A/N: I forgot to post a chapter for this story yesterday, so you get two updates today. Make sure you read this one and the last!
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Internally, I’m laughing like a fucking hyena in the wake of Ulfrida’s declaration. She sounds so self-righteous about it, so sure of herself, so CONFIDENT. It’s hilarious, to say the least. But I can’t ruin it all by laughing like a maniac.
No, outwardly I remain as composed as ever, as everyone in the chamber reacts in their own way. Elenwen’s eyes widen slightly, before narrowing thoughtfully. Legate Rikke and Elisif both look taken aback and shocked, unsure of how to respond. And next to Ulfrida, Delphine of the Blades bites her lower lip, her eyes darting over to me and Svanna, suspicion filling them. And rightfully so.
With a sigh, I step forward and speak.
“As we all know, a Mudcrab Wrestling Challenge can only be issued by a Nord Woman. Jarl Ulfrida, you are of the Nords, yes?”
Straightening up in a manner that most definitely pushes her tits out, and lifting her nose into the air, Ulfrida nods.
“I am. My forefathers and their forefathers were Nords. I am as Nord as they come.”
I nod simply, before looking over at Elisif.
“Then, as the ancient traditions state, the Challenge cannot be denied without sacrifice. Jarl Elisif, do you understand your options?”
Shaken, still seated and looking rather… pale, Elisif swallows thickly and nods.
“I-I do.”
“Good. For those in the room who might not be familiar with this most ancient and revered Nordic Tradition, Jarl Elisif’s options are; thus, Either she accepts Jarl Ulfrida’s challenge, and they fight in the pit, or she refuses the challenge and gives up all claims to power and influence in all of Skyrim. Furthermore, while she does not have to submit herself to Jarl Ulfrida’s direct control if she refuses the challenge, she will be exiled from Skyrim, never allowed to step foot in the Province ever again for the rest of her days.”
Everyone nods along slowly, as if this just makes perfect common sense. Only Svanna isn’t taken in by the stream of pure, unadulterated bullshit coming out of my mouth. But then, out of everyone here, my lithe little Dragonborn is the only one in on the fun. She keeps her face relaxed and emotionless, but I can FEEL her amusement… she’s just as tickled pink by all of this as I am.
Silence has fallen in the chamber, as Ulfrida stares Elisif down, practically daring the other Jarl to accept the challenge. To be fair, everyone here knows what will happen if she does. Elisif will lose. There’s no doubt in anyone’s minds that, barring unforeseen divine intervention, Elisif doesn’t hold a candle to Ulfrida in either combat experience or physicality.
I COULD make this a case of David versus Goliath, and cheat to have Elisif win over Ulfrida… it would certainly be entertaining. But that’s not the plan, as it were. That’s not in the script for this little ridiculous mockery of Skyrim Customs and Traditions. Instead, I clear my throat before Elisif can decide whether or not abdicating her position and fleeing Skyrim altogether is best for her people and the Empire, over giving Ulfrida control over her and all of her subjects by losing the Mudcrab Wrestling Match.
“Ahem. Before you make your decision, Jarl Elisif, I do feel obligated, in the spirit of fairness, to remind you of one of the lesser known aspects of Mudcrab Wrestling. Namely, while the Challenger must always fight for themselves, the Challenged is allowed to name a Champion to fight in their stead.”
Elisif’s eyes widen at that, and Ulfrida frowns. Before either can respond, another voice calls out.
“I will fight on the Jarl’s behalf as her Champion!”
Legate Rikke steps forward, the Nordic Imperial Soldier glaring daggers at Ulfrida from across the table, leaving the Jarl of Windhelm looking put out for all of a moment, before a savage warrior’s smile spreads across her face.
“Hmph. Fine by me.”
I look over to Elisif and cock one eyebrow.
“Jarl Elisif. Do you accept Legate Rikke as your Champion?”
“Y-Yes… thank you, Legate.”
