Summary: Ulfric's the kind of man who can't agree to anything unless he thinks it's his idea... and he can't stop thinking about this one. What he really could use is someone to talk to... but the only person within miles who'd even begin to understand all this is the very one he can't stop thinking about.
A/N: This one would be part two of the talks, in which both men have a heart to heart, find out more about the other, share their secrets... and spend half the time snapping and snarling at each other because gods forbid either just admit their vulnerabilities. Ickle Baby Eola's also got a cameo!
Warnings for discussion of past trauma and sexual abuse.
Ulfric was barely sleeping at all. It had taken him hours just to get to sleep, and then there'd been dreams, of Madanach crawling into his bed, Amulet of Talos in his hand as he dangled it over Ulfric, whispering to him, promising he could have it and wear it openly as long as he gave in and let Madanach do what he wanted with him, and Ulfric whispering yes and snatching the amulet before kissing Madanach fiercely… and then it had been Elenwen in his arms, laughing as she mocked him, telling him did he really think he would get what he wanted, that she would ever permit it? Of course not, and now he was hers forever.
He'd Shouted her off him, into a wall which had a weapons rack on it, and one of the swords had pierced her through the stomach… and then she'd morphed into Madanach again, who was staring at him, heartbroken and betrayed, before breathing his last.
The sight woke Ulfric at once, his heart pounding, body shaking, feeling like he was about to be sick. It took some minutes before his breathing finally calmed as he realised he was awake, safe in his bed, and it wasn't real. Madanach wasn't dead. He wasn't working for the Thalmor either. Probably. Elenwen wouldn't have prodded him into taking this job if Madanach had been one of her agents. Would she? And would Madanach really have signed up with the Thalmor in the first place?
Madanach hated Talos and used magic, and he'd rebelled at exactly the right moment to stab the Empire in the back, and if not for Nordic bravery, the Empire might have fallen.
If not for his own weakness, it might not have got that dire in the first place. But Ulfric could do little about that now. He was here, besieging Markarth, with an offer on the table, an offer no right-thinking Nord would ever consider… but Talos worship. Allowed under Madanach's auspices… if Ulfric agreed to his hand in marriage.
Too good an offer to be true, even if it would mean publicly admitting he found Madanach attractive. And he should not find Madanach attractive.
But he did. In battle, he'd fight without distraction… but outside it, having now spoken to the man, it was getting harder and harder to see him as the evil enemy witchman ruler. Manipulative and cunning he might surely be, but Madanach's grasp of the politics wasn't wrong. Was he going to all this trouble just to be betrayed in turn?
He didn't know. He suspected he wouldn't know until he won and returned victorious. But by that time Madanach would be dead and his offer gone.
Ulfric wished bitterly that he'd never come to this country. He just wanted a fight, an honourable fight, with a foe who deserved it, and a cause that was just. But increasingly he was starting to wonder. Madanach was not a good man, that was certain. But it was becoming clear that he wasn't the all-powerful Scourge of the Nords either. He'd seen Nords among the citizens of Markarth, and a few in the Keep too. A minority but clearly not purged like he'd been led to believe.
Ulfric honestly didn't know any more. Breathing and focusing were not helping. He'd just wanted to try and do the right thing, get an orphaned boy Jarl his hold back. But he was no longer sure this was a good idea.
Talos, guide me, what would you do. Am I being manipulated? Is Madanach right? Can Igmund and the Silver-Bloods really keep their end of the bargain?
No answer. Sometimes when he prayed, he swore he could almost feel it, Talos guiding him, giving him strength, raising his spirits as he contemplated the right course of action. He'd felt it praying in the Temple of Divines in Solitude as he'd visited the refugee Jarl and the Silver-Blood brothers eager for their land and fortune back, or more precisely, he'd seen the bare alcove where a Talos shrine had once been and felt so outraged he'd not thought any further about consequences.
Fight the witchmen and risk still not getting what you want.
Side with them, get the right to worship Talos and tell young Igmund you're not avenging his father after all.
Guilt warred with selfish desires. Honour warred with lust. Ulfric closed his eyes and wished there was someone he could talk to about this. But who in this camp would listen? Most of them wouldn't understand. Galmar would tell him he was being ridiculous and that he shouldn't let Madanach get to him, and then get on with preparing to butcher the Forsworn.
For the first time since arriving, Ulfric didn't want to join him. Something about seeing that city full of starving people had rattled him, and he didn't know what it was. Something about Madanach – everything about Madanach – had shaken him to the core. Madanach's words, slipping under the skin, even sneaking into his dreams, until he wasn't sure what was honourable and what was one of Elenwen's machinations, had got to him.
I need someone with a fucking brain to talk to. Talos give me strength.
Because the only person within miles with a head for this sort of thing was… the enemy commander in the nearby city. Who probably wasn't a Thalmor agent, or if he ever had been, was being similarly set up or turned on, and likely was all too aware of it.
Ulfric wasn't sure about this at all, but something was nagging at him to do it anyway. When he recalled Madanach's face, Madanach's voice, Madanach's hands on his tumbler as he knocked back that witch's brew the Reachmen liked, throat muscles moving obscenely as he swallowed it down… something akin to that old certainty came back.
If we invade, he dies. I would… regret that. And he is not a man suited for captivity. Sacking his city and dethroning him, then dragging him back in chains to Windhelm would just be asking for trouble… and besides, it felt wrong. It would destroy something in him, destroy what Ulfric most valued about him. Madanach was wild and unpredictable, a little touch of chaos about him, and Ulfric realised that that was what he liked about him.
