Scene 2: The Misguided
Ulfric finishes his morning meal and takes his place on his throne within his castle's main keep. It was time for his loyal servants to give their reports to him.
Before he could get down to business, the doors of the palace burst open, and in enters Elisif the Fair.
"Why hello Ulfric, is there a funeral happening that I do not know of?" Elisif says coldly to Ulfric as she crosses his chambers, stopping just before him.
"Oh it's the High King's widow. What do you want, and what are you talking about a funeral for?" Ulfric responds smugly.
"Well, for one, I've noticed all of your guards holding bouquets of roses as I walk in. Paying a late tribute to my husband…that you murdered?" Elisif adds, crossing her arms as she speaks.
"Oh yeah, I forgot about what that damn Daedric Prince had done earlier…I need to find a way to reverse that…" Ulfric mutters to himself, now turning his attention back to his guest. "You're still angry about that? I did you a favor in ridding Torygg, your late husband, from this world. He was a liability to my ideals, to the ideal to all of the Nords in Skyrim!"
"And that's supposed to excuse you for being an unrealistic and abrasive asshole? Don't you realize what the Empire is going to do to you for your treason?" Elisif says to him.
"It matters not to me. You can try all you want in pushing the Empire to my doorstep, as long as I'm the new High King of Syrim, that will not happen!" Ulfric reminds her.
"We shall see about that. Just wait until Legate Rikke hears about this," Elisif threatens as she leaves his presence to return to the Blue Palace.
"Ouch…what are you going to do about Legate Rikke?" Galmar asks, approaching his excellency.
"Ah shit, I forgot about her. I'm going to Solitude to have a little chat with her later on. She and I go a long way back. We were allies in the Battle of Markarth. She turned to politics shortly after the war. Hmph, I'm sure she'll be easy to sway," Ulfric promises. "Oh, and one more thing..."
"Yes, my lord?" Galmar responds.
"Get rid of those damn roses and have our blacksmith Oengul War-Anvil bring us some blades. I don't want anyone to think we're holding a banquet for anyone…" Ulfric commands. "They make my nose itch anyways…"
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