Borgas, the Fool-King

Old King Borgas had a dream, a dream in Winterhold he dreamed. He dreamed a great Dragon flew down to where he stood, a Dragon fierce of Tongue and black of wing. It Spoke. “Ho ha ho! O Borgas-King, ruler of the little land-that-was-once-my-kin’s, why are you abed? You must away, away to crush the little not-men who live in the deep woods that lie beyond your Alessia’s jungled realm! For they are the last threat to the Order you swore to support, and once they are gone, there will be peace, and your kin shall rule all of this land!”

So King Borgas rose from his bed, and prepared for war. He marched south, past the great hill where sat Jorrvaskr, home of the great Companions of Ysgramor, Borgas’ kin-father. Borgas supped with the noble warriors who dwelt there, and arose the next morning, intent on crossing the Great Mountains down into the jungled south. But before he could leave, a Man, fair of hair, but worn and haggard, ran up to him.

He Spoke: “Borgas, King of Skyrim, do not pursue this foolishness! For as I am, you shall be worse! Stay, do not invoke the wrath of these Elves, for you will be Hunted down and ended! Heed my words!”

But Borgas thought of the words of the Dragon, and said “Ho ha ho! Who are you to question my will? If I shall go South, as I will, it is not I who shall be Hunted, but the Elf-kin who make trouble for the Cyrodiils in their land! Stand aside, you wretched villain, or I’ll have you strung up by your legs and kept imprisoned!” And the King and his army rode on.

They reached the pass southward, the way through the Mountains. There, they were met by a she-Wolf. She too Spoke, with the voice of a maiden fair. “O Borgas, King of these people, do not go south! Only death awaits you and your kin! You will be Hunted to the ends of this world, and not one of your line will survive it! Take pity on the lives of your kin and return to the snow-bound palace of your fathers!”

But Borgas again thought of the words of the Dragon, and scorned the she-Wolf. He said “Ho ha ho! Who are you, fool Wolf, to question a king of men? For I am a Tongue, strong and proud! I am of the line of Ysgramor, and I shall not fail! Away from me, I say, away! Leave us be, or I shall wear your fur as a cloak!” And the King and his army rode on.

They reached the great Tower White-Gold, where there others of the Order of Alessia were gathered. King Borgas told them of his plan, and of his dream of the mighty Dragon, and they agreed that it was a sign of his divinely-given victory. They stayed in the City there for a fortnight, and set out for the borders of the jungled land of Cyrodiil. As they stepped out of the jungles, an old Fox, fur streaked with silver, called out to the King. He spoke. “Borgas! King over men from distant lands! Turn back, for the Hunt shall soon be upon you! Leave while you and your line still may, for I tell you, the forests of Valenwood will be your doom. Your land will be torn asunder! Turn back, you Fool-hearted King, turn back!”

But Borgas again thought of the words of the Dragon, and scorned the Fox. He said, “Ho ha ho! Who are you, cowardly little Fox, to speak to me of fate? For I am fated to crush these tree-dwelling Elves beneath my boots, and your portents of doom will not dissuade me! Away from me, I say, away!”

But the Fox Spoke again. “You have made your choice then. Fool-King Borgas, and by my whiskers, your lands shall be rent by War. Your heirs will be struck down, and the line of Ysgramor shall be Hunted down to the last, even to the bastards hidden from all knowledge. The land is rent from you, and your people shall go their own way. But you, fool that you are, shall not enter into My realm. You may keep your crown of power for a time, till one more worthy than you takes it again. Go now to your doom.” And the Fox ran up, and bit the King.

Borgas drew a knife and killed the Fox. His men quaked with fear, but he roused them with strong Voice, and they went onward.

But the words of the Fox were a dire foretelling, for the Elves of Valenwood they did not find. Instead, a horde of beasts, beasts more fearsome and terrible than any could imagine, charged out at the King and his army from the forests. Borgas was struck down, and he breathed his last under the boughs of a mighty oak tree. His generals ordered a retreat, and his body was rushed off of the field.

The dead were many, for the Wild Hunt of the Bosmer spared none, and only those quick enough to escape did so. All the King’s sons fell in that terrible rout, and the King was quickly buried in a grand tomb he had prepared for himself. Fearing the words of the Fox, the men left the Jagged Crown of Ysgramor’s line with him, his eternal keepsake. They sealed that place, and forgot about the Fool-King, King Borgas, for kinsman fought against kinsman in a bitter war for the Throne of Ysgramor.

Guard well against foolishness, youth of noble Skyrim, for it can bring down timeless lines more powerful than even the Dragons of old. Its wiles can destroy a seasoned warrior even as a plains-cat may a deer. Take heed from the life of old King Borgas, and live better than he.