Hello all, I wanted to get this chapter out as quickly as possible, so here you go! I hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all.
Ulfric sat on his throne in the Palace of the Kings, staring ahead apathetically. It had been a long day and as Jorleif debriefed him about the state of his city and the rest of Skyrim, he listened passively, answering neutrally whenever needed.
It had been two weeks since the final battle and sleep had finally made it back to him albeit restless sleep. He looked better and felt better, but his outward appearance was the ultimate farce for how troubled he felt inside. The mundane day to day responsibilities of being the Jarl of Windhelm was miniscule compared the broad scale of things and he found himself secretly wanting to pawn off the job to someone else.
The Empire was out of Skyrim, a cause he had fought for so long had finally come to fruition and opened up Skyrim to new threats. He knew deep down inside what he was doing by giving the Empire the final push out of the country but he had no clue how to proceed. Then again, that wouldn't even fall on him if he wasn't declared king by the moot, which was due to happen in a month or so.
That brought up a whole new realm of fears and matters that he didn't want to face right now. He shook his head ever so slightly as to erase the face of the woman who had beset his thoughts regularly now.
"My Jarl, are you feeling ill?"
Ulfric snapped out of his daze and surveyed the room. Jorleif, who had asked the question, was eyeing him with concern. Galmar had turned his attention to the exchange and they both looked to him expectantly.
Clearing his throat, he sat up in his chair, "I feel fine. I was lost in thought, forgive me. Please continue."
"I'm finished, sire." Jorleif resigned to the table and began eating with Galmar. Ulfric felt anxious, as he didn't want to provoke doubt, and stood from his throne to join them as they ate.
He pulled chicken and some bread on his plate, picking at it indecisively as his friends maintained conversation. His thoughts wandered to her as he ate his food.
Not a single word from her since the incident in the baths. He felt something stir deep within him as he recollected that day. The passion he had experienced at the expense of his ego had shaken him deeply. His body loved it and yearned for it and he hated that. He was Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, the future High King of Skyrim and yet he allowed that woman to… deceive him? Humiliate him? Seduce him? Blackmail him?
He conceded to himself that she had done all of those things with ease. It didn't make any sense and he didn't expect it to until she came forth to him and they discussed it, something he anticipated with fervor and dread. He finished his food and excused himself from the table, his two comrades watching him with uneasiness. His odd behavior had been noticed and debated many times in private between the two.
Galmar figured it was Rikke's death and the future responsibility that he faced that had caused Ulfric to detach from everything around him while Jorleif had his rightful theory of the Dragonborns involvement. Jorleif had spoken to the young woman many times and had answered questions about his Jarls bachelorhood. He supposed she was chasing him or he was chasing her but Galmar laughed it off.
"The Dragonborn? That young thing? Ulfric may be my blood brother but I don't see that happening."
Meanwhile, Ulfric walked to the barracks that evening and hailed three young men. They hurried toward him with enthusiasm and stood rigidly in front of him.
"Where is your post as of right now?" He had asked the two, staring them down.
The older of the two glanced at the other two momentarily before answering, "We're posted here tonight but leaving for Whiterun in the morn, sire."
Ulfric offered them a welcoming smirk, "Great. Then I supposed you wouldn't mind dropping this off to the Dragonborn while you're there, would you?" He held up a letter with the seal of Windhelm and the oldest claimed it, nodding obediently.
The Jarl then went straight to his bedchambers where he attempted to sleep. He allowed himself to think of that night in detail and he felt the familiar pressure of arousal building up in him. The way she moved over him with confidence, pulled his hair without fear, screamed with desire… He craved it again.
He felt himself slipping deeper into this chasm she had dragged him in as he forced himself to sleep, phantom sensations of her skin against his lingered with him throughout the night.
As night cast its dark shroud on Whiterun, Ophelia the Dragonborn, ending her fourth consecutive day of binge drinking in a proper fashion, stumbled through the doorway of Breezehome. Lydia, her housecarl, looked up from her book to take in the wretched sight before returning to it casually.
