I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

"So this is your 'heroism,' Ibnor? Deceit and manipulation?" Ulfric cursed, his voice thick with rage. "Damn you, is there no end to your trickery? You disgust me."

Ibnor shook his head, a hint of weariness in his eyes. 

"Honor is it? Isn't that exactly what I'm offering? The duel is a chance of legitimacy, for both of us. Touch your heart and I dare you to deny this. Ask your conscience, you and I both know why things escalated to this point when it need not to be."

"Terms, Ibnor," Ulfric's voice strained, coming out of his clenched jaw . "What are they?"

"The inability to continue the duel. Be it loss of consciousness or… Death. And of course, a surrender is considered as one." Ibnor's voice was calm, almost detached.

"And the one that came on top?" 

"Takes everything the loser owns. His forces, his hold and even their… Life."

"You mock me! Is this your 'honor'? To humiliate me before all of Skyrim?" Ulfric's knuckles were white, his fists trembling.

"Humiliate?" Ibnor countered, his eyes meeting Ulfric's. "You are wrong, Ulfric. This is my recognition of you. You are lost in your own rage, but you are still a force. The Thalmor are looming on the horizon, and I need every shield I can find. You are a charismatic leader, a good commander, and an excellent fighter. You have proven that you are a true son of Skyrim. I need your strength, not your submission. And someone to keep me honest." 

A heavy silence descended upon the hall. The Jarls, including Ulfric, were taken aback by Ibnor's unexpected words. They hadn't expected such a high opinion of Ulfric from him.

"So be it. When and where?" Ulfric looked at Ibnor, his eyes searching. 

"It matter not to me," Ibnor replied, his voice nonchalant. "If you so wish, even now is acceptable."

The Jarls shifted, subconsciously grouping themselves according to their allegiances. It was a stark visual representation of the power dynamic: Ibnor and his loyalists on one side, Ulfric and his dwindling faction on the other.

"I confess, King Ibnor, I'm not quite sure how to address you now." Balgruuf, attempting to inject a touch of levity into the tense atmosphere, chuckled. 

The other Jarls murmured their agreement, a mix of amusement and unease in their voices.

Ibnor smiled, his eyes sweeping across the group. 

"My friends, we will have ample time for such pleasantries after the duel."

"King Ibnor, please, be careful. Ulfric's Shouts… they are a formidable weapon. It was that unique ability of his that caused the fall of my late husband." Elisif, her voice laced with concern, stepped forward. 

A small, involuntary laugh escaped Balgruuf's lips, accompanied by a subtle shake of his head, as if dismissing a minor worry. The sharp silence that followed made him realize his reaction might be misconstrued. His ears flushed crimson as he stammered an apology, particularly directed towards Elisif.

"Queen Elisif, I… I meant no disrespect towards the late King Torygg. It's just… if we're speaking of 'special abilities,' King Ibnor is not behind anyone. He masters Shouts as if he were the Dragonborn himself."

"He does? Why did you not showcase this ability during the battle for Solitude?" Elisif's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in her expression. 

"The doors have eyes, and the walls have ears, Queen Elisif." Ibnor smiled, a hint of mystery in his eyes. 

"You are truly a man of great intellect, King Ibnor." Elisif, clearly impressed by his prudence, smiled back, her admiration evident. 

Ibnor, momentarily mesmerized by her beauty, was snapped out of his reverie by Balgruuf's theatrical cough. 

"Ahem. King Ibnor, while I understand the allure of admiring… 'flowers,' this is hardly the time."

"I'm not like you old goat, I am spoken for. " Ibnor, regaining his composure, chuckled. 

"It's not exactly rare for a king to have multiple spouses," Balgruuf muttered, but still heard by Elisif, making blush creep up her neck.

Ulfric remained silent, his expression unreadable. No one dared to guess the thoughts swirling within his mind. Thongvor, on the other hand, attempted to curry favor with Ulfric by subtly undermining Ibnor. 

"That… upstart King, with his tricks and—"

Ulfric's sharp glare cut him short, silencing him mid-sentence.

