TITLE: What is Hidden in Snow

CHAPTER: 1

FANDOM: Elder Scrolls IV – Skyrim

SERIES: Skyrim - Skyrim Adventures

Story 1: To Take a Tree From the Forest

Story 2: What is Hidden in Snow

Story 3: Starfire

Vika

"Det som göms i snö, kommer fram vid tö"

Translation: "What is hidden in snow, is revealed at thaw" Swedish Proverb

Along a lonely track of icy road a winter storm chases a lone horse and rider toward the ancient stone city of Windhelm. The snow swirls and eddies around the churning powerful hooves, as the horse plows easily through fresh powder. East of the city, the storm whips the snow and ice into spinning funnels of blinding white.

Impatient to beat the storm the rider pulls the horse off the path and into the trees. Everyone in Skyrim, down to the smallest child knows the perils of venturing off the road. The rider is either very brave or dangerously impudent as they climb the last hill toward the stable its old stones rimed with frost. Under the low hanging branches the rider clings to the horse's back with the skill of someone born in a saddle.

With an eye on the weather and nose to the wind, farmers rounded up their herds and headed indoors to their fires. Wolves circled and trod down the last of the colorful autumn leaves and old snow to make warm beds for themselves. The birds quieted and the rabbits huddle together under the safety whatever shelter they could find. The snow blanketed the land around Windhelm and everything went still and waited.

Inside the city, shopkeepers closed up their stalls and mothers called their children inside. While in the banqueting hall of the Palace of Kings, The Jarl of Windhelm paces the length of this hall and waits patiently for the messenger to arrive.

With a kick and a shout the rider urged the tired horse the last yards toward the haven of warmth and food. When the sweet scent of hay tickled his sensitive nose he extended his long powerful legs to reach the stone barn. In the stable yard, the rider pulled him to a sliding stop. The horse churned up a path of muddy snow behind his large hooves. Jumping quickly and gracefully the ground, the rider tossed two gold Septims to the stable boy.

"One is for the stable master and the other for you," she grinned with a warmth that melted the ice from the air.

He caught the coins midair, and with an answering grin, lifted his cap to bid the rider welcome to Windhelm. He doesn't need to see what's under the wool and leather to know this is Vika, the Dragonborn. Last summer, he personally watched her kill a dragon almost entirely by herself. He'd wanted to help, but his mother dragged him inside to the safety of their cabin. Since that day he'd harbored dreams of the dragonborn.

Perhaps next summer he will be old enough to ride with the beautiful redhead and maybe kill a dragon or two himself. That they would make a formidable team he had no doubt. But these are just the dreams of a stable boy. He had horses to feed and water to draw before he could head indoors out of the storm. He watched Vika run toward the gates before reluctantly turning back to her horse.

Vika sprinted over the bridge and took the snow covered stone steps two at a time as she hurried toward Ulfric Stormcloak's palace. The guards nod to her in greeting. Townsfolk wave and their conversations turn to the stories they'd heard about her latest adventures. One of the guards, winked at her with his dirty whiskers stretched over rotten teeth. She simply shook her head and hurried on. He always asked her to enchant his sword. She would be happy to do it if it wasn't for the fact she'd been warned about what he really meant by sword.

She's also been warned about Ulfric Stormcloak. That didn't stop her headlong rush to get to his side. Perhaps, she should know better. Perhaps, she does know better, but after a year of adventuring and hunting dragons she isn't afraid of anything. If he's arrogant and smug then he's no different from any other man or mer she's met on the road.

Although she is still innocent of the ways between a man and woman, she finds most men arrogant and manipulative. This has placed an edge of cynicism in her that she wears like a shield. If she's past the age for marriage and children, she reminds herself that she is much too busy for a man in her life. Except, of course, her father. Her father is Brynjolf, the head of the Thieves Guild and an advisor to the Jarl of Riften.

As father and daughter kinships go, they are very close. Their relationship is based on the fact that for ten years of her life she'd been raised in the Imperial City by adoptive parents. When they met again she was almost an adult. In a series of events whose memory still brings tears to her eyes, she gained a father and Brynjolf rekindled the lost love of the woman who was her birth mother. Suddenly, she had a family. A real family. It was more than enough for now. Their bond is deep and loving, he relies on her to help him with the Guild and she comes to him for advice or a strong shoulder.