Ophelia eyed the other Nord before groaning loudly and slamming the door, sliding to the floor with her back against it.
"L-Lydia." The Dragonborn stuttered and laid her head against the hard wooden door.
"Yes, my Thane?" Lydia sat the book down and stood, casting a critical eye down at the woman.
"Help me to my – my bed please." She threw her arms up roughly and stiffly. Lydia walked over to her slowly and took them, helping her up.
"I'm such a terrible person, Lydia. You're my only friend." Ophelia rested her head against Lydia's shoulder. Lydia wrapped her arms around the other womans waist to help her up the steps.
"Yes, yes. You've told me this before." The housecarl droned on as she assisted her up the steps. This wasn't an unusual ritual. Lydia liked to think of Ophelia as a functioning drunk. The woman had been through a lot in her short life and was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. On her off days she liked to read at home, go hunting or binge drink and start enough fights to be labeled a felon. Lydia felt as if she could excuse it most of the time, although it was rather annoying.
Once at the top of the stairs Lydia fumbled with balancing other woman's weight with unlocking the bedroom door of her Thane. After several failed attempts, Ophelia braced herself roughly against the wall and help up an authoritative hand. Lydia watched in amusement as she swayed back and forth.
Taking a deep breath, Ophelia stared aggressively at the door, "Fus Ro!"
The shout threw open the door with a crack, splintering it near the handle and sent the rug behind it flying. The small home trembled from the shock wave of the shout and Ophelia snickered merrily, swinging herself into the room. Lydia followed closely behind, keeping an eye out for broken furniture.
Ophelia attempted to get her boots off before she fell backwards and hit her head against the footboard of the bed. She winced and cried out, holding the back of head while she curled in a ball on the floor. The other woman came up and helped her stand up, noticing the blood that seeped from a scab on the back of her head. Lydia sat her down on the side of the bed and tended to the wound while Ophelia took off her boots off finally.
"How did you get this cut on the back of your head?" Lydia muttered, mainly to herself.
Ophelia cackled before answering cryptically, "I got – got it from when I slept with someone."
The housecarl couldn't help but roll her eyes. Her Thane's sexual exploits were many and usually quite interesting, but right now she needed to clean her wound and get her to bed.
"It was Ulfric Stormcloak."
The bottle containing a healing potion clattered to the wooden floor and Lydia quickly turned her friend around.
"What?"
"That was my reaction too," Ophelia smiled dreamily and lay back on the bed. Lydia still gawked at the woman, eyes wide and jaw slacked.
"It was amazing, if you were wondering. I asked him to marry me. I was drunk and it was heat of the moment but I figured that it would suit us both best if we went ahead with it… Not to say we're married yet, but I think plans are in the making. I hope." The words clumsily spilled out of Ophelia's mouth as she drifted off to sleep.
"Wait… Wait… Ophelia, you're joking, right? Right?" Lydia, still stunned, shook her friend in an effort to wake her from impending sleep. She wanted to know more about what she was talking about – whether or not it was truth. Soon, the Dragonborn snored contently as sleep overtook her.
Lydia, after sitting next to the sleeping form for several minutes while trying to gather her thoughts about what just happened, rolled her friend onto her side with a pillow beneath her back and took her leave from the room.
That couldn't have been true.
Ulfric Stormcloak? Lydia's eyes narrowed and she shook her head. He was honorable and brave, but not exactly what she would define as handsome or viable for having children.
Perhaps she was after the throne? Ophelia wasn't one to do that kind of thing – yes, she was rough around the edges but she wasn't power hungry. She hated the power she already had.
Lydia spent quite some time pacing the floors of Breezehome, considering Ophelia's confession before she retired for the night. As she lay in bed, her mind continued to race. This was a peculiar situation. A peculiar situation, indeed.
