A/N Hello, my beautiful, fabulous, and amazing readers! This is my first Stormcloak fanfiction, but I have plans to make this one of the longest stories I've ever written, so I hope you'll stick around for the journey! The times (in regards to how far apart certain events are) may be slightly off, and Ulfric's age and history will likely be a little different, simply for the sake of the story. Also, some of the information isn't available anywhere that I could find. That being said, if you see something that you know is wrong and can find a source for your information, please send it my way. I hope you enjoy the first chapter!
Drops of crimson splashed on silver, the color vibrant in the light of the moon. The image had a kind of twisted beauty, but Vara couldn't appreciate it. Not when it was her blood that stained the snow from silver to red. More drops of her life force splashed down from her wounded body to the snow below her and she stumbled, almost falling.
'Talos curse that snowbear!' she thought angrily. The thought reminded her of the attack, bringing her pain to the front of her mind. She cried out as her body burned in agony. Her numb hands felt blindly for the healing potion that should have been in the pouch she wore at her side. She found nothing. With a groan, she remembered that she had used the potion hours earlier in a feeble attempt to heal her most grievous wounds. Vara called upon her magika but managed only a weak pulse of healing light that faded as quickly as it had appeared.
The snowstorm picked up and as the wind blew stinging shards of ice into her torn and bleeding flesh, Vara realized that the only way she would survive was if she made it to the nearest city. She was close, she knew, but the storm blinded her, leaving her barely able to see her feet, much less the outline of a city.
Her foot caught on something, and before she could catch herself, she fell into the snow. The cold overwhelmed her senses, and for the briefest moment, she felt no pain. She was tempted to lie there forever and let the snow consume her, but her sense of self-preservation won out. She pushed herself onto her knees, leaving bloody handprints in the snow, and then stood. Her legs shook and she knew that they wouldn't be able to support her for much longer. She took one unsteady step and then another, slowly making her way through the frigid snow.
After what seemed like hours, but could only have been a few frozen minutes, Vara felt her booted foot hit the stone. The storm cleared for the briefest instant and she realized that she was now standing on the bridge to the city. Hope filled her and quickened her steps, although she had lost too much blood to move any faster than a shuffle. The wind seemed to force her back as if it had a personal vendetta against her. She pushed on. Inch by frozen inch she made her way to the large doors she knew stood at the end of the bridge.
Somehow she managed to make it to the doors. Her vision was swimming and her legs trembled so powerfully the entire world seemed to be shaking. She reached out for the handle of one of the doors and tugged with all her might. It would not open. Exhaustion, blood loss, and the freezing cold had robbed her of her strength. She opened her mouth to let out a despaired cry, but her body didn't even have the strength to do that. Her legs collapsed and she fell into the snow. The cold was all she knew before the darkness took her.
When Vara woke, she was warm. The frigid cold that had embraced her as she had lost consciousness was gone. Before she could wrap her mind around this miracle, another one presented herself. She slowly realized that she was lying in a bed with a warm blanket draped over her and a cloak that wasn't hers around her shoulders.
She looked around the small room that she was in. It was mostly bare, the walls decorated only with a few sconces to provide light and warmth and a single blue banner with the head of a bear. She was in Windhelm then. That was the city she had been trying to reach, but she hadn't been certain that she had made it. Her memories of what happened during the snowstorm were hazy at best. She did, however, remember her wounds.
Vara peeled back the blanket to examine the numerous cuts and gashes she knew she had collected, only to find them bandaged. Almost her entire right leg was bandaged as were both of her lower arms and hands. She could feel strips of cloth wrapping around her lower back as well.
Turning the blanket in her hands nervously, Vara pondered the many questions she had. Where in Windhelm was she? Who had cared for her? Why had they cared for her? What did they expect in return? How had they found her before she had frozen to death in the blizzard? Her questions didn't seem to have an end.
She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps in what she assumed was the hall outside of her door. Her ears, trained as they were, detected three people. From their footsteps, she tried to determine what kind of people they were. It was a trick that her father had taught her when she had been younger.
