Whitney Writes…

“We have him in custody, Your Grace,” Captain Aldis exclaimed before the court. The excitement he felt was on display in his voice for all to hear, and etched across his face for all to see.

“Where did you find the traitor?” Elisif asked calmly, nearly sitting on her hands to still them.

“On the southern hold borders, Falkreath and Whiterun, Majesty.” The captain was absolutely beaming with pride. “General Tullius has him in route to the capital as we speak.”

“No.”

“Beg pardon, Majesty?” Aldis’ face fell into immediate disappointment.

“I said no, Captain,” Elisif said clearly. “I do not wish to risk the countrymen hearing of this and rising up to free their would-be-savior.”

The captain glanced around the High Queen’s presence chamber, unsure how to take this proclamation. “Then… what would Your Grace have me do?” Aldis asked slowly.

“Take him to the nearest city, town, settlement, I don’t care, anything with a population.” Elisif rubbed her temples, she could feel a migraine coming on. “And then I want him executed,” she added, “publicly.”

“M-majesty?” Falk Fire-Beard, Elisif’s Steward gaped.

“That just isn’t done,” chided Thane Bryling, a hint of unease in her voice.

Elisif closed her eyes. Why today, why did this have to happen today? A wave of nausea washed over her and she slowly counted the seconds, praying it would pass.

“Surely you do not mean to question your queen?” Sybille Stentor cut in from where she stood to the right of Elisif’s throne and a half step back.

“No, certainly not,” Aldis stammered, attempting to back out of the corner he had now spoken himself into. “It is just… he is a Jarl, Majesty. He’s nobility, he cannot just be executed on a whim.”

“I believe your queen has spoken her decision, Aldis,” Sybille said again, her tone growing ever icier.

Elisif opened her eyes and glanced gratefully at her Court Wizard. The Breton woman was cold and distant with many, but she was loyal to the bone to the Royal Family of Skyrim.

“He needs to be made an example of,” Elisif snapped. “Did we not all watch him murder the High King, right here -” she gestured to the tiled floor before them all “- just a few months ago? In cold blood? We cannot have everyone thinking they can just waltz into the capital and murder those charged with the duty of running the country. Now can we, Aldis?” She fixed the captain with a cold glare.

“No, Your Grace,” he murmured, “of course, Your Grace.” He bowed his head, “Will you be sending -“

“Thank you, Captain,” the High Queen cut across him irritably, “but that shall be all for today.”

“But, Your Grace,” Aldis attempted one last time.

“Bolgeir,” Elisif began wearily.

“Yes, Majesty,” her Housecarl nodded knowingly, “I shall take care of them.” The big, burly Nord began herding the throng of courtiers and petitioners to the double grand staircases down to the entrance hall. “Everyone out,” he boomed, “the High Queen has ceased taking audiences for the day, everyone out.”

As soon as the last courtier vanished from sight, Sybille stepped forward to her queen’s side and helped her rise from the throne with a steadying hand.

“Thank you, Sybille,” Elisif sighed, exhaustion quickly over-coming her.

“Is it the nausea again, Lady?” Sybille asked gently, almost motherly.

“Aye, and complete and utter exhaustion.”

“Shall I make you a drought to help you sleep and hopefully for you to be able to eat something?”

“Please, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Anything for you, my queen.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Elisif, they arrived at the queen’s chambers, Sybille pulled open the heavy door and helped Elisif to an armchair. “Would you like a nightgown pulled from your wardrobe?” Sybille asked helpfully.

“No, thank you, Sybille,” Elisif sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I can manage.”

“Shall I send you Erdi?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Very well, I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

When her Court Wizard had finally departed, Elisif rose shakily from her armchair and began to unbutton and unlace her gown. As the loose layers of satin and silk fell away, Elisif moved closer to her full-length mirror and turned sideways. Her skin stretched, smooth as marble, over her ever-rounding belly. Only a few more months to go, and she would have a little piece of Torygg to hold in her arms. She would have to make an announcement soon. But still… it had only been the two of them that knew, she and Torygg, when he had died. Been killed. Sybille had worked it out on her own a few weeks after the king’s death. But it felt as though giving up their secret would be like losing him all over again.

Slowly, Elisif climbed into her massive, four poster bed, and nestled into the satin sheets and mountains of feathery pillows. She closed her eyes and for the thousandth time, there was Torygg, falling over backward, away from her, stricken by Ulfric’s thu’um.

When she opened her eyes, Sybille was approaching her, her brow creased with worry.

“Do you re-see it,” Sybille asked, “every night?”

“Every time I close my eyes,” Elisif sighed.

“No wonder you do not sleep any longer,” Sybille murmured with sympathy. “May I?” she asked, motioning to Elisif’s belly.

“You needn’t ask, Sybille.”

