Written for the SkyrimKinkMeme. A prompt where Ulfric is captured alive instead of killed at the Battle of Windhelm. Will be slash towards the end of the fic, which I don't think is going to be more than 8-9 chapters at the very most. Hope you enjoy. Would love for a review~ Not much happens in this chapter, but it's set-up for more Ulfric-related interactions later on.
Solitude... It hadn't been at the top of his list of places to go, at least not at first. Not before General Tullius had changed his mind at the last moment, and brought back Ulfric Stormcloak the Prisoner, instead of Ulfric Stormcloak the Corpse. Septimus could still feel a fierce bloodlust flare inside him whenever he remembered the Battle of Windhelm, still see Ulfric Stormcloak sitting proud in his throne as his loyal dog Stone-Fist prepared to die for his false ideals. Damned Stormcloaks.
He half-wished he could wile the rest of his days away in seclusion at High Hrothgar. Or lock himself away in his Falkreath home with his daughter- Lucia- and his steward as his only company. Leave Skyrim to the Nords. Leave Tullius to the wrath of Jarl Elisif...
"I'm going to kill them," said Jarl growled, her boot strikes sounding like hammers against the steps of the Blue Palace foyer. She was in a fine temper, upon hearing the news of Ulfric's still being alive and in Solitude's dungeons moments previous. The whole court was alive with whispers and speculation.
Septimus followed her, still dressed in his sweaty Imperial Uniform. He had not found the time to book a room at the Winking Skeever and wash the grime of travel and war off, which was probably the major reason for his impatient mood.
Still he did not possess the anger or the energy to stamp as the Jarl of Solitude did. He made little noise anyway, being a quiet, speculative sort off the battle-field.
He felt paranoid and a little on edge, surrounded by Nords on all sides who almost towered over his smaller build. Septimus was a rangy, lithe figure who looked like he'd be more suited to the dark, close-fitting armour of an assassin, the way he moved, than the uniform of a solider. If not for his confident strides and reputation as Dragonborn, he thought he would command very little authority or respect from the natives around him. After all, his appearance was staunchly Imperial. Dark hair and even darker eyes. A clean-shaven chin, in a country where the razor didn't seem to have been invented yet.
"Ulfric or Tullius?" he quipped. Falk Firebeard and Elisif's Housearl flanked the Jarl at either side, leaving Septimus to walk directly behind her. A more paranoid part of him felt he should see it as a direct slight, but couldn't be bothered to do anything about it. Suddenly, Elisif turned to face him with angry, impassioned eyes. Septimus realised that she was being quite serious in her conviction.
"Jarl Elisif?"
"Who could stop me?" the girl demanded sounding more like spoiled princess than a regal queen. "You? Dragonborn? Or General Tullius? By all rights I am High Queen of Skyrim," debatable, that. "At least, until the moot! And it was my order that Ulfric Stormcloak-" she cut herself off, realising the scene she was making.
A dozen leather and chain-mail-clad Imperial soldiers, with Imperial-issue swords and shields lined the entrance-hall.
Since Ulfric Stormcloak's capture and subsequent transportation to Solitude, the town was crawling with soldiers. It was just in case any rogue Stormcloaks, or dethroned Jarls got it into their heads to attempt a jail-break. Or just plain simple revenge.
They bowed hastily to Elisif as she stormed pass and pretended not to watch. Septimus knew better and had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at how obvious it was.
"We can't just have him killed," he was trying to explain, without resorting to a patronising tone that would surely flare the tempers of all the flighty Nords around him. He was sure Erikur was listening in with glee.
Elisif, on the other hand, wasn't listening and ordered two palace guards to open the wide front doors of the Blue Palace for her.
"I was seconds away from killing him myself, but Tullius stopped me-" no time to think about that. "We need answers, my Jarl."
Elisif whirled around again theatrically, an eyebrow raised. "What questions could we ask that we don't already know the answer to, Imperial?"
Septimus had been going to say: I need answers. He had stopped himself just in time.
"General Tullius is merely playing to his sense of ego," the Jarl's housecarl put in, loyally. He was about the only member of the court true to the queen. Everyone else seemed to have their own hidden agenda from the servants to the thanes. It was like a pit of vipers at the court.
Septimus could see where the Queen was coming from. The woman was probably sick of taking orders from a foreigner, no matter how much she supported the Empire.
