New Life's Festival had always been celebrated extravagantly in Windhelm. The traditional free ale was not the only tradition that brought smiles to the faces of celebrators, but the sheer joy that came with the holiday did. All along the streets, even in the Grey Quarter, colorful banners and bright lanterns had been placed around the city. Hues of red, gold, and orange lit up the otherwise monochromatic night, and song echoed through the stone walls.
The farmers would gather to drink, and sing of hopes for fertile lands. Warriors would sing dirges for the fallen, though they were not out of sadness. Instead of mourning for their loss, they would sing and drink to the life they had lead, the laughs they had shared, and the honor their fallen friends held. From the highest noble to the lowest beggar, nearly everyone held a smile on their face.
Warriors in training especially revered the holiday. It was one of the rare days of the year where they were given the day off from their everyday exercises and sparring sessions, and the teenagers had a day to themselves. Most of them gathered at the tavern, or ran to the Grey Quarter, throwing rotten food at its inhabitants.
It was the first time in ten years that Ulfric had been home for the joyous festival, as he had returned from studying under the Greybeards not a year prior. The prince and his housecarl were thoroughly enjoying their day of rest, taking the time to walk through the city and sample the free foods and drinks that the citizens had prepared.
"Is it like this every year?" Ulfric asked the man next to him with a delight-filled smile as he chewed on the festival food.
Galmar grinned and nodded, "Aye, don't you remember from when you were a kid?"
The blond man shook his head as he stared up at the colorful decor. The city almost looked like a sunrise, with the blue-gray stones clashing against the warm banners and lanterns, "No," He answered, "My mother wouldn't let me out of the palace. She was worried that I would be lost in the crowd, I guess."
"You haven't seen anything yet, then," Galmar spoke as they walked, "Just wait until midnight."
"Oh?" The prince tilted his head curiously, "And what happens at midnight?"
" If I told you that, it'd be a pretty shitty surprise, wouldn't it?"
Ulfric snickered at the curse words his guardian seemed so fond of. The foul language was very much a new concept to the prince. He had been too young to know of them when he had been sent to High Hrothgar, and none of the books in the monastery contained such words. For the first few weeks, he had constantly had to ask Galmar to explain his colorful vocabulary, though after nearly a year with the man, Ulfric could confidently say he knew almost all of them by heart. Which was quite the feat, considering how many the short Nord seemed to know.
The eve had passed with surprising speed. The pair had made their way around the city several times, sampling the many dishes that had been prepared, singing with drunken choirs in the streets, and joining the other young warriors in their runs through the gray-skin's slums. Galmar particularly enjoyed the last of the events, one of the few activities he and Ulfric didn't seem to mutually enjoy. Nevertheless, the future jarl did partake in the event, figuring that Galmar had done plenty of things he didn't quite enjoy. Reading during their downtime, for example.
As the hours ticked on, Ulfric noticed that more people were exiting the taverns, and had gathered near the front gate of the city. The families and lovebirds stuck together, unsurprisingly, and even the Dunmer had slinked from their holes to observe whatever was about to transpire.
Galmar took hold of Ulfric's wrist, and began dragging him away from the scene. The blond glanced at his housecarl, who grinned, "It's almost midnight," Galmar explained as they ran through the cobblestone streets.
Ulfric beamed with excitement, and began to take in his surroundings, trying to find some hint as to what was happening Nothing seemed to change in the city; vendors were still selling their wares, music still rang through the streets, and the people were as merry as could be. However, as they passed the gates of the city, the teenager spotted a number of robed figures. There were about five of them, dressed from head to toe in blue shrouds, with hoods hiding their faces.
Before he could question his friend on them, the younger Nord was dragged into the tavern. Candlehearth Hall was empty, for once. With everyone having gathered out in the square, only the innkeeper and a few somber drinkers remained in the otherwise lively bar.
"Where are you taking me?" the prince asked with an amused smile as his guardian eagerly dragged him up the stairs, and to the building's upper level.
Galmar turned back to him and simply grinned, "Just trust me. Now come on, it's going to start soon!"
Entering the upper half of the inn, Ulfric could see that it was even more deserted than the downstairs tavern. Seats that had been filled with warriors and farmers minutes prior had emptied, leaving the room bare of all life save for the prince and his guardian.
Galmar took hold of one of the wooden chairs, and began dragging it over to the front window. Once settled under the glass, he turned to the other Nord and grinned, "Come on, I'll give you a boost up."
At the thought of the short barbarian lifting him into the air, Ulfric could only smile, "I don't know if you're quite tall enough for that, friend," h e spoke gently, as not to offend the older man.
"I might just surprise you," Galmar responded as he nodded to the chair. "Now come on, once you're out, climb up," he instructed.
