A/N: This is the first fic I have written since motherhood turned my poor brain to mush! I would dearly love to improve my writing, so any constructive criticism would be very much appreciated. Contains spoilers for those who have not finished the civil war questline in game. F!DragonbornxUlfric to begin with - all the girls love a sexy Jarl!
PS: This chapter turned into smut fairly quickly. I regret nothing. :P
Elisif's private rooms had been decorated with particularly feminine furnishings, all silk and velvet drapes in soft colours. Vases of mountain flowers were dotted about the room, their sweet fragrance covering the slight scent of burning from the many fires outside in the sacked city. Elisif herself had been banished to one of her own guestrooms while Ulfric claimed her apartments for himself. The very same apartments she had shared with her husband, High King Torygg. Myrna could see Ulfric had already been putting his mark upon the place. Stormcloak banners adorned the walls, the guards who were to remain in Solitude had been given strict instructions that they were not to be removed even after Ulfric returned to his seat at Windhelm. Elisif would not soon forget whom she had sworn fealty to this day. A fire burned warmly in the hearth, and a large snow bear pelt had been thrown over the light green silken bedspread for his own personal comfort. It did not seem to bother him that he had all but murdered the bed's previous male occupant.
Roars of laughter and drunken song echoed from the Great Hall, where the Stormcloak army were still celebrating their victory. Someone called for a toast to Jarl Ulfric, proclaiming him the next High King of Skyrim. The whoops and cheers filled the Blue Palace, and the sound of flagons and cups hammering on the table was nothing short of thunderous. Myrna did not miss the self-satisfied smirk on her Jarl's face as he removed his jet black cloak and placed it on a chair before him. She hung back in the doorway, wondering why she had been summoned and hoping it was not for the reasons she suspected.
"Close the door," he said, his tone commanding. Myrna did as she was bid, wishing she had slipped out of the hall earlier and unnoticed. She could have been in a bed at the Winking Skeever by now, resting her aching muscles and trying to forget the faces of the soldiers she had slain in the bloody battle for the city. What was the point of being a master of stealth if you felt bound by courtesy to say goodnight to the man you were hoping to avoid? He had wasted no time in asking her for a private word and, with all those eyes upon her, she had no choice but to follow him into his rooms and away from the safety of her drinking comrades. She turned back to Jarl Ulfric, his blue eyes glittering as he regarded her, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He knew he was making her feel uncomfortable. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome?
"I like you in a dress Stormblade," he purred in his thick Nordic accent, still smirking. "It is a welcome change from your Elven armour. You almost look like a woman."
"I took my armour to the smithy," she replied coolly, ignoring the obvious slight. "This was all I had."
Ulfric grinned and stepped towards her. She was trying to avoid his eye, he could tell, but her small stature was forcing her to look up at him. "And it looks good on you," he said, admiring the way the simple garment clung to her curves, the bodice allowing a hint of the charms beneath. "You've taken off your warpaint too. I am glad. It gives you the look of some gruesome mummer."
She bristled. "You have said yourself that my appearance is less than menacing without it."
That was indeed true. She was short, even by Breton standards, and not what you would call stocky as most warriors were expected to be. It was a marvel that she could lift even her sword and war axe, let alone wield them both at the same time with any degree of skill. But then Myrna Stormblade was full of surprises. Ulfric knew that better than most.
"I did say that," he conceded, "and so it serves on the battlefield. In my chambers however, this is a far more pleasing look." He noted with amusement that she was looking down at her feet now, a blush creeping slowlyacross her ruddy Breton cheeks. Reaching out, he lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her large brown eyes to meet his gaze. "You were magnificent out there today, Myrna. I had heard of your skill from others, but to witness it was something else. I am glad that we had you on our side."
She was truly humbled then. She never expected praise from anyone, this girl, even when it was deserved. "Thank you, my Jarl," she managed, quietly.
He allowed himself a grin at her embarrassment, and took a lock of her rich brown hair betwixt his thumb and forefinger. "You did not use the Voice," he mused, "Yet you are Dovakiin. Dragonborn. Why do you not use the gift the Divines have seen fit to give you?"
Myrna shifted her weight from foot to foot. It was a good question, and one she had not expected. "I... I am not sure how to use the power, in truth," she admitted, hesitantly. "It scares me, what it.. I... can do."
Ulfric regarded her shrewdly. It was strange to him that someone with such great ability should neglect to harness it. If he had been Dragonborn, as it had been rumoured for a time, he would have crushed the Imperial Army years ago - killed every last one of them with a word. It had taken him years of training with the Greybeards to learn to use only a few words of the dragon language before he had left for war. He suspected it was her Breton blood that made her so craven, the elf in her lineage. No Nord would ever dream of spurning such a blessing.
"It is a great sin to shy away from one's destiny," he said sternly. Myrna had no reply to that, knowing it was true. She had been told as much by another along her travels. She had never asked to be Dragonborn, it was too big. In fact there was a part of her – a hopeful part, that didn't believe that it was even real. She did not want glory, she did not want songs of her deeds, all she had ever wanted was to be a soldier and to fight the Imperial Legion. Now that they had taken Solitude, she should have felt some sense of accomplishment but all she felt was hollow, an emptiness in her heart.
