For some reason, I always tend to paint Galmar as the bad guy, but I don't really think that. He's a complex character that the game just never had the time to fully explore. So, a story in which Galmar is actually a pretty cool dude.

Update - 5/27/17 - Gawd, I wrote this such a long time ago. I went back and reread it recently and noticed some errors that I had missed in editing. So, I went back and did some minor grammatical edits to make sections of this story easier to read and added a few lines here and there for flow. It's still my favorite out of everything I've written. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading.


Ashildr was careful to keep her face a composed mask as the gates of Riften approached, though if she had had her rathers she would have reined the horse right around and ridden off screaming into the woods until this nightmare was far, far behind her. She rode with august company, however, and so manners were required. And there would be no escape for the Dragonborn this time.

How is it that I can save the world and innumerable lives along the way, and yet I can't manage to save myself from this farce of a wedding? she thought, bitterly.

As they waited for the gate guards to grant them entrance, she caught the eye of the priest Erandur. He was watching her in the inscrutable way that all of the Mer seemed to have and she prickled under his red gaze. They knew each other well after months of traveling and fighting together and she could read the expectant question in his expression well enough.

I know, she wanted to hiss at her former companion. You don't have to rub it in.

Ashildr had insisted that Erandur be the one to perform the marriage ceremony for two reasons: primarily, that it would constitute a delay while the Dunmer priest was fetched from his hermitage during which time she could continue to argue her case to Ulfric, but also because she had been absolutely sure that Erandur would refuse once he had observed the situation and that he would send word to the Riften temple as well. Although arranged marriages were common enough in both Cyrodiil and Skyrim, Mara's faithful still dictated that it must still be a free choice of the betrothed. Anything else was an insult to the goddess. But, in the end, Erandur had considered and then he had agreed to perform the service.

"You are in no respect helpless, Dragonborn," he had explained to her bluntly when she had approached him later, fuming. "This is a small thing compared to what I've seen you face down before. You are free to refuse. Save yourself if you feel it necessary."

But Ashildr could not save herself. Ulfric and his advisors had sewn it all up too neatly while she was otherwise occupied chasing the Legion from his borders. The marriage had been announced before she had even returned from the field. By the time she had gotten wind of it and ridden like a madwoman back to Windhelm to register her dissent and find out what in Oblivion was going on, all of Skyrim seemed to have heard the news and it would have been a scandal on Ulfric's court to protest.

"It's for the best," Ulfric had placated benevolently as she paced his study like an angry sabre-cat. "Galmar is my right arm and you are my left. I know you've been unhappy. After what you've been through, you deserve a good life with a home and a husband and with ties to the land and the people you protect. I've named you Stormcloak - a member of my own family. Hjerim Manor here in the city will be yours. Galmar is a good man. Consider it a gift in honor of your faithful service."

A gift? she had wanted to shriek at him in incredulity, but she had held her tongue and bit back her ire until she could taste blood.

She had sworn to serve Ulfric. She had given her word and shed blood over it. He was the only person to whom she had ever bent a knee in her life. That meant something more than just the usual exchange of service for gold. If Ulfric was to become king, now was not the time to create division in his inner circle. The stability and future of Skyrim depended on him maintaining control during this most delicate of political climates and that required the Dragonborn to act in concert with his wishes. For now.

Still, it was a shock and a presumption and it was all Ashildr could do now to prevent herself from following up on her outrage with what she had been trying to say to Ulfric for months now.

I would have married you if you had asked.

Nothing had ever been agreed between them. He had never made her any promises. He had never whispered any sweet nothings or openly courted her. He had never even so much as kissed her for that matter, though once or twice the moment had come tantalizingly close. But, despite long-standing principle and her better judgement, through a hundred small suggestions and lingering touches and veiled flirtations, she had gradually allowed Ulfric to gather up a fistful of her heartstrings and now Ashildr could feel herself dangling from them - a puppet cleverly wrangled into dancing to another's tune.

She was not blind to the politics that had brought this about, either. Ulfric's power needed to be concentrated as he ascended the throne. His first wife had died childless years ago and he would need an heir to succeed him as well as a queen that could help him bring the shattered country together. Ashildr could see now that she had been the obvious choice in the beginning. She was the Dragonborn. A legendary figure. In the end, however, her successes had been the very thing that made a match with Ulfric impossible. The Dragonborn had become too powerful in her own right. He couldn't afford to be eclipsed by a wife whose legend outstripped his own.

"The people need to be aware that Ulfric rules them, not his queen," the councilors told her when they had eventually cornered her in order to, politely, reinforce that the marriage to Galmar was non-negotiable and would go on. Even if they were forced to coercive tactics.

Not even the Dragonborn was immune to intrigue. There were secrets hidden in the messy process of saving the world and in her own past history that could be whispered into the right ears to make life considerably more difficult for her and others that had helped her along the way. Though Ulfric had a sense of honor to him, there were members of his council that were far less scrupulous and far more practical about how to bring a potential rival to heel and Ashildr did not doubt for an instant that they would make good on their insinuated threats if they thought it was for the good of the country and their Jarl.

"Jarl Ulfric cannot spare you from the field in order to take up the softer arts of queencraft," the had further explained. "And we know that you have certain habits, Dragonborn. This marriage will serve to remind you of where your loyalties lay."

As if anything you could do would keep me from leaving if I decided to go, Ashildr had thought at them poisonously, feeling her back tense like a menacing beast as she had watched the men leave.