“I shall always ask, my dear.” She placed her hands on the queen’s abdomen, pressing gently, but firmly, in various places. “There is good movement,” she smiled faintly. “Any pains or dizziness?”

“No; just the headaches, nausea, exhaustion, and my back constantly aching,” Elisif sighed, counting them off on her fingers.

“I would suspect your headaches are exasperated from lack of sleep,” Sybille stated. “All the rest, well, this little one is to blame, I fear. How are movements throughout the day?”

“They’re very active at night, again why I cannot sleep.”

“I can imagine,” Sybille said sympathetically. “You are at the time when you need your sleep the most, but will get little of it.” She placed a gentle hand on Elisif’s bare shoulder, “Drink this now, rest, and I shall make you a whole case of sleeping tonics to help.”

Elisif took the proffered vial and downed the contents in one gulp. “Was that peppermint?”

“To help your nausea and migraine,” Sybille said, and handed the queen a second vial. “This shall help you sleep.” Elisif again downed it in one gulp and then laid back on her pillows. She watched Sybille move around her chamber, drawing the thick draperies to black out the light. Then all the candles were blown out, leaving Elisif in utter darkness. A cold, damp cloth was draped across her forehead and eyes and Elisif sighed with the instant relief it brought. Her hand caught Sybille’s and she squeezed it.

“Thank you, Sybille,” Elisif whispered.

“Of course, my child,” Sybille said softly. She kissed the top of Elisif’s head. “Sleep now, I shall see you when you wake.

The Jarl of Windhelm sauntered into their presence chamber. Torygg reclined in his throne in the lazy manner his wife despised. Elisif stood at his side, her hand resting gently on her husband’s shoulder. Today was the day they would announce it, Skyrim would have a new little prince or princess in the near future. Torygg had wished to wait specifically for this day, given his great admiration for Ulfric Stormcloak. Elisif had simply shook her head and laughed, submitting to her husband’s wishes.

“The Jarl of Windhelm,” piped a young page boy, “his esteemed lordship, Ulfric Stormcloak!” No doubt from Ulfric’s own retinue given that herald.

Elisif controlled her urge to roll her eyes and simply shifted her weight. She was only four months along, but already the child weight heavily on her thin frame. Her sister’s words “we need to fatten you up if you’re going to survive child bearing” rung in her ears.

“Good tidings, Ulfric!” Torygg exclaimed jovially.

“Your Grace,” Ulfric murmured. Elisif could hear the annoyance in the Jarl’s voice, he did not like answering to a significantly younger man.

“What brings you to my fair city? Have you finally come to pay your respects to my beautiful wife?” Torygg winked, “We missed you at the wedding three years ago,” he chuckled.

Elisif squeezed her husband’s shoulder; she could see the Bear of Windhelm did not appreciate Torygg’s joke.

“I’m actually here on political business,” Ulfric grumbled.

“Oh, very well,” Torygg sighed, somewhat dejected, “it’s your audience.”

“Independence,” Ulfric said blatantly.

“Ah, yes,” Torygg nodded, his tone still amicable. Elisif’s knuckles were turning white from gripping his shoulder so fiercely. His hand rose to rest atop hers, to calm her. “It is a moving argument you presented at the moot; and as I said then, I wish to discuss it with you further.”

“You’ve been on the throne for over a year,” Ulfric spat, finally losing his false decorum and respect for the king, “and yet you have not once brought it up!”

Torygg stroked his beard; Elisif recognized her husband’s stress cue. “I believe this is the first you have come before me, Ulfric, is it not? Unless my memory fails me?”

Ulfric bristled at the remark and his king’s condescending tone, as Torygg knew he would. He was playing with fire. “You knew of my views, yet you never sought me out in Windhelm,” Ulfric barked, barely keeping himself from shouting in rage.

“But, I am king, why would I come to you?” Torygg snapped, “I do not wish to see my country torn apart over this!”

“It’s not tearing her apart,” Ulfric finally roared, “it would be freeing her!”

“Freeing her from what?” Torygg shouted back, slamming his fist down upon the arm of his throne. “Skyrim cannot hope to take on the Dominion on her own! Half our young male population is in the bloody Imperial Army! Brothers would be fighting fathers! More than half of our food needs are filled by the Empire! We would starve! You just wish to openly worship Talos again and forget to think of all that the Empire provides us!” Torygg shook his finger at the Jarl, “But you also forget, Talos was once just a man, just like you and I, and this is his Empire you are ripping apart in his name.”

Elisif recognized Sybille’s words spilling from her husband’s mouth. Normally she would have smiled with pride at him for standing his ground’ but this argument would get them nowhere, and should not be happening in front of their courtiers. Ulfric’s eyes flashed dangerously and Elisif quickly stepped forward between the two men.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” she said calmly, “now is not the time, nor the place for this. How about some happy tidings?” She raised her brows hintingly at Torygg.

Torygg gave a smile and relaxed considerably. “My wife is right,” he said, “let us stop this before there is no coming back from what we say.”