I want to light a torch with wildfire and bring it home with me, not put it out. He wanted Madanach coming to his bed and yielding willingly, sharing his thoughts because he wanted to, not because he had no choice.
Mara have mercy. And Talos forgive him. This only really left him with one option.
Slowly, carefully, he crawled out of his bedding and dressed as quietly as he was able, pulling on the bear fur armour he and his commanders favoured, before attaching his axe to his belt and leaving the tent, moving swiftly through the sleeping camp, his soldiers barely stirring. At least until he got to the perimeter and his own sentries looked up, surprised to see him approaching.
"Everything all right, sir?" one, Ingrid he thought her name was, called to him.
"Yes." No. "I'm taking a walk. I may be a while. If I'm not back by noon tomorrow, tell Galmar he may launch an attack on Markarth. But not before noon."
There, that should cover him. Not that he was staying out all night. Definitely not. And so it was he strode briskly up to the gates, only breaking into a run once the camp was behind him.
The gates were quiet, but there were defenders up on the walls, magelights glimmering on the parapets… and one saw him coming.
"Incoming!"
"How many?"
"Just… just one, sarge. No sign of any others."
"What? Get a magelight down there."
Two magelights shot down, blazing up on the ground beside him, and Ulfric shielded his eyes as he stared up at the Reachmen on the walls.
"Where is Madanach?" he shouted up at them. "I would speak with him!"
No response apart from frantic and baffled whispering. Then a sarcastic Reach voice echoing down.
"Nord, it is the middle of the night. He is in bed. You had your chance to parley and you walked out."
As if they were in a position to argue. But Ulfric found he respected them more for keeping up the attitude.
"I would speak with him, Reachwoman. You can either take me to him now and we resume talks, or I return in the morning for a renewed assault, and you can explain to your King that's he's fighting for his life when he could have been talking with me."
More muttering, and then a sigh.
"Are we sure he's alone?"
A green spell flared and then an affirmative response.
"Positive. No one else but him. And that's definitely the Stormcloak in person. With no guards. And… he's not showing as hostile."
"Bloody looks it," the Reachwoman in charge sighed. "Ugh. He'll want to know about this, won't he. Fine, Stormcloak. We will let you in and take you to the Keep, and tell the King you want to talk to him. If he wakes in a foul mood and decides to sacrifice you to the old gods for disturbing him, it will be your problem. Hands away from your weapon and no funny business."
Ulfric walked up to the gates, and waited impatiently as the gate opened, a candlelight hovering before him, positioned deliberately to dazzle him. But the horned silhouettes of Forsworn soldiers were there, one holding out a hand to him, and then he was being hauled in, a phalanx forming around him as they swept him up the deserted streets to the Keep.
The Keep's guards rubbed their eyes in amazement but did not hinder them, merely allowing the little group to enter. He was escorted to the throne room, and then one broke off, disappearing down the corridor that led to Madanach's rooms.
Then the wait, for what seemed to tick by like hours, until finally Madanach arrived, looking not nearly as commanding as he had earlier, hair unbraided, plain kilt as opposed to the rather more ornamented one he'd had on earlier wrapped round his waist, and nothing at all on his top or his feet… and strangest of all, a bundle of furs in his arms. A bundle of furs that seemed to be fussing. Why in the name of Talos did the King of the Reach have a baby in his arms?
It must be his. It would have to be, the King wouldn't bother caring for someone else's baby. Ulfric recalled the man saying he was single, but with a young baby, he must have had a wife at some point, a mistress, something. By the Nine, had she died? He hoped for his sake it was in childbirth and not combat.
Madanach approached, staring bleary-eyed at him, and Ulfric took a moment to really realise what was different about him. He didn't look anything like as healthy or well-fed as he had earlier. He looked thin and emaciated, just like everyone else – the King of this city was not getting the leader's share of the food.
"What in the name of the old gods can you possibly want at this hour," Madanach said wearily. "Just count yourself fortunate I wasn't actually sleeping, I was feeding this one."
Madanach was doing his own childcare and running a city. Ulfric couldn't even begin to think how. Only that he was becoming even less and less sure about having taken on this thankless job in the first place. But he was here now, and Madanach was going to want an explanation.
"I need to talk to you," Ulfric said, wondering why his throat was closing up. "I had… questions."
"Questions which you couldn't have asked me earlier?" Madanach snapped, those silver eyes looking even wilder staring out of that stark starving face.
"I needed to think on them," Ulfric said quietly, having the grace to lower his eyes. "Talos forgive me, I could not wait until morning. If I had waited, Galmar might have talked me out of this."
"Galmar?" Madanach sighed. "No. Never mind. Fine. Come with me, but do not expect mead. We will go to my room, you will leave your axe with the guards on the door, then we will talk while I try and get Eola here to eat. I suggest you make this quick."
So Ulfric followed, reluctantly handing his fine Nordic axe to one of the guards and following Madanach in, unarmed. Well, not strictly true. He had his Thu'um, and physically he was quite capable of overpowering Madanach in his starved state. Of course, Madanach also had his magic and all the Keep's armed guards at his call. Half-starved they might be but he was outnumbered, and he had no desire to see Sovngarde quite yet.
