Season Unending, The Children of Kyne, Vol. III Options

[Kane]

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Content warning: this story should be considered 18+. Sexual content is present, but never described, and I don't shy away from foul language (though it seems to be censored). There is also darker content further in regarding sexual assault.

Prologue
It could be said that Skyrim was a cold, harsh land, unforgiving to outsiders and barely tolerant of anyone but a true Nord. Fortunately, those times have passed, and the sun shines brightly upon a healing landscape. The scars of civil war and dragon crises fading to memory as a new High King and his court sought to pull the land up from the depths of a crumbling Empire. An Empire in name only, its once powerful alliance spanning the entirety of Tamriel, now relegated to Cyrodiil (or the Heartland, as the Nibenese and Colovian nobles preferred to call it), High Rock, and, of course, Skyrim.

But now Skyrim stood to rise above the rest, and usher in a new era for a floundering society that still scurried from the inevitable boot of the Aldmeri Dominion. Hope began to inflame the hearts of men, for the Dragonborn King was rumored to be setting his sights upon the Ruby Throne, and the weak Mede Dynasty that occupied it. From his palace in Solitude, forces were directed and diplomats dispatched as the pawns of war moved slowly but surely. The Dominion was forced out of Skyrim with an ultimatum, and the land was finally back under the full rule of the Nords, as it ought to be.

The year is Two Hundred Twenty-nine of the Fourth Era, and the gears of war have started to turn, as the land braces itself for the Second Great War that was always to come. It was also the year that a mid-level member of the Anvil chapter of the Fighter’s Guild was loaned to the storied Companions of Jorrvaskr, in the city of Whiterun. This talented young warrior of Redguard descent suddenly found himself sailing to a strange land and leaving behind the only home he ever knew. Little remained for him in Anvil after the passing of his mother, so he looked forward to a new chapter of his life, far from the painful memories of home.

The first mate, a stout Imperial named Janius, approached the young Redguard with a roll of parchment and a quill. “Name?”

“Cain. No surname.”

“No surname?” inquired the First Mate. “How can that be, young man? I have it here that you were born and raised in Anvil, and joined the Fighter’s Guild when you came of age. Your mother is listed as Ariessa Janeel, also of Anvil. Do you not share her name?”

“In the absence of my father, she did not bestow it upon me.”

“Bastard then, eh? Unfortunate, but I see it all the time. What is your business in Skyrim?”

“On loan to The Companions. For what reason I do not yet know, but I will follow my orders from the guild and my future employers.”

“An honorable attitude for a young warrior, mister Cain. It’s a long voyage to the port of Solitude, so all we ask is that you remain civil and pitch in a helping hand when required.”

Cain nodded and the first mate moved on to speak with a different passenger. It was indeed a long voyage, filled with many sleepless nights while the ship bobbed and rocked on the choppy waters of the sea. The occasional storm would blow in and everyone from the captain to the lowest deckhands were grim-faced and determined as they struggled to keep the passengers safe from the onslaught of high waves and powerful winds. Nearly a full month passed before they sailed beneath the great arch of Solitude and nestled the ship into the port. All hands helped to moor the ship before the passengers eagerly disembarked in a new land.

A tall Dunmer man of middle years stood in wait on the pier, clad in worn hide armors with a longsword slung across his back. Years of experience lined his weathered face, eyes deep set and wary as he scanned the faces off all those who set foot off of the ship. When Cain approached the man, he flagged the Redguard down and directed him off to the side.

“You must be Cain,” he said. “Fresh from Anvil, yes? My name is Athis and I’ve been sent by our Harbinger to retrieve you. The Companions welcome your aid, but we have a long journey to Whiterun yet. Ordinarily I would accompany you south on foot, but we are already short-handed and will be taking a carriage.”

“Nice to meet you, Athis. Lead the way �" this is a strange land for me and I defer to your judgement.”

They shook hands and departed the port at a quick trot. A carriage sat in wait along the road to the capital city, and soon after Athis handed the driver a bag of Septims, the were trundling along the road to Dragon Bridge, headed for the southern road to Whiterun Hold and Jorrvaskr �" the legendary mead hall of The Companions. Despite being in an unfamiliar land, Cain found himself excited at the prospect of these new horizons and the change of pace from the last few months of misery that followed the death of his mother. He bowed his in prayer for her before striking up a conversation with Athis.

“So, what’s it like being in The Companions?” he asked. “Are things much different from the Fighter’s Guild?”

“Oh yes, quite different. Every man or woman in The Companions is their own. We have no leaders, just a Harbinger who is wise in counsel and offers a guiding hand. There are no ranks to elevate to and no coveted positions to fight for. We take the jobs we must and your shield-siblings will be ready to stand with you. Honor is valued above all else.”