Rikke gives her a nod, while Elenwen looks amused, and Delphine continues to glare at me suspiciously. I spare one moment to give the Blade a broad smile, before getting back to business.
“Then let us adjourn… to the Pit!”
-x-X-x-
As everyone knows, every major hold and every place of power has a Mudcrab Wrestling Pit. Because of course they do. Even if all of the Greybeards of High Hrothgar are old men with… well, grey beards, even they have a mud pit, just in case some visiting female dignitaries need to settle their differences the old-fashioned way.
… Heh, I’m such a fucking bastard.
Regardless, none of the women are at all surprised, as I lead them over to High Hrothgar’s Mudcrab Wrestling Pit. It didn’t exist mere days ago, but now it looks like it’s always been there. Perks of having control of the story and reality itself, I supposed. Regardless, Ulfrida and Rikke quickly begin to strip naked, the two Nords removing their garments and handing them to their comrades, Delphine and Elisif respectively.
Once they’re completely nude, their tits bouncing all over the place, their muscles bulging as their hands clench into fists, the warrior women both descend into the pit, the mud coming up to their knees as they wade through it to stand across from one another. I spend a long moment, perhaps a bit too long, admiring their naked bodies, still pristine above the knee for the time being. After all, they’re both going to be COVERED in mud here in a second.
When they look up at me expectantly, I clap my hands together.
“Are our fighters ready?”
“Aye.”
“Ready!”
“Then… begin!”
I clap my hands together again, and neither Ulfrida nor Rikke hesitate. The Jarl and Legate lunge at each other, and a moment later are scrambling around in the mud like… well, like a pair of beautiful, naked women who I’ve completely and utterly tricked into mud wrestling for my amusement. The sight is highly arousing, not necessarily because of the physical nature of it, because mud isn’t all THAT sexy, but because I’m watching one of the most powerful women in the Empire get herself all nice and dirty for nothing, and it’s fucking hilarious.
At first, Ulfrida’s sheer ferocity seems like it’s giving her the advantage over the more disciplined Legate. After all, Mud Wrestling is not a refined soldier’s sport. No, it’s a bestial, savage sort of thing, and Ulfrida shows she understands as much, as she wrestles Rikke into the mud. However, Rikke isn’t just an Imperial Legate… she’s also a proud Nord in her own right and isn’t about to be outdone. She recovers quickly enough for my tastes, and I can tell we’ve got a real contest on our hands.
One might think I’d interfere here… but I won’t. Whoever ‘wins’ will win, and we’ll go from there. In the end, it doesn’t really matter who wins, given what the plan is. After all-
“Arch-Mage Vayral. I imagine you know who I am.”
I blink and then look to my side in amusement, where Delphine has sidled up to me. She’s watching the Wrestling Match just as I am but speaking out the side of her mouth to me. Chuckling softly, I respond after a moment’s thought.
“Oh? Certainly, full of yourself, aren’t you Delphine of the Blades?”
Scoffing, Delphine crosses her arms under her expansive chest.
“Hmph. Not really full of myself if I’m right, now, am I?”
Humming, I pretend to concede the point, even as I continue to watch Ulfrida and Rikke wrestle about for my amusement. Frankly, the only person getting even more out of this then Svanna or I is probably Elenwen. I hadn’t necessarily set out to make this so enjoyable for the Thalmor Ambassador, but it had turned out this way, hadn’t it? The Jarl and Legate’s wrestling was sort of an allegory for the entire Skyrim Civil War, wasn’t it? It was everything the Thalmor could have possibly wanted.
“Was there something you desired from me, my dear?”
“Not your dear. As for what I want from you… answers. I want answers. What are you planning? You’ve been one step ahead of me this entire time. By all accounts, you were at the Dragonborn’s side before she was even revealed as the Dragonborn. Tch, I thought for sure I’d be able to draw her to me eventually, but you steered her away at every turn for your Thalmor Masters. Surely you must know the threat is real. The Dragons are returned. If we keep playing games, we’re all dead, Thalmor and Nords alike.”