There was more to it than that, of course. She had been merely a common mercenary before the dragon-blood had surged up inside of her and made her Dragonborn - the just-barely-legitimate daughter of a sellsword raised alongside her father's company until she was big enough to wield a sword herself. She had been born and bred far, far beneath the halls of power that Ulfric inhabited. The "softer arts", as they said, had always eluded her. Objectively, Ashildr had to admit that she could not see herself as Ulfric's queen, bearing babies and overseeing a royal court.

That knowledge did little to salve her wounds now, though. And it did not mean that she appreciated being pandered off on another man to keep her away from Ulfric. Even - and especially - to Galmar Stonefist.

Ulfric's housecarl, for his own part, had avoided her entirely since her return to Windhelm. No doubt, Ashildr thought, he was little pleased with the arrangement himself and wanted to avoid a scene. She had had no quarrel with Galmar before this, either professionally or personally. He was an excellent commander - better than most she had worked with over the years - and his gruffness was just what you had to expect from someone who had spent a good three-fourths of his life fighting wars. She had grown up around men like that and the bear-helmed general had a wit underneath his growling, bloody nature that she had grown to appreciate during the cold winter of the war. However, while she found Galmar tolerable enough on the field and in the war-room, imagining having to put on a show of domestic bliss with him and share a house and a bed - and, Nine Gods above, the wifely duties that went along with that bed - made her guts twist in revulsion and panic.

As they processed into Riften, citizens lining up along the road to gawp at their future High King and the Dragonborn as they passed by on their way to the Temple of Mara, Ashildr snuck a glance at the old bear next to her. Galmar was arrayed in his usual steel and bear hide armor, though it had all obviously been scrubbed and shined for the occasion. His expression was unreadable, set as usual into a sullen mask, and he kept his eyes trained resolutely ahead of him without a glance in her direction.

You could stop this, too, she thought at him, vainly hoping that some small speck of those words might pass through the air into his mind. They won't listen to me, but Ulfric would listen to you.

It was a false hope and she knew it. Galmar was completely loyal to Ulfric. He would charge headlong into Oblivion on Ulfric's orders, and no doubt the betrothal had been put to him as just such a request. They were stuck.

A priest met them at the gates of the Temple of Mara and spoke a few words with Ulfric and Erandur, before approaching Ashildr while the others were led into the hall. He smiled, beneficently.

"Dragonborn, may I offer my most hearty congratulations? It is good to see love blooming even in this difficult time."

You're a fool and a utterly blind one at that, Ashildr boiled angrily in her mind, but forced herself to nod stiffly.

"Do you require anything before we begin the ceremony? If you need a place to change into your wedding attire . . ." he ventured, with a glance at the freshly polished surface of her dragon-plate armor and maille.

"No. I'm dressed," she replied curtly.

Ulfric's steward had offered numerous times to have a dress commission for her, but she had refused all entreaties on that subject pointblank.

By Talos' balls, if I'm going to be bartered off like a wheel of cheese, they can take me as I am - armored, armed, and all, she thought. As a concession, she had suffered the accompanying servants to plait her mane of hair, as blonde as ripe wheat now that it was thoroughly washed and dried, into an intricate crown of knot work on top of her head. The braids pulled at her scalp like tiny needles.

"Very well, then. If you'll come with me," the priest replied, nonplussed.

Gritting her teeth, her heart pounding like she was about to charge an enemy line, Ashildr ascended the stairs to the door of the Temple. After a few long moments, the light music of the flutes and gitterns filtered out from within and the priest opened the door for her.

The wedding was nothing if not well-attended she noted as she stepped into the candle-lit hall. Ulfric and his steward were in the front row of the left bank of pews, of course, as well as several other Jarls from neighboring cities. She could see her friend Ralof grinning at from her further back. The scruffy blonde Stormcloak soldier had saved her neck on that first foul day in Skyrim. He was the one who had talked her in to backing Ulfric to begin with. They had fought next to each other through most of the war and it was rare that she turned down an invitation to drink with him when they were both in the city. But Galmar, second only to Ulfric, was Ralof's idol. He had enthusiastically congratulated her on her engagement when they had last seen each other, and so he was of no help to her now.

There's no dragging me off of the block this time, Ashildr thought wistfully. If only you could.

Glancing back at the crowd once she reached the altar, she was surprised to see the Companions represented by Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela. Farkas, Divine's bless his simple heart, was clearly enjoying himself while Aela and Vilkas seemed less pleased. Vilkas had openly pursued her before the war had taken her off to more urgent things and no doubt he was disappointed to have been beaten to the punch. Aela's expression betrayed a certain skepticism as she sized up Galmar. The huntress was sharply observant. She had clearly noticed something odd about the ostensibly happy couple. Behind them were the Blades, whom Ashildr had never really expected to see again, completing the professional coterie. Other familiar faces from her travels filled the last rows, though she was slightly put off to spot Brynjolf and Delvin hanging towards the very back, smirking at her.

I'm done with that life, Let it go, she thought at Brynjolf holding his gaze with a sharply annoyed glare for an instant. You people are part of the reason I had to agree to this.

Brynjolf just smiled at her, as if to reply: you'll be back.

Galmar did not so much as glance at her as she took her place beside him. His eyes were fixed resolutely on the space in front of him as if he were standing at full attention for an inspection. Ashildr glanced to Erandur, standing there before the shrine and regarding her with his red Dunmer gaze expectantly.