“Interesting. I must admit, the lack of politics seems hard to believe. Everything is so much about rank and station in the guild that often times our true purpose is forgotten when the infighting picks up. Jobs go unanswered in the chaos and brawls turn deadly over simple differences of opinion. I might end up staying here for a long time if life is to be more peaceful in that regard.”

Athis chuckled. “While we do strive to rise above such petty squabbles, you’ll soon find that Jorrvaskr is anything but peaceful. However, our brawls usually end with hearty pats on the back and consuming copious amounts of mead, rather than misery and death!”

“Sounds like a dream come true, Athis.”

“That’s a very Nordic attitude, young one. Are you sure you’re a Redguard?”

“The color of my skin betrays that,” laughed Cain. “But who knows, maybe my father was a Nord, whoever he may be.”

The Dunmer smiled and their conversation moved onto other topics. Athis went over the finer points of The Companions with him and eventually moved onto the current political climate and powers that be in Skyrim. Cain listened with rapt attention, absorbing all the he could to avoid any run-ins with local laws and to avoid misunderstandings, no matter how small they could be. Just as the sun began to set, the carriage pulled into a small village and ground to a halt. Orthar, the driver, dismounted and told them they would continue on in the morning. Cain and Athis hopped down from the wagon and followed him into the local tavern, the Frostfruit Inn.

“This is the village of Rorikstead,” said Athis. “A fine place to spend the night. Grab us some mead and I’ll see about getting a meal. No sense in sleeping on an empty stomach.”

He left the inn as Cain was ordering a few pints of mead and a loaf of bread to munch on. Experience had taught the young man never to consume spirits on an empty stomach, and so he found a table off to the side and chewed on the crusty loaf while he awaited Athis’ return. Ten minutes later, his fellow Companion reentered the tavern with a basket of fruit in one hand and a bundle of skewered meats in the other. They ate and drank their fill while continuing to discuss the ins and outs of Jorrvaskr well into the night.

Dawn brought forth cloudy skies and the smell of rain upon the air as the carriage rumbled off onto the road, resuming their journey to Whiterun. By late afternoon, the two men were approaching the gates of the tundra city, and making their way through the bustling marketplace. They passed the local tavern and ascended a flight of stairs whereupon Cain was greeted with a breathtaking sight �" the Gildegreen was in full bloom before his eyes and the immense beauty of the towering tree froze him in his tracks as the wind gently whistled through its branches.

“Aye, a sight to see, eh?” remarked Athis. “Little matches the serene beauty of our mighty tree, blessed by the Goddess Kyne herself. That’s her temple there and the priestess' maintain the tree and those who seek her guidance within.”

“It’s amazing,” sighed Cain. “There is nothing quite as lovely in all of Cyrodiil.”

“Yeah, well, the Imperials already think too highly of themselves. Divines know they don’t deserve such a wonderful symbol as our Gildegreen. Let’s move on now �" Jorrvaskr is just over there.”

Continuing on, Cain and Athis soon stepped through the solid wood doors of the legendary mead hall and were met with the raucous din of the main dining area where shield siblings dined heartily and drank merrily, roaring with laughter and swapping exaggerated stories of their noble deeds. Athis steered him through the hall and down a small flight of stairs to a much quieter living area, with bedrooms lining the underground corridor. The walls were adorned with centuries of decorations ranging from trophy kills to impressive weapons to woven tapestries and ancient, tattered flags. At the far end of the hall two men sat around a small table and were deep in conversation, only noticing their approach at the last minute.

The smaller of the two large men rose to greet them. “Athis, I see you’ve returned with our new shield-brother!” He turned to the Redguard and offered a hand for Cain to shake. “Cain, yes? Welcome to Jorrvaskr! I’m Vilkas, Harbinger of The Companions, and the silent one here is my brother Farkas. He may look intimidating but I promise he is more bark than bite!” Vilkas roared with laughter and sat back down as Farkas greeted Cain.

“Pleasure to meet you, brother,” rumbled the towering Nord. He sat back down and resumed his stony silence while Vilkas spoke again.

“No trouble, then, Athis?”

“None at all. The land seems quiet for a change.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. But it’s getting late now �" you two head upstairs and eat. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow!”

Athis and Cain took their leave of the Harbinger, and his silent brother, and headed back to the dining hall for a good meal and plenty of mead. All in all, Cain was looking forward to being counted among the ranks of such proud, jovial warriors. Jorrvaskr was everything the Fighters Guild was not, and his mind was made up in short order �" tomorrow he would pen a letter to his chapter leader and tender his resignation. But the night was still relatively young, and after stowing what little gear he had under a vacant bed, Cain met Athis upstairs in the great hall.