She's been here many times, so the path to the Palace of the Kings is familiar to her. By completing the odd job or important quest, as either the Dragonborn or a Stormcloak soldier, Vika increased her importance to Ulfric. With each successful commission Ulfric had drawn her further into his inner court. He'd honored her by making her his Thane and she'd purchased property here in the city. A large stone house, that had once been the lair of a murderer. After she'd solved the crime, he'd offered her the house and assisted her with having it cleaned and aired. Ulfric seemed to take great pleasure helping her furnish the hall.

He'd charmed her with his attentive help decorating the house. A few pieces he donated came directly from the palace. Handsome and masculine, Ulfric took her breath away and she often found herself feeling inexperienced and unsure around him. Although she tries her best, her legs tremble as she strides the length of the great table. There is also serious work she must accomplish while she is here. Vika takes a breath and schools herself to remain, at least on the outside, unflustered.

He knows why she's here, of course. Scouts reported seeing her on the road to Windhelm an hour ago. He's also aware that Whiterun has fallen to his Stormcloak soldiers. But he wants to watch her face flush with the telling. There's a certain shine to her eyes when she's excited or happy. If there's one thing Ulfric learned in his years of exile it's patience. He intends for this scheme to play out naturally. No reason to rush. They had all winter.

When he rose from his throne, she stopped at the end of the table. Vika would do just about anything to earn a smile from this man. So her heart responded by thumping against her ribs and her skin tingled with anticipation. With a wolf-like grin spread across his face, Ulfric approached her slowly. Head and shoulders taller than her, the blond Nord towered over her with his charisma and rugged features.

He waited for her to tell him the news he already knows. Her eyes are bright and cheeks are flushed with excitement and a little of it, he assures himself, is for him.

Ulfric held out his hands to her, "Victory, my Dragonborn?"

"Whiterun is yours, Ulfric! The Jarl surrendered," her voice betrayed her excitement.

She was a beauty. Bright ice blue eyes, hair as red as a sunset. Straight white teeth and lips begging for a kiss. He wondered idly if she'd ever been kissed before. Would she fight him if he tried? Would she say yes if he asked her to stay?

He prevented her from answering by lifting her into the air and swinging her around. Then with his eyes on her and his large hands holding her firmly, he held her against him just a little longer than was polite. With his large hands spread over her back he let her slide slowly down his body to the stone floor.

Talos! He swore, as his blood heated, while his hands spread over her with the possessives sureness of a man who knows what he wants. He is aroused by the simple touch of her youthful body against his and the innocent trust in her eyes. Perhaps she wouldn't fight him. Her beauty caught at him and he pulled her into his arms to find those answers. Until, from behind them, Jorleif the Jarl's advisor cleared his throat.

With a wave of his hand Ulfric shouted for servants to take her to the women's wing and allow her to bathe.

"Give her some of that spiced wine. Come gentlemen have more drink. We will wait for the Dovahkiin to join us for dinner and allow her to tell us stories of our brave soldier's victories."

Exhausted, cold and hungry, she shook off the strange feeling of Ulfric's possessiveness. Women clucked and cackled around her like hens as Vika allowed them to escort her down a long corridor. With her between them they entered a small room dominated by a stone tub and a fireplace. They stripped her of the sodden garments and assisted her into the high-sided tub. The water steamed and Vika allowed her tired body to melt into the fragrant water.

One of the ladies took a piece of soap and a square of linen to Vika's blood and dirt encrusted arms. Another began to comb the ash and dust out of her long red hair. Accustomed to bathing in frigid streams, this decadence reminded her of home when she could bathe like this every day and soak as long as she cared to.

One of the younger girls giggled, "You're very pretty, lady. But no man will want a woman who has more muscles than himself, or — forgive me, lady — more scars."

"Why would any of that matter?" Vika asked not really caring about the answer, because she was drifting between the water warming her bones and the fragrant air. The sensuous pulling of a comb through her hair and the gentle washing of her skin.

The women withdrew quietly when she dozed off. The dreams aroused by the scented water and the gentle touches of the women, sent a frisson of sensations rushing across her naked body. The memories of the night her shield brother Vilkas' kissed her surfaced. She remembered how nice his arms felt around her, how everything in the world, except for the two of them had faded away. A hard ach, centered deep in her belly made her shift restlessly. She would very much like to be kissed again.

She felt a finger trace across the part of her breast that was visible just above the water.

"Is that smile for me?" He asked, his chuckle sending shock waves over her bare skin. She gasped and pulled herself upright only to find herself alone and naked with the Jarl. She noticed him staring at her breasts and quickly covered them with her arms.