You can stop this at any time, he seemed to say.

Ashildr clenched her jaw, glancing away furiously.

It's not that simple anymore.

The ceremony was short, but Erandur did it full justice as he spoke solemnly about the "bonds of love" and the "union of two souls in eternal companionship". He knew that this was no marriage of love, but the Dark Elf did not read the service as an accusation. Given his own history, she knew, he was the last man in the world to reproach anyone for faithlessness to their vows. Even so, Ashildr felt the disapproving glare of the statue of Mara behind him as if the goddess were staring right through her to inscribe the word "liar" in letters of fire on her heart the moment that her vows were completed.

"Do you, Galmar Stone-Fist, agree to be bound together in love now and forever?" the priest of Mara asked finally, turning to the big housecarl next to her.

Say no, say no, say no, Ashildr prayed, knowing that it would be in vain.

"I do. Now and forever," Galmar replied gruffly, but clearly so there could be no question.

It sounded like a prison sentence. She felt her heart jump into her throat as Erandur turned next to her.

This is a bad dream. This isn't happening. I'm not really going to do this.

Am I?

All eyes in the congregation turned to her and she felt every single one of them boring into her back, but most especially Ulfric's. In the deepest part of her heart, she realized that she had been sure that he would relent. Irrationally, she had held out hope that, when all else failed, the sight of her there with Galmar would stir whatever it was that he had once felt for her and he would stop the ceremony himself and bring this travesty to an end.

It had been foolish to hope, Ashildr knew, feeling her heart ache bitterly. She was on her own. Just as she always had been.

"Do you, Ashildr Stormcloak-" Erandur began and she could not keep herself from flinching at the new name that been given to her after her victory at Solitude. When Ulfric had first bestowed it, she had thought it was a symbol of what was to come. Disastrously, she supposed she had been right: sister rather than wife. "-agree to be bound together in love now and forever?"

A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck, and she glanced over to see that Galmar was staring at her now, too.

Are you hoping that I'll be the one to cry and run for it? Ashildr wondered as she gazed back at him, searching his grey eyes for anything that would tell her what was inside his head at that moment. But Galmar's face remained stoic and unreadable, waiting to see how she would respond.

She could hear the first uneasy shifts in the crowd behind her as the silence was prolonged. A whisper. A glimpse of Ulfric, out of the very corner of her eye, watching her intently.

To hell with what he wants, she thought, suddenly, feeling her jaw begin to clench with anger. To hell with all of them.

"I . . ."

The word hung in the air. Sweat dripped down the channel of her spine as her heart pounded.

She thought about Brynjolf and Delvin there in the back of the room. She thought about the deposed Jarl Idgrod and Jarl Balgruuf and their respective families, still captives up in Solitude. She thought about Hadvar, the young Imperial soldier that had tried to speak up for her when she was in danger of execution. The Dark Elves of Windhelm. Erandur himself, her closest friend. There was no doubt in her mind that Ulfric's advisors would make good on their threats. She stared back at the red-eyed priest and imagined what he would look like after a band of drunken Stormcloaks with a grudge against "greyskins" just happened to get their hands on him.

When did I start caring about the collateral damage?

"I do," Ashildr admitted, defeated, feeling the blood drain out of her face as she closed her eyes. "Now and forever.

And it was going to bloody well feel like forever. She was certain of it.

She stood despondently still as Galmar stepped in towards her to deposit the obligatory kiss that sealed the deal, but reflexively she turned her face slightly so that it landed on her cheek instead of her lips. The hand on her shoulder was tense and Galmar stepped back from her more quickly than was proper for a loving husband.

Husband.

Galmar.

She was glad to have refused breakfast that morning. Otherwise, Ashildr knew from the insistent leaden knot building in her stomach, she would have retched onto the floor right then and there.

~~0~~

The Black-Briar family had agreed to host the reception, which carried on until Ashildr thought she really would scream from all of the congratulations, well-wishing, and merriment that she could not share. She sat next to Galmar during the meal and could barely bring herself to look at him, although he seemed to be having the same difficulty. They shared a mead cup, as was the charming old custom at weddings. As much as she wanted to drink the remainder of the day into oblivion and forget what lay ahead of her that night when they were finally shoved off into a room alone together, Ashildr could not bring herself to touch it.

Married. Gods above.

Finally, when there was darkness outside the windows and she could stand it no longer, Ashildr muttered about a headache and slipped away early. She snatched a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve from a sideboard for comfort as she left and trudged across the canal bridges towards Riften's finest inn, resisting the urge to make a last bolt for the gates as she went.

The Bee and Barb Inn had been booked solid for all of the wedding travelers and the Argonian innkeeper Keerava beamed in a truly horrifying fashion, displaying sharp teeth to Ashildr as she entered.

"Well, if it isn't the blushing bride. Come with me and I'll show you to your room."

It was, she observed, the best room in the inn. Ulfric had been generous in the arrangements. The proprietors had done their best to make everything cozy, placing fresh flowers and candles around for the newlyweds. There was bread, cheese, and mead laid out. The big bed was already invitingly turned down and Ashildr could not suppress a shudder at the thoughts that sprang to mind.

"Just let us know if you need anything," Keerava told her with a wink and then left her alone.