Madanach settled himself into a rocking chair by the fire, indicating a stone chair at the table for Ulfric. The scattered remains of a baby's recent meal of mashed potato bulked up with flour and the various utensils involved still covered the surface.
"Excuse the mess," Madanach said, lying back in the chair with his eyes closed. "Feeding a newly weaned three month old baby is no easy thing, and it's certainly not tidy. Honestly, she's not really ready for solids, not quite, but her mother is dead, the wet-nurse's milk's dried up and we've had to kill the city's goats already. I've had no option but to start weaning her."
"Is it working?" Ulfric felt obliged to ask, not really having given any thought to the Reachmen as, well, people before. He was surprised at the guilt he felt as Madanach shook his head.
"Not really, she's not digesting it very well, spits half of it back up, is underweight and undersized, and..." Madanach took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the baby, holding her close to his chest, and Ulfric gripped the table, not sure where this emotion was suddenly coming from. Bad enough he kept wanting to bed the man, this coming over all emotional on realising the man was starving, his small baby was in serious danger of dying, and it was all his fault, was seriously unexpected. He was a warrior, for Talos's sake. They were the enemy. He shouldn't care.
But he did. Damn it.
"Her mother," Ulfric said, realising that the baby must have had one, and not long ago either. "Who was she?"
"Queen Mireen of the Reach, my wife of eleven years," Madanach said, not taking his eyes off Eola. "One of your archers killed her a few weeks into the siege. Left me widowed, and four children without a mother."
It was what Ulfric had feared, and it cast a whole new light on Madanach's offer of marriage, and Ulfric felt physically ill at the thought now, because what Nord of honour married a man knowing their troops had killed his previous spouse barely weeks prior?
Madanach must hate him.
"You offered for my hand with your wife barely weeks in her grave?" Ulfric cried. "Gods damn it, man! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I have a city and my people to think of, marriage for a king is rarely about love, and my grief is none of your business," Madanach said coldly, silver eyes narrowing. "But if you must know, my marriage was a disaster, I'm relieved I can just focus on raising my kids and not protecting them from their own mother, and they are coping. They're sad, Eithne veers between claiming she's fine and acting out, Amaleen alternates between crying and relief she can grow her hair out and won't get called a boy ever again, and Kaie's being extremely clingy and doesn't like it when I'm out of her sight. But if it weren't for the fact they're starving, they'd be fine. Eventually. Look, you walked out rather than consider the idea. Why the hell would this bother you?"
It shouldn't. It didn't. (It did.) It definitely didn't bother him that Madanach's kids had names now, and hints as to their personalities – Eithne the brash, feisty firstborn, Amaleen the gentle girly girl who probably loved being a princess, Kaie probably not much more than a toddler and scared Papa might disappear like Mama had.
Ulfric closed his eyes and realised he couldn't do it any more. His enemies had names and faces, personalities, likes, dislikes, and he could no more put them to the sword than his own father. He'd failed completely. Jarl Hrolfdir would go unavenged. The Silver-Blood brothers would likely turn on him. Whatever promises Elenwen might make would be utterly pointless. His only options now were retreating in disgrace, and there was no guarantee Galmar wouldn't lose all respect for him, take over the Stormcloaks himself and invade anyway… or considering Madanach's offer. If it was still on the table.
"It is your own affair," Ulfric said, shrugging, although he couldn't meet Madanach's eyes. "But there is something I wished to know. Have you ever had dealings with the Thalmor?"
Silence, but it wasn't shocked silence, it was a very careful and considered silence, and Ulfric felt horror trickle down his spine as he realised the answer was yes.
"Did they put you up to this?" Ulfric cried, turning around and staggering to his feet, reaching for a non-existent axe. "Are you still working with them? Answer me, man!"
Eola started crying again, and Madanach carefully moved to shield her from him, at the same time as he raised his hand, fingers curling in a gesture that didn't reassure, although Ulfric had the odd feeling it was supposed to.
"No!" Madanach snapped. "I mean, no I'm not working with them, and do you think I'd be starving like this if I was? But… look, all right, if you sit down, I will tell you. Just sit down. Sit down, and listen, and we will talk. Is that OK?"
His voice had got more conciliatory as he'd continued, gaining a soothing, hypnotic cadence and for some reason, Ulfric found himself sitting down again, feeling calmer. Not calm, not exactly, but calmer.
"Did you just use magic on me," Ulfric said quietly. Madanach raised an eyebrow, then shook his head, actually smiling.
"No, actually. Purely mundane emotional manipulation, that. You live with a vicious, short-tempered sadist for long enough, you get very good at it."
Ulfric was reminded of the Thalmor again, of Elenwen's machinations, of how he'd turned pliable and submissive around her in an attempt to stave off the pain for a bit. Sometimes it had even worked, although she'd always been wise to it. But the pain always returned eventually. Ulfric eyed Madanach with new eyes, wondering just what he'd spent over a decade enduring. Not a question for casual asking, that one. But the nature of his own Thalmor involvement, that was something Ulfric wanted to know about him.
"You were going to tell me about the Thalmor and the Forsworn," he said, folding his arms. Madanach nodded, shrugging.