“There is already no coming back from this for me,” Ulfric said darkly. “You do not deserve to be High King,” he snarled, “you are weak, arrogant, and close-minded.”

Elisif squeezed her eyes shut in frustration.

Torygg rose slowly and carefully stepped around his wife, putting Elisif safely behind him. “I do not deserve this?” Torygg spat, “And who does? You?!” He laughed loudly and falsely, looking the Jarl from Windhelm up and down with disgust. “I believe the moot chose me over you, so how, exactly, am I undeserving?”

Elisif snatched at her husband’s hand. “Do not challenge him like this,” she whispered urgently into Torygg’s ear, sensing Ulfric’s rising hostility. She saw his eyes flash once more with anger. “Please, Torygg, stop this, have him thrown out.”

Ulfric’s face contorted in rage and then a foreign word flew from his lips.

“FUS RO DAH!!”

Torygg stumbled backward, brushing past his wife en route to the floor. Elisif saw his face as he fell, it was stricken in shock. He hit the floor with a great thud and the presence chamber fell deadly silent. Torygg lay immobile upon the tiled marble floor, his eyes wide in confusion, his mouth open in an empty plea. Elisif stared dumbly from her husband to the Jarl of Windhelm.

She sank to her knees beside her unmoving husband. “Torygg?” Elisif whispered. Her husband still did not stir. She reached out a hand and touched his cheek. He was already cold with death and she jerked her hand away.

Elisif rose, with some effort, to her feet and turned an icy glare to Ulfric. “Seize him,” she said flatly. “He has killed your king, seize him now!”

Ulfric bolted for the grand staircases, guards slow to jump to action followed close behind. Elisif sank back down beside her dead husband, tears beginning to blind her.

“My love,” she whispered, “don’t leave me, please, don’t leave us.” Sybille’s arms were around her shoulders, pulling Elisif away. “No,” she cried, “no, no, Torygg!”

“Elisif,” came a far away voice, “Elisif! It is just a dream, whatever it is you see.” It was Sybille, who was hovering above her when Elisif opened her dry eyes. The other woman’s amber eyes were clouded with worry.

“Did I fall asleep?” Elisif asked groggily.

Sybille snorted in a sort of laugh. “A whole day you have slept,” she replied.

“By the Eight,” Elisif sighed, pushing herself up, “I must be so behind…”

“Easy,” Sybille said gently, stepping forward to slide pillows behind Elisif’s back. “We can deal with all that later. We don’t know if you’ll be dizzy or groggy coming out of the sleep tonic.”

Elisif pushed her strawberry blonde hair back from her face, rubbing her eyes and stretching. “A whole day, you say?”

“Aye,” Sybille chuckled, “you look better, Majesty. But perhaps only half a vial is needed in the future.”

“I feel wonderful,” Elisif breathed. “Have I missed anything?”

“Nothing of note,” Sybille said carefully.

“Divines… what did you tell everyone to make them leave me alone for twenty-four hours?” Elisif laughed.

“The truth, Majesty.”

She stared dumbly at Sybille. “The truth,” she repeated slowly.

“I hope I did not over-step, I just knew rumors would be circulating,” Sybille explained. “And given your current anxieties, I took it upon myself to draw up a formal announcement stating you are six months along and that Skyrim shall have a new heir before the year is out.”

“Oh,” Elisif murmured. She hadn’t wanted to deal with that announcement. Had been putting it off for ages. But now that she did not have to… she found she felt… a bit… forgotten? Curse these pregnancy hormones. “Thank you, Sybille,” she said finally.

“My pleasure, my child,” the Court Wizard bowed her head. “Again, I did not mean to overstep, please tell me if I did so.”

“No,” Elisif said. “It was just…”

“Your secret with Torygg, I know,” Sybille said gently.

Elisif chewed her lip to keep the tears at bay. She had never told Sybille that. Never breathed a word of it, fearing it would come out that she had been hiding it from her advisor. She had never actually told her, after all. Sybille had just started leaving her tonics to help with the morning sickness, quietly having her gowns altered, seeming to know everything she had needed, would need, before Elisif even knew. And had supported her in every way imaginable.

She felt truly awful now.

“No, truly, thank you, Sybille,” Elisif said earnestly.

“Anything for you, as always, my child,” Sybille said again, smiling. “I also sent for your mother, she should be here within a fortnight.”

“My mother,” Elisif said wistfully, her heart fluttering.

“Being closer to your time, I thought you might want her company. There are only so many things I can advise you on, when the little one makes their arrival.”

“Oh, Sybille,” Elisif said, her voice cracking with emotion, “you are far more than an advisor to me and would be more than enough.”

“Thank you, but all the same, Majesty, I thought it prudent to have a woman at your side, other than the midwives, who has actually birthed a living human,” Sybille said with a sad smile.