She fiddled with her skirts, painfully aware of the silence in the room and the fact that the Jarl was staring at her. Poor judgement had clearly played a part in her decision to wear a dress this evening, she probably could have found some leggings and a modest blouse somewhere if she had cared to look.
It amused Ulfric greatly to see this change in her. She seemed such a timid little thing now, stripped of her armour and weapons, compared to the fierce warrior she had been a few hours hence, cutting down men left and right with her axe and sword in hand. Curling his arm around her waist he drew her closer to him, his fingers trailing through her hair. Myrna shuddered, wanting so much to resist him but finding herself unable to pull away. One look at his expression was enough to tell her he was fully aware of the hold he had over her, and what's more he was relishing in it, using his significant height advantage to hold her against him so close she could feel his breath upon her skin. Myrna silently cursed herself for being foolish enough to fall in love with such an arrogant, selfish man as Ulfric Stormcloak. He had shown his true colours today, that was for certain.
Ulfric let his hand wander from her waist, caressing the smooth curves beneath the simple wool dress and coming to a stop at the firm rise of her bottom, giving it a generous squeeze. Myrna gave a startled squeak, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. Ulfric couldn't help but chuckle at her. Let her play the coy maid if it suited her – he knew he would have her screaming his name before morning. His ego swelled with the knowledge that he could undo the mighty Dragonborn with a word, a touch, a kiss. He lowered his face to hers, their breath intermingling, anticipating the sweet taste of her soft pink lips and the eagerness of her tongue. Before he could claim her however, she turned her face away from his.
"No."
That was unexpected. His hand loosened its grip on her hair and she seized the opportunity to shake her head free of him, braids flying, with a resolute look on her pretty face. Ulfric's brow furrowed as she took a step away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. "Is something amiss?" he finally asked.
Myrna steadied herself. Perhaps it was best not to say anything at all, but she knew if she didn't she would stew on it all night and the Nine knew how much she needed a good night's sleep. "You're still covered in Tullius' blood." she said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.
The Jarl's eyebrows knitted even closer together as he looked down at himself. She was right, in the firelight he could see dark spots of the General's blood spattered across his tunic. He had not thought to change after the battle, he had been lost in the adoration of his men and their eagerness to celebrate their great triumph with meat and mead. "Far be it for you to be squeamish, Stormblade. You opened enough throats yourself today."
"Throats of men and women who met me head on, in combat," she said, brown eyes narrowed. "The old man was on his knees - he yielded. There was no honour in slaying him."
The ice blue eyes glittered furiously; she knew immediately she should have kept her thoughts to herself. "Honour?" he spat, "Was it honourable when the Empire bent the knee to the damn elves, allowing them to ban the worship of our God, Talos? Was it honourable of the Empire to blindly ignore the stench of corruption within its own army?" Ulfric paused, looking the Dragonborn dead in the eye. "Was it honourable, Stormblade, when Imperial guards forced a small girl to watch as they hanged her father from the gallows?"
Myrna's breath caught in her throat. She wished she had never told him that tale of her childhood. The memory of that day still haunted her in her nightmares; the gurgles of her father struggling for air as the rope failed to break his neck. He had died in choking agony, the Imperial guards laughing as the little Breton whelp screamed and cried for her criminal father. It had taken half an hour for her father to die but it had felt like forever. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she would not let them fall, not in front of him.
Ulfric walked to her and took her wrist, forcing her to turn around and look at him. Mentioning her father was a cheap shot, but it had crumbled her defences. "I saw the look in your eye that day at Helgen, Myrna. A look of pure hatred for the Imperial scum as you knelt before the headsman's block. I knew then we were kindred spirits, you and I." His hand snaked around her waist again, tenderly. "With Tullius' death we have cut the head from the Legion, tt was a necessary evil. Skyrim is now free from the Empire's clutches. They will sing songs of what we have achieved here today."
And none will sing them louder or more often than you, Ulfric Stormcloak, she thought wryly, allowing herself to be drawn to him once more. Ulfric grinned, she was his again. Unbuckling the belt around his tunic he slipped the rough wool garment off over his head and cast it aside, so that he stood before her in his boots and breeches. Gazing at his muscular chest, Myrna chewed her lip and wondered how long she could keep up with the pretense of disinterest when her body was aching for him. She sighed, resting her forehead against him. He had won.
"Permit me," he whispered into her ear, eliciting a quiet moan of pleasure from her as he kissed the sensitive spot just behind her earlobe. Desire coiling in her belly she raised her eyes to his and paused, savouring the moment and the look of pure lust in his eyes. There was no point in trying to resist any more. She traced her fingers along the hard muscles of his stomach and up to his chest, feeling the familiar contours and bumps of the scars that marked his skin. She had a fair few herself, but Ulfric had seen many more years of combat than she, and had endured torture besides. With her arms about his neck she drew herself up on her toes to meet his lips in what began as a gentle kiss, increasing in urgency as their tongues entwined, tasting and teasing.