They ate, drank, and sang well into the night as Cain made the rounds and was introduced to his shield-siblings. More than a few were young like him, and he could not help but eye up some of the female warriors among the ranks, especially Thea, a tall blonde Nord that shared the same birthyear as Cain. He lingered next to her the longest and was in awe at how much mead she could knock back with the rest of the burly men seated around Jorrvaskr. By midnight the two of them had slid out the back door and were getting to know each other better in the moonlit gardens.

The next day came earlier than Cain, still sleeping off the merriment and escapades from the night before, had expected it to. Farkas strode into his room just after sunrise and threw a dossier at him before barking out the Redguard’s first orders.

“Read that and then come find me in the mead hall. You’re heading to Falkreath today and we need to find you a shield-sibling to watch your back, and see what you can do. Don’t tarry, it’s a long walk to Falkreath and the sun is already up.”

Cain sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before leaving his warm bed and heading for the bathroom. He checked himself in the mirror before leaving and sighed at the long scratches Thea had left on the side of his face. Farkas had likely noticed them, too, but it was probably nothing new to the seasoned Companion. He splashed some water on his faced, headed back to general quarters, got dressed, and went upstairs for his first assignment.

This post has been edited by Kane: May 6 2025, 01:14 PM

[Kane]

Chapter II - Politics and Intrigue

The heavy door to the council chambers closed with a dull thud as the final member of House Redoran’s internal court joined his cohorts at the conference table. It had been a long journey to Blacklight, but recent events had spurned a quick meeting that required all hands to be on deck in the face of a new uncertainty. The members waited quietly, looking to their Archmaster to kick things off with an opening statement.

“Welcome back, esteemed colleagues. We are pressed for time so I will make this short: the rumor circulating is true. An assassination attempt was made on Divayth Fyr of House Telvanni.” A low murmur rippled through the conference room as the council members whispered among themselves at the revelation. “Thankfully,” the Archmaster continued, “it was thwarted before any action could be carried out. But this does not bode well for the reliability of our intelligence network. If such an act could come near to fruition, Morrowind may be in more danger than we previously thought.”

“Forgive me, Archmaster,” an older councilwoman piped up. “But who cares if a hit is carried out on another House? It only serves to weaken them and strengthen us!”

“Attitudes like that are why Morrowind does not have any allies, Sedura. We stand here now, on the precipice of another great war, and you would have us continue the infighting and bad blood that has plagued our land in the past? No, we must be united against the Dominion, for they surely will set their sights upon us, if the Mede Empire falls. And the death of Fyr would be a disaster for Morrowind, even if he is a member of House Telvanni.”

A heavy silence filled the room while the council members dwelled on his. The Archmaster took his seat at the head of the table and looked through his own notes while the council members conversed around him in hushed tones, wondering where this was leading to. He let them squirm for a while, giving time for the unease to set in before he delivered the news that he had actually summoned them for. After a few tense minutes, he got back to his feet and cleared his throat.

“Ahem. We can circle back to this event later, but we have other items on the docket. Chiefly, a communique that we just received from the High King of Skyrim.”

“Skyrim?” asked another councilman. “What do those barbarians want?”

“Those ’barbarians’ are the ones who tipped us off about the assassination,” said the Archmaster. “This is a new regime in Skyrim, and the king is calculating and shrewd. Already, it would seem they know more about the enemy’s movements than we do, despite being hundreds of miles from here.” He paused to let the shame sink in. Some of these council members were too proud to realize how much has changed in Tamriel. Now was the time to bring them into the future. “The High King also requests that the Great Houses convene here in preparation for a diplomatic envoy.”

“What sort of envoy?” a voice rang out among the clamor of others.

“The only sort that would require all of the Houses to be present. An alliance against the Dominion.”

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Sybille Stentor was a Breton of uncertain age but impressive magickal ability. None but her closest advisors know how long ago she was born in High Rock, but in more recent times, she has served as a loyal Court Mage to three separate regimes in the Blue Palace. Despite the questions surrounding her unnaturally long life, Sybille was well regarded and her counsel was often sought by the High King himself. And that was enough to let the questions subside. Loyalty meant everything in the Blue Palace and those like Sybille, who held the court’s deepest secrets, were bound by divine magick to never betray the High King.

Yet her scrying began to trouble Sybille as new signs emerged that had not been there before. Something was happening in Skyrim while their eyes were set abroad, the court’s attention spread over Hammerfell, High Rock, and now Morrowind. They didn’t illuminate certain danger, but neither were they clear on what was to unfold. Deciding it best to stay silent on the matter for a while, she continued to scry in private, when it did not interfere with her normal duties. It was during one of these times that a letter arrived for her that only served to muddy the waters even further.


