- II -
The tension thickened between us, an occurrence so rare that I took a moment to consider his standpoint. How long had he waited to bring this up? From his perspective, my decisions may have seemed questionable, even suspicious, and yet he'd neglected to say anything until now. I had to wonder whether a true, unfavorable opinion of me lay buried beneath that collected persona. While I cared little about the enmity I faced from the public on a daily basis, this left a different effect.
It troubled me.
The appearance of a courier interrupted my train of thought. In untimely fashion, the man came running over to make his delivery, and my sight remained trained on Erandur's impassive features as I took the letter handed to me. Breaking eye contact to glance down and read it, I felt my jaw harden at the contents.
"We will have to delay Falkreath again," I announced, stuffing the paper into my pack. Surely, some Daedric prince must be toying with me.
"Where are we headed?" Erandur inquired.
My answer rang with reluctance. "Windhelm."
To his credit, he said nothing.
Stark silence hung over our travel eastward, broken only by the occasional communication to decide on lodging and equipment transactions. I was perturbed by the atypical distance Erandur kept me at, but I left the matter alone, only wishing to move forward and hope his judgment eventually abated. The unrest had eased by the time we crossed into Eastmarch, though we encountered new outward apprehension and wariness from communities on the outskirts of Windhelm.
Unlike Solitude, where residents at least recognized me as Thane, citizens in Windhelm either had no idea or refused to believe I held that title here as well. Instead, I was the mysterious Dragonborn of unknown origin. My stature, tall and relatively built, gave little outward hint to my race, and so people continued to guess. Some of the ideas amused me to no end: a tailless Khajiit, an albino Redguard, a vain Altmer grappling with the shame and trauma of some trivial facial imperfection. The guesses grew more and more absurd each time I visited a tavern.
However, out of all the aspects under speculation, the most heavily debated was my gender.
I listened now as we dismounted our horses at the Windhelm stables. "Man? Woman? What is it?" they whispered. I allowed their conjectures, never responding, never correcting. Their stares followed us all the way to the gates, and the guards issued an obligatory greeting to me as we slipped inside. The Nords passing by Candlehearth Hall didn't bother masking their disdain, as they thought me a fraud since I hadn't yet demonstrated any Shouts in this city. I ignored their slanderous comments and demands to reveal the Thu'um, for I felt no inclination to validate my dragon blood just to appease them.
I heard rather than felt someone spit on my shoulder blade, and in an automatic movement, Erandur sent a casual bolt of lightning to mildly shock the offender. Stormcloak soldiers noticed the conflict, but refrained from intervening when they recognized my armored figure heading for the Palace of the Kings. Erandur wiped off my armor for me, to which I turned to give him my thanks. But when he stopped walking several meters from the entrance of the keep, I paused.
"What's wrong?"
He stood there shivering under the falling snow, arms wrapped around himself as he averted his gaze. "I'll wait here for you," he said quietly.
I blinked, puzzled. "No. Come wait inside."
He stayed in place, expression indecipherable. I, too, refused to move, wondering what had brought this on. I could understand if he disapproved of my actions, but subjecting himself to the bitter cold simply to make a statement was so out of character. It became clearer that something had changed for us in the past day, a shift I failed to identify. Disquiet spread through my sternum, and the snow crunched under my boots as I stepped closer, my brow creasing.
"Will you at least wait in the Gray Quarter? Pass the time with Ambarys at the Cornerclub," I suggested. Anything but waiting out here. The image of him shivering in the freezing air did not sit well with me.
Erandur seemed to deliberate with himself for a few seconds, but nodded. Wordlessly, he pivoted on his heel and headed in that direction. I watched him go, trying to compartmentalize my concerns to address at a later time. For now, I had to set them aside.
My entrance into the Palace of the Kings echoed throughout the vast interior as the doors slammed shut behind me. Stillness greeted me at first, followed by the reverberating tones of Galmar Stone-Fist's voice up ahead. The gothic design of this palace contrasted with the ornate structures of Solitude's; fitting for their respective Jarls. I made my way around the grand banquet table, passing by the steward, Jorleif. He bid me a genuine welcome, the first I received since arriving at Windhelm. I acknowledged him and continued toward the rear of the main hall, where Galmar stood guard next to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.
My eyes locked with Ulfric's, and immediately I felt the draw of his power and fortitude, similar to the first time I met his gaze at Helgen. We had sat side by side on that wagon carrying us to our deaths, a gag across his mouth and a hood over my head. And somehow, here we were now.
I dropped to one knee before the throne, a sign of both reverence and fellowship for the man whose fate had been rewritten along with mine. I held that position until Ulfric rose to his feet.
"Come with me, Kressun," he ordered, striding past me toward the war room. "We need to have a talk."