Wow, she really had a lot to get off her chest, didn’t she? I glance at Delphine again, radiating amusement that she picks up on, given how she bristles at my side.
“Playing games? We’re not here to play games, we’re here to end the conflict so we can focus on the true battle at hand.”
“You-!”
Delphine doesn’t get a chance to say anything more, because there’s a sudden roar of triumph from the pit down below, and a cry from off to the side. Jarl Ulfrida stands victorious, caked in mud, dripping with the stuff… as she holds an unconscious Legate Rikke just above the surface of the mud by her hair, having clearly knocked her unconscious. The cry from the side was from Elisif, who looks stricken at her Champion’s loss.
“I am the victor! Skyrim is mine! Skyrim belongs to the Nords!”
Elenwen looks alarmed, while Delphine has a moment of hope appear in her eyes… before Svanna suddenly stands up. As the silent Dragonborn begins removing her armor and underclothes to the surprise of everyone else in the chamber, I smile and step forward, speaking on her behalf.
“Jarl Ulfrida. Congratulations on your victory. The Dragonborn has issued her own challenge. She will face you in Mudcrab Wrestling, here and now… or you will have to surrender your titles and accept exile from the Province of Skyrim for all time.”
Delphine’s sharp intake of breath behind me, and Ulfrida’s wide-eyed expression of shock are just… so amazing. The Jarl of Windhelm works her jaw for a moment before throwing the unconscious Legate over towards Elisif, hard enough to splatter the former Jarl of Solitude, now demoted to Ulfrida’s slave bitch, with mud. Then, she glares up at me and a mostly naked Svanna.
“You would side with the Imperials over your own kin, Dragonborn?”
Svanna stays silent, as always, and lets me do the talking as I grin wickedly.
“Of course not. Svanna is the Dragonborn. She is, and always has been above your petty squabbling. The Dragonborn fully believes this Civil War to be pointless and costly beyond measure, and that the true threat is and always will be the dragons. Which is why she will become High-Queen of Skyrim, for neither side of this conflict can possibly be trusted with such authority.”
Everyone in the room is staring at me wide-eyed now. Because it works, if you accept all of the other bullshit I’ve set up. Svanna beats Ulfrida, and by extension comes to own all that Ulfrida owned… including Elisif. Which means, if you squint and tilt your head the right way, Svanna becomes High-Queen of Skyrim via winning a mud wrestling match.
… Okay, so it didn’t actually make a lick of sense. But that was sort of the point. Not just refuge in audacity, but refuge in ridiculousness. That was what I was going for here. I was having way too much fun just… absolutely ruining this world for mine and Svanna’s amusement.
I see the moment Jarl Ulfrida’s resolve hardens, her jaw clenching and her nostrils flaring. Caked in mud, the Jarl of Windhelm’s hands clench into fists as she nods decisively.
“I accept your-!”
“Wait! Jarl Ulfrida! You are tired. Name ME as your Champion!”
Delphine’s interruption draws all eyes to her, with Ulfrida’s brow furrowing as she frowns even harder.
“You think I need a Champion to do my fighting for me?”
“I think, good Jarl, that our enemies are one in the same… and giving them even the slightest opportunity to succeed at their goals would be a crying damn shame.”
I watch in amusement as Ulfrida stares at Delphine for a moment longer before her eyes widen in understanding, her gaze flickering to me and Svanna… and then to Elenwen. As far as the two blondes are concerned, they’ve just figured it all out. Before, Ulfrida accused me and Svanna of siding with the Imperials. Now, Delphine has all but declared that in actuality, we’re siding with the Thalmor.
Elenwen’s complete lack of reaction and expressionless face don’t help matters one bit. In truth, the First Emissary (who’s mind we mostly restored for this little charade) is shocked by this turn of events and horrified by the thought of the Civil War ending and Skyrim getting a Dragonborn High-Queen. It’s everything the Thalmor DON’T want to happen. But Ulfrida and Delphine don’t know about that, and by keeping her emotions from her face, she doesn’t give anything away, which only confirms their suspicions.