The cork would not come out of the bottle of mead quickly enough. Ashildr took a long draught, tipping the bottle up and then gasping as she set it down on the dresser. She started to paw at the straps of her armor, turning her back on the big bed as she disarmed and raked her hair out of its ornamented knots.

I don't care if there's a ring on my finger. That's too much to ask.

When she was stripped down to tunic and breeches, her heavy boots kicked into the corner, Ashildr collapsed onto the bed and took another pull from the bottle. Whatever Ulfric and his advisors had hoped to gain by shackling her to Galmar, they were going to be sorely disappointed. She would see to that. The strong arm had been entirely unnecessary. Even if she wasn't good enough for Ulfric, she would have stayed. She kept her word. Watching him eventually marry someone else would have been hard, but she would have done it. She had believed in him. Sure, she was cynical and mercenary, but Ulfric had pulled at something beneath that over the course of this last year. There were things that were worth fighting for just on principle - or maybe he had just made her a deal good enough to tempt her to into staying. Whatever the reason, this was a job she wouldn't have walked away from lightly. But now . . .

The war was won and Ulfric didn't really need her anymore. She could be off and away within the hour, find new contracts to serve and let Ulfric get on with the business of being king without her. She had kept her side of the bargain by going through with the marriage, but it was obvious to her that Galmar didn't want her any more than she wanted him. Best to save them both the trouble and scarper.

You won't, though, she admitted to herself, uncomfortably. You'd have been off and away days ago if that's what you were going to do.

And why hadn't she?

Ulfric, of course.

I'm no giggling callow maiden who should be hanging on some man's word. What is wrong with me?

Finally, Ashildr upended the bottle, drained the last of the mead, and set it aside. She leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the dizzying warmth of the alcohol take effect and reflecting that she was going to need a lot more of it in order to cope with this mess. She knew Galmar well enough to know that he would soldier through this like he did everything else. The big housecarl would play his role. He would expect her to play her role, too. And that was likely going to cause problems unless they got a few things sorted out right up front. She might be married, but she was not going to be turned into a wife.

At a creak in the floorboards and the sound of heavy steps in the hall outside, Ashildr's heart seized. She scrambled quickly under the covers and turned on her side away from the door, trying to force her body to relax. She had intended to stay up until Galmar arrived and then settle the details of this unnatural arrangement so there could be no confusion, but her courage failed her at the last moment. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to see the expression on his face when he finally looked at her, sizing up the bride that he had never wanted and was now stuck with.

The door opened and then closed again. She heard the soft sounds of Galmar's breathing and the leathery creak of boots and armor as he approached the bed. He paused.

I'm asleep, she thought, willing him to believe it. I'm asleep and you don't want to bother me.

After a moment, she heard him move away from her, snuffing out the candles and doffing his armor. Her heartbeat raced as, finally, she felt the mattress shift and heard a grunt as Galmar sat down on the opposite side of the bed. Ashildr closed her eyes tighter. At any moment, she expected a heavy hand to fall on her shoulder, rousing her so that they could finish the final duty of the whole sorry affair. In the end, she heard Galmar drop his boots by the bed and then lay down. He turned onto his side, leaving a generous space between their bodies in the big bed.

A tense few minutes passed. Ashildr lay still, listening. In the darkness, she could hear from Galmar's breathing that he, too, was awake and listening.

Well, she thought acerbically, this has been a splendid wedding night.

Union of two bloody souls indeed.

~~0~~

The weather had started to turn by the time the wedding party rode back to Windhelm. The blustery breeze made conversation difficult, for which Ashildr was grateful. She had a throbbing headache, had slept poorly, and her mood had darkened progressively over the course of the day.

Not a word had passed between her and Galmar since their vows. She had woken early, slipped out of bed like a thief, and than hurried from the room to eat breakfast down stairs while she waited for him to come down so she could return alone for the rest of her belongings. Even though the housecarl rode at her side, he barely glanced at her and she gave him the same courtesy.

They would have to speak to each other eventually. There was work to be done. They were Ulfric's chief generals and they had too much common business to let the silence stretch on forever. Neither of them seemed able or willing to break the stalemate, though.

When they arrived back in the city, the party dispersed. Ulfric and his people returned to the Palace, the guards returned to their barracks, and that left Ashildr and Galmar to go to Hjerim Manor together alone. She looked for Erandur, who had accompanied them back to Windhelm, and practically begged him to come stay with them.

"It's a long ride back to Dawnstar," she pointed out, desperately. "Stay over a few days with us. It'll do you some good to get out of that tower for awhile, like the old days."

The Dunmer smiled, sympathetically. He knew what she was really asking.

"You'll have to sort this one out for yourself, Ashildr." He added, relenting, "I will stay at the Candlehearth for a few days, though, in case you need, ah, 'spiritual guidance'. I suspect that this will turn out to be a blessing from Lady Mara, however much it seems like a punishment now."

Rebuffed, she turned to Galmar who was waiting for her with a stiff expression. Of course. She had the only keys to the house.

"Go on ahead," she told him, embarrassed, as she fished the key off of the ring at her belt and handed it to him.

He took it, but with a suspicious bent to his expression.

"Where will you be?"

"I," she began, pausing because she had not really formed a plan. She just didn't want to be alone with him. Not in the cold and sober light of day. Not yet. Fumbling for an answer, Ashildr continued, "I forgot to tell the stable-master to have a look at my horse's back shoes. I think one is coming loose."

