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Since his birth they have known that the boy is different. He is too quiet for a babe, barely cries when he is hungry or distressed. At first they believe it is because of his early birth, because he is weaker and smaller than his sisters have been. Later, the parents begin to worry and ask for advice from a physician. 'Deaf', one medic says. 'Mute', the other. But no, the boy is neither. He reacts to his surroundings just fine and begins to babble like any other child, except that he is months late.
Hænir's heart turns over the first time his son calls him 'papa', smiling up at him with those bright green eyes that he inherited from his mother. He no longer worries.
A long time later, after an exhausting day full of political debate the Jarl returns to his quarter to hear a sound he has not known before; his son's laughter. The door to his childrens' room is slightly ajar and he tiptoes closer and peeks inside. Ísalind is making funny faces, cheeks puffed out and eyes crossed and her brother is on his back, rolling with laughter, feet in his hands. Frey keeps telling them to shut up because she can't concentrate and tosses pillows at them both and they keep sailing back to her great annoyance. He retreats with a smile of his own.
At six years of age Ulfric still barely speaks. Not in Nord, not in the Trader's Tongue. He knows the languages, under his tutor he has begun to read and write, frustrating his teacher because he won't read out loud. But despite the frequent encouragement he will not speak until it is absolutely necessary and when he does it is usually in monosyllables of 'já', 'neinn' and 'papa', usually accompanied by a long face he must have copied from Ísa. The Bear does not press his son.
All his children had weird quirks at some time. Frey only ate her food when it was divided by colour. Ísa needed to have the same song sung to her three times in a row for over two years or she would not go to sleep. It will pass, Hænir knows.
'Just shy', is what the nurse says about her young charge. Maybe he is.
When he screams though half the castle comes running, the Jarl and his housecarl and the soldiers with their weapons drawn because there is something so very raw and jarring about that sound.
The fateful letter arrives five months later.
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The Jarl of Windhelm leaves his steward in charge of the city for the time he will be gone. He has words he needs to speak to the Greybeards and arrangements to make. He and Thorsten ride next to each other while the children form a gaggle behind them. The housecarl has taken his son with him so he and Ulfric can get to know each other better.
Galmar does not know how to behave around his little lord at first and he tries to be solemn and professional because his father is. He wants to act all grownup and forgets to when Ulfric and his sisters draw him into their games and in the evening he falls asleep first from sheer exhaustion. They become inseparable for the rest of the journey.
oooo
High Hrothgar is not a welcoming sight, black and square and Ísa and Ulfric hide behind their father, each on one side and conscious that they will be left here, in this strange cold place.
The doors to the monastery open before anybody can knock and a tall slender figure in billowing robes steps out. The Greybeard's garb is as drab as his home; he blends in well with the background. After a moment of silence, he speaks up in a soft, quiet voice that still somehow manages to drown out everything else, even the howling of the wind. "We were expecting only the boy."
"I wish for all my children to be taught in the old ways," Hænir states and his children marvel at their father's bravery to face down the intimidating figure with the pale eyes. Little do they know that it is his right as a Jarl, although usually only the eldest child is sent away to study at the monastery.
"Very well," the Greybeard concedes after a moment of thought. He spreads his arms then and addresses them all. "I am master Arngeir and I welcome you to High Hrothgar."
They introduce themselves, one after the other, the way they have been taught at court. And then, far too soon it is time for farewells and Ulfric is torn between excitement and apprehension because his father looks at him with such pride in his eyes and although he sees no trace of it he can feel the man's sadness.
"Be good, you hear?" the Bear says after one last goodbye-hug. "Do what your elder sister tells you." He can see Ísa's face light up from the corner of his eyes and nearly groans. "I mean Frey," he clarifies and her face falls again.
The children are ushered inside and while Thorsten and Galmar take their leave as well, Hænir corners the Greybeard.
"I am also leaving one of my household staff," he decides and they argue until the Jarl asks the other Nord "Do you have children, master Arngeir?" When his only answer is a tired shake of a greying head, he presses his point. "With all due respect then you would do well to take the advice of someone who has three." Old men who never raised a child or worked with one for the matter are no company for a six-year-old boy. The Jarl's mind already turns to how to ensure that this arrangement will work out in the future.