"There's honestly not a lot to tell, Ulfric. I was already chief of most of the Reach when they came. And taking Markarth was always the plan. I wasn't born to one of the Reachkin tribes, Ulfric. I was born in this city, in the Warrens, where the poor and the sick, nearly all Reachfolk, live. My father was not a rich man, but he was a kind man who cared about his people. He'd spent his youth travelling among the clans, piecing together all the lost culture of the Reach, and he came back to Markarth to try and educate his fellows here. He might have succeeded too, if the Nords hadn't killed him. Partly for agitating the natives of the Reach, but mainly because Thalric Silver-Blood wanted my sister, and after my da was killed, he got her. Until she killed him, fled with the blood still on her hands, found me and we escaped with my father's writings. Ulfric, revenge and justice were always the plan. The Thalmor just helped bring it to fruition sooner."
"They helped your uprising," Ulfric said, feeling rage starting to crackle under his skin again, but who it was at, who knew. What he had not realised was that Madanach had seen his own father wrongly killed by Hrolfdir's men, or that his sister had been brutalised by the Silver-Bloods' father. It was not the version he'd heard from Thongvor, needless to say.
"A little," Madanach admitted. "But the aid we got – infrequently delivered supplies of soul gems, alchemy ingredients, the odd scroll or tome – was nothing. The real treasure was the information. The real gift was their knowledge war was coming to Cyrodiil, that the Empire would be weak, and that if we seized the Reach, the Thalmor would look kindly on a friendly client state. So we brought our plans forward, rushed things. And it worked. For a time. And then the damn Dominion lost."
"Lost?" Ulfric cried, glaring up at Madanach. "They forced the most humiliating treaty they could think of on us, stole a province and a god from us, and you think they lost?"
"They didn't win, Ulfric," Madanach said, glaring right back. "And all their precious promises of support mean nothing without that. I've made overtures to the Dominion as well as the Empire, seeking nothing more than trade and recognition as a state, but they've just brushed me off. They're apparently unwilling to offend their new Imperial friends by taking our corner. And they've done nothing to help me since you arrived. I'd wager they're quite pleased to see me done away with."
"Pleased?" Ulfric snapped. "If it wasn't for that damn elf, I wouldn't even have bothered with this job!"
Silence as Ulfric realised what he'd just admitted. There was a beat as both men stared at each other, Ulfric feeling the blood draining from his face and Madanach… well, Ulfric had never seen him look quite that confused before.
"What elf?" Madanach asked, carefully placing Eola in her cradle and pulling a fur blanket over her. "Ulfric? What aren't you telling me?"
"This is no concern of yours," Ulfric rasped, getting to his feet and bolting for the door… but Madanach was quicker, closing the gap between them with surprising speed, both hands clamping on his forearms to hold him back.
"It's led you to bring your militia and a good chunk of your da's coin to besiege my city and kill Daedra know how many of my people, I'd say it's my concern!" Madanach snapped at him, and Ulfric lost his temper, whirling round and grabbing Madanach by the shoulders, flinging him down on the stone table, sending cutlery flying, Ulfric staring furiously down at the King of the Forsworn, about ready to kill him… or kiss him, either way would shut him up and Madanach would stop prying into his affairs.
One of those had a significantly better chance of survival than the other, and so Ulfric went for the kiss, fingers grabbing Madanach by the hair, not caring that the other man was wasted skin and bone almost, just caring about forcing Madanach down, forcing him to submit, making the damn witch just do what he was told and STOP.
Ulfric broke away from Madanach, slowly regaining his senses, releasing his hold on the other man, a fog seeming to clear as he looked down to see Madanach flushed and nervous and bruises already appearing on arms that were a lot more fragile than usual, and real fear in the man's eyes, and Ulfric realised that the offer Madanach had put on the table earlier had likely just been withdrawn. Leaving Ulfric with little option than either returning home in defeat or sacking Markarth and living the rest of his life wondering what might have been.
Or alternately just letting Madanach kill him and hoping Sovngarde still let him in.
Angry at everything just falling apart, Ulfric turned away, savagely pounding the wall, forgetting it was made of solid stone… until the pain in his fist and the sound of bones breaking reminded him. Gods damn it. Wincing, he turned around… to find Madanach there, having got up and approached. Wordlessly, Madanach took Ulfric's hand in his, Restoration chimes flaring and the pain fading away… and Ulfric closed his eyes and remembered lying in a heap, bleeding and broken at Elenwen's feet, and those damn chimes ringing as she healed him, kissed him and told him she'd be back again, same time tomorrow.
He wrenched his hand away from Madanach, shaking with rage and hate and pain and damn it, there were tears rolling down his face, what was wrong with him, why was he getting so emotional lately? Was it Madanach? It was Madanach, wasn't it. Madanach had done something to him. Broken Ulfric's emotions and left him raw and bleeding and unable to stop crying and…
"Was it the elf who tortured you," Madanach said quietly, understanding in his voice, because knowing him, he'd probably done the same to his prisoners before now. Which wasn't actually the case, Madanach hadn't really needed to interrogate anyone quite like the Thalmor did, Madanach had just guessed what might make someone traumatised by Restoration magic… because he'd experienced it being misused as well.
"Every road in front of me has her at the end of it," Ulfric rasped, head in his hands. "She set me on this path, set me here. I go home in disgrace, having failed, she gains from ruining me. I kill this entire city, I'm no longer fit to call myself a Nord. She wins. I side with you and I have no way of knowing she doesn't have a plan for that either. I don't know whether to believe you or her."