It was only when they had to pause for air that she realised he had lifted her clear off the ground and was now carrying her to Elisif's feather bed, which he threw her upon without ceremony. He kicked his boots off and joined her on the mattress, smiling that devilish smile of his, unlacing her bodice with deft fingers. She giggled in spite of herself, a delightfully feminine sound that only served to spur him on. Unbound, her breasts spilled free, he seized one firmly in his hand, devouring her slender neck with kisses and nips until she was gasping to catch her breath.
"Hmm... yes, I like this dress on you very much," he purred, teasing the sensitive bud of her nipple between his fingers while his other hand slid the material from her shoulders. "I think, however, I would prefer it if you were wearing nothing at all."
If Myrna had a mind to protest his tender ministrations upon her flesh were keeping her more than occupied. Thus, he was able to peel off the simple garment unhindered, along with her fur-trimmed boots, which dropped to the wooden floor with a thud. He was surprised to find she had opted to wear black woolen stockings with her undergarments, but then, she was no Nord. He sometimes forgot how cold the winds of Skyrim were to those of foreign blood and besides, he rather liked how the tight material clung to her thighs as she writhed beneath him. Urged on by her hands in his hair and whispered moans, he moved to kiss the soft skin between stocking and her underthings and felt a rush of pride coupled with his intense lust – for here was the legendary Dragonborn, half naked and wanton in his bed once again.
Ulfric was hard as a rock now, his loins aching with need, pressing against the prison of this breeches. If he took her now, he would last no longer than a boy, and he would never let it be said that Ulfric Stormcloak could not satisfy a woman. He kissed his way back up her slender torso, gently avoiding the stark black bruises that she had acquired today in his service. She hissed with pleasure and arched her back as he seized her breast with his mouth, grazing the nipple with his teeth. Feeling his hardness Myrna wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself into him, two thin layers of clothing the only thing preventing him from having her then and there. With a throaty growl Ulfric seized her mouth again, her tongue dancing over his as he fought desperately to control himself, as well as her. She bit his lip in the frenzy of their kiss, moving her hips expertly against him, her hands knotted deep in his dirty-blond hair as she took him to the brink of oblivion with her gyrations. His hand found her undergarments and gave them a sharp tug.
"I think you had better take these off, before I tear them off you."
The look on her face was nothing short of wicked. She was the very image of a succubus, with the firelight reflected in her eyes and a saucy grin spreading across her features. "Is that your command, my Jarl?" she asked, feigning innocence.
"Yes it bloody well is, damn it woman!"
Myrna slid off her underthings and stockings too, leaving her naked as her name day and basking in his appreciative gaze. Gods, she is beautiful, he thought, trailing his fingertips up the inside of her thigh and allowing her mouth to meet his once again. He hesitated when his fingers came to the little mound between her thighs and she groaned at his teasing, her body begging him wordlessly for more. Knowing he had her completely at his mercy, he stroked the soft folds of her core with his fingers, marvelling at her heat and wetness.
"Ulfric..." she began, quieted by his mouth crushing hers, moaning and whimpering softly as he set to work, expertly playing her arousal to his advantage. With his fingers deep inside her he kneaded and rubbed at her most sensitive part with his thumb, revelling in her bucking and wriggling at his touch. It was not long until she reached her shivering climax, her tightening around his fingers causing his insides to jolt. He needed her now.
Myrna's head was swirling with bliss and her legs were still trembling lightly from the waves of pleasure that had crashed over her. It had taken Ulfric little time at all to discover how to push her to the edge and over into the abyss. As he knelt over her, fumbling for the laces of his breeches she sat up and began kissing down his stomach the course trail of dark blond hair that led to his groin. In one swift tug she undid his laces herself. Ulfric groaned as she took him in her soft hands, gripping him and stroking the length of him titillatingly - it was more than he could bear. Ulfric pushed his breeches further down his legs and kicked them to the floor with the rest of their abandoned clothing. He pushed her back down onto the bed and she willingly spread her thighs, the tip of his manhood pressing against her, inches away from bringing them the gratification they both craved. With her breath becoming ragged Myrna's hands found the small of his back, attempting to hurry him into her.
Ulfric Stormcloak would not be hurried.
When he was sure her had tortured her long enough, he finally thrust himself into her, nearly losing himself in her wetness and tightness, only managing to pull himself back at the last second when her nails raked his back and she cried out his name. Her legs wrapped around him once more and she moved against his thrusts, kissing and biting his broad shoulders and moaning her soft, sweet moans. She took advantage of a break in the rhythm to push against his chest in an attempt to roll him over. He chuckled, holding firm, but she was persistent. It was too easy to forget the strength she harboured in that lithe little body of hers. Placing his hands around her waist he relented and rolled onto his back, thoroughly at his leisure, palming her soft breasts as she rocked on her knees and leaned back, allowing him deep inside of her.
He did not miss the slight quiver before she tightened around him, calling his name over and over until she came again with a cry. Ulfric met her in her passion, spilling himself deep inside her with a low growling moan. Myrna fell against his chest, he could feel her heart beating together with his own as he wrapped his arms around her naked body.
He could not think of a better way to end the day.