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Arngeir soon finds himself incredibly grateful for the Jarl's foresight when two of the three children begin to run wild. They have more energy than he can keep up with and though they are quiet and intimidated in the first weeks, it quickly wears off. The Jarl's eldest daughter keeps them in line as does the maid and he grudgingly accepts that he would never have coped on his own. Children are strange, they do not see the world as he does and at times he comes close to despairing.
For Ulfric living with the old men soon loses its novelty. They are just old men, after all. They drink tea from snowberries, harrumph often and Arngeir keeps talking to himself. Ulfric likes master Einarth and master Wulfgar best; the former always is serene and demonstrates his Shout while the latter smiles often and shows them his collection of oddities he has picked up on the mountain and plays tafl with them. Master Borri scares him and he hides whenever he sees the Greybeard. Master Arngeir always seems to radiate disapproval.
Freydís finds the Greybeard slumped over and asleep in the corridor one day and Ulfric next to him, studying a wax tablet with runes, blond brows furrowed in concentration. There is a curious mixture of moss, flowers and twigs woven in the old man's beard and his mouth has fallen open; he snores.
"Did you do this to master Arngeir, Ulfric?," she asks sternly trying to imitate their father when he is displeased.
"Nid," her brother replies without a care and without looking up. "Ísa drey daar."
For somebody who speaks so seldom he has picked up the Old Tongue remarkably quickly. They have lessons in Dovahzul, the ancient language of dragons and Ulfric's eyes go as wide and round as plates when he learns of that fact, history and religion. Sometimes they sit together and meditate, but Ísa begins to yawn after five minutes, her gaze vacant and Ulfric, though he tries hard, fidgets ceaselessly trying to find a comfortable position on the stone floor. Master Arngeir shakes his head.
They all fly out of the monastery when, as promised, their father comes to pick them up again and for once not even Ulfric can keep his mouth shut, chattering away as eagerly as his sisters. Hænir has a lengthy talk with the Greybeard about how they will proceed about the boy's training and Arngeir would rather that the boy has no distractions. He coughs and turns red when the Bear asks him what he had been doing at seven and does not give the Jarl a straight answer.
They finally agree that it is best if the boy returns to resume his studies after he spends some time with his family and friends and gets rid of all his excess energy. The family returns to Windhelm and their life falls back into its old rhythm, but eventually Ulfric has to return to High Hrothgar. The prospect is much less daunting this time. He still has to find something of Talos' in the monastery.
Freydís asks her father to be allowed to return for another half-year and he gives in, though he sends her fighting instructor and main tutor with her. Arngeir is not happy, but he sees the reason that the Jarl's firstborn child has other responsibilities as well. It is not her the Greybeards are interested in, after all, though she too shows promise and is an apt pupil. But as the Jarl's heir her destiny lies in another direction and they focus their attentions on the boy.
For the next four years Ulfric will travel between High Hrothgar and Windhelm, spending half a year in each place. Later, his visits of home will become shorter and sparser until eventually he will only descend to Ivarstead to meet with Galmar or sometimes one of his sisters. But that is yet to come.
He masters his first shout at the age of eight and Arngeir once again shakes his head, for a different reason this time.
His mother's condition worsens drastically a few years later and he gets recalled home for what unbeknownst to him will be their last time together. Ulfric finds Líf in the small garden his father had ordered built for his bride when she first came to the city of snow and stone. It is blossoming now, in the middle of summer and he has an idea as they sit together. Birds make a merry ruckus in the shrubbery around them and he manages to sneak up on them.
'KAAN', he whispers as quietly as possible, so that hopefully master Arngeir won't hear.
"Jori, what are you doing?," his mother asks, curious and a bit worried.
She exhales in surprise and delight as he picks up the docile birds one by one and places them in her lap and one in her hand. Líf runs one delicate finger along the birds' bright plumage and they begin to sing again.
