4E 202, Shor's Stone, a day later
Serana
The Grand Council of Skyrim was held in the council chambers of the Ebony Palace, a rather large chamber that could hold fit half a hundred people without feeling crowded.
The round oaken table in the center depicted a map of Shor's Stone and its surroundings, down to the very last detail. Carved into the wood itself, the walls, the streets, even the surrounding hills and ridgelines were sculpted with precision, along with the many unnamed branches and forks of rivers that came down from the Velothi Mountains.
Shor's Watchtower was to the North, just a few hours of travel by the road. It was already manned by a squad of twelve Shor's Guard, and news already came from them that riders bearing the colors Whiterun, Markarth, and Windhelm were spotted near Mistwatch.
Gerron had welcomed them all in the courtyard of the Ebony Palace, with Serana to his right and Kiera to his left. The majority of the army was already diverted into the barracks by Grogmar. What remained in the courtyard were the leaders—Jarls, generals, champions. The pillars upon which Skyrim stood.
Serana had spotted the sigil of the Empire carried by Commander Maro, with the Emperor at the head and General Tullius beside him.
Then came the Jarls of Solitude, Falkreath, Morthal, Dawnstar, and Winterhold. Each housecarl stood vigilant behind their liege, carrying the banners of their hold with pride.
Isran with Gunmar by his side along with Aela, and finally Savos himself with half of the College professors with him.
Gerron had welcomed them all, before having Filnjar lead them to their appropriate quarters. There was more than enough room to hold the nobility of Skyrim in the Ebony Palace, and the steward had them cleaned and prepped days ago.
When Jarls Ulfric, Balgfruuf, and Igmund appeared the next day with their retinues, along with the Stormcloaks, the Companions, and the Vigilants, Gerron had called up a council to be held after sunset, and here they were now.
Every figure of consequence in Skyrim had been given a seat. Behind them, lining the edges of the chamber, stood their housecarls and their second in commands. Silent observers to decisions that would shape the fate of the world.
It was a strange thing to watch Gerron command over a war council, stranger still was the ease with which he did it. Most of the people seated here were people with much more experience than he in warfare, veterans of many more battles and skirmishes.
Jarls, generals, even an Emperor was seated before him, each one with a lineage spanning hundreds of years…and yet when Gerron spoke, they listened.
It was no wonder really, Serana's future husband had proven himself more than thrice over; as a warrior, a battlefield commander, and even a Jarl.
She was not blind to the looks of barely disguised awe that each Jarl had the moment they arrived in the city. The Jarls that had not once taken to the battlefield were not only here to show unity in the face of apocalypse, but also to take a measure of the newest Jarl among them.
They eyed everything with scrutiny, to judge whether the man who now ruled the Rift was worthy of the seat he held.
After all, Gerron's ascension was not something most would call conventional. None had expected Jarl Laila Law-Giver to relinquish her crown and seat so easily after the battle at High Hrothgar.
But was it truly easy? Riften was a ruin and the Rift was all but lost. The Jarl's children had perished and her people had risen as undead in the command of a Dragon Priest.
It had not been handed to Gerron. He had taken it back, piece by piece, battle after battle.
She had been there with him for it all. Gerron had led the Shor's Guard and the Stormcloaks, riding out dozens of times in the past year that cleared every inch of the lands under his rule.
And the results had shown. The Rift was now safe, safer than most holds could boast, and they were prospering.
Coin was coming in by the day, both from the trade with Windhelm as well as the newly rebuilt Riften. The new town and village charters would mean development in the furthest reaches of the Rift, and Ivarstead was quickly growing into a town almost as big as Dragon Bridge.
And all of it was because of him, and Serana was proud to have been there every step of the way.
The discussions continued then as Gerron explained the preparations he had done for Shor's Stone. Troop numbers, defenses, protocols. There were no empty boasts or blusters, it was just Gerron going over the map and discussing tactics at length.
Plenty gave out suggestions, merits and demerits were weighted with precision and each idea was laid bare. There were no shouting matches nor any venomous whispers or petty snubs, unlike the one Council in High Hrothgar.
Here, everyone spoke and listened courteously. None would dare speak out of turn with the Emperor and the Dragonborn watching, both having shown a willingness to listen to Gerron's counsel. It helped that they were in Shor's Stone, the center of Gerron's domain.
The discussion eventually turned to Skuldafn, where Gerron explained the plan of using carrowhulks to ferry men up the mountain slope. Vilkas, Isran, and Carcette promised to talk to their respective factions to seek for volunteers that would be sent to siege the temple, and even Ulfric volunteered twenty of his finest Stormcloaks for the mission.