I straightened and glimpsed the dubious look etched across Galmar's features as I trailed after the Jarl. Our footsteps resonated in the torch-lit stone corridors leading to the upper levels, and I noted the decreasing number of guards stationed on either side as we neared his quarters. I appreciated the display of trust, though I knew many in his Hold considered me a threat despite the deeds I had performed for their benefit. Thane, Dragonborn, these titles mattered little when others harbored no respect for the person holding them.
Sometimes, I regarded my survival as an inconvenience and my birthright as a thankless chore, made more evident by the relentless antagonism bearing down on me everywhere I went. Other times, I welcomed the challenge, seeing it as a set of trials to overcome. And I wanted to succeed. I needed to succeed.
I had no other choice.
We ascended the last flight of stairs and emerged into Ulfric's bedchamber. The goat horn sconces flickered as he walked by, and I closed the entrance behind us, locking it at his command. The roaring hearth past the pedestaled bed cast shadows of his burly physique across the floor toward me. I lingered in front of the doors as he ventured to the fireplace, his silhouette tall and imposing amidst the glow. He bade me to join him after several beats went by, and like a marionette on a string, I complied with his will.
The heat of the fire seeped through to my bones as I neared, chasing away the last of the chill from outside. I came to stand next to him, my vision directed at the blaze that he also watched.
"We are preparing to send a message to Balgruuf, telling him to choose a side." Ulfric turned to me then, his stare full of ice. "Does the same need to be done for you?"
I looked away and readied myself to repeat a conversation we'd held numerous times before. "Forgive me, my Jarl, but message or no, I will take no part in the civil war."
Displeasure emanated from his bearing as he edged closer. "I have tolerated you sitting on the fence like this, but my patience wears thin. And while Elisif may be content with your impartial stance, I am not so lenient."
My hackles raised on instinct when the threat entered his posture. "You already have my membership in your court, my company in your quarters," I pointed out. "What more could you want of me?"
He appeared to double in size, provoked by a question I'd thought innocent. "To start, I want to know what it is you're hiding," he rumbled, reaching for me. "From the beginning, you shrouded yourself and your motives in obscurity. Even now, you have yet to explain your involvement with both Solitude and Windhelm when you have no intention of supporting either side."
I evaded his hand and took a step back. "I only conceal what does not matter. Above all, I intend no harm in doing so."
Ulfric's gaze bore into me, right through the physical constructs of my Daedric garb. I felt the shift in the atmosphere even before he moved, but still I reacted too slowly to the grip that clamped over my forearm. His height and build dwarfed mine as he closed the distance between us, and I found myself peering up at his agitated countenance in the orange light of the flames. His sheer dominance wrapped around me, bid me to yield. I chose to stay still when he brushed his knuckles against one side of my helm, over my cheekbone.
"Perhaps not, but that leads me to wonder what your intentions truly are," he murmured, so close that I could study the pale blue and gray pattern of his irises. "What will it take for you to show me?"
I placed a palm over his fingers when his thumb hooked under my chin. In the back of my mind, I took in his words, understood that Ulfric Stormcloak sought my asking price. His unrelenting desire for my allegiance and disclosure burned with an almost tangible vigor. I sensed the edges of my self-control fracture when he bent forward and repeated the question in a gravelly whisper next to my ear, but I held fast to my resolve.
Gathering myself, I told him, "My reasons are my own, Ulfric. Rest assured, they will not interfere with my duty to end the Dragon Crisis. But I will not share them."
I saw the dark glint in his eyes for a fraction of a second. Then, in a flash, he swung me around and straight toward the hearth, demonstrating strength and speed superior to my own. My hands shot out to catch the mantle, but my forehead struck its edge before I could stop my forward motion. A sharp, ill-forged section inside my helm cut my flesh above one brow, and I braced myself there while the scorching heat of the fire licked at my front. My warhammer had clattered on the floor somewhere to the right, and in the next instant, an imposing weight pressed itself against my back. Ulfric's heavy arms slid around me from behind, holding me in place as one hand traveled between my legs to grope at the sex disguised by my armor. The air rushed from my lungs at the foreign contact, leaving me wavering.
"You would have me accept that vague reply? This is my homeland at stake, my people at risk," he snarled, pushing me closer to the inferno. As I resisted and ground my backside into him, he added in a gruff voice, "…My sanity you are toying with."
My shoulders stiffened when his fingers fumbled with the fastenings at my waist. Ire and adrenaline surged through my system, forcing me to take action before he went too far. Yanking off my gauntlet, I broke his hold and spun around. The movement failed to catch him off-guard, but his anger receded as soon as I stroked his face with my bare skin. Everything went silent as my blunt nails grazed the premature lines near his mouth, trailing over the scratchy facial hair toward his jaw. His arms loosened, but he leaned into my touch, seeking all I was willing to give.
The longing in his expression tugged at me, and I dragged my fingertips south as something carnal took over my demeanor. "I am not toying with you. I said at the start that I would offer my service in matters outside your war. You know what that entails. This is what I agreed to."
He exhaled sharply when I cupped the bulge in his pants, which only strained harder through the fabric. "Kressun—"
"Do not speak, and let me serve you."
