Many a night did Tolva stay up and think about him, think about his handsome face and tantalizing voice.
At times, the need was so great that her hand strayed into her smalls, if only for a temporary release. She always wondered what he would be like in bed, and fantasized about him taking her on his throne, unscrupulously.
It mattered little that he was married; it did nothing to dampen her lust.
Too often did Jarl Korir seem depressed, angry, or simply unhappy. She would see him sometimes at The Frozen Hearth, drowning his sorrows in drink, and outside, glaring at the College with enough malice in his eyes to burn it to the ground.
She was his thane, and ever since she laid eyes on him she felt inexplicably drawn to him, to his stern gaze and that allure, that confidence and surety older men often possessed.
His wife Thaena, might have been suspicious of her at first, but after Tolva had slain monsters, helped the people of Winterhold, and saved the city from the Magic Anomalies set loose by that mad Thalmor, even that stubborn hag couldn't deny that Tolva had proven herself worthy of the title, and the respect that came with it.
She had earned his respect, and thus his friendship. Being a Nord didn't hurt, either.
When they were alone at The Frozen Hearth, they would drink together and discuss politics, and his life.
He expressed his frustrations with the destruction and abandonment of his hold to her, his hatred of the College and the mages within, and his anger at the lack of respect given to him by the other jarls. She wanted to be the release, the vessel for his sorrows.
Every word he said was like music to her ears, and every time he prepared to leave, his eyes met hers, and he said, "Goodbye, Tolva," it only served to stoke the fire between her legs and after he left, she would return to her bed in inn almost in tears from the longing and intensity.
Only watching and listening to him turned out not to be enough for Tolva. She wanted more.
She wanted him to say her name as she sat astride him in that throne that he always slouched in, bucking his hips into hers and casting aside that anger for something just as primal.
That night, she returned to the Hearth after a long day of attempting to distract herself. Slaying giants, doing Stormcloak business, and even some down time visiting old friends.
Nothing was enough.
So she decided to take a risk and try to set things in motion.
After unloading her armor and weapons in her regular room at the inn, she looked around for him, and sure enough he was sitting at his usual spot, drinking from a tankard, glaring in the general direction of the College, as if his gaze could burn through the walls of the inn. She slid into the seat opposite him, slightly nervous, and it took him a few seconds to acknowledge her presence.
He simply nodded in her direction before turning his gaze back to that spot on the wall.
"Tolva."
She inhaled sharply at the sound of his voice, and took a moment to collect herself.
"What troubles you, my Jarl?"