There are tears in her eyes and Ulfric does not understand what he did wrong. "Why are you crying, móði?"
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Hænir sends his son back with tutors and a gift of a sword he had made extra for the boy, insisting that Ulfric is a Jarl's son and as such he has much to learn outside of the Way of the Voice. He wants his son to spend as much time as possible with other children, and if that cannot be done then at least he will have teachers, of politics and fighting.
When Arngeir complains that everything else is taking too much time out of the boy's training Einarth, the weakest of the Greybeards, has something to say on the topic. "How old were you when you came to High Hrothgar?," he asks then and when the other Greybeard does not answer "Humour me."
"Six-and-ten," Arngeir replies after a brief pause.
"And how long did it take for you to learn your first Shout?"
"I mastered 'Wuld' after two years." He had been so proud then.
"He is two-and ten and he already knows three Shouts," Einarth whispers. "We both know the boy either has Kynareth's blessing or a talent unlike any other. He's certainly better than I am and quite possibly better than you are, too. Let him. Lest you will have nothing more to teach him in a few years' time."
Ulfric soaks knowledge up like a sponge does water. The longer the boy stays though the more his concentration begins to waver and Arngeir, much wiser with the experience, sees that there is only so much the child can do, that though it may not seem so he already studies as hard as he can.
He suffers a heavy setback when one day when unexpectedly Thorsten and Galmar pick the boy up without any forewarning about their arrival.
Líf has died.
Ulfric is four-and ten.
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When Ulfric returns he is listless, distraught and refuses to speak once more, something he had grown out of over the years. Arngeir eventually loses patience and makes the mistake of speaking of his mother as a distraction and finds himself on the receiving end of his pupil's wrath, stunned by the sudden flare of his temper that has never shown itself before.
Anger quickly turns to mortification and Ulfric runs away, as fast and far as he can, past the forbidden gates and on, into the night. He stops when he can run no more and realizes that he is lost, hopelessly lost. Ulfric tries to follow his footsteps back but they have filled out with snow he did not even notice was falling. The world around him is utterly silent and he begins to shiver with cold and with something else.
When the icewraith attacks he shouts at it "FUS RO," and stabs at it with his sword, the one piece of home that he always carries with him. Not the graceful, calculated thrusts his weapon master has been teaching him, but wild and frenzied swings. He suffers burns at his hands and arms, and when the creature's fragile body crumbles under the force of his blows and Voice he is too scared to think that he beat even Galmar's record. According to an ancient custom he is now a man. He does not feel like one.
His shout does not go unnoticed though and he is found, and thankfully there is a cave nearby where he can spend the freezing night, but the fire of a Shout keeps him warm.
When he returns Arngeir is so relieved he outright forgets to scold him.
Ulfric, on the other hand, is ecstatic. He has a secret. One that he does not share with the Greybeards and on many a following night Ulfric climbs out of bed, dresses as warmly as possible and steals out of the monastery.
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He has to stop for a while when another Jarl's son arrives two years later. Ulfric watches them from one of the few windows, sees the blond boy stand before his severe looking father at attention and call him 'sir'. He misses his own family and the friend he cannot visit now.
The two do not get along well at all. Balgruuf is interested in food and looking nice and he invades his private space. Ulfric's head is full of lore and the Way of the Voice and he does not know how to interact with somebody his own age; appears aloof and cool. Eventually, the other boy leaves again without mastering a single Shout.
oooo
Ulfric is no longer a boy when the letters from his father take on a dark note and speak of a war to come, but he turns his restless mind back towards his studies. Only when he learns that the war has truly begun and that his sisters have enlisted in the Imperial Legion does he understand that he cannot stay. Frey will be there, right on the front as the leader of a small band of soldiers and Ísa with the healers in the reinforcements. It has been three years since he last saw them.
The Jarl's son is young and feels compelled to do something. The great deeds of heroes of old fill his head and he wants to stand out as well, to make a difference in this world before it is too late and all the chance at glory has been snatched away by somebody else.
Before he becomes like those around him.