Ulfrida lets out an explosive sigh, before giving Delphine a nod.
“I name Delphine, Grandmaster of the Blades, as my Champion.”
Then, she climbs out of the Pit, even as Delphine hurriedly strips down to her birthday suit beside me. I watch as she and Svanna both climb down into the Pit, both wading through the mud. I also notice how Svanna wades through with much greater ease than Delphine and hide the grin that threatens to spread across my face. My Dragonborn might not have her super special enchanted armor… but she hasn’t needed it for a while now.
As the two fresh women face off from one another, on one side my short and lithe red-haired Dragonborn, and on the other the voluptuous but also chiseled form of the last living Blade, I clap my hands together with a smile.
“Very well then. The Dragonborn Svanna and the Blade Delphine, the former on behalf of herself and the latter on behalf of Jarl Ulfrida of Windhelm. This Mudcrab Wrestling Match will likely be the most important bout that has been witnessed in centuries in this land. Whoever wins here, will decide the next High-Queen of all of Skyrim. Truly, a momentous occasion.”
Heh, and it would all be decided by mud wrestling. Yeah, I definitely cracked myself up. Perhaps sensing my amusement, or just being an impatient cranky bitch, Delphine scowls up at me.
“Just get on with it already!”
Letting out a laugh, I shrug.
“Very well! Are you both ready?”
“Yes, for fuck’s sake!”
“… I am.”
Svanna’s words come out in a whisper, but flow through the room and rock every other woman on their feet. Eyes widen, as the Dragonborn’s voice carries the same thready power of the Dragons she’s fought. Delphine’s eyes widen, before narrowing in anger.
“It should have been someone else who became Dragonborn. Someone loyal and good!”
Svanna just cocks her head at the blonde. I choose that moment to clap my hands together.
“Begin!”
Unlike Ulfrida and Rikke, this fight is not what one would call fair. Oh, Svanna could just end it in a moment with the Voice, but she doesn’t do that. She doesn’t go the Ulfric-route… or rather, the Ulfrida-route in this world, I supposed. No, she goes hand to hand with Delphine, as expected. Only, the moment Delphine tries to put hands on Svanna, she realizes that she’s so thoroughly outmatched it’s not even funny.
Smaller and lither than every other woman in the room, Svanna might have been, but appearances could be deceiving, and you should never judge a book by it’s cover. Silly metaphors aside, Svanna grabs Delphine by the wrists, spins the Blade around, and uncaring of Delphine’s decades of combat experience as what was effectively a special ops organization in this high fantasy world, shoves her face first down into the mud.
Oh, Delphine tries to fight it. She really and truly does. But it’s a mortal woman trying to fight a Dragon. She fucking fails and fails hard. Everyone else watches in stunned silence as Delphine is forced beneath the mud and her mighty, violent, frantic struggling slowly but surely reduces down to nothing, until she goes limp in Svanna’s grasp.
Yanking her up, Svanna slaps Delphine across the face and the mud-covered Blade comes back to herself with a loud gasp… only to take the next punch right to the temple, and rock backwards, knocked unconscious in a single blow as she falls back onto the surface of the mud, effectively floating atop it with her limbs spread akimbo.
Standing over here, smirking triumphantly, Svanna sweeps her gaze around the room for a moment in the ensuing stunned silence, before focusing on me. I chuckle and shrug my shoulders.
“Well, there you have it folks. It would appear Skyrim has a new High-Queen. What is the first order of business, Your Majesty?”
Svanna smirks and does another sweep of the room… this time with every woman in it save for Elenwen, realizing the plain and simple truth. By right of the most ancient and revered, totally not made up tradition of Mudcrab Wrestling, Svanna didn’t just own Ulfrida and Delphine now… she owned Elisif and Rikke by extension, since Ulfrida in turn owned those two women. Both sides of the Civil War now answered to the Dragonborn, who had only one thing in mind.
“Orgy.”