"What do you want to do, Ulfric?" Galmar Stone-Fist, his gruff voice laced with concern, asked.

"There is nothing to do," Ulfric replied, his voice weary. "Might as well get this over with." 

He seemed to have aged years in the span of a few moments. Ulfric turned to Ibnor. 

"If the Greybeards permit, I wish to settle this now."

Ibnor turned to Arngeir, who nodded solemnly. The Greybeard then led them behind the monastery, to an open plateau overlooking the windswept peaks.

Ibnor and Ulfric took their places in the designated area, a circle of worn stone amidst the windswept plateau. Since they had ascended High Hrothgar without any weapons, the duel was determined to be an unarmed contest, a test of skill and raw power.

Arngeir stepped forward, his ancient eyes scanning the two combatants. His voice, resonant and clear, cut through the biting wind. 

"This duel, as agreed, shall be an unarmed contest. The terms are simple: fight until one of you is unable to continue. Surrendering, unconsciousness or death.The loser forfeit everything." He paused, his gaze lingering on Ulfric. 

"Do you agree, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"I agree." Ulfric, his jaw set, nodded curtly. 

"And you, King Ibnor?" Arngeir turned to Ibnor. 

"I agree," Ibnor replied, his voice calm and steady.

"Then let the Jarls assembled here be witnesses to this contest," Arngeir declared. "Let the duel begin."

"I will not yield." Ulfric spoke, his voice laced with grim determination. 

"Give me your all, Ulfric. Try as you may, nothing will change the outcome." Ibnor replied. 

Ulfric roared, a primitive, guttural sound ripped from his throat, and lunged forward. He swung a devastating overhand strike aimed straight for Ibnor's head, his right arm filled with raw power. But Ibnor was already moving, his arm flashing up, immediately deflecting the blow aside with a sharp, angled parry.

The sheer force of the deflection momentarily threw Ulfric off balance. There is a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it is quickly consumed by his re-ignited fury. He recovered with a snarl, unleashing a frenzied flurry of wild, powerful punches, each one stronger and faster than the previous, as if fueled by his escalating rage. Ibnor met each assault with a calm expression, his body weaving and shifting, blocking and parrying with minimal, fluid movements, an antithesis to Ulfric's brutal, untamed strength.

With a grunt of exertion, Ulfric drove a powerful front kick at Ibnor's midsection. Ibnor, anticipating the move, dodged by spinning to the side. As he completed his turn, his elbow shot back, connecting with a sharp, sickening thud against the back of Ulfric's head. The Stormcloak leader stumbled, his assault momentarily disrupted, but incredibly, he merely shook his head, shrugging off the blow as if nothing happened.

A tense standoff settled between them. Ulfric halted, his broad chest heaving as he fought to reclaim his breath, his guard remaining stubbornly high. Seeing Ulfric's momentary pause, Ibnor decided to press the advantage. As he stepped forward to engage, Ulfric launched another heavy kick. Ibnor reacted instantly, his left leg snapping up, blocking the heavy boot with his shin. The impact reverberated, a dull, bone-jarring thud, but Ibnor remained unshaken. As his leg dropped, he unleashed a swift, crisp one-two combination, followed immediately by a devastating, gut-wrenching liver blow.

Ulfric staggered, a ragged gasp escaping his lips, but his innate fury surged, a burning tide pushing through the pain. He lunged, attempting a desperate bear hug, aiming to crush Ibnor with his strength. Ibnor's hands shot out, catching Ulfric's wrists before the embrace could close. With a grunt, he used Ulfric's own desperate momentum against him, twisting and pulling until the larger man was hurled unceremoniously to the unforgiving stone floor with a heavy, dull impact.

Ulfric scrambled to his feet, a primal roar tearing from him as he charged again, like an enraged bull. Ibnor met him head-on, stepping directly into the charge. He seized control of Ulfric, neck with one hand and his wrist with the other, and simultaneously delivered a brutal knee to the solar plexus. Ulfric gasped, the breath knocked from his lungs, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Ibnor didn't let up as he felt it's time to end the fight.

