"I'm honored you would consider me for a matter of such grave importance. However, I must refuse. I am forbidden from interfering in the internal affairs of Daggerfall."
That was the line Torin had prepared—the excuse he'd use to turn down the queen. It was polite, diplomatic, and gave no one the opportunity to cast blame.
After all, Torin was many things: a Nord, a Companion, a mage of the College, and Torygg's representative. He could think of a dozen traditions and rules from both the College and Jorrvaskr—some real, some conveniently invented—to excuse himself from participating in the duel without shaming himself or his king.
However, as Torin was about to open his mouth, the words died in his throat.
The statue of Kynareth up on the altar suddenly moved.
It was subtle—barely perceptible—but unmistakable. The marble head slowly turned, its stone neck grinding against stone shoulders, and cast its gaze directly upon Queen Melisande. The carved bird on her raised hand seemed to ruffle its feathers, its stone wings shifting as if preparing to take flight.
Torin blinked once. When he opened his eyes, it was as if the statue had never moved. It stood in its original position, still and lifeless, the bird perched on its hand as it had always been.
He quickly took a look around. Strangely enough, no one else seemed to have noticed what just happened. The guests were still looking at him, waiting for his response.
The priestess was watching him with patient expectation. Even the queen's expression remained calm and composed.
Is this your wish? Are you giving me a sign? Torin mused internally, his gaze flickering to the statue. Or am I finally losing my mind?
He took a deep breath and stepped forward, his voice carrying across the chapel.
"I'd be honored to represent you, Lady Melisande."
There was no commotion at Torin's words—only a subdued cacophony of voices discussing this unexpected turn of events.
"I can feel my blood boiling. The Storm Caller of Skyrim and the Bannerless Knight of High Rock..." One knight nearby spoke with no small amount of excitement, his hand gripping his sword hilt as if he were the one about to step into the ring. "It will be a duel worthy of song. None who witness will forget."
Another voice—that of a merchant, talking to a colleague beside him—cut through the murmur. "This would have been the perfect occasion to take bets. It's almost like a gold mine. Too bad we weren't informed of the participants sooner..."
The only ones who seemed shocked by Torin's decision to accept were Bragi, who looked like he was about to start elbowing Torin crazily if there weren't so many eyes on them, and Count Gautier, whose composed mask slipped for just a fraction of a second.
Even more shocked were the queen herself, whose eyes went wide for a moment—a flash of genuine surprise—before she gathered her bearings and smoothed her expression back to its usual calm.
Torin merely looked at her and grinned.
However, his opponent, the Bannerless Knight, didn't seem to care. He was already gone by the time Torin began to look for his figure amidst the crowd.
...
Several hours later, within a guest room in the royal palace of Daggerfall. The room was spacious and finely appointed, with tapestries depicting scenes from Breton history lining the walls and a fire crackling in the hearth. Despite the warmth, the atmosphere was tense.
"That was a reckless thing you did, Storm Caller." Count Gautier stood with his arms crossed, his expression severe as he stared at Torin. "You had every reason to refuse. Every reason to step aside and let my ladyship's plan take its course."
Bragi, standing beside Torin, nodded his head silently—not with enthusiasm, but with clear disapproval. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, and he seemed to be holding back a dozen objections.
Torin turned away from Gautier and fixed his gaze on Queen Melisande.
She merely looked at him calmly, her hands resting atop each other in front of her abdomen, a picture of regal nonchalance. Her expression betrayed nothing.
He shrugged, the gesture casual.
"If you had expected me to refuse, then you should have made that clear." He grinned. "We Nords aren't as attuned to the subtleties of intrigue as Bretons."
Gautier's eyes narrowed.
"And that is why I went out of my way to visit you before the coronation." His gaze hardened. "You gave me every reason to believe you would refuse. You seemed quite displeased with us, after all."
Torin's grin widened, but it didn't reflect his internal thoughts. Sure enough, Breton nobles were as wily as foxes—and this Gautier in particular seemed like someone who could put even a fox to shame. He had guessed Torin's displeasure, and even his readiness to refuse before he even had the chance to, with unsettling accuracy.
"You know what they say," Torin said slowly. "Man proposes, God disposes."
The room fell silent. The fire crackled. Gautier's expression remained unreadable.
Melisande finally spoke, her head inclined slightly, a hint of amusement flickering behind her composed eyes.
"Are you calling yourself a god now, Storm Caller?"
Torin couldn't help but chuckle at those words, the sound low and genuine.
"I wouldn't dare." He shook his head. "But like any man, I am subject to their will." He paused, his expression shifting to something more serious. "But we're not here to debate divine will." He turned to Gautier. "You said Queen Melisande had a plan that I disrupted. Let's hear it."
Gautier didn't reply instantly. He exchanged a glance with Melisande, and she offered him a small, almost imperceptible nod. The count turned back to Torin, his expression carefully neutral.
"The plan was simple. Your refusal would have given us an excuse to postpone the duel until we found a 'suitable champion'—not that we intended to do so in the first place." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "In that time, His Majesty King Lucien would make use of the throne—what little power it still holds over the few neutral nobles—to dismantle Armand's influence piece by piece."
