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It rained the night of Torygg’s death. It rained the day after too. And the day after that. It rained every day until the body (what was left of it) was finished being prepared by Arkay’s priests, and was buried.
Lady Elisif the Fair barely noticed.
The funeral took place under tents pitched around the Hall of the Dead. There wasn’t much said. Nothing that mattered anyhow. Falk said some things about how Torygg had died valiantly. Erikur had his crocodile tears that made Elisif’s stomach turn.
Elisif herself did not give a eulogy. What could she say? What would it matter? Nothing she said could bring Torygg back.
The priests said some prayers, commending his soul to Aetherius. They put the coffin in the ground. They hadn’t had it open during the whole ceremony. That state that Ulfric had left Torygg’s body in was...not a sight for unprepared eyes.
There was a reception in the Blue Palace. Elisif sat on the throne besides Torygg’s. Beside Torygg’s empty throne.
There were people coming up to her. Giving condolences. Elisif simply nodded, thanked them, and they walked away. She let the voices from the guests drift by her.
“...barely said a word all day...”
“...his body was in such a horrible...”
“...poor girl is still in shock...”
“...felt sick just looking at the aftermath...”
The food slowly disappeared, and the guests filed out. The servants started cleaning up. The sun sank behind the hills. The noise of people started to fade away. Elisif just stared at the floor.
They’d managed to clean up the blood off the floors. The carpets would have to be completely replaced though, so the floor was conspicuously bare.
A reminder.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Ulfric was just supposed to talk, not fight. Though then again...he did talk...in a way.
The thought made Elisif giggle a bit. Then she was laughing. There were tears running down her face.
There were tears running down her face.
She wasn’t laughing any more. Tears flowed down the young woman’s face as she sobbed into her own arms.
Had she been in a more collected state of mind, Elisif would have been surprised yet relieved. After all...
“I see you’re finally letting your tears out, Lady Elisif.”
Oh! Elisif hurriedly wiped her eyes. “My apologies,” she sniffled. “I...thought I was alone.”
Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard anyone come in. Odd, but not really what was on her mind right now.
Elisif looked up to see a figure standing near one of the windows. Backlit by the moonlight as they were, Elisif couldn't see their face under their hooded cloak. But the voice sounded feminine, at least. What kind of feminine, Elisif couldn’t tell. Motherly, maybe? But that was the extent of how Elisif could describe it, if she was asked.
The woman stepped forward, out of the moonlight. She was very tall, at least three heads taller than Elisif. “Don’t stop on my account,” she whispered, walking closer to Elisif. “You’ve been through so much these past few days.”
The woman sat on the throne next to Elisif’s, Torygg’s throne , Elisif thought.
But it wasn’t his throne. It wouldn’t ever be his throne again. Because Torygg was dead.
The reminder came like a punch in the gut, and the tears began flowing again. The woman reached forward and brushed the tears off Elisif’s cheeks. As she did, Elisif noticed through her tears that the woman’s cloak wasn’t made of fabric, but of feathers. Had she been in a more stable state of mind, Elisif probably would have questioned this. And also questioned the presence of this strange woman.
But in the past days, Elisif had seen her husband killed in front of her, messily killed. She saw his body and the blood when she closed her eyes. She’d hardly slept, now alone in her bed, the other side cold.
She’d seen his body put into the ground, covered with dirt. Never to come out.
So she decided not the question the comfort this woman was giving her. “It hurts,” the woman was saying gently. “I know it does. I lost my own husband some time ago...I know. It’s...”
Elisif tried in vain to stop her tears. “Does...does it ever stop?” she asked quietly, her voice cracking.
The strange woman sighed. “Never completely. It will always hurt in a way. It will fade...but it won’t disappear.”
Elisif nodded. “...good.” She looked up at the woman, where her eyes would be if Elisif could see them. “I don’t want to forget. It hurts but...I don’t want to forget what happened to him. To Torygg. What Ulfric-”
Elisif choked on that name, breaking into a fresh round of sobs. She and the strange woman sat there in silence, Elisif’s crying filling the room.
Slowly, the tears ebbed and fell less rapidly. “Why?” Elisif choked out. “Why did he do this? Torygg...he admired Ulfric. He would have listened! And yet...Ulfric...he...”
The woman sighed. “I can’t say for sure what goes on in that man’s brain. But I don’t think he was ever going to talk things out.”
Elisif shook her head. “No...it all seems obvious now, but...” Elisif gulped. “He wants to be High King, doesn’t he? That’s all he wants. For whatever reason...that’s what he wants.”
“And when the Moot elected Torygg...”
“Torygg had to...go.” Elisif looked down at her lap. She thought she was done with tears, but she was still struggling to hold them back, even now. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt.
“And what will you do?” the woman asked.
Elsif blinked, distracting from her pain for a moment. “Pardon?”
“Will you let Ulfric take the throne of High King? Is that what you want?”
Elisif shook her head vigorously. “Of course not! But what can I do?”
The woman stared at her. “Take his throne.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are the closest person Torygg has to an heir. And you were close with him. You loved him. You should know his wishes better than anyone.”
Elisif laughed harshly. “You can’t be serious. If you know so much, then you should know I never got taught anything about politics. I can dance, I can sing, I can curtsy. I can’t govern . Someone like Jarl Balgruuf-”
“Balgruuf is a good Jarl, true. But he has no interest in ruling anything outside of his hold.” The woman stood up and began to pace around Elisif. “Idgrod has a good heart, but her visions make her indecisive. Siddgeir is young and spoiled as Oblivion, Igmund allows slavery in all but name, Lalia is under the thumb of those Black-Briars, Skald is a paranoid mess, Korir is a bigot...need I go on?”
Elsif shook her head. “No...but...”
The lady bent down in front of her. “Elisif, you can learn to govern. You can at least try, which is more than some of the other Jarls are doing. You have common sense, girl! You know Ulfric wouldn’t be a good king!”
Elisif sighed. “But...I can’t govern by myself...”
“Who said you had to?” Elsif looked up. “Falk Firebeard will support you, of that I am sure.”
“But will anyone else?”
“Over Ulfric? Surely. And as you gain more experience, they’ll come around.”
“Even Erikur?”
“He doesn’t count.”
“He’s rich and influential.”
“And no one likes him. Trust me, admiration is worth its weight in gold.”
Elisif swallowed. “And...if I fail?”
The lady sighed. “Then you fail. But at least you fail while trying, fall while trying to fight. Isn’t that better than letting it happen?”
Elisif was silent, not sure what to say. The lady patted her hand. “You’re going to do great. Take it from someone with experience.”
And then she was gone. Elisif was alone in the hall.
“Elisif? Lady Elisif!”
Elisif felt herself being shaken awake. She blinked her eyes open. “...Sybille?”
The court mage was looking down at Elisif with a furrowed brow. “Oh...I fell asleep, didn’t I?”
Sybille sighed. “Yes, yes you did.” She gently pulled Elisif up. “Come on. Up you get. To your bed.”
Normally, Elisif would’ve protested. But she was exhausted and her neck hurt from sitting on the throne for so long.
Nobody noticed the hawk feathers scattered around the throne until the servants came in the next morning.