The Trial of Ulfric Stormcloak

From the journal of Rufinus Salutio, Imperial trader in the Aldmeri Dominion.

Here in Haven, in the south of Valenwood, it is difficult to get news from the rest of Tamriel. We are deep in Dominion territory, and after the Great War humans such as me and my fellow merchants are viewed with suspicion, if not outright hostility, no matter the fake smiles of our Thalmor hosts. So when a newcomer arrives with fresh news to our small community of expats, it is always a matter of celebration. However, with heightened political tensions and a lack of reliable sources, controversies and fights are common.

Take, for example, what happened the other day. A scholar had come from the Imperial City, a stuffy Breton called Margot Foucher. I invited her to the nearest tavern and we talked about the most recent political events.

“What is the word from Skyrim?”, I asked. “I heard there was some kind of civil war up there”.

“No one knows for sure”, lady Foucher answered. “Some people say that the Legion defeated the rebels and that the jarl of Windhelm was executed for his crimes. Others say that it’s the opposite, that the rebels won and declared independence, but that the Empire is censoring the news. And there are others who suggest that there’s been a momentary truce, but that the war is still going on. If you believe the tales some Nords are telling, Alduin the World-Eater and Ysmir, the Dragon of the North, have returned to battle until the end of times! Honestly, getting any accurate account is impossible right now”.

A coarse voice interrupted us.

“Ha! You milk-drinkers and your obsession with ‘accuracy’. You know nothing, little scholar”.

The fellow who had talked was a Nord mercenary who I had not met before. Perhaps a hireling that had arrived with the last caravan. He had drunk too much and his face was red. Bad news. However, far from being scared, lady Foucher faced the warrior with a scowl on her face.

“Sorry? I’m a professor at the Imperial University. Surely I know one thing or two about how to choose my sources. I doubt that someone schooled in that unreliable Nordic oral tradition would understand what...”

“Do not mock the tales of my ancestors!”, the Nord shouted. “Do you want to know what really happened to Ulfric Stormcloak, the High King of Skyrim? Do you? Then, let me tell you the tale of the trial at the Imperial City. All of you! Come here and listen”.

Before lady Foucher could protest, the mercenary started his tale.

According to him, Ulfric Stormcloak had not been executed, nor was he reigning in the lands of the north. Thanks to a traitorous plot, Imperial forces had captured him and brought him to the capital, to stand trial before the Emperor and the other dignitaries of Cyrodiil.

“There they were, the cowards who betrayed Talos, smiling, confident in their superiority, side by side with the ambassadors of the Thalmor and their Justiciars”, the Nord continued. By that time, half the tavern’s regulars were around him, listening closely. His voice had an almost hypnotic quality. “But was Ulfric scared? No, for he was a true son of Skyrim. The ghost of Ysgramor was with him, cursing the bloodlines of every judge until their descendants in five hundred years felt the ice claws of destiny. And when it was his turn to speak, he shouted: ‘I AM TALOS COME!’. And the palace of the emperors was shattered”.

“Nothing like that has ever happened!”, lady Foucher complained. To her astonishment, several of the listeners urged her to remain silent.

The Nord went on to explain how a thousand imperial guards and three Legions were sent against Ulfric. Unimpressed, the high king shouted three syllables in the language of dragons, and added the royalty that Talos himself whispered into his ear. With that, the very doors of Sovngarde opened in the heart of Cyrodiil and the heroes of ages past crushed the opposition until there was no Imperial alive. Ulfric Stormcloak cut off the Emperor’s head for his treason against the Gods of Men and stepped into the portal, but not before he faced the envoys of the Thalmor.

“He told them: ‘I cannot kill you, for your final punishment is not yet to come. But as High King of the Children of the Sky, I curse you for your many crimes, past, present and future. As Orkey stole the years of my people, now I take away yours. Begone! Destiny awaits and not even the gods can save you!’. And the ambassadors of the Dominion and all the sons and daughters of the Altmer in the world became old and decrepit”.

The regulars at the tavern applauded the storyteller, but I could see that Margot Foucher was not happy.

“That’s a bunch of lies!”, she shouted. “I’ve been living in the Imperial City all my life and I’ve never heard of any of that happening. Don’t you think everyone would have noticed if suddenly a Nord king had blown up the Imperial palace?”.

The mercenary shrugged.

“It happened at night, and the palace was rebuilt very quickly”, he said.

“And the Altmer getting old overnight? That’s not something you can cover up!”.

“Ah, that. The Thalmor used Dawn Magicks to turn back time and rewrite their past. They did something similar during the Void Nights, but the cats knew the Secrets of the Moons and were not so easily changed”.

Lady Foucher facepalmed. The Nord smiled and invited her to a drink in a gesture of goodwill, but she refused. She wanted to get out, otherwise she felt she could cause a scene. Before we departed, the Nord came to us one more time.

“Sometimes, a good story is more real than a bad fact. Don't forget that”, he said.

The day after, I looked for the talkative mercenary, but nobody could remember who had hired him, when he had come or where he was staying. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. The only thing I managed to find out was his name.

“Wulf”, the bartender told me. “He said his name was Wulf”.