Madanach took him by the arm and gently led him back to the table, sitting him down and then going to one of the cabinets. Ulfric sat there, shivering all over despite the fact it was warm, feeling more naked and vulnerable than he'd ever felt before, because he'd told him. Told the enemy commander his hidden secrets that he'd never told anyone, made himself vulnerable, and his entire mind was screaming at him to run, or kill Madanach or do something, anything, to be strong again, even if that meant razing Markarth to the ground.
But a small, quiet voice whispered in his ear, one that didn't sound very like Talos… but did sound a bit like the Voice of Kyne, that he'd tried so hard to feel as a Greybeard in training.
He had not felt the Breath of Kyne in his ear for a long time. He'd heard Arngeir's dire warnings as he left, felt the disapproval, and despite knowing he was doing the right thing, he couldn't help but feel guilt. It had only been Galmar's company, and indeed Rikke's, that had helped him, and turning from worship of Kyne to Talos had helped him feel better about his choice. Talos had never abandoned him. Talos had urged him on, made him feel stronger, made him feel like a man and a Nord. And then he'd broken in the Thalmor's dungeon, helped Talos's own Empire fall, and the guilt at having betrayed another god had nearly killed him. Only diving into the fray, throwing himself into doing Talos's will, into reclaiming his Empire, had saved him, and Ulfric had not let himself think of anything else.
And then that damn Concordat had been the ultimate betrayal, and Ulfric had been consumed with hate ever since. Which he'd used to fuel everything, because stopping and thinking about any of it might just break him. He had not spoken of it to anyone, not his father, not Galmar, no one.
Until now. To an enemy witchman who detested Nords in general and Talos in particular, and probably had more in common with the damn witch-elves than any human ought.
But Madanach wasn't turning him away, and Madanach was guessing far too much, and Madanach was being remarkably sympathetic. Which Ulfric could not understand at all.
Madanach was coming back, planting a tumbler in front of Ulfric, and then opening a black bottle and pouring out a rich brown liquid that was not that glowing, sparkling poison Madanach seemed to think was the height of fine drinking.
"Colovian Brandy," Madanach announced. "I like to save it for special occasions. Mireen and I shared it after taking the city. I downed an entire tumbler after she died. You, my friend, look like you need it."
The choice of words took Ulfric by surprise.
"Are we," Ulfric gasped. "Friends?"
"If you want to be," came the soft-voiced response as Madanach ran a hand over his hair and patted him on the back before letting him go and sitting next to him, waiting quietly.
"Why?" Ulfric whispered, staring at the drink in front of him. "Why, after everything that's happened..."
"Because the Reach needs all the friends it can get, and because it sounds like you and I have had similar experiences one way or another," Madanach said quietly. "Ulfric… tell me what happened. It was clearly bad. Have you ever spoken of it to anyone before?"
"No," Ulfric said quietly. "It is my shame to bear. No one else needs to."
"Even if not talking destroys you?" Madanach said, genuine concern in his voice.
"Words are weapons, Madanach," Ulfric growled, sipping on the brandy. "Words can destroy."
"So can magic," Madanach said, holding out his hand, frost forming in his palm. "But it can also heal." The spell changed to a different one, a strange blue light and as Madanach cast it, his entire appearance changed, and suddenly before him sat the strong and healthy man he'd parleyed with this afternoon.
"It's a lie," Ulfric growled. "That's not what's real. You don't look that attractive really."
"I do when I'm fed," Madanach said, shrugging. "Just as I can make rousing speeches to raise my soldiers' morale even when our backs are against the wall. Words have power. What you use it for… that's the important thing. Silence is no choice at all if someone's welfare is at stake. That includes your own."
"And if you turn out to be a Thalmor plant as well?" Ulfric asked, glancing up at the insufferably beautiful man sitting next to him. Even if it was an illusion of Madanach at his best, it was a good one.
"I'm not one, Ulfric," Madanach told him, fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "I know I can't prove it but please believe me, I would not be in this state if the Thalmor were backing me."
"I don't know what to believe," Ulfric said, toying with his drink, wondering if he should drink the rest and take his leave before he went too far. If he'd not gone too far already. Accepting brandy from the enemy commander he was supposed to be overthrowing was probably over the line as it was.
"Well, how about we start with this then? Would you have any problem believing that the Thalmor are manipulative duplicitous arseholes who despise all humankind?" Madanach purred, and for the for the first time since coming here tonight, Ulfric burst out laughing.
"No," he admitted. "No, I really wouldn't."
"That's the spirit," Madanach grinned. "Well, you don't need to tell me the details of this elf who hurt you with magic. But the bits that led to you turning up here with a bunch of angry Nords… could you perhaps tell me how the Thalmor helped bring that about? I'm keen to know more about what they're planning. Don't tell me you're interested in protecting them."
"It won't make sense without the whole story," Ulfric said, resigning himself to the inevitable as he took a mouthful of what was really rather good brandy. "Listen then, witchman. Hear of the war you took advantage of."
So Ulfric sat and told what he'd never told anyone – how he'd been fighting, led a raid, got captured, survived when the rest were slaughtered and been held for interrogation and torture for months by this sadistic elf called Elenwen. How he'd tried to hold out but one day broken and given her information – information which she'd later returned triumphantly and told him had delivered the Imperial City right into their hands. How he'd never forgotten her laughter and the realisation he'd sold out his god's Empire and how that had felt worse than the torture. How they'd let their guard down after that and one night he'd got out, run into a Blades agent who'd been staking out the prison and planning her own in-out raid, and the two of them had fled. How he'd kept the shame to himself throughout the war, telling no one what he'd done, and then gone home after, heard about the peace treaty and that he could never worship Talos again, thanks to the Empire he'd bled for, and flown into an angry rage that hadn't really ever stopped since. And then Elenwen had come to him in secret, dangling promises before his eyes, saying if he took this job in the Reach and asked his employers for permission to worship Talos in the Reach as a payment, the Thalmor, just for him, might turn a blind eye to one who had after all given them a great victory.