General Tullius had directly disobeyed her orders by bringing Ulfric Stormcloak with him to Solitude. Alive, albeit in chains.
But he also understood General Tullius' reasons. Ulfric was going to be put on trial for treason and murder. It sent a very clear message. Then, he was going to be executed. And Septimus shared Elisif's opinion that Tullius was just stretching out the inevitable. That this was an unneeded drama. But they couldn't afford to look divided in the few crucial weeks after the war.
And then there would be bigger things for the Dragonborn to look to. Alduin was a presence that forever lingered on the horizon.
There had been a dragon at the Battle of Windhelm. He could almost hear the dovahs laughing at him now. Why do you fight mortals, dovahkiin? We are your true enemy.
A mirthless smile ghosted across Elisif's face. Septimus steeled his resolve. She could petition to become High Queen after the Empire had restored peace, and only then would he defer to her. Until then he obeyed General Tullius' orders.
"Lady Elisif," he tried again. "I don't wish to offend, but I'm under the orders of General Tullius to keep you out of Castle Dour's dungeons by any means possible."
He spoke slowly, imbuing his words with just the tiniest hint of thu'um. He was quite sure Elisif noticed for she stiffened as if afraid. She probably remembered the Shout that killed her husband.
"I don't wish to cause a scene," he continued mildly; though Septimus was half afraid that Elisif, silly girl, would cause a scene anyway. He had no real authority over her, barely the authority of age even. And if not for his status as Dragonborn combined with his Legate rank from Tullius the Jarl would have never known of his existence. But Septimus had been talented, from a very young age, of giving the appearance of authority even where there was none to be had.
The Jarl was silent. Then:
"You find General Tullius and you tell him," she began in a low, strangled voice.
Behind her Falk Firebeard and her housecarl shifted uncomfortably. Everyone but Elisif was aware that she wasn't in charge. In fact a lot of the time Septimus found himself wondering: who was in charge, here? "That he is to report to me as soon as possible. He cannot bring that... that murderer into my city, without consequences."
With all respect miss, Septimus wanted to say. By sheer force of the Empire he can. But before he could ponder the machinations of Solitude's court and Skyrim's politics any longer, Elisif was standing right in front of him, her eyes brimming with emotion.
"Soon," she said. "He dies. By your hand. Soon."
"My Jarl," Septimus inclined his head in a short, respectful bow. Elisif watched him closely for a few more moments, as if suspecting a hidden motive. It was probably quite painful, he thought, to expect closure in the morning and find none.
"Dragonborn," she nodded back, satisfied.
After the brief, somewhat explosive debacle, Elisif simply turned on her heel swept back inside. Falk and her housecarl followed her, without a word or nod to the Dragonborn. The palace guards outside opened the doors and shut them again.
Septimus didn't care. He had to get to the dungeons to General Tullius, and give him a report on Elisif's reaction.
He wouldn't admit it, but Septimus was also hoping for a chance to speak with Ulfric Stormcloak.
If he closed his eyes for even a moment, Septimus could feel stone trembling beneath his feet as Ulfric Stormcloak matched the thu'um with his own. He had been taken completely by surprise at the force of it, enough to wonder if there could be more than one Bane of Alduin.
Dragonborn? He could hear the Jarl's voice thick with disbelief. As if Septimus didn't doubt himself enough already. He had never been much for the light, or for playing hero. In simpler times from High Rock to Cyrodil, he had been known only as an agent, a spy, a saboteur for whoever could pay him the most gold.
Yes, Septimus couldn't shake the feeling that Ulfric Stormcloak had been disappointed by the Dragonborn, this supposed saviour of Skyrim and all mankind.
Septimus sort of wanted his forgiveness. Was that wrong? He wanted Ulfric Stormcloak to look him in the eye and agree. You were only doing your duty, Imperial. And he had been. Imperials joined the Imperial Army. True Nords joined the Stormcloaks. That Septimus was also the Dragonborn was inconsequential. A matter of circumstance.
If Ulfric Stormcloak could agree to that... then Septimus would happily kill him. Ulfric had even asked him to upon his capture.
What was forgiveness? Only a little thing.
Yet, Septimus thought he'd sleep restlessly for months after Ulfric Stormcloak's death, if he didn't get it.
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