Ophelia woke from her slumber the next morning when someone knocked loudly on the door to Breezehome. When she opened her eyes she noticed the room was pitch black, as the candle had seemingly burned out overnight, and she felt so sick that she could barely function.
Reaching blindly from the edge of her bed, she found her boots and pulled them on quickly, not bothering to buckle them. She felt her way to the door and attempted to pull it open, only to be frustrated when she felt it jam on her suddenly. She pulled harder and it unwedged itself, causing her to stumble back unceremoniously, she regained her composure and made note of the defective door before pulling it open completely.
The bright light from downstairs caused her eyes to pulse painfully and she squinted while wincing from the discomfort, and gingerly made her way down the steps. Once at the base she saw the front door opened and Lydia speaking to someone outside.
"Lydia, who is it?" Her voice rasped abnormally and she coughed and grabbed a goblet of water from the table. Lydia turned and acknowledged her Thane before stepping aside, letting the silhouette in front of the impossibly bright light of Whiterun step in the house. Ophelia's eyes needed time to adjust to the light and when they did she was surprised to see a young man dressed in a Stormcloak cuirass.
Ophelia quirked an eyebrow, "to whom do I owe this awakening?"
"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm wanted you to receive this as quickly as possible." The young man procured a letter and she eyeballed it for a moment before taking it.
"Thank you." She said before reaching in her pocket to throw him some septims. He nodded, bowed and took his leave, slowly shutting the door as he left.
Ophelia overlooked the envelope before setting it down on the table. She smiled brightly at Lydia.
"I'm assuming it was you who was so nice enough to help me into bed last night?"
Lydia couldn't help the smirk that formed on her face, "yes."
Ophelia chuckled and grabbed an apple from a crate in the back of the kitchen before she sat down at the table, the letter directly in front of her. She noticed Lydia's odd expression but didn't comment on it. She ate her apple and drank her water in quiet. She noticed Lydia fiddling with the rag on the table, her eyes darting from object to object nervously.
"You okay?" Ophelia asked before taking another bite of her apple.
"Are you really marrying Ulfric?" Lydia asked hurriedly and Ophelia's eyes shot up quickly, her face flushing.
"What do you mean?" She spoke with a mouthful and coughed a little.
"I mean, last night you told me you slept with Ulfric and you were planning on marrying him."
Ophelia sat in shameful silence and chewed the remainder of her apple. When she swallowed, she tensely answered, "I… Yes. I did."
Lydia and her made eye contact for several seconds before Lydia responded.
"Why?"
"I'm not too sure, but I'd rather not talk about it." Ophelia deflected and finished off her water.
"I'm sorry to pry I'm just… so confused!" Lydia couldn't help but tease and Ophelia shot her a glare. Lydia quieted down and looked at the floor.
"I know, but it would be in your best interest to mind your own business and not say anything when it comes to this matter. I told you, that's all you need to know."
Lydia took the menacing tone in stride and nodded. She understood Ophelia's need for vagueness but still felt unsatisfied with the fact that she didn't get an explanation. She cleaned her mess and went upstairs to leave her Thane alone.
Ophelia was furious with herself. She slammed her fist down on the table and groaned. She knew her alcohol issue was enough to make her do stupid things, but nothing this reckless. Berating herself intrinsically, she grabbed the letter and opened it abruptly, her eyes scanning over it quickly.
Dragonborn,
Come to Windhelm at once. I need to talk to you face to face. Please.
Ulfric.
She sighed and placed the letter on the table, running her hands through her hair. She was hung over and stressed about Lydia's knowledge of her now complicated relationship with Ulfric. Lydia was a trusted confidant but she just couldn't bring herself to be comfortable with Lydia knowing this. Nothing was even set in stone.
She reached down and buckled her boots, pinned her cloak around her shoulders and threw her bow and quiver over her shoulder. She would go to Windhelm – alone.
That evening, the same mind numbing ritual of the Jarl came and went. Throughout the day, Jorleif had brought in citizens to ask questions and voice concerns to the Jarl directly, which in turn, he would confidently answer or placate.