Another knee connected with the gut, followed by another crushing liver blow that sent a fresh wave of agony through the Jarl. Finally, a sharp, powerful uppercut snapped Ulfric's head back. The big Nord warrior's eyes rolled up, his body going limp, and he collapsed on the ground, knocked out cold.

The hall is silent, the only sound is the heavy breathing of the two combatants. Ibnor stands over Ulfric, his expression calm, almost detached.

"See to Jarl Ulfric. Have him taken inside and tended to. The Moot will reconvene when he's able." Ibnor gestured to Galmar Stone-Fist. 

Galmar only nodded with a grim face and, with the help of a few others, carefully lifted the fallen Jarl. Time seemed to stretch, an unsettling quiet hanging over the plateau as they waited.

Inside the room where Ulfric was recovering, he opened his eyes, and with a sudden burst of energy, sat bolt upright. His gaze darted around the room, taking in his surroundings, and then landed on Galmar. The memory of the duel, the swift, decisive blows, and his own humiliating defeat crashed down on him. A flicker of disbelief, then resignation, crossed his face. He had lost.

Galmar, who had been hovering nearby, rushed to his side, his face etched with concern.

For a moment, Ulfric simply stared ahead, lost in his thoughts. A maelstrom of emotions raging within him: humiliation, anger, regret. His spirit, once so indomitable, seemed broken. His pride, once a blazing fire, was now a smoldering ember. His ego, once inflated with ambition, was now utterly flattened. Finally, he let out a long, heavy sigh, a sound that spoke volumes of his inner turmoil.

Galmar stepped forward, an attempt at consolation forming on his lips. But Ulfric raised a hand, cutting him off.

Ulfric turned to Galmar, his voice devoid of its usual fire. 

"Let's be honest, Galmar. He held back. And I? I failed to give him a proper fight. In my arrogance, I gave him free rein."

"Should we continue… with the… Moot?" Galmar asked, after a moment of silence. 

Ulfric, with a heavy sigh, stood up.

They walked together, with Ulfric unconsciously stepping slower than usual, back into the hall where the Jarls waited. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and lingering tension. The Jarls were seated around the ancient stone table, each lost in their own thoughts. 

The heavy silence was broken only by the creak of the massive door as it swung open, revealing Ulfric. He wearily walked inside the room, with Galmar following him close behind and took his seat without uttering a word.

The Jarls reacted in their own ways.

"A renowned warrior has fallen today. It is a sad sight. Despite our... differences, I hope you find the strength to recover, Ulfric." Balgruuf thought.

"Why this pointless war? I had hoped he would see reason, end his rebellion, and spare Skyrim further bloodshed. Now, seeing him broken and defeated, I feel no hatred, only a profound pity." Elisif's gaze lingered on Ulfric, the man who had slain her late husband. 

Many would have expected her to harbor hatred, but she truly didn't.

"What opportunities will this present?" Maven Black-Briar mused. "If Windhelm were to somehow become vacant, I have plans to expand my influence. Its docks… they will be mine."

Maven Black-Briar, her eyes gleaming with predatory interest, watched Ulfric with calculating intensity. 

"My visions… they were wrong. Originally, only two paths, now… " Idgrod Ravencrone closed her eyes, attempting to decipher the fragmented visions that flickered within her mind.

The day's events had thrown her precognitions into disarray. Originally, her visions had shown only two possible outcomes: Imperial victory or Stormcloak triumph. But now, the threads of fate seemed to have twisted into an unforeseen pattern. She wondered what new destinies awaited Skyrim, and how they would affect her own path.

"Everything changed. Whatever I know, or thought I knew has been twisted, shattered. Pulled inside out, flipped upside down," Korir mused.

He pondered his own shifting perspective. Everything he thought he knew had been challenged: the nature of magic, the motives of the elves, the conflict between the Stormcloaks and the Empire, and the unexpected twists of the current situation. At the center of it all stood Ibnor, a man who had repeatedly defied expectations. His words and actions had reshaped Kohrir's understanding of the world, consistently delivering results that were, more often than not, unthinkable.

