A/N- Welcome to the continuation of Feren and Ulfric's life together post-"For the Cause." This work was originally going to be an epilogue to that tale, but it metamorphosed into its own multi-chaptered, stand-alone story, and well, I couldn't really argue with it.
To my previous readers, I hope that you all will enjoy this piece as much as the last.
To any new readers, "For the Truth" can be read without having read the previous tale, as it contains its own unique plot and characters. However, as the author of both, I would beseech you to consider reading, "For the Cause" (found on this site under my pen name). If nothing else, it will give you some supplemental insight and information, and who knows, you may end up liking it.
Disclaimer - I, in no way, shape, or form, own Skyrim or its characters. They belong to Bethesda.
The young, golden-haired Nord that sat across from her was poised, quill and parchment at the ready, her stiff form broadcasting a myriad of things, but two came through the strongest: reluctance and disdain. Thirty minutes prior, her guest had entered the study without a single hesitation, avoiding eye contact with her patron while setting up the tools of her trade on the table between them. Even now, the scholar would not look at her, her gaze seemingly focused on some random object on the wall behind her.
Smirking to herself, she had to admire the nerve it took to hold such a haughty countenance, but Feren was no longer in the mood to tolerate it. Her fingers wrapped around the chalice on the table, sipping it quietly before summoning a commanding voice, "Are you ready to begin, Lokir?"
"If I must," Lokir replied, contempt terribly hidden in her voice.
She allowed her teeth to peek through her grin, while leaning forward and tilting her crown-covered head, "You must."
The scholar trembled, and she was not sure if it was from fear or rage. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed, and she hissed, "One question first, if I may, my Queen."
She nodded, waiting, taking notice of the slightly startling amount of venom in her guest's voice. Lokir spat out, "Why do you demand that I undertake this task?"
"You are a competent scholar, are you not? Do you not wish to record my account of some of Skyrim's most important moments?"
"I am, and I have no doubt that there are many of my profession who would absolutely drool over this opportunity. But, those fools should know their history...should know that you have never before wanted your words recorded for posterity's sake. What has changed? Why would you not choose the court's scholar?"
Clearly, there would be no fooling or intimidating this spitfire, and those qualities had been the very reason she had chosen Lokir. Impressed, she brushed off the more complicated former question, and glibly responded to the latter, "Dalfhe does good work; he is meticulous and a lover of his craft. But, I cannot ask him to do this, for reasons that will become clear. I have no doubt that his loyalty to me would cause him issue. You will do it."
"So, that is it. I was picked because I will not be blinded by some false sense of devotion."
"I have read your works, Lokir, and I am well aware of your stance—you have made your opinion on me, and my rule, very clear. But opinions are like tankards of mead—everyone has one too many, and then thinks they are in a position to judge. Now, if it had been up to my husband, he would have seen you hung for treason years ago. Be thankful that I often found myself reminding him that for every bigot standing out in the open, there are a dozen more hiding behind false fronts."
Lokir's eyebrow went up at that, and she thought she might have seen just the tiniest bit of fear cross the scholar's features. Feren sighed from deep within, allowing the weight in her voice to prove her true, "You were chosen because I need someone who will have no qualms in publishing my words, no matter how they may be perceived by their readers. And, since I seem to be a favorite subject of yours, I thought it was long past time that we got to know each other better."
Lokir seemed somewhat satisfied with her answer, but still looked wary. "So be it, then."
"Very well. Let's begin with the very first knot that needs unraveling. When was I married, Lokir?"
Looking puzzled, the scholar quickly prattled off the date, "Your marriage to the High King and subsequent coronation occurred on the first of Rain's Hand, year 207 of the Fourth Era."
She could not contain her roar of laughter as Lokir corkscrewed her lips sourly. "History is often riddled with more lies than truths. Now, we have some work to do to tidy up the tiny bit that I am responsible for."
Inhaling deeply, she allowed her memories—flashes and sensations that she would treasure for eternity—to overpower her thoughts before continuing, "On the twenty second of Hearth Fire, year 204 of the Fourth Era, I became the wife of Ulfric Stormcloak. But, I was certainly no queen, and on that day, he was no High King. We were just two souls helplessly in love, who were ready to commit to one another even if all the world would stand against us..."
ᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃ
Her arm looked foreign to her eyes as satin, pristine and blinding in its brilliant blue hue, draped across her limb in a way that was both stunning and obscene. Her dress was unlike anything she had ever had the pleasure of wearing; it literally owned and commanded her form, and she felt emboldened and empowered by the threads. Today, of all of the days of her life, she would need its majesty to fuel her own lacking conviction.
Standing in front of her was temptation in its most corporeal form—broad shoulders covered in fur and golden locks braided away from his face—she swore that he had to have some Daedra blood in his lineage, as no mortal man ought to look that sinful. From every inch of his six foot frame, Ulfric exuded the grace and confidence of a High King of Skyrim, and she could personally vouch that every inch of him was incredible. His face had always enthralled her, holding her hostage with the bat of a curved eyelash or the lift of an apple of a cheek. Smiling, he appeared light and free, seemingly innocent; but, she knew not to fall for that trick, or to stare too deeply into his mischievous eyes, lest she wished to end up not wearing her dress. The gods were the only ones who knew how she had managed to fascinate this almost ethereal being; he was simply the most handsome creature she had ever laid eyes upon.
Trembling, her own body betrayed her as her fingers shook within his grasp, and she felt him tighten down, squeezing her digits slightly and reassuringly as a smile slipped across his lips. Her soon-to-be husband missed nothing. "Have I finally managed to find something that actually scares you?"
She took a deep breath, forcing her butterflies into paralysis while summoning false bravado. "Hardly," she scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant. "If anything, you should be the one afraid."