His eyes glinted.
"In the meantime, the queen's faction would do the same as we plot to assassinate the duke."
Torin was taken aback. His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward slightly.
"You're working with the prince?" He paused, his expression shifting to something more calculating. "He seemed just as resentful of the queen as he was of his uncle."
Gautier smiled bitterly.
"That was by design. Armand must never know our lady is working with King Lucien. Otherwise, His Majesty's life would be in danger." He shook his head. "To keep him alive, we must sell the illusion that like Armand, our queen only wishes to expand her power and influence."
Bragi's jaw nearly dropped in shock. The skald stared at Gautier as if he had just announced that the sky was green.
Torin, on the other hand, stared at Count Gautier blankly for a moment, processing the layers of deception. Then he let out a long, slow sigh.
"That's some plan." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "But that's not why you asked our High King to send his envoys, is it?"
It was the queen who replied this time. Her voice was softer, touched with something that might have been melancholy.
"It was not us who summoned you here." She turned away, an absentminded look on her face as she gazed at the fire. "It was my late husband, King Berenger."
She paused. "He was not fond of the Thalmor, and your High King's offer intrigued him." A faint, sad smile crossed her lips. "Unfortunately, he did not live to receive you himself."
Torin went silent for a moment, turning the revelation over in his mind.
In other words, he mused, we were a convenient decoy for the queen and her people. The man who actually wanted to ally with Skyrim is already gone.
Still, the queen spoke of her late husband with fondness, and there was a decent chance she'd want to honor his wishes. He had also caught the slight hints of anger and bitterness in her tone as she spoke of his death—something buried beneath her composed exterior, but present nonetheless.
Torin frowned.
"Do you suspect foul play?"
The queen remained calm, her voice measured as she replied, "There is no evidence of treachery. However..." She paused, her gaze turning distant. "Berenger's death was far too convenient."
Her eyes grew cold, and her voice took on a harder edge.
"An envoy of the Thalmor visited Armand shortly before Berenger died. Despite being completely healthy, my husband fell ill the very next day. Within a week, he was gone."
Torin's mind immediately conjured the spell he had learned from Hermaeus Mora—the one that let you see what the dead had last witnessed. He let out a low hum.
"And if you had proof that Armand was involved in the king's death..." He paused, letting the implication hang. "Would that be of help?"
The queen shook her head slowly, a flicker of regret crossing her features.
"Perhaps before Lucien's coronation, when the neutral nobles were still undecided. Now..." She sighed. "Now they are honor-bound to follow my son. Their oaths have been sworn. They will not break them, even if the truth is revealed."
She straightened her posture, her gaze hardening.
"As for Armand's followers... they are beyond hope. They ought to be more aware of his sins and faults than we are—and yet they still follow him. They have chosen their path. They will not be swayed by evidence or reason."
Torin nodded slowly, his mind already analyzing the situation. The layers of deception, the hidden agendas, the dead king's unfinished plans—it was a tangled web, and he had stepped right into the center of it.
After a minute, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Well. I've certainly ventured into murkier waters than I'd hoped."
Bragi looked at him pointedly, his expression flat.
"You don't say."
Gautier, however, had a firm expression, his arms crossed, his jaw set.
"Well, now that you do understand the depth of the pit and what's at stake, you should understand why you must withdraw yourself from the duel." He paused, letting the words sink in. "A simple hunting trip to the forest where you'd suffer an injury—something that would stop you from participating—will be enough to prevent gossip."
Torin raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.
"That's not a bad idea." He tilted his head. "That way, you can resume your scheme." He gestured aside. "Or..." His grin returned. "I can just defeat Armand's champion and save you the trouble."
Gautier frowned, his expression darkening.
"I don't doubt your strength nor skill. However, there's too much at stake to—"
The count had to swallow the remainder of his words as the queen interjected, her voice calm but cutting.
"Why do you wish to fight?"
Torin's grin widened.
"High King Torygg sent me here to secure an ally, and this sounds like the most direct, and quickest way to do so." He paused, his eyes glinting. "Besides, Armand's champion seemed like a very capable warrior. It's been a while since I last had a worthwhile fight."
The queen looked at Torin intently, her gaze searching his face for something—doubt, hesitation, fear. She found none.
"Are you confident?"
Before Torin could reply, Gautier interjected, his voice urgent. "My lady, you can't possibly be—"
He was silenced by a mere gesture as the queen raised her hand in his direction without even bothering to give him so much as a stern look. Her eyes remained fixed on Torin.
Torin shrugged, his expression easy, almost casual.
"I'm not privy to the future. I can't guarantee victory. But I've been fighting men thrice my age and bests twice as big since I was a child. I've yet to meet my match."
The fire crackled in the hearth. The queen held his gaze for a long, measured moment. Then, slowly, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Very well, Storm Caller." She inclined her head. "Fight for me. Win for me. And I will ensure that Skyrim has a friend in Daggerfall."
...
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