"This is… unexpected. Perhaps I was too hasty in my allegiance. Ulfric is broken, a husk. Ibnor, however… he clearly holds the reins. If I play my cards right, I could still salvage this. Perhaps a well-placed word, a show of loyalty… yes, that's it. I must prove my… unwavering support for the new… order." Thongvor, his eyes darting between Ulfric and Ibnor, thought. 

"Now that everyone is here, the moot will resume." Arngeir, his voice resonating through the hall, made a brief opening, resuming the Moot. 

"For starters, does King Ibnor have any further… announcements he wishes to make?"

Ibnor stood, his gaze sweeping across the assembled Jarls. 

"The civil war has ended. Let us savor this brief peace, for a greater challenge awaits us. We must prepare for the trials ahead. A united Skyrim will be strong, yes, but I envision more than mere strength. I dream of a Skyrim that transcends its current limitations. A land of prosperity, a Skyrim that thrives, a beacon, not no longer a mere backwater in the North. To realize this vision, to build this future, I cannot accept the constraints of the old governance. So I have decided to cast off the shackles of outdated governance, to reshape it into a governance system that is efficient, adaptable, and forward-thinking."

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

"Therefore, I hereby declare the secession of Dawnstar from the Nine Holds. Dawnstar will operate independently from this point forward. You are free to elect a High King or pursue any course you deem appropriate, but Dawnstar will not be subject to your decisions. As it is essential for the realization of my vision, Dawnstar will henceforth operate as a sovereign entity."

"King Ibnor, what does this secession mean? Are you planning another war, replacing the Civil War with your own conquest?" Elisif, her brow furrowed, asked.

"Nonsense, Queen Elisif. We have far greater concerns to attend to." Ibnor's tone was light, almost teasing. Then, his eyes hardened, and he turned to Ulfric, adding, "But let's entertain a hypothetical, if I did so wish... could any of you stop me?"

"What of our alliance, KingIbnor? Is it broken?" Balgruuf, his voice laced with concern, asked. 

"Can you not see?" Ibnor replied, his tone softened. "Dawnstar's secession addresses two interwoven purposes. Primarily, my vision requires absolute authority. As they say, a single mound cannot contain two dragons. Therefore, to ensure no coercion, this secession also allows you to retain your current status and authority. This is because, by extension of the primary reason, if you wish to join my endeavor, you must relinquish that authority."

"Now that war is concluded, and to respect Dawnstar's independent status, our previous alliance will transition to a purely economic partnership, encompassing trade and cooperative agreements."

"So, in the end… Is that it?" Ulfric, his voice tight with suppressed rage, finally broke the silence. 

"It is." Ibnor answered, his tone flat.

"Then, by the divines, why this charade? Why must you repeatedly trample on our honor? All the planning, all the schemes, all the preparations… even the duel! What, in the name of Talos, is the meaning of all this?" Ulfric roared, a tremor of desperation underlying his fury. 

"Meaning?" Ibnor scoffed, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "No meaning at all. I've said earlier. I'm only here because of the invitation, and that's it. The announcement of Dawnstar's independence is simply… a convenience. You could even call it… being at the right time in the right place." 

"You!" Ulfric sputtered, his face flushed, words failing him.

"Let's be clear, Stormcloak. It is neither a suggestion nor a request. From now on, Dawnstar is a sovereign hold, that's it." Ibnor said, his voice hard as steel. 

"For all your lofty pronouncements, you are just another man consumed by the lust for power! You know the Thalmor's shadow lengthens, yet you sunder us, repeating the Empire's very folly!" Ulfric shouted, a note of pleading creeping into his voice.

"Am I? I'll admit, I desire to rule. But there are distinctions between us, Ulfric. Even if I stood alone against the Thalmor, I would face them. My claims, you call them baseless. Yet, time and time again, against your accusation, I have demonstrated my capabilities. I do not merely speak, I deliver results. But you, can you truly achieve what you claim? You couldn't even stand against me unarmed, what makes you so certain you can drive back the Thalmor's legions?" Ibnor retorted, his voice dripping with condescension.