It was a flimsy excuse and they both knew it. She could easily have waited until later or at least sent her housecarl Calder to see to it. Instead of arguing, however, Galmar simply nodded as if this was a sufficient explanation and turned towards the manor district to the west of the Palace without looking back. She watched him go, feeling conflicted. She knew that all of this was just as much of a chore for him as it was for her, but she hadn't yet worked out whether it was a relief that they felt the same about each other or not.

She did walk out to the stables and back, however, simply to kill time. Then, she haunted the marketplace until the evening light began to go soft and she could see the merchants packing in their wares. She still didn't want to go home.

Look at me, Ashildr thought, disdainfully. I've killed dragons single-handedly, and now I'm too afraid to walk into my own house and speak to my own husband.

Unfortunately, there were no dragons in need of killing to be found and so she could not delay her homecoming any longer. She briefly entertained the idea of just retiring to the Candlehearth to get stone drunk and sleep it off, but rejected it. She couldn't put it off forever. And so Ashildr turned her feet towards the wealthy manor district just outside of the palace and stood staring at the warm glow of the the lanterns that lit the windows of her house before she could steel herself to walk inside.

Calder was sitting at the table just inside the door and he greeted her with an apprehensive expression when she arrived. He had not been at the wedding, having remained to see to the house while she was gone. She recalled that, although he had heard her talk about the Stormcloak general, he had not actually met Galmar before today. She could see on the younger man's face exactly how that first meeting had gone.

"Thane. Your husband is upstairs." The tension in the word husband told her all she needed to know about it.

"Thank you, Calder," she said, and dug in her belt pouch. She handed him a handful of gold pieces and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Go buy yourself a drink on me. I'll handle what's upstairs."

The housecarl needed no second bidding and Ashildr sighed as she trudging towards the stairs.

A great deal had been done to the manor while she was gone and she could not help but be impressed. Every room was furnished, well-lit, and hung with tapestries and other decorative touches. It looked like a proper home now instead of a barely-lived in ghost of a house. A wedding gift from Ulfric, she recalled. The reminder of everything that had transpired galled her, but it was already done and she could not help but admit that it made for a nice change.

She found Galmar in the master bedroom just beginning the process of removing his armor. He glanced up at her as he removed his bearskin helm and set it aside. Greying blond hair fell in sweaty locks around his shoulders and Ashildr paused in her tracks. Had she ever seen Galmar in anything but full armor? Never, she decided and felt a distinct desire to look away. It seemed indecent for her to see him like this. She had always thought of him as a soldier - a commander or, in the rare moments between strategy meetings and battle, comrades. To see that layer of him being stripped off was disconcerting.

"That housecarl of yours needs a lesson in discipline," he remarked gruffly by way of opening the conversation. "Looks to me as if he's gotten soft up here in the city."

Ashildr felt her jaw tense to bite off a scathing retort to the criticism. She swallowed it instead, because she would have to at least make an attempt to living with this man until she could figure out something else.

"I'll have a word with him," she replied, though she would do no such thing.

Calder was not the strongest or most apt with a sword of the little family of housecarls she had collected during her time in Skyrim, but he made up for it by being clever and generally decent company. With her contract with Ulfric, she spent the most time with him and it was not as if she really needed the protection herself. She cleared her throat and then went for the breach.

"There are some things we need to talk about, I think."

"What's there to talk about?" His tone was neutral, but she could see his expression grow wary. She could see that he, too, did not want to have this conversation. But it was necessary.

"We've fought side by side for months, but we don't really know each other. If this is is going to work, then we need to settle some things up front."

He paused, as if he were considering her suggestion, and then began to shuck off his leather vambraces.

"Alright, then. Talk."

He was going to make this difficult. Ashildr could already feel it. She didn't want to offend him if she could avoid it. He had earned enough of her respect for that, at least. But neither did she want him to have any illusions about where she stood in all of this. Ashildr opened her mouth to speakand then closed it again, unable to find words to say exactly what she wanted to say. Delicacy had never been her strong point.

I never imagined or wanted it to be you that I was married to, but now that I'm stuck with you . . . .

"I need to know what you expect from me," she blurted out at last.

Galmar chuckled dryly and without humor as he started on the straps of his cuirass.

"What's any man expect from his wife?"

He's going to make me say it to his face, Ashildr thought, feeling her frustration building. He's going to make me spell it out. Why I agreed to this farce. Why he's stuck with me now.

Ashildr closed her eyes for a moment before trying again.

"Specifically, so I know where we stand with each other."

The big man was unphased by her attempt at diplomacy. He shrugged.

"People have been marrying since the dawn of time. I don't guess it'll be that hard to figure out as we go."

Right, then.

"Fine," Ashildr snapped at last, unwilling to beat around the bush any longer. "I'll tell you what I think, then. This isn't what I wanted and I know it's not what you wanted either. But here we are. There's no reason we can't do this civilly. As long as you respect me, I'll respect you. I'll treat you as a husband in public; otherwise I'll try to stay out of your way. If you go looking elsewhere for comfort, all I ask is that I don't have to hear about it. Sound reasonable?"

Galmar said nothing, but she noticed that he tossed his cuirass aside slightly harder than was necessary.

Now we're getting somewhere.

"You finished?" he asked, glancing up at her as he moved on to his thick, spiked greaves.

Ashildr nodded silently, disturbed by the forced evenness of his tone, and waited for the other shoe to drop. Galmar straightened and tossed the greaves on top of his cuirass before walking past her towards the door as casually as if they had been discussing the weather.