With a sigh, the blond decided to humor his friend, "Fine, fine," he mumbled as he walked to the barbarian, and onto the chair. Ulfric wasn't quite sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn't Galmar taking hold of his sides and literally throwing him into the air. A surprised yelp escaped the teenager's lips as he clung to the windowsill, much as a stranded cat would a branch. Ulfric kicked at the air a few times before his feet met the wooden walls, and he hauled himself up onto the windowsill.
Cautiously rising to his feet, the future jarl slowly opened the window, though he still clung to the building for support. Peeking his head out into the night, he glanced upwards. There was nothing but icy rooftop awaiting him, and below the cold, bone-breaking stone. He bit his lip, and brought his head back inside. "Galmar, are you out of your mind?!" he barked as he felt his legs tremble. One wrong step, and he could count on a broken arm if he were lucky.
"Heh, come on, I know you can do this, Ulfric," t he smaller man laughed as he stood on the chair. Upon seeing the his lord's frightened face, he offered a reassuring grin, "It's risky, but that's what makes it fun. You'll never get anything done if you don't take the first step… Now take it or Gods help me I'll push you."
Ulfric bit his lip again and eyed the frozen stones he was expected to climb. With a gulp, his shaking feet began moving toward the wall as his hands searched for something to grasp. It wasn't long before he took hold of one of the stones, and hauled himself up, his feet easily finding a foothold in the uneven bricks. With extended arm, he quickly found another, which he eagerly took hold of, and pulled himself up again.
"See?" H e heard Galmar call, "You're a natural at it!"
Ulfric snorted. He wasn't quite sure if trembling was a tactic of so-called naturals. Shuffling came from below him, and he assumed that his housecarl was now on his own way up. "This better be worth it," the blond called in a shaking voice as he continued to climb.
"Don't get your small clothes in a bunch. You'll love this, trust me," the man called back as he began taking after the prince. "When you get to the window, go left. Try to get on the flat part of the roof."
The larger Nord did as he was told, obedient as ever, and spun around the corner of the roof once he reached the glass. His hands dug into the gravel as he clung to the rooftop. It was slightly easier to navigate, now that the surface was not completely vertical, though it did little for the prince's nerves. Sweat laced the young warrior's forehead, and he was sure that he had lost all coloring in his face by now. The things he did for Galmar…
Finally, he reached the small rooftop. He wasn't quite sure what Galmar was up to, though he doubted that they could both fit on it. Ulfric could barely stay on there alone, with the bulkier man on him, he doubted there would be any elbow room.
Before he could voice his concerns, his housecarl was already on the rooftop with him. A frown rested on his face as the prince scooted over. "Galmar, I don't think there's enough room for the two of us."
"Just sit back there," Galmar nodded toward the back-end of the slate, which was considerably thicker than the edge. As if to provide an example, the short man took a seat, and laid back on the angled section of roof. "See? Perfectly comfortable." He then nodded to the empty spot beside him.
A blond brow rose. Even with the room, he would be very close to Galmar. Smiling, almost bashfully so, the prince took a seat next to his guardian and laid back with him, placing a hand under his head.
Moss green eyes scanned the people below them. Ulfric was surprised to see that they were not the only ones laying down. In fact, many of the people were laying on snow-cleared patches of grass, blankets, or, like them, in the snow. It was a curious sight to say the least; the Nords weren't shooting the Dunmer dirty looks, the drunks had stopped singing, and even the rambunctious children had stopped to stare at the sky above. He glanced up at the night sky. It was a clear night, though the stars were not as visible as other evenings due to the excessive light from the lanterns below. He opened his mouth to question Galmar as to what exactly was about to happen, though before he could make a sound, his question was answered.
The sky exploded with colors: reds, oranges, pinks, and even blues darted across the darkened heavens. He watched, jaw dropped in awe, as the robed figures manipulated the colors. He couldn't say that he had seen anything quite like it. The shouts that he had been trained to wield sometimes held pigment, it was true, but it was nothing compared to the magical display above. The dour, ancient gray city of Windhelm was illuminated with countless arcane hues, as if life had been breathed into the stones themselves.
Ulfric sat up and felt himself smile as the displays became more and more impressive. Blue strands made up the form of a bearded, armored man, and golden ones made up a smaller elf-like figure in suit. The warrior, axe raised high, battled the meek elf. With axe against spell, it was a hard-won battle, though in the end, the hero's mighty axe tore the smaller figure in half. Ulfric's chest swelled with pride upon realizing that the triumphant hero was Ysgramor, his ancestor, claiming the land as their new home. A fitting tale to be weaved above the city, as it was the home of the legendary man.
The display moved one to their next hero, Tiber Septim. The general was clear to make out, looking much as he did in statues. The scarlet strands that made up the first emperor fought their way across Tamriel, slaying any who stood in his way, similar to Ysgramor's battle with the elf.