General Tullius, not wanting to be outdone, promised to send Legate Taurinus and the Unbroken Sword with a cohort of legionnaires. Which made Serana shake her head inwardly. Despite the supposed unity, pride lingered still and grudges were not as forgotten as she initially believed.
It was when they were discussing the division of manning the walls did a voice cut through the chamber.
"May I speak?" Araenea Ienith spoke from her seat, given to her as a Champion of a Prince herself.
The dunmer priestess of Azura had made quick friends with Aela after the Night of Convergence and had stayed in Jorrvaskr since. She arrived here with the Whiterun retinue.
"Of course," Gerron said as every eye turned to her. Few in the room did not know of her visions—and fewer still would dare dismiss them.
"The Lady Azura has bid me a vision of what's to come, my lord." Aranea murmured. "...and it is not one I would wish upon any soul."
A heavy silence permeated the room as weight settled in everyone's shoulders. Serana pursed her lips at that.
"I saw a great wing, blanketing the skies with its shadow. Vast beyond measure as fire and lightning rained down upon the land. I saw many fall… faces I knew."
Her voice faltered, just slightly.
"But there was light. A defiance against the darkness. And then… an eye. Watching me. I heard a roar before everything was torn apart, and the vision broke."
Someone gulped audibly, echoing like thunder in the near silent room.
Eventually, the Emperor spoke. "How certain are these visions, Lady Aranea?"
Aranea shook her head faintly. "I am unsure, Your Eminence. Everything that has happened, the end has yet to be seen. This might seem ill-fated, but the future has long since fractured. The river of time has split too many, with branches creating more futures than one could count. Alduin has broken his chains…and what follows is beyond even Lady Azura's sight."
She closed her eyes. "I suspect that the eye who gazed at me was the World-Eater himself, one future of countless ones that he had shattered beyond measure."
Ulfric leaned forward, unshaken. "Then it changes nothing. Whether we know the end or not, whether it leads to our survival or death, we'd still fight to the last man."
Elisif nodded, her voice steady. "Jarl Ulfric speaks the truth. In the end, what matters is the strength of our people."
Serana allowed herself a small smile.
Jarl Elisif supporting Jarl Ulfric? Truly the days have changed. The Jarl of Solitude might not be a warrior or a military commander of any renown, but the fact that she's here, knowing the full risks of what's to come, has earned her the respect of many.
She continued to watch the meeting quietly, as Kiera, Balgruuf, and even Archmage Savos Aren spoke of ideas and plans. Serana had nothing to say, for all the things she could offer had already been shared numerous times to Gerron and she was content to simply listen.
Soon the war council drew to a close, and came the questions she had been expecting.
"So, when will the wedding be held?" Emperor Titus asked, a joyful smile on his face now that the topic of warfare was finished.
"In two days," Serana answered with a smile of her own. "My mother is doing the finishing touches of the wedding gown as we speak."
It was half the reason why her mother wasn't present for the council. The other half was because she had no interest in playing politics or talking about military strategy. Gerron was fine with it, for she had more than done her share for the coming fight. Tens of thousands of potions have been brewed and prepared, kept safely within the vaults of Gerron's workshop.
Excited murmurs spread from the ladies of the realm. Jarls Elisif and Soril the Builder excitedly exchanged words with Serana and Kiera regarding the details of the wedding. Laughter, quiet and genuine, replaced the earlier tension.
Even along the walls, conversations sparked. She saw Galmar exchanging words with Ralof, and even Legate Rikke speaking with Ranessa.
Gerron called for the council to cease then as everyone began streaming out of the room. Serana's gaze found him immediately.
He looked at her with a raised brow. A silent question only she could understand.
She smiled in return, tilting her head ever so slightly.
Yes.
Go.
He gave her a wink, before turning and leaving the chamber, sharing words with Isran and Savos Aren.
…
4E 202, Shor's Stone
Gerron Ironbreaker
"What do you mean it shrunk?" Gerron asked the moment they were in the privacy of Gerron's personal office.
Like his quarters, it lacked the excessive ornamentation many Jarls favored, though that did not mean Gerron shied away from personal comforts.
A thick silken rug softened the cold stone beneath their feet. The hearth along the far wall crackled to life as servants hurried to light it the moment he entered, casting a warm glow that chased away the lingering chill of the council chamber.
Gerron moved behind the desk and lowered himself into the velvet-backed chair with a quiet exhale. Isran and Savos took the seats right across from him.