The first had a quick and light step and was likely not burdened by heavy weaponry or armor. A hunter, mage, or citizen perhaps. His feet were placed precisely; he had walked these halls many times. The second had loud footsteps that were almost violent in the way they fell. This was a man of war who marched forward and did not look back. The third person's step was a mix of the previous two, and yet something entirely different. His footsteps were heavy, but they were not loud. The fell with purpose. Vara could tell that this was a man who stood tall in his word and deed. His stride was confident and assured. Perhaps he was a prominent figure in Windhelm. Or maybe he was simply arrogant. That was as much as Vara was able to glean before the door to her room opened and the three men walked in.
As she had guessed, the first man was a mage. His features were worn and furrowed in what she suspected was a constant state of irritation. He immediately moved to one corner of the room where a small table stood and began to work. Vara wondered if he was the one that she had to thank for healing her. By this time, the other two men had walked in. One was a soldier dressed in furs and had a large battle ax strapped to his back. He was undoubtedly the man whose steps had fallen so heavily. The third man was different. He exuded confidence, from the stride she had heard a few seconds ago to the way he stood, as if he was the most important person in the room. His eyes swept over the small space and then landed on her. They were a startling grey. She met his gaze and held it for a few seconds before looking away, suddenly embarrassed at her current state. She pulled the blanket closer to her, hiding the many bandages that adorned her body.
Vara was saved from further awkwardness when the mage approached her, a goblet in his hand. "Here, drink up," he commanded as he handed her the goblet. Vara eyed the contents and swished them around for a brief moment. Once she was certain it was only a healing potion, she drained the goblet in a single swallow. Immediately, her wounds began to burn and tingle at the same time, a familiar sensation that came with the accelerated healing that magic provided.
"Thank you," Vara whispered as soon as the feeling subsided. Her voice was scratchy from lack of use. The mage only nodded dismissively and turned away, mumbling something about being a wizard, not a priest. Once the mage had moved, the other two men approached her, the soldier standing slightly in front of the other.
The soldier eyed her warily, trying to determine if she was a threat. He obviously decided that she wouldn't be a problem in her present state and moved back to the doorway. Vara wondered if the soldier was a guard for the other man who now stood by the side of her bed. Her thoughts were drawn away from the soldier and to the man at her side when he spoke, his voice deep and powerful.
"When I found you in the snow a few days ago, I wasn't sure your eyes would ever be opening again. It's good to see that Wuunferth was able to remedy that.". The mage, who Vara figured was Wuunferth, snorted softly in the corner and continued to measure out bandages.
Vara turned back to the man at her side. "Thank you both for saving my life, I am in your debt," she declared bowing her head to the man who had rescued her.
The man only nodded, and from that simple movement Vara could tell that this man was used to command and power. Who was he? Who had Vara indebted herself to?
Before she had a chance to ask her questions, Wuunferth approached the bed, bandages in hand. "Alright Jarl Ulfric, out you go, before you undo all of my hard work," Wuunferth ordered, not looking at the other two men as he helped Vara into a sitting position. The man at the door said something in a gruff voice, but Vara didn't hear it. Her mind was occupied trying the fact that Ulfric Stormcloak had saved her life.
Her brain was drawn back to the present with a sharp burst of pain as Wuunferth began to unwind the bandage around her lower back. She let out a hiss and clenched her hands into fists in the blanket. The mage said nothing, and continued to unwrap the bloodstained cloth. After an agonizing minute he finished, the red and white bandage now a crumpled ball at the side of her bed. Her breath was stolen once again when Wuunferth began to apply a cool paste to her wounds. A sigh escaped her involuntarily at the feeling, causing the mage to snort. A small part of Vara wondered if snorting was a second language to the man, but found herself too engrossed in the sudden soothing that had entered her lower back to ask. He finished up quickly and rewrapped the wound.
The process was repeated for each bandaged wound, and there were a frightening number of those. As Wuunferth worked, Vara let her mind drift, partially in an effort to ignore the pain, but mostly so that she could try and remember everything she knew about Ulfric Stormcloak. Her mind led her to one of her earliest memories.