"What about the Way of the Voice?," Arngeir asks, furious and powerless in his anger. He cannot, will not use the Voice but his self-control is frail and his Thu'um underlies everything he says.
"Did not Kyne send us the gift of the Voice so we could defeat the dragons who would otherwise enslave us?" Ulfric enquires, drawing upon his knowledge of the lore, presenting his point as reasonably as he can. "How are the elves any different?"
"It is not the same thing!" Arngeir comes as close to shouting as the lad had ever seen him and beneath his feet, High Hrothgar trembles.
"It is exactly the same thing! I will not sit by idly and watch the world beneath me burn and bleed while I sing praise of peace to Kynareth and the heavens!"
The true power of Ulfric 's voice does not lie in destruction, or fear, but persuasion. Arngeir totters on the edge, wars with himself; compassion and the memory of a life he left behind so long ago he sometimes no longer remembers he has ever had it and almost listens. But then the old man turns away and Ulfric knows that he has lost him and he gives up on the argument.
He steals away one last time and when he returns that very night he packs, leaving behind most of his belongings. He cannot take everything with him and maybe - No, he cannot, will not return. He weights it in his heart, one thing against the other. Becoming a Greybeard or fighting for Skyrim. The latter wins. He will always belong to her and one thing Arngeir does not realize is that High Hrothgar is a part of this world as well.
It is not an easy decision. He would be happy to stay save that apparently it requires turning a blind eye to the world below. It's easier to be short-sighted when one's eyes are clouded with old age, but the vigour of youth burns in Ulfric as does his and love for the country that is his home.
He is eager for battle, ready to prove himself.
"Sky guard you," Einarth whispers and master Wulfgar pats his arm in farewell. Of Arngeir there is no sign.
"Ven aak hi," Ulfric replies formally and he looks back only once on his way down. It is almost enough to make him reconsider. He sets his shoulders instead and ploughs on. He wants to find out what the world has in store for him.
He knows many things that others don't, but he is innocent in other ways, has never known injustice or cynicism thanks to his sheltered upbringing. Ulfric knows a bit of fighting and he believes it is enough. He has never kissed a girl or a boy and does not know of the comfort a lover's touch has to offer. He wants it all. He wants to live.
Ulfric will always remember the joy in his father's face turn brittle and crumble, will see the way Hænir's eyes close as if in prayer when he learns that his son has left the safety of the Throat of the World to join the Legion. He clings to his son and for a moment Ulfric's conviction wavers. There is not a moment in his memory when his father wasn't there for him. Strong, reliable, safe. He feels very small all of a sudden.
The kiss Hænir plants upon the top of his head feels branded into his skin, but when the time comes he sets out in high spirits, his horse dancing under its rider and together with Galmar they wave at the two distant figures upon the battlements for one last time. Then their eyes turn towards adventure and glory and a faraway country, their talk to tales and songs of bravery and heroic deeds they already see themselves accomplishing.
oooo
Four years later the Imperial City falls and Paarthurnax raises his head when he hears the faintest of echoes of a storm brewing, of thunder. Strundaam.
Further away, beyond the ears of mortals or dov a god laughs. One of his priests bears witnesses and goes mad with joy and terror.
Ulfric is no longer a boy, or a bright-eyed, eager lad. At two-and-twenty years of age he has the cares of one who has lived too long. He is weary and disillusioned, has watched his friends die and has known betrayal and pain such that he has prayed for death many times. For his service in the Legion all he has to show is a black mark in the Imperial records, a broken body and a haunted gaze; and a hatred that he nurses from a burning flame into a white-hot furnace. It keeps him going through the final battle.
His Thu'um washes over their enemy, stronger than it has ever been and they cannot withstand and, no longer capable of feeling pity or revulsion and used to the horror around him, he feels a fierce, savage satisfaction as he watches them die.
And the warriors call him Stormcloak and cheer.
AN: Eek! I wanted this to be happy. Oh, well. Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed reading the story.
This was part two of the 'Price of Freedom' series. Ulfric's story now continues with part three: 'Coming Home'.