"Do not fear me little Dragonborn. You are my bravest warrior," he commented quietly and with his fingers he gently brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. "You take on dragons, the Dark Brotherhood and anything else that crosses your path. Vika, I intend to put myself in your path. Are you brave enough to take on Ulfric Stormcloak?"

An experienced woman would understand Ulfric's intentions. Whether she would welcome them or not is another matter. The seventeen year old Vika is thinking that he has kind eyes and there was no reason to be nervous. The young girl who spent more time chasing dragons, averting disasters and learning fighting skills knows little about his intentions.

The steamy lilac scented water swirled with the masculine scent of the blond man in front of her. This was the man who would save Skyrim from the Imperials and return Talos worship to her people. She'd escaped from the brutality of her home and accepted her destiny as the Dovahkiin. She was a woman now. Wasn't she? So if a woman's needs lifted her arms away from her chest and toward the handsome virile man leaning over the tub then she had a right to him. Didn't she?

A chuckle rumbled from Ulfric's chest and she felt his hands on her bare shoulders. Yes, she decided. She wanted to be kissed in exactly the same way Vilkas had kissed her that night in the Inn. When she held her mouth up for the kiss, what she didn't expect to feel were Ulfric's hands slid under her legs to lift her from the water.

This wasn't like the kiss she'd shared with her shield brother. This made her feel excited and out of control like when she stood against a dragon, or walking alone in a dark cavern with the creaking-clanking sound of draugr ahead. This was not what she imagined. This was naked in a man's arms. Vika twisted out of his arms and snatched a linen towel from the nearby stool she to cover herself.

"Stop!"

"Careful," Ulfric is staring at her. Watching as patches of wet skin soak through the linen to reveal her youthful flesh. "I would not want you to make the mistake of using your Voice on me."

"You attempted to take more than was offered, sir."

Ulfric sat back on his heels and observed the indignant woman-girl before him. She was obviously not the usual Skyrim peasant. He'd underestimated her, but he would not do so again.

"Where were you raised? Not in Riften, as my spies reported."

Vika raised her chin at him, draping the linen towel around herself as if it was the richest of silk robes, "Jarl, if you'll allow me to complete my bath, I will join you downstairs and answer anything you wish to know about me."

He hadn't survived this long without knowing when to retreat. But there was still that kiss. Without touching her, Ulfric bent over and brushed his lips over hers. Desire shot through him when she sucked in a breath and he felt her mouth relax.

"Careful little Dovahkiin there is more to a man than a simple kiss. Soon you will learn to kiss me like a woman who wishes her man to know she wants him."

"I-I don't know what you mean…"

"I can tell," he chuckled. "Don't keep deprive us of your charms too long."

Her knees gave out as she watched him stride out of the chamber. This was not a dragon, a draugr, or a new spell to learn, but a man full grown. She landed with a thump on the stool next to the tub.

Thirty minutes later she entered the banquet hall dressed in a simple gown of green velvet overlaid with a surcoat of black leather trimmed with colorful bands of silk embroidery. Her red hair hung down her back as befitted a maiden. Over her head a simple cap of matching green velvet. All heads turned when she entered the room. One by one the men approached her with an offer of wine or company in the company vying to gain her attention. She ignored all of them and moved gracefully to Ulfric's side.

Oh, to be clean and dressed in pretty clothes again, she thought enjoying the feel of a skirt over her ankles. This court was much like her parent's home. A graceful world she knew and where she felt comfortable. A place where education and the arts were supported and encouraged. Every night after supper there was dancing or storytelling and she always participated.

Before she took Ulfric's offered arm she sank into a curtsey, "Thank you, My Jarl for your hospitality and kindness. It's good to be dressed appropriately and back in sophisticated company."

He gallantly kissed her hand before leading her to the place of honor at the table.

"You're most welcome, Lady Vika."

The feast began, when Ulfric speared a large slice of venison from the platter. The Jarl gallantly served her himself and gave her the choicest cuts of meat from his own plate. A fact which did not go unnoticed by the guests. If Vika understood what it meant, she ignored it. The dress was too pretty, her escort too handsome for anything to spoil her fun. She wondered if there would be dancing or singing after supper? Ulfric gave her a sip of spiced wine from his own cup before he answered her.

"What is your wish, My Lady?" He asked, leaning over her, his arm across her shoulder and his fingers straying as he enjoyed the sight of her breasts swelling above the soft material of her dress.

"Well, I would enjoy a dance. But storytelling is my favorite."