"She is lying, isn't she?" Ulfric finished. "There is no Talos worship gift coming from the Thalmor. As soon as we report back in, install Jarl Igmund on the Mournful Throne and set up our new home, the Thalmor will come with their Imperial toadies and arrest us all. Talos knows what they're up to. I want no part of it, but that bitch will find me and keep at me, I know it. Whatever I choose, she will find some way to use it against me. And here I am, pouring my heart out to you. Madanach, send me to Sovngarde now. Of all the options, I find it the easiest to bear."
He had not expected Madanach to move nearer until he was sitting on the bench right next to him, and then put an arm round his shoulders.
"Not for me, it isn't," Madanach murmured, one hand on Ulfric's cheek, and then his lips were on Ulfric's, kissing him rather more gently than Ulfric's had been earlier, and Ulfric realised Madanach's previous offer was not only still on the table, it was suddenly shooting up the list of preferable options.
Which was crazy, ridiculous, marriage to a Reachman warlord was not even remotely on the list of things Ulfric had ever considered he'd ever be doing… but the kissing was enjoyable, and Ulfric responded by pulling him closer and kissing him harder, hands entwining in his hair, Madanach in his arms, desperation and lust turning into a potent mix as Ulfric realised perhaps there might be a way out after all.
"Take it your offer is still on the table," Ulfric gasped as he let Madanach go. Madanach nodded, seeming a little bit uncertain all of a sudden.
"Yes. If you've reconsidered," Madanach said, sounding oddly nervous. It was rather endearing.
"You would really offer a sanctuary for Talos-supporters?" Best to be clear on this point right now. It was after all the key selling point for his soldiers.
Madanach sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead. "Let me be very clear on this, Ulfric, I would not be agreeing to this if my kingdom's future wasn't at stake, and I'm still not happy about the idea. But… if they don't harass my people and keep the Talos worship within the land I give you… you and yours can worship Talos among yourselves. Just don't preach his worship to my people. They will not appreciate it. And if the Reach is attacked, you're to help defend it."
Ulfric nodded. Never let it be said Nords were cowards, to hide behind another's protection. If this was to work, they would need to be in it together. Madanach's causes would need to become his.
He stroked Madanach's face, thinking all this over, and thinking this perhaps could work. Maybe.
"My father will need some convincing, I fear," Ulfric said, wondering somewhat guiltily how his father was going to react. He remembered a kind, understanding man from his childhood, a man who was deeply saddened to lose his son to the Greybeards but still proud of him… and a man who'd been pleased to see his son return and yet saddened by what that meant, and who'd worried when he'd left to go to war and seen more than Ulfric liked when he returned. What he'd think of Ulfric throwing in his lot with the Reachmen, Ulfric couldn't tell. But there was one thing that bothered Ulfric.
"I'm the son of a Jarl and have no siblings," Ulfric said, pondering how Madanach might resolve this one. "If I never return, the people will choose another Jarl on my father's death… but we've ruled Windhelm for generations. I would not see it pass out of my family. How were you thinking of providing me with heirs?"
Silence, as if Madanach knew damn well how to answer this question… he just didn't want to. He was staring back at Ulfric, not liking this at all… but he resigned himself to the inevitable.
"I spoke of four Reach-child daughters by my wife," Madanach said quietly. "But they're not my only kids. I have another, I only just acknowledged him. His mother's a Nord. He's ten years old, I had a fling with a Nord woman who I met while… well, I was leading a patrol, we were attacked, the others were killed, I narrowly survived but was hurt badly, too delirious to heal myself. She found me and nursed me back to health. I wasn't used to being treated kindly by Nords. Nature took its course… but I was betrothed to the chief's daughter, I knew I couldn't stay. So we parted, and I never saw her again until I took Markarth. I didn't know there'd been a child. I couldn't do much directly for him but after Mireen was killed, I took the risk of bringing Inga and Argis to the Keep. Days later, I was admitting to people I was his father. Now half the city knows. He can't inherit the Mournful Throne because of his Nord blood. But he could inherit your city. If you're good to my kids and don't abuse them and they like you… Argis might be willing to be your heir. But you do have to win him over. Also his mother is alive. You need to be nice to her too. Same goes for all my court. You won't be King here, Ulfric. They'll treat you with respect but you are not their leader."
Which was going to take some getting used to, and Ulfric felt it grating on him already… but he'd have free Talos-worship for himself, his men, for any Nords who joined them. Was it a price worth paying?
Ulfric looked at Madanach, thought of Madanach's children calling him father too… thought of a son and heir of his own. Thought of Madanach in his bed, and perhaps he'd be the all-powerful King of the Reach to everyone else, but in bed, who knew. The thought of Madanach coming to him at night and turning from domineering warlord to submissive lover was truly an arousing thought. Of course, Ulfric had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy.
"And one more thing," Madanach added, with a tone of voice that boded ill for Ulfric, almost as if he knew that this would not go over well.
"What," Ulfric said, narrowing his eyes. "I am not going to like this, am I."