Ulfric's hardy laughter was joined by the grizzled chuckles of Galmar as the two of them enjoyed a joke at her expense. Jordis' quick retort was welcomed, "I would agree, Thane. He has never lived with you."
Galmar doubled over in a fit as Ulfric stammered in equal parts surprise and chagrin. However, the High King of Skyrim quickly recovered, pulling his bride close to him, snaking his arms around her waist, "You and your accomplice may try to scare me off, but I will not be persuaded so. Nothing will stop me from making you my wife today."
A shiver ran down her body at his words, and she managed to find his ear with her lips. Only the truth would settle her stomach, and she reused his previous words to drive home her point, whispering, "Then I am the luckiest woman in all of Tamriel."
To the left, she heard the priest of Mara clear his throat, and out of the corner of her eye, she could not miss the unmistakable smirk on Jordis' face. The minister began, "I realize that this is an unconventional wedding, to say the least, but that behavior is usually saved for after the ceremony."
Ulfric groaned quietly in response as he quickly released her, which caused a chuckle in chorus from the entire group, and the priest took it as his cue to begin reciting the well-worn passages of the marriage rite. She was hardly a religious person, but the familiar mantra was both uplifting and poignant, and she realized that today, the words spoken were for her and her beloved. It was the beginning of a journey that she never thought she would take—a life, lived as one, with Ulfric. He was everything to her, and they would prove that to one another, all else be damned. It was his one demand, his lone request, that she would become his, and his alone, forever. How could she refuse him that wish, when it was exactly her own heart's desire?
Somehow, the priest's melodic voice interrupted her thoughts, "Ulfric, do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"
The smile on her lips bloomed to life as she took in the tremble of his jaw and the ferocity of his voice, "I do. Now and forever."
"And you, Feren, do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"
Their eyes met, and she basked in the glory of the moment, her voice giddy and defiant. "I do. For all of eternity."
"Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed. I present the two of you with these matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together. Wear them as a reminder of the vows you have sworn here and as proof of your unending love."
His fingers deftly slipped her ring onto its digit, and she blinked for just a moment at the sight, her breath catching at the simple golden band. Recovering, she managed to slide his ring onto to his finger as he took a deep breath, steadying himself it seemed, before he spoke, "Thank you, Maramal. Now, if you all will excuse us..."
His eyes creased at the corners, his smile huge and vibrant as he plucked her off the ground, and she gasped as he swept her into his arms, an arc of blue fabric fanning out behind her. His lips crashed into hers, his fingers digging into her skin through the satin cloth, and her hands grasped his face, returning the feverish passion she felt growing in her core. He broke away, her heart racing as his mouth hovered against her cheek, "It is time for my wife and I to partake in some 'after the ceremony' behavior."
Laughter, raucous and joyful, bubbled forth from all present, and she delighted in the sound as it rung throughout Proudspire. He moved up the stairs, his feet carrying her deliberately toward their bedroom, and she waved to her friends over his shoulder as they disappeared from her sight.
ᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃ
The scratching of pen against parchment ceased as Lokir's hand came to rest hovering over the desk. The scholar was waiting, she knew, and when her words no longer flowed, Lokir finally asked, "So, why now? Why drag this into the light after so many years?"
She had so many reasons, but one sprang forth easily, "Sovngarde has called to my most precious husband, and I have lost my partner, my best friend..."
Voice cracking, her breath quickened as the wave of familiar pain came to shore again and again. In her mind, she could still hear the shallow, final gasps of his weak and sickly lungs as she had held her Ulfric for the final time. In a state of sheer grief, it had taken no less than seven castle guardsmen and two of her handmaidens to distract her long enough to remove his corpse for the funeral, as she had threatened every single person who had tried to take him from her. When it became time to take a torch to the pyre, she had done her duty, solely for the people of Skyrim who also deserved to mourn their King; and she had wept openly with them, her tears streaming down her face and boiling away upon the burning wood. It had been a paltry three weeks, but it could have been three thousand; she would never forget those moments. She continued, barely holding it together, "I have lost the reason why I laughed, and cried, and survived for so very long. I wish to honor his memory in the way that it deserves, with all its details and truths laid bare."
Lokir's scoff interrupted her, disgust evident in its tone, "It would have been better to leave your lies in the past. All it does is prove that neither of you have or had any respect for Skyrim, its throne, or its traditions."
Leaping to her feet, she ignored the throb of an old hip wound as she grabbed the waif up by the collar with one hand, and held a dagger to her throat with the other. Even in the soft glow of the fireplace, her favorite blade still shone beyond its years. "You will watch what you say about the honored dead, unless you wish me to cut out your tongue and dangle it in front of your insolent eyes. My Ulfric, my husband, had more respect for Skyrim in a single strand of his beard than you have in your entire being."
Tears burned, clouding her vision, as the stupid girl trembled, this time she knew, in fear, "Have you ever seen battle, Lokir? Or do you think that sharp words compare to an enemy's blade? You are just a spoiled little brat who knows nothing of war or sacrifice, because you were born and live in a free country that Ulfric, myself, and countless other brave souls fought and spilled blood for. Never forget that."
She took a deep breath, steadying her voice, "You only know a peaceful Skyrim, a land of freedom and choice, a place where wishes can become accomplishments if one simply has the will to do so. You know not the price paid for the utopia that you enjoy. I may look a proper queen, but a warrior's heart still beats in my chest, and I will never sit idly by while a mouthy babe drags the name of Ulfric Stormcloak through the mud. Is that clear?"
Lokir's gaze darted between the blade at her throat, and her face, and for the first time, the women looked at each other eye to eye. Barely a whisper, she heard the response, "Yes..."