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A/N: I forgot to post a chapter for this story yesterday, so you get two updates today. Make sure you read this one and the last!
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Internally, I’m laughing like a fucking hyena in the wake of Ulfrida’s declaration. She sounds so self-righteous about it, so sure of herself, so CONFIDENT. It’s hilarious, to say the least. But I can’t ruin it all by laughing like a maniac.
No, outwardly I remain as composed as ever, as everyone in the chamber reacts in their own way. Elenwen’s eyes widen slightly, before narrowing thoughtfully. Legate Rikke and Elisif both look taken aback and shocked, unsure of how to respond. And next to Ulfrida, Delphine of the Blades bites her lower lip, her eyes darting over to me and Svanna, suspicion filling them. And rightfully so.
With a sigh, I step forward and speak.
“As we all know, a Mudcrab Wrestling Challenge can only be issued by a Nord Woman. Jarl Ulfrida, you are of the Nords, yes?”
Straightening up in a manner that most definitely pushes her tits out, and lifting her nose into the air, Ulfrida nods.
“I am. My forefathers and their forefathers were Nords. I am as Nord as they come.”
I nod simply, before looking over at Elisif.
“Then, as the ancient traditions state, the Challenge cannot be denied without sacrifice. Jarl Elisif, do you understand your options?”
Shaken, still seated and looking rather… pale, Elisif swallows thickly and nods.
“I-I do.”
“Good. For those in the room who might not be familiar with this most ancient and revered Nordic Tradition, Jarl Elisif’s options are; thus, Either she accepts Jarl Ulfrida’s challenge, and they fight in the pit, or she refuses the challenge and gives up all claims to power and influence in all of Skyrim. Furthermore, while she does not have to submit herself to Jarl Ulfrida’s direct control if she refuses the challenge, she will be exiled from Skyrim, never allowed to step foot in the Province ever again for the rest of her days.”
Everyone nods along slowly, as if this just makes perfect common sense. Only Svanna isn’t taken in by the stream of pure, unadulterated bullshit coming out of my mouth. But then, out of everyone here, my lithe little Dragonborn is the only one in on the fun. She keeps her face relaxed and emotionless, but I can FEEL her amusement… she’s just as tickled pink by all of this as I am.
Silence has fallen in the chamber, as Ulfrida stares Elisif down, practically daring the other Jarl to accept the challenge. To be fair, everyone here knows what will happen if she does. Elisif will lose. There’s no doubt in anyone’s minds that, barring unforeseen divine intervention, Elisif doesn’t hold a candle to Ulfrida in either combat experience or physicality.
I COULD make this a case of David versus Goliath, and cheat to have Elisif win over Ulfrida… it would certainly be entertaining. But that’s not the plan, as it were. That’s not in the script for this little ridiculous mockery of Skyrim Customs and Traditions. Instead, I clear my throat before Elisif can decide whether or not abdicating her position and fleeing Skyrim altogether is best for her people and the Empire, over giving Ulfrida control over her and all of her subjects by losing the Mudcrab Wrestling Match.
“Ahem. Before you make your decision, Jarl Elisif, I do feel obligated, in the spirit of fairness, to remind you of one of the lesser known aspects of Mudcrab Wrestling. Namely, while the Challenger must always fight for themselves, the Challenged is allowed to name a Champion to fight in their stead.”
Elisif’s eyes widen at that, and Ulfrida frowns. Before either can respond, another voice calls out.
“I will fight on the Jarl’s behalf as her Champion!”
Legate Rikke steps forward, the Nordic Imperial Soldier glaring daggers at Ulfrida from across the table, leaving the Jarl of Windhelm looking put out for all of a moment, before a savage warrior’s smile spreads across her face.
“Hmph. Fine by me.”
I look over to Elisif and cock one eyebrow.
“Jarl Elisif. Do you accept Legate Rikke as your Champion?”
“Y-Yes… thank you, Legate.”