"No, but I think it's important," Madanach said, steeling himself. "You need to talk to someone. A mindhealer. Either one of my people, or alternately I think the Temple of Dibella has a ministry for trauma survivors… Ulfric. No. Don't even… I'm warning you. Don't you even dare raise your voice to me-"
"I DO NOT NEED TO TALK TO ANYONE!" Ulfric roared, finally losing his temper. "THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME! WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM, SOME SORT OF PATHETIC MILK-DRINKER WHO NEEDS A FUCKING PRIEST TO HOLD HIS HAND – umph!"
Madanach had lost his patience and cast a Muffle spell on Ulfric.
"THAT!" Madanach snapped. "THAT is what I am talking about, Ulfric. Any emotion that you don't like, anything you think is an admission of weakness, and you just turn into a nightmare to be around. No, DON'T you give me that look, I spent ELEVEN FUCKING YEARS dealing with this sort of crap from Mireen, neither I nor my kids are putting up with this again because SOMEONE has no outlets for his emotions other than shouting, punching something or someone, or turning to drink!"
Ulfric was mouthing abuse back at Madanach, and the Muffle spell was likely a good thing, because the words looked rather like 'damn witchman' and 'how dare you' and 'my emotions are my own damn business, not yours' and 'you get this spell off me RIGHT NOW or I swear to Talos I will…'
A knock on the door, and Uailon's voice could clearly be heard. Clearly the shouting had attracted attention.
"Madanach! Are you all right in there?"
"Yes!" Madanach called back, not able to keep the weariness out of his voice. "We're reaching the end of negotiations, just a few final sticking points..."
"It doesn't sound like it, it sounds like Ulfric's planning to murder you!" Uailon snapped. "Madanach, do we need to come in there?"
"No!" Madanach shouted, vaguely alarmed at the thought. Just him and Ulfric, and he thought he might just be able to turn this around. Ulfric had warmed to him, opened up to him, showed vulnerabilities… except now he was in real danger of shutting down, and if Uailon and Nepos started intervening, Ulfric would clam up completely. And then this fragile accord would shatter, it'd be back to fighting, and it just struck Madanach as such a waste. He couldn't see Ulfric as some evil Nord any more, Ulfric was a fellow victim too. Killing him would be upsetting now. Madanach would end up mourning the bastard.
"Look, we're nearly there, we just need to smooth over a few fine points, Ulfric just can't let anything go without posturing about it -mmh!"
Ulfric had pressed himself up against Madanach's back, cock pressing into his backside, arms around him, one hand on Madanach's chest, and the other snaking forward to cup his privates through his kilt.
"Witch, if you cast your heathen magic on me again, I will be left with no option but to exact punishment," Ulfric growled in his ear, and that honestly shouldn't sound as arousing as it did, but by Sithis, Ulfric's voice sent signals straight to his cock.
"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Madanach gasped quietly. "I'm just going to do it again if that's the effect."
Ulfric heard the words, felt Madanach's cock getting harder at his touch, realised Madanach was kinkier than he'd thought, and promptly let him go, grimacing.
"You are impossible!" Ulfric roared, letting Madanach go and walking off, hands raised in surrender. Madanach couldn't quite suppress his laughter… until he heard Nepos's voice on the other side of the door.
"Come on, Uailon, let's leave them to their alpha-maling. Clearly they are at the stage of negotiations requiring posturing and demonstrating their masculinity, and if Sirrah Stormcloak's declaring Madanach's impossible to deal with, they're clearly getting to know each other rather well."
"You don't have to know him very well to know that!" Uailon snorted. "Very well, Madanach, we'll withdraw. But any sound of either magic or violence and we are coming in after you."
"Thank you," Madanach called, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. As his steward and bodyguard retreated, Madanach returned his attention to Ulfric, who'd sat down in Madanach's chair by the fire, elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his head on his hand, looking utterly bored… and jostling Eola in his other arm.
"She was fussing," Ulfric said shrugging. "She is calmer now."
Eola didn't cry much, never had, but hunger had robbed her of the energy to kick up too much of a fuss. The noise had clearly bothered her… but not as much as a potentially angry Nord with his precious baby in his arms bothered Madanach.
"Give her back to me," Madanach rasped, suddenly no longer laughing. Ulfric actually raised an eyebrow.
"So. You don't trust me with your children. Interesting."
"You're besieging my city!" Madanach hissed. "You have me over a barrel and you know it, and you sit there, with my child in your arms and you expect me to be reasonable?"
Ulfric remained silent, watching carefully, his expression unreadable… and then he held Eola out to him. Madanach wasted no time snatching her from his arms and clutching her to him.
"I got you, little one," Madanach whispered. "Daddy's got you. Hush, little one, it's all right, I won't let them hurt you."
"I wouldn't hurt her!" Ulfric sighed, exasperated. "Do you really think I'm so violent I'd hurt a baby?"
"I don't know!" Madanach cried. "My sole experience of you has been that you're a vicious mercenary here to recreate Talos's exploits, and the only reason we're here talking is because… because… gods, I don't know. You took some sort of liking to me for reasons I can't even begin to imagine, and I was just desperate enough to let you in. But I don't trust you're entirely sincere yet and I will not risk my kids."
"But you'll risk yourself," Ulfric noted, and Madanach clutched Eola to his chest, not wanting to admit this next bit… but not having a choice.