"I don't know about you, but I could eat a horse."

Ashildr watched him go, incredulously, but he did not turn back. His response was entirely unexpected and she didn't know what to do next. She knew how to negotiate. She knew how to cope with anger. His refusal to react in either way put her seriously off balance. Eventually, she descended the stairs. Jorleif the steward had sent them a meal from the palace kitchens as a homecoming gift, correctly guessing that the newlyweds would not be set up to cook just yet. Despite the good food, they endured a dinner in dead silence.

This was, if possible, going to be worse than Ashildr had imagined.

~~0~~

Ulfric had granted them a few days leave from their duties to situate themselves as newlyweds and insisted that they take it. Otherwise, Ashildr would have been back to work immediately the following day. Anything to keep from having to be alone with her husband. Galmar had ridden off with his pig of a brother to hunt in the hills to the west, which was a temporary relief, and so she occupied herself with organizing her belongings in the newly furnished rooms, stocking the larder, and going through her growing collection of arms and armor to clean and stowed them in the new armory. Galmar's belongings were delivered from the Palace around noon and she walked around the satchels and bundles of weapons and armor, trying to decide whether or not she should delve into the contents to unpack them. Eventually, Ashildr decided that he could sort them out himself later and had Calder help her move them into the armory and out of her way.

"I don't mean to pry, Thane," Calder said, grunting as he dumped the last of the load next to the wall. "It's none of my business, of course. But, I didn't think you cared much for Galmar Stone-Fist."

She had never said as much, but Calder was perceptive and it was clear that he had picked up on her reticence about the marriage.

"He's a decent man. I don't dislike him," she told the housecarl before admitting, "This is . . . convenient. For other people, if not really for me."

Calder nodded awkwardly and then scratched his dark brown growth of beard, embarrassed on her behalf.

"If there's anything I can do . . ."

"Just treat him as you would me, for now," Ashildr replied, shrugging, touched by the younger man's concern. "If he gives you too much trouble, let me know and I'll deal with it."

"I'm your housecarl, even so," Calder assured her, determined. "If things go wrong -"

"I know. Thank you. Let me handle it for now."

Galmar returned late in the day with Rolff in tow. They had had good hunting, and he handed off the field dressed carcasses of two elk to Calder.

"Make yourself useful," he rumbled to the housecarl. "Get those skinned and hung."

"I see your day was productive," Ashildr noted, making an attempt at conversation. She still had to live with this man for the moment, after all,

"Two elk and a bear," Galmor grunted with an accomplished smile, seemingly in a good mood for once. "Not bad."

"Your things arrived from the Palace while you were gone. I'll see about putting some dinner together," she continued and then eyed Rolff. "I assume we'll have a guest?"

"If you'll have me at your table, missus. Or I suppose I should say 'sister' now," the ugly sot replied, grinning at her like the idiot he was.

No you bloody well should not, Ashildr wanted to snarl in return, but instead she spun around and whisked into the kitchen so that she would not feel tempted to hit him. There were few people that she truly loathed, but Rolff Stone-Fist was one of them. The drunken lout seemed to have forgotten the beating that she had given him when they had first met and she guessed that he was just about due for a reminder.

And he's my brother-in-law now, Ashildr thought, scowling to herself as she studied her larder. The Divines have a dreadful sense of humor.

"She's a fiery one," she heard Rolff remark to his brother as she rummaged around in the hod for kindling to stoke up the cookfire. "I bet that dragon blood makes for something special between the sheets at night, eh?"

Galmar replied, but Ashildr did not hear it as she slammed a couple of garlic cloves down on the table and chopped them unmercifully. In due time, a simple supper of roasted venison, potatoes, and grilled leaks was prepared, and she sat in relative silence while her new idiot-in-law prattled about this and that and how things were going to change for the better now that Ulfric was to be High King.

"Now those elves will see which way the wind blows," he said, triumphantly, as if he had actually been involved in the war instead of just tanking himself up on mead and wandering around the Grey Quarter shouting at people and causing a public nuisance. "And they can take those greyskins over in the slums with them."

"I think I'm in need of a walk," Ashildr announced at this declaration, rising sharply from the table. She glance at Galmar as if he might try to stop her. He watched her, one heavy eyebrow raised, but did not interfere as she took her dishes back into the kitchen and hurried outside.

As she stormed down to the Candlehearth, she groused under her breath, venting her frustrations to the night breeze.

"Show him which way the wind blows. Daedra-cursed clod-brained fetcher. Should have knocked his stupid head clean off his shoulders the first time."

The inn was doing brisk trade that night. Ashildr ordered mead and told the serving maid to keep it coming, found a secluded table, and drank angrily until a familiar face approached and settled down in the chair across from her.

"Something troubles you?" Erandur asked her, sedately. His dusky expression was placid, but she could detect the slight quirk of one corner of his mouth that told her he already knew exactly what was troubling her. In a stranger, it would have angered her further, but Erandur knew her too well for Ashildr to be angry with him. She grimaced.

"My brother-in-law is an idiot. My husband is . . ." she began and trailed off, making a strangled sound in her throat. "The man I wanted tossed me off like an old shoe and I'm a damned fool for letting all of this happen to me. Misery and folly all around. Are you entertained yet?"