A strong hand took hold of Ulfric's tunic and pulled him back down. "You're blocking it, Blondie," Galmar whispered. As the prince laid back down, he realized that he was laying on his housecarl's arm . Though glancing over at him, Galmar didn't seem to mind, in fact, it only encouraged him to pull the younger man nearer. As Ulfric was moved closer and closer to the man, he could feel the beating of his guardian's heart. Ulfric had expected it to be steady; they weren't exactly doing any grueling physical activity. Even the climb, while foolish and bold, was nothing compared to their daily exercises. However, Galmar's heart was disquiet.
They had been very close to begin with, with how limited the rooftop's space was. Though With Galmar's pullings, Ulfric's head rested comfortably on the barbarian's chest while his makeshift pillow had wrapped a protective arm around him. It wasn't the first time they had laid so close to each other. The prince could recall countless mornings spent with his housecarl, resting his head on the older Nord's chest as he read aloud to him, using the steady beating of his housecarl's chest to pace himself. Galmar liked poetry, Ulfric had learned. He liked the ones about war and death, of course, it was to be expected, though a pleasant surprise all the same. Ulfric didn't mind reading to him: It was an excuse to pick up a book in the war-obsessed city, and he could honestly say that his readings were not terribly painful for the poetic barbarian. He had always been so calm during them, with a steady, rhythmic beating in his chest, nothing like the fast-paced beating he heard now.
He frowned when his housecarl slipped from under him, and changed positions. Where before he was laying next to him, Galmar was now over him, with an arm on either side of Ulfric's head. He could feel body heat radiating from his guardian, as if they had just finished sparring. Though unlike the Galmar he knew during training, the one above him looked hesitant, and daresay anxious. The housecarl knew battle like the back of his hand… Whatever he was doing now was completely new to him. To both of them. The younger man's brow furrowed. "Galmar, what are you doing?"
"Taking the first step," Galmar breathed before brushing his lips against his lord's. It was soft, gentle, and fairly unlike the otherwise bold and powerful barbarian, as if he were testing the waters.
Ulfric's eyes widened as his cheeks and ears burned. He stared up at his guardian, whose silhouette was outlined with the bright and bold hues of the magics above. He felt as if his heart had leapt to the back of his throat, leaving the rest of his body stunned.
Upon meeting no resistance, and no attempts to shove him off of the roof, Galmar pressed his lips down on the prince's again, harder this time. His clenched fists relaxed slightly, and he could feel his heart skip a beat when he felt A pair of lips pressing back against his own.
Ulfric knew exactly what he was doing. Even if he didn't know foul language, holidays or exactly what was in store for the two in the months to come, he found himself not particularly caring. Galmar was what mattered right now, and the prince's mind seemed numb to everything else. He could feel his lips curl into a smile when his guardian become rougher, no longer soft little brushes, but exactly the sort of kiss he would expect from the barbarian. The one that would leave him breathless.
Ulfric reached up, and ran his hands through Galmar's brown hair, effectively pulling it out of its ponytail, and sending hair sprawling in every direction but its intended. The prince's tongue flicked against his guardian's playfully, though the older Nord took it as all the invitation he needed.
His tongue slipped into Ulfric's mouth, it was almost in an invading manner, and much different than Ulfric's playful strokes. He wasn't sure if it was from Galmar's tongue or the snow they were laying in, but chills ran down Ulfric's spine.
As Galmar pulled away, Ulfric smiled, and could make out a grin on the barbarian as well. The taste of honey and grain lingered in the prince's mouth, and he couldn't help but chuckle: Could he have expected any other taste to come from his housecarl?
"I hope you're not laughing at me, Blondie," Galmar murmured quietly as he laid back down in the snow with Ulfric, his arm comfortably rested around the other man's shoulders while another was used as a pillow.
"Never," the prince responded, no longer uncomfortable with their closeness. He found himself shifting closer to Galmar, which made the older man's grin widen, "I liked that," Ulfric said without thinking, unable to form the poetic words his housecarl loved so much to describe his feelings.
A hearty laugh escaped Galmar's lips, "Well, I'm glad. That was sort of the point of it being a surprise," He glanced at him, the smile never leaving his face, "It'd be a pretty shitty one if you didn't."
Ulfric took some comfort in the fact that Galmar's words were just about as romantic and flowing as his own. He looked back up at the sky, and he could see new heroes being formed in the mages' display. They had no faces, though all of them wore Nordic armor, and marched under the flag of the Empire. They were the heroes of the Great War in Cyrodiil. The war he and Galmar were being sent off to in a matter of weeks.
Just as his thoughts began to wander into the years to come, and just how he would manage to survive this war, a comforting squeeze came from the resting hand on his shoulder, and the smile returned to Ulfric's lips. He knew one thing: He wouldn't be alone in it, and that no matter what happened, Galmar would be there next to him. He could only look forward to the surprises that awaited him after the first step.