"If it saves my people, it is worth it," Madanach said bitterly. "What the hell, you can't be worse than Mireen."
He settled himself in the rocking chair, feeling defeated. Ulfric could basically do whatever the fuck he wanted, couldn't he. No point pretending. This was essentially a surrender, wasn't it.
So it was he was surprised to see Ulfric rise from his seat and kneel next to Madanach, one hand placed on his knee.
"You still think I'm powerful and dangerous," Ulfric said curiously. "Despite me telling you about what the elves did to me."
"Aren't you?" Madanach sighed. "Yes, you suffered at their hands, but it wasn't your fault. You survived. You got away, even. You did what you had to. That it's left you scarred does not make you weak."
Ulfric lowered his head, forehead almost resting on Madanach's knee.
"My weakness betrayed my Empire," Ulfric said quietly. "My faith in Talos was not strong enough to sustain me and in slipping, I let his Empire fall. How can you be sure I will not fail you as well? You do not even trust me to be near your child unsupervised."
Bitterness in his voice, and Madanach was no longer sure what to think. Only that everything had got weird. But he was getting an unexpected insight into Ulfric Stormcloak's psyche and weirdly, he found it fascinating. Carefully, so as not to jostle Eola in his other arm, he reached over and cupped the back of Ulfric's head in his free arm.
"Everyone has a breaking point, Ulfric," Madanach said softly. "The Thalmor strike me as being very good at finding them in people. It was not your fault. We've only got this Elenwen's word that your information even helped them. And we already agreed the Thalmor are manipulative arseholes who cannot be trusted. We've all got weaknesses, Ulfric. The trick is to make sure you have people around you who will have your back and balance them out."
Ulfric looked up, frowning and confused, as if this had genuinely never occurred to him before.
"Madanach, if I show weakness..."
"Your men will think you're human," Madanach told him, fingers idly starting to stroke his hair. "Sithis knows mine do. You should hear the comments I get – well, you heard Uailon and Nepos, and just wait until you meet my sister. They still follow. And they still respect me. More than that – they care about me. Is it so different for Nords? Do you honestly think your soldiers never complain about you when you're not there?"
Ulfric didn't answer that one, and now Madanach had to wonder if what he thought was a false front to intimidate his foes was in fact what Ulfric genuinely believed about himself. If it had been, it was surely slipping now. Ulfric had never looked so unsure.
"I… need to think on this," Ulfric murmured, as he got to his feet. "Talos, I need to..." He stopped, stared at Madanach with a very strange expression on his face… and then he smiled and leaned in, lips meeting Madanach's for a few brief moments before Ulfric let him go.
"Your conditions are acceptable," Ulfric told him. "If it will make you happy, I will accept counselling from a priestess of Dibella. A Nord if possible. Some things only another Nord will truly understand."
Madanach blinked, looking up at Ulfric who was grinning rather smugly and it slowly dawned on Madanach that this was suddenly happening. They'd reached an agreement. Doubtless there'd be further negotiations, but the big things suddenly seemed to have been settled. He was going to have to marry Ulfric, and Madanach realised that he had no idea what he'd just let himself in for.
"I'll withdraw my troops to Old Hroldan," Ulfric continued. "Keep your people from harassing us, and when you've got Markarth in order, visit me and we'll talk more. I need to inform my father, invite him to visit. He will want to be involved in the marriage negotiations."
Oh Sithis, there was going to be a marriage contract. Nepos would want in. Uailon might have an opinion. Inga might even have to be dragged in. And Keirine, oh gods, Keirine, his sister was going to be furious. And how did he even begin to explain that the whole Reachmen venerating Hagravens thing was not only true, but Ulfric's new sister-in-law was one?
"And when we have an agreement, I intend to wed you, very thoroughly bed you, and then you will be mine," Ulfric purred, stroking his cheek and making Madanach very, very nervous suddenly. "And I take care of what is mine. Your kingdom will be my home, your causes will be my causes, your children will be cared for as my own would be… and anyone who harms you will feel my Thu'um. That I promise to you, and Talos smite me if I fail."
Madanach shivered, his cock twitching, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to fall into the big Nord's arms and let him do what he wanted, Talos-worship be damned, in fact the idea of one of Talos's biggest supporters swearing fealty to the King of the Reachmen amused him greatly.
But perhaps he should think on this more in the morning. Perhaps after breakfast. If there was any food in the city at all.
"Then get my city fed, Ulfric," Madanach whispered. "Open our supply lines, get us some food… and then we talk."
Ulfric nodded and kissed Madanach's forehead before taking his leave. Leaving Madanach sitting by a fire with his daughter in his arms and realising he'd just changed the Reach's fate, and whether he'd be lauded as a hero who seduced the fearsome Nord attacker into changing his ways, or a traitor who'd just let Talos-worshippers take over, who knew. But Markarth was safe. The city would be eating in a day or two. No one was going to be slaughtered by invading Nord marauders. Not today.
He'd bought his kingdom a chance. He'd bought them time. If it was at the price of permitting Talos worship in his lands, and permitting Ulfric to do as he wished with him behind closed doors, then it was a price he'd have to pay.
Well, on a personal level, it would be no worse than living with Mireen. Rather Ulfric ravaging him than his city. It might even be enjoyable.
Cradling Eola in his arms, Madanach retreated to bed. The morning would tell the tale.
A/N: Next chapter will be everyone else reacting... and Ulfric and friends settling in to the Reach.