But the sarcastic question was unfair and she didn't mean it. Erandur had been a good companion through everything. He had helped her through her struggle to defeat Alduin. He was one of the few people in Skyrim that she had come to trust implicitly, largely because he acknowledged his flaws and spent his life working to repair them and because he refused to judge of others for that same reason. And, he knew her too well to be offended by the jab, still smiling as he waited for her to continue. Ashildr sighed, relenting.

"I'm just - I don't know what to do."

"Have you spoken to him about it yet?" the priest asked sensibly.

"I've tried. It's not like it was out in the war camps. It's harder. I don't know how to talk to that man."

The Dunmer chuckled. "Perhaps you should try listening instead, then."

He was teasing her, leavening her mood, but he was serious as well. Ashildr made a face, shrugged, and tossed back another mouthful of mead.

"At least we'll both be back in the field soon. Maybe being apart for a while will make it easier."

They sat in silence for a few moments as the priest studied her.

"Have you considered," Erandur began, warming to the subject, "that perhaps this is not the worst choice you could have made? That it might, in fact, be to your benefit?"

Ashildr glared at him, but she listened as he continued.

"If you remember, we spoke briefly about your family once before. You said that you worried you would end up like your father one day - disconnected from everyone and everywhere. Living for the next fight and the next bottle of ale. Well, now you have the chance to avoid that fate. You can make a different life for yourself. You can make those connections. It may not be perfect, but nothing is ever perfect. Especially marriage."

"This wasn't my choice. I was forced into this," Ashildr began hotly, but the Dunmer's smile only broadened, his brow arching in humor.

"Were you, now? Then why aren't you half way to Hammerfell at this moment? You could have struck out before the wedding. That ring on your finger didn't come with chains. You remain free to leave at any time."

"Because," she spluttered angrily, and then took a moment to compose herself, grasping the bottle in her hand too tightly. "They had my number, Erandur. It was this or risk getting some people hurt. People I care about, gods help me. Maybe Ulfric's people would have dropped it if I had done a runner - but maybe they would have done worse out of spite. You understand? And anyway, I gave my word. I finish what I start."

"You acknowledge that there is something more important than yourself," he agreed, mildly. "You've let other people make a place in your heart, whether you like it or not."

The priest gave her a significant look and sighed.

"You're a hard woman, my friend. You've had to be in order to survive your life. But let me tell you what it took me years to learn: love is a more persistent and irresistible force than you can imagine. You can't fight it. You can't negotiate with it. It seizes you and drags you down blind alleys and twisting paths. It empties you out until you feel that there is nothing left, only to put you back together exactly where you need to be. Love humbles the powerful and empowers the weakest of men. And, however many battles you walk away from, Ashildr, however much you harden yourself against it, you can't survive without love. If there's a difference between you and your father in the end, that is what it will be. Take it from me. Meditate on that as you come to terms with the changes in your life. Lady Mara will reveal the truth of the matter to you when you're ready to see it."

I don't want to meditate on it, I just want it to go away, Ashildr thought, but she said nothing. Erandur meant well enough. He might even be correct. But, he had never been married himself. He couldn't know what a torture it was.

"I will be leaving for Dawnstar tomorrow," he continued, gently. "If you need me, you know where I will be. You are always welcome at my sanctuary. For any reason."

She nodded, feeling helpless anger creep into her gut once more. Life was moving on around her and she was still stuck.

By the time she dragged herself home, somewhat drunk and irritable, the house was dark and quiet. Ashildr made her way up to the bedroom as quietly as she could, half-expecting Galmar to be waiting disapprovingly, but he looked to be asleep already. She undressed sullenly and slid into bed, pulling the covers up around her and staring into the rafters while she listened to Galmar breathing until she was no longer sure if she was awake or dreaming.

So, this is my life from now on, she thought in the twilight before sleep finally took her.

If this was what love had in store for her, then maybe drinking herself into an early grave like her old man would be preferable by comparison.

~~0~~

The news had to come eventually and Ashildr had tried to steel herself for it, but the announcement that Ulfric was set to wed Jarl Elisif the Fair of Solitude caught her like a punch in the gut anyway. It made sense. It was the easiest consolidation of power. Though, Ashildr could not help but feel sorry for the poor girl being more or less compelled to marry the man who had killed her husband. It made Ashildr's own prickly situation feel slightly less awful by comparison.

However, as plans went ahead and as the Moot approached, her restlessness grew worse. She could accept that she would never be with Ulfric and that there had never really been more between them than a passing flirtation anyway - the mildest of wartime dalliances - but she didn't want to stand by and watch him marry Elisif. It hurt too much. It was salt rubbed into wounds that were still raw and festered.

Nothing had improved between her and Galmar. They barely spoke to each other despite eating at the same table and sleeping in the same bed. The only words that passed between them were what was necessary to complete their work. While he did not seem to be angry at her specifically, Ashildr could feel that the housecarl was just as uncomfortable and frustrated with the situation as she was. She could not help but think that he would be as happy to be rid of her as she would be to be gone.

Finally, one afternoon as she made her way home after spending most of the day tracking down and dealing with a den of bandits that had set up a camp on one of the major trade roads, she made a decision. It was just too much. She couldn't do this. She wasn't cut out for settled life or marriage. In that, too, she was her father's daughter. Erandur had been wrong with all his talk about love.