Rikke gives her a nod, while Elenwen looks amused, and Delphine continues to glare at me suspiciously. I spare one moment to give the Blade a broad smile, before getting back to business.
“Then let us adjourn… to the Pit!”
-x-X-x-
As everyone knows, every major hold and every place of power has a Mudcrab Wrestling Pit. Because of course they do. Even if all of the Greybeards of High Hrothgar are old men with… well, grey beards, even they have a mud pit, just in case some visiting female dignitaries need to settle their differences the old-fashioned way.
… Heh, I’m such a fucking bastard.
Regardless, none of the women are at all surprised, as I lead them over to High Hrothgar’s Mudcrab Wrestling Pit. It didn’t exist mere days ago, but now it looks like it’s always been there. Perks of having control of the story and reality itself, I supposed. Regardless, Ulfrida and Rikke quickly begin to strip naked, the two Nords removing their garments and handing them to their comrades, Delphine and Elisif respectively.
Once they’re completely nude, their tits bouncing all over the place, their muscles bulging as their hands clench into fists, the warrior women both descend into the pit, the mud coming up to their knees as they wade through it to stand across from one another. I spend a long moment, perhaps a bit too long, admiring their naked bodies, still pristine above the knee for the time being. After all, they’re both going to be COVERED in mud here in a second.
When they look up at me expectantly, I clap my hands together.
“Are our fighters ready?”
“Aye.”
“Ready!”
“Then… begin!”
I clap my hands together again, and neither Ulfrida nor Rikke hesitate. The Jarl and Legate lunge at each other, and a moment later are scrambling around in the mud like… well, like a pair of beautiful, naked women who I’ve completely and utterly tricked into mud wrestling for my amusement. The sight is highly arousing, not necessarily because of the physical nature of it, because mud isn’t all THAT sexy, but because I’m watching one of the most powerful women in the Empire get herself all nice and dirty for nothing, and it’s fucking hilarious.
At first, Ulfrida’s sheer ferocity seems like it’s giving her the advantage over the more disciplined Legate. After all, Mud Wrestling is not a refined soldier’s sport. No, it’s a bestial, savage sort of thing, and Ulfrida shows she understands as much, as she wrestles Rikke into the mud. However, Rikke isn’t just an Imperial Legate… she’s also a proud Nord in her own right and isn’t about to be outdone. She recovers quickly enough for my tastes, and I can tell we’ve got a real contest on our hands.
One might think I’d interfere here… but I won’t. Whoever ‘wins’ will win, and we’ll go from there. In the end, it doesn’t really matter who wins, given what the plan is. After all-
“Arch-Mage Vayral. I imagine you know who I am.”
I blink and then look to my side in amusement, where Delphine has sidled up to me. She’s watching the Wrestling Match just as I am but speaking out the side of her mouth to me. Chuckling softly, I respond after a moment’s thought.
“Oh? Certainly, full of yourself, aren’t you Delphine of the Blades?”
Scoffing, Delphine crosses her arms under her expansive chest.
“Hmph. Not really full of myself if I’m right, now, am I?”
Humming, I pretend to concede the point, even as I continue to watch Ulfrida and Rikke wrestle about for my amusement. Frankly, the only person getting even more out of this then Svanna or I is probably Elenwen. I hadn’t necessarily set out to make this so enjoyable for the Thalmor Ambassador, but it had turned out this way, hadn’t it? The Jarl and Legate’s wrestling was sort of an allegory for the entire Skyrim Civil War, wasn’t it? It was everything the Thalmor could have possibly wanted.
“Was there something you desired from me, my dear?”
“Not your dear. As for what I want from you… answers. I want answers. What are you planning? You’ve been one step ahead of me this entire time. By all accounts, you were at the Dragonborn’s side before she was even revealed as the Dragonborn. Tch, I thought for sure I’d be able to draw her to me eventually, but you steered her away at every turn for your Thalmor Masters. Surely you must know the threat is real. The Dragons are returned. If we keep playing games, we’re all dead, Thalmor and Nords alike.”