Ibnor took one final look at everyone present.

"It's best that I take my leave here. I believe I have overstayed my welcome. Despite what had transpired, I thank you for inviting me." Ibnor said, before putting a fist over his chest. "Regardless, if you would attend the coronation ceremony, it would be my honor."

Ibnor walked away and left the room.

Meanwhile in Dawnstar, the harbor is bustling with activity. Inside the newly fortified keep, a tense meeting was underway.

"What?" Delphine asked, her voice incredulous, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Did I hear that correctly?" Illia added, her tone equally shocked.

General Tullius, his expression calm but firm, reminded them. 

"Keep your composure, both of you. This is not the time for outbursts."

Delphine, her frustration evident, turned to Tullius. 

"General, you knew the King's plan? Why didn't you stop him? Why did you allow this... recklessness?"

Tullius looked at Delphine, his gaze steady. 

"Really, Delphine? You expect me to stop His Majesty? Ibnor, himself? Didn't you already know what kind of men we serve?"

Illia, her voice laced with concern, raised another point. 

"But what if the plan derails? What if—"

"Trust me. This plan is… fine. It will work." Tullius cut her off, his tone reassuring. 

Delphine, however, remained unconvinced. 

"Even so, what can a small group of King's Blades possibly do? What if Ulfric, in his wounded pride, loses his mind and declares an all-out war? This secession could ignite another conflict, a much larger one."

"I assure you, Delphine. The plan is sound. It was tailored specifically for this situation. It will work." Tullius, his gaze unwavering, reiterated, 

Back in High Hrothgar, the atmosphere remained heavy and tense. Arngeir, his voice calm but firm, addressed the assembled Jarls. 

"Now the situation has taken a turn, How do you wish to proceed? Do you wish to resume the Moot, or do you have other matters to discuss?"

"I see little point in continuing. Our priorities have shifted. We must now consider how to navigate this… new reality." Balgruuf sighed. 

"Despite Dawnstar's secession, it is a small mercy that they are not our enemies." Elisif added.

"Yet." Thongvor interjected, "They are not our enemies yet. Ibnor is nothing more than a lawless, war-mongering savage."

"Why did you not voice these sentiments when he stood before us, Thongvor? We do not wish to be drawn into another conflict. If Ibnor chooses to attack Markarth, you will be on your own." Idgrod Ravencrone, her eyes open and piercing, turned to Thongvor. 

"Dawnstar may be small, but its might is not to be underestimated." Kohrir added.

Thongvor choked on his own words, his face flushing. The other Jarls turned their attention to Ulfric, who had remained silent until now.

Ulfric, noticing the collective gaze, spoke, his voice heavy with reluctant respect. 

"It is as he said. He laid all his cards on the table. He demonstrated his capabilities, his military might, and this… 'new governance.' As much as I hate to admit it, Ibnor is indeed a force to be reckoned with, even simply on his own."

"The Moot is over. We should all return to our holds and consider how to proceed." Ulfric, his voice heavy with resignation, declared. 

He turned and left, his footsteps echoing through the ancient halls. One by one, the Jarls followed, their expressions a mixture of concern and uncertainty. 

During their descent from High Hrothgar, 

"What do you think, Legate?" Elisif turned to Rikke, her brow furrowed.

"General." Rikke's response was a single, decisive word. 

"Pardon?" Elisif was taken aback, her confusion evident. 

"I am no longer a Legate of the Imperials, but a General of Dawnstar." Rikke explained, her voice firm. 

"How did he manage to turn someone like you, so loyal to the Empire, into such a devoted follower?" Elisif was fascinated, her curiosity piqued. She paused, then corrected herself. 

"General Rikke, then. How do we proceed?"

"It is ultimately your decision, Jarl Elisif." Rikke paused, her gaze distant for a moment, then continued hesitantly. "But… under his banner, I believe we will prevail."