Sybille,

A curious thing happened in the port today: a Redguard arrived from Anvil, supposedly to aide the Companions in some way. While not all that interesting on the surface, I overheard a snippet of his conversation with a member of said group who had been sent to meet him there. Apparently, he was loaned to them by the Fighter’s Guild. A curious thing, no? Why should the Guild be loaning members to the Companions? Have you ever heard of any such thing happening before?

They left shortly after for Whiterun, so I was unable to glean any further information from them, but it may be worth a follow-up, if you have the men to spare. The Redguard didn’t look suspicious in any way, but there was something about him that I couldn’t quantify. My gut tells me we should be watching him, even if it’s not with our own eyes.

-Orleth


Her brow furrowed more and more as the details from the note unfolded. She read the letter two more times to memorize the pertinent bits before discarding it in the flames dancing merrily in her fireplace. Unsure of what this new revelation would mean, she poured a glass of Alto Wine, headed back to her scrying table, and performed the ritual again �" this time with the new information in mind. The signs were still mysterious, but one blazed brighter than it had before, centered directly on the Solitude port.

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“Are you sure about this, Anilay?”

“Not, not really. His court is surprisingly tight-lipped on internal matters as deep as this would be. It’s only carried by the faintest whispers from the darkest recesses, spoken by no one of import. But it’s not the sort of thing we can ignore, sire.

“Indeed not,” sighed the old man.

The Emperor of Cyrodiil, Titus Mede the II set down his quill and leaned back in his study chair while he digested the rumor that his chancellor had just brought before him. Could the High King of Skyrim really be so ambitious as to seize the Ruby Throne for himself? Though he may be Dragonborn, that did not (in the Emperor’s mind) give him any legal or divine authority over it, despite what the king may think otherwise. And Skyrim was still their fast ally, working hand-in-hand against the Dominion. It made sense…but it put the Emperor in an impossible position: he could not act without further information, yet inaction could spell certain doom for the Mede Dynasty.

“Do we have anyone we can reliably trust in the Blue Palace?” he asked the chancellor. “We need more information. There is a ring of truth to the intention, but if I make a move in error, it will be my head that rolls.”

“I wish we did, my lord. But all of our attempts at infiltrating the king’s inner circle have failed �" it’s uncanny how they are able to weed out anyone with ill intent. We have men in the legion garrison, of course, but that is a very bloody option, and it will certainly fail. This is not a normal man we are dealing with; the new king is something straight out of Nordic legend, a master of the Thu’um. He could annihilate the garrison himself.”

“Then we must wait, and hope an opportunity presents itself.”

“I agree, my lord. We’ve been patient thus far, and I feel we should continue to be. I will most certainly bring any new information to your attention.”
“Very good, Anilay,” said the Emperor. “Now, please take your leave. I have a litany of memos to parse through this evening.”

The chancellor bowed and left the study. Titus Mede leaned even further back in his chair and felt his eyes drift towards the windows while lost in thought. Far below lay the Imperial City, the ultimate prize of his dynasty, and the seat of power in Tamriel. Could there be such a heavy change in the winds already? Would this relatively new king from Skyrim really sweep down from the north and force him to abdicate? The people would no doubt support the return of a Dragonborn Emperor, and mark his return as a new era for the Cyrodiilic Empire, and a return to the mighty days of yore, when Tiber Septim himself ruled the land.

“Perhaps, I ought to step down before it’s too late,” he said aloud.

Sighing deeply, he lowered his gaze back to his overcrowded desk and picked up the next urgent missive that needed dealt with. As his tired eyes scanned the document sent by a high-ranking diplomat, his face became more and more grave, and he wished Anilay had come in after he had read it.


For this Majesty, Titus Mede II eye’s only,

Sire, it is with great urgency and trepidation that I relay this information to you. If it is true, it must be acted upon before it is too late. There are rumors swirling about the various kingdoms of High Rock and Hammerfell that an alliance treaty has been signed in secret with Skyrim. And now there are reports of similar envoys being sent to Morrowind in an effort to rebuild friendship between the Nords and the Dunmer.

We cannot allow a northern alliance of that magnitude to take hold. The Dominion will surely act on this, too, and attempt to sow discord. We must be ready.

-Sarunius Mantol


The faintest zephyr danced in the air within his study as the Emperor’s world crashed down around him. There could be no doubt that his days in power were numbered, and he could not hope to stand against it. If those four realms marched upon Cyrodiil together, then surely the Mede Dynasty would come to an abrupt end. Rising from his seat, Titus Mede II quickly left his study in search of Anilay to discuss what must come next, before taking it to the Elder Council.

This post has been edited by Kane: Jan 8 2025, 06:09 PM