The security around the castle was tight and he felt as if he had no privacy – something he had grown accustomed to in the past years. However, with the war still freshly ended, assassination attempts were more likely to occur. He did not complain, just sat in his Throne and took the day in stride. He couldn't help the way his eyes scanned the crowd of people for a certain woman. She was on his mind all day, and he couldn't seem to shake it.
By sunset he had given up on her appearance that day and retired early. He made a point not to speak to people too much, as Galmar had already caught two Empire operatives and several suspicious High Elves had entered the city. Eyes and ears were everywhere and he chose to avoid their attentions.
He lay in bed that night by himself, relaxing as the fire crackled and popped behind him, the warmth of it bringing him much needed ease. His room was dark except for the fire and a small candle on his desk. His eyes felt heavy with sleep and he began to give in, his body relaxing and his mind finally calming down.
"Don't sleep yet. I thought you wanted to talk to me face to face." A hushed whisper came from the darkest corner of his room, by the window. Ulfric sat up in bed, his heart racing and his instinct telling him to grab the dagger he always kept underneath the mattress. He then calmed slightly at his recognition of the voice.
"Do not frighten me, woman. Times are dangerous and I don't wish to shout you out the window." He breathed and sat up fully, the chilliness of the air hitting his bare chest.
From the dark corner came forth the Dragonborn. She was dressed in a plain white tunic that was far too thin for this weather, leather leggings and boots. Her quiver was placed neatly on her back and her bow dangled from her delicate fingers. She walked forward and laid her bow down on the chest at the foot of his bed and the quiver followed soon after.
Wordlessly, she waltzed over to his desk and picked up the small saucer with a sweet roll on it. She sat delicately next to him and began eating.
"Sorry, I only got here a few hours ago and didn't have the time to eat. I'm so hungry." She apologized with a mouthful of food and he just stared at her.
"You're awfully relaxed around me." He raised an eyebrow and watched her eat with slight disgust. She was downing the sweet roll as if was nothing.
She scoffed and shot him a look of incredulity, "We had sex. Of course I am. I would suggest you should act the same way around me, but the fact that you haven't even bothered to put trousers on makes me quite sure that you're comfortable enough."
He looked down at his lower half which was covered by the thick blanket and unconsciously pulled it closer to his body. He let her finish eating and she returned the plate to its spot before taking off her boots and sitting on his bed next to him.
"So… why did you want to see me?" She clasped her hands together and smiled at him.
He sighed, "Because we didn't exactly talk about what… what got us here in the first place."
She nodded and closed her eyes, "If you don't want to marry me, I take no offense."
He was silent and shocked. After all of this worrying and profound contemplation, she decides that she isn't concerned about marrying him anymore. She noticed that angered look on his face and opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off.
"I can't believe you," he growled slightly, "You demand I marry you, you sleep with me… humiliate me, leave in the dead of night and I don't see you for a week and now you show up and tell me it didn't mean anything – any of it!?"
"I – " She attempted to speak but was silenced by his rough hand sliding over her mouth.
"No, you don't get to speak. I've spent this past week toiling and worrying about you and your intentions and now you come to me, heart in hand and you say I don't have to marry you?" He snarled in her face and he leaned towards her further. Her eyebrows furrowed and she gripped his hand tightly, pulling it away from her face and pushing him back into his previous spot.
"Shut up. Just shut – up. I'm worn-out, hung over, cold, still starving, I had to sneak my way past Gods know how many people to get into here and I don't even want to think about what the way out is going to be like," she groaned, overwhelmed by sentiment. "I don't want to argue… I do want to marry you and my reasons are my own and by some definition unexplainable. I do think it would be in both of our interests. However, I don't want you to marry me because you fear me or idolize me. I won't blackmail you, I won't usurp you, I wouldn't dream of harming you."
Ulfric's expression softened and he remained silent, watching her as she feverishly explained herself.