Ulfric would be displeased if she left, but she had won his war for him and it was more than apparent that she was no longer needed at court. If she left now, Galmar could get on with his life without the burden of his thorny bride. He could have the house and everything in it as far as Ashildr was concerned. She didn't yet know where she would go - somewhere out of Skyrim, obviously - but anywhere had to be better than the slow torture she was experiencing here.

Calder was in the armory cleaning and sharpening his weapons when she arrived. He took one look at the expression on her face and frowned in concern.

"Is something amiss, my Thane?"

"No, everything's fine," she told him quickly, and then added, "Wait there."

Ashildr hurried up to her bedchamber and found her parchment and ink. The note she scribbled was short and to the point, outlining the barest reasons for why she had left and underscoring that they shouldn't waste their time looking for her. She didn't want to be found. She folded it twice, sealed it, and carried it back downstairs to her bemused housecarl.

"I'm going to be leaving soon. Business. Short notice," she lied, so that he would not ask questions. "Give that to Galmar after I've left, if you would be so kind."

"Thane-" he began to object, carefully, clearly suspecting what was about to happen, but she waved him off as she grabbed a travelling satchel and began shoving various supplies into it. There was little time if she was going to slip away unnoticed, and she needed to travel light anyway.

Ashildr had just rolled out a map and poised herself over it, considering her best route out of the province, when she heard the front door open and close. Galmar. He was home early. Cursing under her breath, she let the map roll shut and shoved her bag under the table with her foot. It would have to wait until tomorrow now.

Galmar arrived at the door of the armory a few moments later, looking for her. There was a peculiar expression on his face as his grey eyes found hers. Hesitation. Perhaps even embarassment? An emotion she had never seen him display before.

"There you are," he began, carefully testing the waters.

Ashildr turned and faced him like a caught thief facing a guardsman. The housecarl's look seemed to turn inward for a moment and then he seemed to make up his mind.

"I've got something for you," he grunted. "Come out here."

Frowning with confusion, she followed him out into the main hall of the house. There was a burlap wrapped package on the table and Ashildr glanced up at Galmar quizzically. He nodded to it, confirming that it was for her, and then, more shockingly, he smiled.

Carefully, Ashildr stepped forward and pulled at the lacings that bound the package together, peeling back the rough sacking. Out tumbled folds of what appeared to be soft, thick tawny-brown animal fur. She looked up at the big housecarl again, even more confused now, and then picked the folded parcel up and shook it out.

It was a bearskin cloak, well-softened and worked until the hide was almost as flexible as fabric. The pelt had been cleverly cut to allow the enormous preserved paws and claws to fall down her chest, weighting the garment so that it hung about her shoulders comfortably. An interlocking clasp of elk antler carved into the shape of a bear's head had been added at the throat. It was, in a word, beautiful.

"I know women usually like jewelry or fine clothes," Galmar explained, somewhat self-consciously. "Thought you might get more use out of this."

"It's . . ." Ashildr started, but her thoughts spun too quickly with the coincidence of the gift right as she was planning to leave. "It's beautiful."

He smiled - a real, broad smile this time - which in itself was as much of a spear shaft to the heart as the gift was.

"It's the bear Rolff and I killed on our hunting trip a few weeks ago. Big she-bear. Beautiful animal. I know you're not used to the winters this far north. Should serve you well this autumn when the cold sets in."

She gaped at him, her fingers tightening in the thick fur of the cloak, thoroughly unable to account for this sudden generosity and suddenly feeling deeply, deeply churlish. She looked down at the gift for a long moment and then set it down on the table. She couldn't accept it. Not with the guilty plans of escape still fresh on her mind. Not after these weeks of silence.

"Galmar, I'm -"

He preempted her by stepping forward and laying a somewhat awkward kiss on her forehead, stunning her into silence. His thick hand settling briefly on her shoulder as if he were trying very hard to do this right and was not exactly sure if he was succeeding.

"You didn't ask for this," he told her, looking her full in the eyes for the first time in a very long while, "but I chose to be here. I'm not Ulfric. Maybe you can see fit to be happy with me anyway."

His hand trailed off of her shoulder as he headed for the stairs to remove his gear and clean up after a long day, and Ashildr watched him go. She was as thunderstruck as if she had been slapped.

He had chosen this?

She thought back to the night that they had arrived back in the city and it dawned upon her now how her hard words must have stung if this were not merely some unpleasant duty for Galmar. Why had he never let on?

Perhaps you should try listening instead, Erandur said in the back of her mind.

Ashildr ran her fingers through the dense brown and blonde fur of the cloak - it really was a beautiful piece of work - and then draped it around her shoulders briefly. Maybe she had been too wrapped up inside of her own thoughts, too focused on what she felt was being taken away rather than what was right in front of her face. In her anger and fear, in her outrage at Ulfric, she had never paused to give Galmar himself a chance to explain.

Turning, she climbed the stairs. Just as she had on their first day back, she entered the bedroom as Galmar was removing his armor. Instead of waiting by the door, she moved over to him and started to help him with the buckles on his cuirass. This seemed to surprise him, but he did not object. He allowed her to help him. When he was down to his clothes, she lay the thick armor aside, and then she went up on her toes and kissed him, lightly, tentatively, on the lips. She had refused him that at the wedding. It was only fair to make up for it now.

"Thank you," she told him, sincerely, as she looked up into his scarred face and grey eyes, "And I'm sorry. Shall we start again?"

He smiled then and this time, when his huge hand curled around the back of her neck and he leaned down to kiss her, she did not pull away.