A stone floor and wooden walls mark the boundaries of the small room. It is decorated with a lone wooden table and a small bench. The few, plain furnishings indicate that this room has no grand purpose. But Alesky walks into this room with determination and purpose. She sways slightly on her feet while she unbuckles her armor, placing each piece gently on the bench. The shirt and breeches beneath the armor, however, are dropped in a messy heap on the floor. Her fit and muscular form is exposed to the chill air. Most buildings never reach being fully warm during winter in the harsh northern area of Skyrim.
She glances around the room in search of her goal, and a few moments later a groan of ecstasy tinged with a hint of discomfort escapes her lips.
"Ooooohhhh, yeeessss," Alesky purrs as she lowers her bruised and battered body into the steaming bath tub. There are a few small cuts that sting in the water, but the warmth feels wonderful to her aching muscles. She leans her head back on the rim of the large copper basin and closes her eyes.
The last of her adrenaline leaves her and fatigue begins to settle in. She slips into sleep, and begins slipping under the water. She inhales, the sort of breath that is light from slumber, and is startled awake by water in her nose and throat.
Alesky bolts upright and thrashes her limbs to grasp desperately at the walls of the tub to make sure she stays that way. Her wild motions have jostled her cracked ribs and fresh bruises. Alesky decides she had better clean up now and rest in bed.
Away from the threat of drowning.
It is late at night, although some could argue that it is early in the morning. The halls are empty but for one sleepy guard outside of the wooden door to her bedroom. She doesn't seem to notice Alesky passing wrapped only in a towel. Alesky quietly closes the door behind her, then turns to tiptoe silently across the large room that is dimly lit by a dying fire.
This room is certainly made to be grand. The carved stone pillars, the large fireplace, and the large windows in the high ceiling in the center of the room all point to its importance. Even the bed is on a raised platform. While she walks, her blonde hair drips beads of water onto her shoulders, the back of her neck, and the floor. She casts a glance over her shoulder, then drops the towel to the floor, and smiles softly.
Ulfric Stormcloak is asleep in their bed. He is sprawled on his back on top of the blankets, and there is nothing more than breeches and a thinning, knitted sweater between him and the cold air. They are both Nords, but Ulfric somehow manages to be even nordlier than most Nords. Alesky shivers briefly, stifles a yawn, then pulls a plain blue dress over her head. The soft fabric settles onto her body to hang a little loosely, but that is how she prefers to sleep: nothing touching her too tightly.
Alesky pauses at the edge of the bed to watch Ulfric breathe slowly. She cherishes these moments when he is totally calm and relaxed. She takes every opportunity to bring more of those moments to him while he is awake, and not to interrupt his rest. She considers finding somewhere else to sleep, but gets hit with a wave of exhaustion before she can turn toward the door. Alesky uses every bit of stealth and balance she possesses to insert herself into the bed without disturbing her husband.
She steps carefully onto the platform where the raised bed sits, and Ulfric remains asleep. She lays one hand on the green blanket his eyes spring open.
"Can't you just stay asleep for once?" she demands, dropping onto the bed. She tries to hide her wince when she turns and reaches out to brush back a few stray hairs that have fallen into Ulfric's face. Apparently, she fails because she can see the concern in his furrowed brow and slight frown.
"How badly are you hurt?" he asks immediately.
"I'm not hurt," Alesky responds.
"I know you went adventuring today."
"Which automatically means that I got hurt? Dear husband, your lack of confidence cuts deeper than any bandit's blade," Alesky feigns a sad look.
"I saw those bruises when you were changing, and there are even a few cuts that you haven't seen to yet. It's not like you to leave wounds unhealed," his concern visibly deepens. Alesky sighs and inwardly concedes defeat.
"I could feel my fatigue catching up with me, and the pain helped me stay awake while I traveled home."
Ulfric's expression shifts minutely toward a smile. His true, wide, teeth-baring grins are rare, and he is too worried about how hard Alesky has been pushing herself for more than a crack in his usually stern expression. He cups his wife's face between his palms and kisses her forehead. His lips feel warm against her skin which is cooled by her wet hair.
"My love, you are home now, and you are safe here with me. Heal yourself and quit fighting the exhaustion," Ulfric's voice has an urgency to it, but his words are not an order. The phase of their relationship where he gives orders and she obeys them is in the past. Alesky nods her agreement and pushes herself up while trying not to move her torso. She crosses her legs while another wide yawn splits her mouth. Ulfric pushes himself up to sit in front of Alesky. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and turns her palms toward the heavens. He lends his focus and places his hands on her knees in the familiar routine.
Alesky begins intoning the healing chant that her mother taught her, and begins to weave healing energy toward herself. Ulfric adds his voice at the second repetition. He witnessed her healing soldiers after battles and learned the words through observation. He was so captivated by her care of others and her technique that he could never pull himself away from watching her.
On the third repetition, they both hear a third voice. They describe it almost as feeling more than hearing. The voice is more like a hint or an echo. Alesky has identified the voice as her mother's, who passed away when she was a young girl.
When her mother's voice joins them, Ulfric cracks one eye open while he continues to chant. He sees golden bands of light dancing from Alesky's palms to wrap around her body. The bands concentrate around wounds and knit the flesh back together.
But he isn't looking at the bands.
He loves to watch his beloved wife's face while she is casting a healing spell. Her expression is relaxed and calm. All signs of stress or pain vanish from her features, and her brow softens. The muscles around her eyes and mouth relax, and he is again reminded of how young she is.
Alesky's face is illuminated by the golden lights and Ulfric is left almost breathless by the sight. It doesn't seem to matter how many times he witnesses this process. He is consistently struck by how lucky he is that such a magnificent woman has chosen to love him and spend her life with him.
Ulfric closes his eyes and focuses on the chant again. After a few more repetitions of the words, he senses darkness in the room once again. He feels Alesky's hands cover his own, and opens his eyes to see her smiling sleepily at him.
"Thanks for helping," she mumbles. She lays down on the bed facing away from him. He scoots closer to her, pulls the covers over her body, and wraps both arms tightly around her. She shifts her weight into him, and he feels her breathing become slow and even with a minute. He knows she doesn't really need his protection. His wife is arguably the fiercest warrior in all of Skyrim. But he provides it nonetheless.
Alesky slept soundly the whole night.