"If you don't marry me, I will be on my way. There will be no love lost, no bad blood - nothing. I apologize for my behavior last week. It was unwise. It was cruel of me to lead you on into madness."
The admission of guilt left Ulfric quiet. He looked at her face, which was contorted into an expression of grief. She was sincere and now he was conflicted. He exhaled noisily and retreated to his thoughts.
He spoke eventually, his deep voice calm and tender, a pleasant surprise to Ophelia, "Why do you want to marry me – what would you gain from this?"
She shrugged, "I admire you greatly. I don't love you because I... well I don't know what love is. I can't confidently say I've ever been in love. I supposed the great admiration I feel for you is, for me, just on par with love and I think that would constitute a fine marriage."
Her answer was frank and to the point, and he liked it. His eyes found hers and he felt his heartbeat intensify. His eyes travelled down to her lips and he felt the sudden urge to kiss her. Memories of their time under the castle flooded back to him and he shifted uncomfortably, forcing his gaze away from her.
"Do you see no positives in wedding me?" She inquired with conceit and he smiled, letting out the smallest laugh.
"I do. Our union would boost morale for this entire country. Also, you're attractive, you would carry fine children, and you're resilient… You can fight beautifully…"
Chuckling, she interrupted, "If it would please you, I could write an entire book on my skills and talents."
"You would make an insufferable wife." He mocked as she pushed his shoulder in jest. His laughter subsided and he looked to her in seriousness.
"If we are to get married, it would have to be before the moot. And we must make a big deal about it… once we're ready of course."
Ophelia nodded in agreement, "Naturally. Yet the moot won't happen until I take care of Alduin. Which I'm still… dealing with…"
Ulfric stopped before attempting to venture onto that topic, "How is that coming along?"
"That's private dragon business." She teased but no smile crossed her face and when he didn't smile she continued on awkwardly, "Right now we're trying to find the best way to deal with Alduin. Rumor has it that there's an Elder Scroll somewhere in the wild with information about a shout that could help greatly… Then again this is all educated guessing."
She rubbed the back of her neck and continued, "I'm leaving tomorrow for High Hrothgar tomorrow afternoon. They said they'll send me off to retrieve it. Gods know how long it will take…"
Ulfric hummed in response and leaned on his arm, his full abdomen being revealed to her. Her eyes glanced down and she bit the inside of her cheek. He took note of this and let the blanket fall down a bit further. Again, she glanced and then made straight eye contact with him.
"You're not afraid of death, are you? They're going to send you off to some terrible place and you won't even bat an eyelash." He smirked and she raised an eyebrow.
"It's not as if I have no say in the matter or that I have no feelings regarding it. I trust in my ability and the Gods. I don't think this quest would have been thrust upon me if they didn't think I could handle it. This quest is my life and if I fail, I die. I'm not one to fail things, so I don't think I'll be dying." Her arrogance was evident in her voice and it rubbed him the wrong way. He let it slide and looked on.
They both rested in contentment for a few moments before she moved off the bed and stretched.
"I better be off. I have another long day ahead of me tomorrow." She picked up her cloak and began pinning it around her shoulders and she reached for her bow and quiver.
"When will I see you again?" At risk of sounding too attached, he kept the question casual and distant.
She contemplated momentarily before responding, "Send a letter to High Hrothgar in three days. Use my real name from now on, most people don't know it, so it won't rouse suspicion."
"Wait… What is your real name?" His eyebrows furrowed and she smiled sarcastically.
"I never told you because you never asked or seemed to care." She leered and turned her back to him.
His eyes narrowed and he asked again, "What is your real name?"
"Ophelia!" She replied and opened his window, climbing on the edge, peering outside.
"Ophelia? That's too far of a delicate name for the likes of you." He scoffed and she stuck out her tongue.
"Farewell, Ophelia."
She straddled the windowsill and blew him a kiss, "Farewell, Ulfric."
She rolled herself out of the window, closing it behind her. For the first time in a week, Ulfric slept soundly.