Deserter - Chapter Two: Command

• Posted by FishDout June 21, 2015 - 961 views

  

  'Duty? Since when has our duty to Skyrim involved sending children to their graves?'

  Shadows danced on the walls of Dragonsreach's main hall. Flames in its firepit flickered with life, throwing light in haphazard patterns throughout the Keep; and the blaze emitted a sultry heat that helped stave off the evening chill. It was an unusually quiet night in the throne room - the hushed tones of an argument involving the Jarl and three figures surrounding his throne could be heard from anywhere within the Keep. 

  'My Lord, Whiterun's citizens require a guard force to survive.' Proventus Avenicci's voice suffered perpetually from unsuccessful efforts by its owner to appear important; instead it appeared pompous, high-pitched, and whiny. The voice itself, however, was not the concern - more the words being spoken. 

  'Let me get this straight, Proventus. You want me to send Whiterun citizens - children, no less - to their deaths to ensure the safety of Whiterun's citizens?' Said the Jarl. 'May I point out the obvious flaw in your plan?'

  When the argument had begun, at the first mention of 'children' and 'war', one of the two hold guards posted either side of the throne had very slightly turned his head. The Hold Guard was partially obscured by a shadow, but even in plain sight the Jarl's assembly would have paid little attention to him. Unmoving and unimportant, the city guards were rarely regarded as 'people', and so guests in their company never realized what the lives behind those helmets saw... or heard. 

  'I don't like this anymore than you do, Balgruuf,' the Jarl's brother frowned, 'but you swore allegiance to the Empire, and this order came straight from Castle Dour.'

  'Forget Tullius and his cursed orders!' Interrupted the Jarl. The Hold Guard almost smiled at the remark. Disagreed with by his supporters, and with the Empire's sanctions looming threateningly overhead, Balgruuf still remained defiant. Hope for the lives of those minors was still present. 

  'I will not have my people die,' continued the Jarl, 'because some faithless imperial general ordered it.'  

  'It wasn't Tullius,' sighed the final figure, Commander Caius. 'The instructions were issued by the Thalmor. My Jarl, you know as well as anyone that Skyrim cannot risk angering them again at present.' 

  The Jarl fell silent. Sinking back into his chair, his expression darkened like the rest of his Keep. After several tense seconds, however, his resolve visibly broke, and the expression on his face became one of weariness and defeat. 'Damn those wretched elves,' he breathed, and bowed his head. 'Caius... start enlisting recruits.' 

  Evidently, even Skyrim's noblest paled when thrown against the Dominion, and though the steel guard helmet within earshot of the throne maintained its indecipherable, lifeless gaze; the man within it gritted his teeth, and his eyes filled with a fierce distaste for his superiors.

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