It can be used for seeing all the things; things that have come to pass, things that are happening, and things that have yet to happen.”

“It can see the future?” Rolund I asked with delight.

“Yes, Your Grace,” said the Argonian. “For some,” he added under his breath.

“And you said it costs what?” asked the ten-year-old king, not looking up from the device. He reached for one of the dials.

“I wouldn’t touch that, Your Grace,” hissed Murdan from behind him. “You do not yet know what it does.”

“For you, Your Grace, I shall give you a discount,” the merchant said, proceeding to list off a sum that would likely empty the royal coiffeurs.

Before anyone could intervene and speak words of wisdom to the young king, he declared: “I’ll take it!”

Ulfric rubbed his temples. “Tell me again, but slower. He did what?”

“You have to stop the merchant from leaving! He’s robbed the king blind!” Ralof proclaimed.

“I do not have to stop anyone, Ralof,” Ulfric said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Especially if the king’s been an idiot,” he grumbled under his breath. “Explain to it to me again,” he repeated.

“The king was swindled out of all the money!” Ralof shouted. “That should warrant some sort of reaction from his top general!”

“It would,” Ulfric conceded, “if I did not have other reports saying he knowingly and willingly spent that money on a frivolous, worthless, hoax of an item.”

“Who would say such a thing?” Ralof demanded heatedly. “Who would dare speak of the king in such a manner? He was swindled! He didn’t know what he was purchasing, he didn’t know the price until it was too late!”

Ulfric shook his head. “That’s not how Murdan tells it.”

Ralof ground his teeth in fury. He knew he never should have trusted Rahim’s Khajiit widower as one of the regents and guardians of his son. There was something off about the man, and now he was making his move upon his son. Likely to put one of his own children upon the throne. They did have legitimate claims, after all……

“We have a problem here, Ralof,” Ulfric was saying, “don’t you see it? You’re either saying the king made a choice he knew would damage the palace and hurt those within, or he’s not of sound mind.” He leaned forward upon the oak table, the wood creaking under his weight as his eyes flickered in the candlelight. “We’re at an impasse, my friend. A fork in the road. Something has to be done about the king.”