One might call that a bold move, giving an order to the Jarl of Windhelm while handling his manhood, but he allowed me the brief illusion of power as I led him to the bed. Knocking him onto his back on the soft mattress, I witnessed his breathing shorten in anticipation as I crawled over him. We regarded each other fleetingly, my body poised above his. Within seconds, I had the laces of his trousers untied, and he attempted to stifle a groan once his erection sprung free and throbbed in my hand. Balancing myself on my knees, I worked him at a slow, tantalizing pace, having memorized every inch of his shaft and the rhythm that drove him mad.
Judging from Ulfric's guttural sounds of pleasure and eager response, I estimated weeks since his last instance of release—likely when I had last come here. The busy schedule he adhered to left him little time for himself, but sometimes I contemplated whether he waited for my arrival on purpose. Known as a force to be reckoned with in every sense, the famed leader of the Stormcloak rebellion was reduced to a growling, writhing heap at the mercy of my ministrations.
His knuckles had gone white from clenching the blanket at his sides, and he bucked when I reached the specific speed that would soon set him off. Smirking, I worked him harder, perspiring in my armor from my own inhibited arousal. He spoke of his land and his people in wanting to solve the mystery surrounding me, but in the end, it always came down to this.
Be it Elisif or Ulfric, they both wanted me this way.
Suddenly, without warning, he seized my hips and reversed our positions. The mattress sank under our shifted weight, and I experienced a wild moment of panic when he used one arm to pin me down by my collarbones. He had wedged my legs open and settled between them, panting as he fixed me with a searing look that plunged straight into my core. I felt it again, his aggression and dominant nature that enticed me to submit. But just as I began calculating ways to deflect any attempts at stripping me, he leaned closer and captured my undivided attention.
"At this point," he rasped, reaching down to grasp himself, "I don't care whether you are a man or a woman…"
I lay there, paralyzed and transfixed on his vigorous pumping, barely registering what was happening until he let out a low groan and spilled his seed all over my belly and lower abdomen. It went on almost endlessly, as if determined to stake his figurative claim on me. When he finished, he released me and scanned the mess he made on my armor, satisfied.
"I will have you yet."
x-x-x-x-x
I found Erandur alone at the top floor of the Cornerclub. He glanced up from the book he was reading next to a candlelit table when I trudged up the creaking stairs and dragged myself across the floor toward him. Before I even said anything, his prominent brow ridge furrowed.
"You're injured," he stated, somehow detecting the cut on my forehead.
"You're correct," I sighed as I plopped into the chair across from him and set my warhammer against its side. I winced at the incessant stinging, which I had all but forgotten while dealing with Ulfric in the throes of passion. "Could you hit me with a healing spell? I don't want to waste a potion on this minor wound."
Erandur rose and padded over to kneel in front of me. Then, unexpectedly, he reached for my helm. "Let me take a look at it."
I jerked away at once. "No. The cut is right above my left eyebrow. Focus on that section, and you won't be wasting magicka—"
"Kressun." His tone grew assertive, commanding, and sharp enough to halt the further refusals ready to launch from my mouth. "Let me take a look at it."
We eyed each other in the hush of the space as the muffled conversation and music drifted up from the tavern area below. He sported the same unreadable expression as earlier, telling me something between us still remained unresolved. His insistence asked for much, especially when I would never unmask myself for anyone else. Even those I had certain relations with.
But for Erandur…
"Fine. But be on guard in case anyone comes up. I haven't yet mastered my invisibility spell."
He nodded, gently taking hold of my helm to lift it off. I sat in a passive daze until he succeeded in removing it. Cool, refreshing air hit my face as I breathed in and reveled in this rare freedom. I wiped at the damp, dark hair matted to my head and the nape of my neck, dismayed at how quickly it chilled out in the open. Erandur placed the Daedric headpiece on the table, studying me in the weak lighting. Unable to meet his staring for long, I turned away in discomfort.
"Just… check the cut and heal it so I can put the helm back on," I muttered, keeping my unhindered vocal pitch quiet so as not to alert curious ears.
Tender and warm fingers touched my cheeks, making me jolt as he rotated me back toward him. His features had taken on a new softness as he inspected my visage, and I felt my pulse race when his thumbs caressed the smooth planes of my facial structure.
"Don't look so bristled. You've shown me yourself before," Erandur remarked as he continued tracing my skin all the way up to the dried blood on my forehead. "And I'm honored to be the only one in Skyrim to have seen you without your helm."
"Yes, well… I trust you," I declared, very much aware of his vicinity. In the dimness, his crimson gaze locked onto me from beneath his hood, entrancing and fiery in its own right.
He held my chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up so that we hovered mere inches apart. "You've never told me, though… why are you so desperate to hide this flawless face?"
x-x-x-x-x
A/N: This chapter took twice as long as I thought it would, but I'm glad I've finally churned it out. Thanks for reading this chapter! Any comments are appreciated!