Inggar, Captain Renly's son that Gerron had taken as a page, stepped in from the side with a pitcher of ale. Without needing instruction, he poured three cups and placed them before each of them before retreating to the corner like a shadow.
It was here that Savos dropped the sudden news.
"Just look at this."
From within his robes, Savos produced an amulet—newly crafted judging from the design. At its center floated a shrunken Eye of Magnus.
Gerron leaned forward, eyes narrowing as if proximity alone might make the sight more sensible. The artifact hovered within its setting, no larger than a pebble now, its surface still swirling faintly with arcane energy, like a storm forced into a glass sphere.
[Eye of Magnus]
'The once-sealed artifact of Magnus, one that shared a connection with the Staff of Magnus. Now shrunken by the whims of the Mad One, aided as such by the Keeper of Knowledge.'
"Uh… Savos…" Gerron blinked slowly. "Tell me what happened again."
And Savos did. From beginning to end. How he heard voices, and a pull he could not ignore. A journey that made less sense the more it was explained, until the explanation itself became something Gerron stopped trying to rationalize.
By the time Savos finished, Gerron leaned back in his chair, one hand dragging down his face.
"…Right," he muttered.
Across from him, Isran's brow furrowed deeper with every passing word. "Voices and visions…" he said slowly. "That reeks of Daedric meddling."
"It is," Gerron replied, rubbing at his temple as a dull ache began to form. "Two of them, actually."
Isran's gaze snapped to him. "Which?"
Gerron let out a breath. "Sheogorath… and Hermaeus Mora."
There was a brief, heavy pause. Then, Isran's mouth lowered in shock. "…You're kidding."
Gerron gave a humorless chuckle. "If only."
"For fuck's sake." Isran leaned back in his chair, his hand grabbing his cup and chugging it back with a swig.
Savos, on the other hand, had gone very still. His sharp eyes studied the amulet again, as if expecting it to change under scrutiny.
"Sheogorath… and Hermaeus Mora," he repeated quietly. "The Mad God and the Keeper of Knowledge…"
There was something unsettled in his tone now. Not fear, but something close to it.
"What possible connection could they have to the Eye of Magnus?" Savos continued, his voice tightening. "And what in Shalidor's name would drive them to cooperate?"
"That's the part that worries me," Gerron admitted, chugging back the drink from his own cup. "As if we didn't have enough problems with Alduin."
Inggar was quick to refill it as Gerron gave him a nod of thanks. He reached forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he studied the artifact more closely.
"I thought Kiera said that the Mad God was uninterested in interfering," Isran added, his tone edged with irritation. "Something about meeting Vaermina in Dawnstar."
"Yeah," Gerron muttered. "But chaos has always been his domain. Unpredictable can't even begin to cover it."
He's heard the rumors of course. From High Rock to Black Marsh, it was a well known saying that 'one didn't plan for Sheogorotah, you survived him.'
Gerron exhaled slowly and focused again, forcing his thoughts into order.
"Whatever they did," he said, gesturing toward the amulet, "it didn't destroy the Eye. But it's not stabilized either."
That much, at least, he could feel.
Even at a glance, the muted, barely-contained energy he had once sensed from the artifact was gone. It was now active…dangerously so, but contained. Focused.
Usable.
His eyes flickered briefly with thought.
"…And that might actually work in our favor."
Isran frowned. "How so?"
Gerron leaned back again, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of his chair.
"Morokei. The Staff of Magnus is still in his hands," Gerron continued. "As long as he has it, he's a problem we can't ignore."
A massive one. A Dragon Priest wielding one of the most powerful artifacts in existence was not something you simply worked around.
"You're thinking the Eye can counter it," Savos said.
"I'm thinking it might be the only thing that can," Gerron replied.
His gaze shifted once more to the amulet. If there was anything in this world capable of matching the Staff… it would be that.
Silence settled over the room again as the soft crackling of fire in the hearth continued to burn.
Eventually, Savos leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression drawn. "…Let us hope so."
…
AN: The Grand Council of Skyrim holds their second ever meeting after High Hrothgar as Aranea gives another vision of the future. But as mentioned, what she saw was merely one of countless possible futures.
I initially wanted to do a Gerron POV for the council, but then thought that an outside perspective would be better in portraying all of his achievements till now. I hope Serana's whole POV section was satisfactory cause I had fun writing that part.
Anyways, the trio of Isran, Gerron, and Savos is great as always. I really enjoy writing these three together.
But this should be the last of the supposed 'downtime' chapters. Coming up next, the wedding!
12 advanced chapters are available on my P-word. Chapter 127 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
For free users, you can get 2 chapters ahead instead if you're interested.
Cheers lads.