"Then you shall have both."

Ulfric clapped his hands and the bards took their places. The song was lively and funny with innuendo, which was lost on Vika. When one of the bards finished his song, he inquired a silent question toward Vika and she nodded her consent.

"My lord Ulfric. Your lovely lady is known to me. We studied at the Bard's College together. Perhaps if you were to ask her she might sing a song to soothe our war-weary hearts.

The bard handed her a cup of wine to warm her throat and gallantly made a place for her to sit. Another bard handed her his lute. The hall went silent as Vika's delicate fingers danced over the strings.

"We drink to our youth, and to days come and gone

For the age of oppression is now nearly done

We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own

With our blood and our steel we will take back our home

All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King!

In your great honor we drink and we sing

We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives

And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!

But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean

Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams"

Everyone pounded the table and shouted the last two lines of the song. When the cheering finally stopped and the blush cooled from her cheeks, Ulfric found his way to her side and raised her hands to his lips. The crowd cheered again.

Heads nodded and words whispered as they watched the striking couple. What better choice could Ulfric make than the Dovahkiin herself? She was known and loved throughout Skyrim and the match would be celebrated from Markarth to Riften. After all, a man needed a wife and these two made a handsome couple. She was beautiful and healthy and would give Ulfric many fine sons to help rule Skyrim.

Vika knew none of this. She felt only the enjoyment of singing and the feel of fine clothes on her skin. The attention of educated men, well prepared food and good wine. The young Nord girl laughed out loud and felt the weight of her destiny slip from her shoulders. Tonight was a reminder of simpler times. To gain their attention she strummed the opening notes to a well known drinking song.

"Drink, for the wind blows cold and

Drink for The Wolf runs free.

Drink to the ships with the sails like wings and

Drink to the storm-tossed seas.

~o~

Drink to the lasting nights

and those who warm our beds.

Drink to the mead that warms our hearts,

and the cold that clears our head.

~o~

Drink to the All Father's Eye

for sons of Talos are we.

Drink to the World-Tree where he hung

and the Runes of Mystery

~o~

Drink to the truth of steel

and blood that falls like rain.

Drink to Sovngard's golden walls

and to our kinsmen, slain.

~o~

Drink to the Glory-field

where a man embraces death, and

thank the gods that we live at all

with our joyous dying breath!

~o~

Drink for the wind blows cold and

Drink for the Wolf runs free

Drink to the ships with the sails like wings

for sons of Talos are we!"

As each of the guests picked up a verse, to be sung in a round Ulfric pulled Vika into his arms and danced with her around the banquet table. The guests roared their approval. Holding her so close her feet were barely touching the floor, he spun her around and around. Until all she could see was his handsome face smiling down at her. His strong hands around her trim waist and the thrilling to the effect the beat of the drum and lute hand on her body.

Under the sound of clapping and singing, the Jarl expertly maneuvered Vika into the battle room. Filling his hands with her fiery hair he kissed her deeply. He'd wanted to be alone with her since she entered the palace. He didn't ask for permission and didn't stop kissing her until her hands were gripping his shirt.

"Show me, little Dovahkiin. Show me that you want this as much as I do." Ulfric breathed against her neck, sinking his teeth into the pale flesh below her ear.

Her cry was lost in the sound of singing and merry-making. The room spun around her. Ulfric had her backed against the wall so her vision was filled with his broad shoulders and a handsome face. Both taller and heavier than her, his virile demeanor suddenly frightened her.

Large hands dug into her upper arms as the dress was pulled off her shoulders. The foraging mouth travelled down her neck moving aside the fabric still in his way. His hot wet mouth sucked at the upper curve of her breast. Her breasts were bare now. The chill air puckered her nipples as he pulled away and bent down to reach for them. With her arms trapped against her side in the velvet fabric. She couldn't raise her hands she couldn't cast a spell to stop him. Something was keeping her from calling for help.

Shout, you silly fool! The voice!

But nothing worked. The power of her Thu'um was silent and unreachable. Her legs would not hold her upright. Her hands could only claw at the fabric of the dress. The room stopped spinning, but the candlelight gutted and smeared painful shards of light against her eyes. All the light and heat was being sucked from the room. She could no longer tell if her eyes were opened or closed. Vika opened her mouth to scream, but there was no air in her lungs.

Somewhere close by a man uttered a curse and yelled, "What is this...manner of magic…?"

Her last thought was of Ulfric crashing against her and pulling them down to the stone floor pinning her beneath him.