Vara smiled as she walked through the streets of this unfamiliar city. Her father held her hand as her mother went to different stalls, bartering goods with the merchants. Her attention was drawn from wonder to another. There were so many people and sounds here! It was so different from the gentle quiet of the forest.
The crowd suddenly parted as a man and a child about her age walked into the market. A pair of guards stood on either side of them. "Father, who are they? Why are there soldiers?" Vara asked her father, looking up at him with curious eyes.
"Shh, Little Cub, that is the Jarl of WIndhelm and his son, Ulfric," her father answered in a respectful whisper. The pair passed them, and Vara's father bowed his head in respect, but Vara was focused on Ulfric. He seemed so serious. Maybe something bad had happened to him.
Vara drew herself from her memories. It was only later that she had realized that that day in the market had been Ulfric's last day in Windhelm before going to study with the Greybeards. Despite the way she and her family had lived, removed from the world, anytime they had gone into town, her mother had gotten all of the latest information. Looking back on it, Vara realized how strange her childhood had been. She had been separated from the world, and yet a part of it at the same time. Now she was fully involved in the world, whether she liked it or not.
Wuunferth finished rewrapping her last wound and moved away from her bed. "Thank you, Master Wuunferth," Vara said. She could tell from the way that the mage's hands had moved that he had done this for her more than once while she had been unconscious.
The man surprised Vara by giving a short chuckle, not a snort. "Please, it's Wuunferth. I don't need a title to show off my skills. If your one of those superstitious idiots we have in town, you could call me Wuunferth the Unliving."
Vara nodded. She had been raised to be respectful of everyone, no matter their status. "In that case, thank you, Wuunferth," she said with all sincerity.
"You're welcome," the mage replied with only a hint of the earlier irritation that Vara had heard in his voice. She had a feeling that that exasperation was always there, no matter what had happened.
Wuunferth cleaned up the room, removing all trace of the bloodied bandages and healing poultices. While he may have claimed not to be a healer, Vara had a feeling that the man knew more about the healing arts than he let on. Once he had finished, he turned back to Vara and fixed her with a stern look. "Don't you dare move from that bed until I say you can, or I'll give you a taste of another kind of magic you won't like. Also, don't exhaust yourself answering all of the questions Jarl Ulfric will have when he returns. I don't want to have to spend more time healing you simply because you won't let your body heal itself," Wuunferth ordered. His voice was stern, but Vara had a feeling that his bark was worse than his bite. Nevertheless, she nodded in understanding. Wuunferth snorted and shook his head before leaving the room.
Vara fell back onto the bed with a long sigh. She had been travelling to Windhelm even before the bear had attacked her, but she was wondering if that had been the correct move. So far, the Divines seemed to be telling her that this was all a very bad idea. After all, how often is it that a person falls asleep in a tree and wakes up with a snow bear trying to rip them to pieces? Vara sighed again and shook her head. She couldn't have stayed in the woods where she had lived anyway, no matter what ill omens she had received, not with what had happened too… 'No!' Vara shut that train of thought down forcefully, shoving the memories that threatened to emerge to the back of her mind. They were too painful, too fresh. It had been two years, but the pain made it feel like yesterday.
Unbidden, the image of fire rose to her mind. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she was suddenly glad that the men had left. She wiped her tears away, using the edge of the cloak that was laid across her shoulders. As she did, she wondered if the cloak belonged to one of the men who had been in the room earlier. Unsure about how she felt, but unwilling to move the cloak and sacrifice the warmth that it offered, she curled up and pulled the blanket over herself to ward off the cold. Her eyes drifted closed, and she fell asleep. Her last conscious thought was a quiet plea for a peaceful rest, although she doubted her memories would allow that.
A/N Thanks for reading. If you have any comments or sugestions, send them my way. I always read every comment on my stories.
I have a question for you all. On a scale from 0-10 (0 being the least amount) how much do you love Ulfric? Personaly, I'm at about a fifteen. I blame that deep voice of his.