Wow, she really had a lot to get off her chest, didn’t she? I glance at Delphine again, radiating amusement that she picks up on, given how she bristles at my side.
“Playing games? We’re not here to play games, we’re here to end the conflict so we can focus on the true battle at hand.”
“You-!”
Delphine doesn’t get a chance to say anything more, because there’s a sudden roar of triumph from the pit down below, and a cry from off to the side. Jarl Ulfrida stands victorious, caked in mud, dripping with the stuff… as she holds an unconscious Legate Rikke just above the surface of the mud by her hair, having clearly knocked her unconscious. The cry from the side was from Elisif, who looks stricken at her Champion’s loss.
“I am the victor! Skyrim is mine! Skyrim belongs to the Nords!”
Elenwen looks alarmed, while Delphine has a moment of hope appear in her eyes… before Svanna suddenly stands up. As the silent Dragonborn begins removing her armor and underclothes to the surprise of everyone else in the chamber, I smile and step forward, speaking on her behalf.
“Jarl Ulfrida. Congratulations on your victory. The Dragonborn has issued her own challenge. She will face you in Mudcrab Wrestling, here and now… or you will have to surrender your titles and accept exile from the Province of Skyrim for all time.”
Delphine’s sharp intake of breath behind me, and Ulfrida’s wide-eyed expression of shock are just… so amazing. The Jarl of Windhelm works her jaw for a moment before throwing the unconscious Legate over towards Elisif, hard enough to splatter the former Jarl of Solitude, now demoted to Ulfrida’s slave bitch, with mud. Then, she glares up at me and a mostly naked Svanna.
“You would side with the Imperials over your own kin, Dragonborn?”
Svanna stays silent, as always, and lets me do the talking as I grin wickedly.
“Of course not. Svanna is the Dragonborn. She is, and always has been above your petty squabbling. The Dragonborn fully believes this Civil War to be pointless and costly beyond measure, and that the true threat is and always will be the dragons. Which is why she will become High-Queen of Skyrim, for neither side of this conflict can possibly be trusted with such authority.”
Everyone in the room is staring at me wide-eyed now. Because it works, if you accept all of the other bullshit I’ve set up. Svanna beats Ulfrida, and by extension comes to own all that Ulfrida owned… including Elisif. Which means, if you squint and tilt your head the right way, Svanna becomes High-Queen of Skyrim via winning a mud wrestling match.
… Okay, so it didn’t actually make a lick of sense. But that was sort of the point. Not just refuge in audacity, but refuge in ridiculousness. That was what I was going for here. I was having way too much fun just… absolutely ruining this world for mine and Svanna’s amusement.
I see the moment Jarl Ulfrida’s resolve hardens, her jaw clenching and her nostrils flaring. Caked in mud, the Jarl of Windhelm’s hands clench into fists as she nods decisively.
“I accept your-!”
“Wait! Jarl Ulfrida! You are tired. Name ME as your Champion!”
Delphine’s interruption draws all eyes to her, with Ulfrida’s brow furrowing as she frowns even harder.
“You think I need a Champion to do my fighting for me?”
“I think, good Jarl, that our enemies are one in the same… and giving them even the slightest opportunity to succeed at their goals would be a crying damn shame.”
I watch in amusement as Ulfrida stares at Delphine for a moment longer before her eyes widen in understanding, her gaze flickering to me and Svanna… and then to Elenwen. As far as the two blondes are concerned, they’ve just figured it all out. Before, Ulfrida accused me and Svanna of siding with the Imperials. Now, Delphine has all but declared that in actuality, we’re siding with the Thalmor.
Elenwen’s complete lack of reaction and expressionless face don’t help matters one bit. In truth, the First Emissary (who’s mind we mostly restored for this little charade) is shocked by this turn of events and horrified by the thought of the Civil War ending and Skyrim getting a Dragonborn High-Queen. It’s everything the Thalmor DON’T want to happen. But Ulfrida and Delphine don’t know about that, and by keeping her emotions from her face, she doesn’t give anything away, which only confirms their suspicions.
Ulfrida lets out an explosive sigh, before giving Delphine a nod.
“I name Delphine, Grandmaster of the Blades, as my Champion.”
Then, she climbs out of the Pit, even as Delphine hurriedly strips down to her birthday suit beside me. I watch as she and Svanna both climb down into the Pit, both wading through the mud. I also notice how Svanna wades through with much greater ease than Delphine and hide the grin that threatens to spread across my face. My Dragonborn might not have her super special enchanted armor… but she hasn’t needed it for a while now.
As the two fresh women face off from one another, on one side my short and lithe red-haired Dragonborn, and on the other the voluptuous but also chiseled form of the last living Blade, I clap my hands together with a smile.
“Very well then. The Dragonborn Svanna and the Blade Delphine, the former on behalf of herself and the latter on behalf of Jarl Ulfrida of Windhelm. This Mudcrab Wrestling Match will likely be the most important bout that has been witnessed in centuries in this land. Whoever wins here, will decide the next High-Queen of all of Skyrim. Truly, a momentous occasion.”
Heh, and it would all be decided by mud wrestling. Yeah, I definitely cracked myself up. Perhaps sensing my amusement, or just being an impatient cranky bitch, Delphine scowls up at me.
“Just get on with it already!”
Letting out a laugh, I shrug.
“Very well! Are you both ready?”
“Yes, for fuck’s sake!”
“… I am.”
Svanna’s words come out in a whisper, but flow through the room and rock every other woman on their feet. Eyes widen, as the Dragonborn’s voice carries the same thready power of the Dragons she’s fought. Delphine’s eyes widen, before narrowing in anger.
“It should have been someone else who became Dragonborn. Someone loyal and good!”
Svanna just cocks her head at the blonde. I choose that moment to clap my hands together.
“Begin!”
Unlike Ulfrida and Rikke, this fight is not what one would call fair. Oh, Svanna could just end it in a moment with the Voice, but she doesn’t do that. She doesn’t go the Ulfric-route… or rather, the Ulfrida-route in this world, I supposed. No, she goes hand to hand with Delphine, as expected. Only, the moment Delphine tries to put hands on Svanna, she realizes that she’s so thoroughly outmatched it’s not even funny.
Smaller and lither than every other woman in the room, Svanna might have been, but appearances could be deceiving, and you should never judge a book by it’s cover. Silly metaphors aside, Svanna grabs Delphine by the wrists, spins the Blade around, and uncaring of Delphine’s decades of combat experience as what was effectively a special ops organization in this high fantasy world, shoves her face first down into the mud.
Oh, Delphine tries to fight it. She really and truly does. But it’s a mortal woman trying to fight a Dragon. She fucking fails and fails hard. Everyone else watches in stunned silence as Delphine is forced beneath the mud and her mighty, violent, frantic struggling slowly but surely reduces down to nothing, until she goes limp in Svanna’s grasp.
Yanking her up, Svanna slaps Delphine across the face and the mud-covered Blade comes back to herself with a loud gasp… only to take the next punch right to the temple, and rock backwards, knocked unconscious in a single blow as she falls back onto the surface of the mud, effectively floating atop it with her limbs spread akimbo.
Standing over here, smirking triumphantly, Svanna sweeps her gaze around the room for a moment in the ensuing stunned silence, before focusing on me. I chuckle and shrug my shoulders.
“Well, there you have it folks. It would appear Skyrim has a new High-Queen. What is the first order of business, Your Majesty?”
Svanna smirks and does another sweep of the room… this time with every woman in it save for Elenwen, realizing the plain and simple truth. By right of the most ancient and revered, totally not made up tradition of Mudcrab Wrestling, Svanna didn’t just own Ulfrida and Delphine now… she owned Elisif and Rikke by extension, since Ulfrida in turn owned those two women. Both sides of the Civil War now answered to the Dragonborn, who had only one thing in mind.
“Orgy.”
-x-X-x-
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