A/N: This one doesn't actually have Madanach in it, strangely... but it does have his sister, who is a Matriarch of the Reach, her brother's only living adult kin, and keen to see who this new Nord brother-in-law is. It's also very much about cultural differences, Nords and Reachmen getting used to each other, and a definite sense of the Reach being very much the Land of Faerie where normal rules no longer apply and the Nords are a bit at sea once they've laid their weapons down.
Summary: Madanach may be tied up with the business of rebuilding his city, but his kin aren't, and his sole remaining adult relative is keen to meet her new in-laws. The Stormcloaks meanwhile are slowly getting to grips with settling in a land with a life of its own, shot through with old magic and not entirely keen on them being there. Negotiation, favours and bargaining are required, but no one ever mentioned it'd be quite like this.
Two days and no word from the city. Ulfric's scouts had reported activity from the Reachmen, as the gates had opened, citizens had rushed to the farms on the outskirts, surveying barren fields in tears, and then hunters and messengers had left, presumably to rally the rest of the country and to get food for the city.
The day after that, a force had arrived from the north, and at its head a woman with blonde hair, a wooden staff with bone and feathers at its tip, and a cloak of feathers. The scouts had looked a bit pensive about describing her, and Ulfric had a horrible feeling that was no cloak of feathers but a damn Hagraven, bringing reinforcements.
They'd also reported Reachman attention. No hostilities but Madanach clearly wanted them watched, and Ulfric had seen small groups in the area, watching from a distance, narrowed eyes and suspicion in their body language, retreating into the craggy landscape and vanishing if approached. Apart from near certain rocks or trees, where the Reachman in question would cheerfully call out that that there rock was a fairy rock and they should leave it alone unless they wanted to end up cavorting with the Daedra. Any belligerence had been met with a shrug and response that they'd just wanted to give a friendly warning, if you Admorai were too stupid to heed it, it wasn't their fault, was it now. While Ulfric was fairly certain touching a so-called fairy rock wouldn't summon a horde of Daedric beings to drag you screaming into Oblivion, he'd given orders to leave them alone anyway. No sense starting a fight over a damn rock.
There were also the goats. All the other animals seemed normal enough, but a good chunk of the goats looked far too intelligent for anyone's liking, and if you tried to hunt them, they disappeared. Ulfric had at first just thought they ran off too fast to catch but then his archers had insisted no, one of the cursed animals had literally vanished before their eyes.
Then there were the ravens. Black feathered birds, constantly flying overhead and sometimes landing on their tents, watching far too intently, and Ulfric had a feeling not all Madanach's spies were human. Either that or the bloody witchmen could shapeshift.
This entire country was giving him the creeps and, away from their all-too-human and all-too-attractive King, Ulfric was starting to wonder why he hadn't just stormed the city instead. Everything about this land felt wrong, and many of his people were starting to report strange lights and noises in the night, a sense of being watched even in the camp, unseen fingers pulling at their clothes and gear, and then there were the dreams.
No one was keen on the dreams. The most common theme was screaming undead Reachmen trying to kill the dreamer and undead soldiers of Tiber Septim's army wailing about who would avenge them now, and Ulfric's were worse because they all seemed to think he was Talos.
An entire horde of Reach men, women and children calling him a murderer and Nord warriors wanting to know why he'd abandoned them on a nightly basis, and Ulfric was about ready to snap.
And then one of his men came running in to tell him that a party of Reachmen had arrived to parley and did he want to speak to them?
Ulfric had never left his tent so fast. At the edge of the camp, he found Galmar already there, arms folded and facing off against a party of a dozen armed ReachGuard soldiers, and at their head, flanked by two grim-faced bodyguards who, despite the covered chests, were just a bit too easy to pick out as those cursed Briarhearts, was a blonde woman in a raven cloak, staff raised.
Silver eyes narrowed at Galmar, feathered cloak covering most of her form, but Ulfric glimpsed Reach tribal gear underneath and the shimmer of magic around her. Glamours, perhaps? You could trust nothing in this bewitched land.
But what he did know was that she was the one who'd led the reinforcements, and now she was here, which meant she was someone senior in Madanach's forces. Someone who'd been the first to call in after the siege had lifted, and someone who was now the first to come out here to talk to him.
"What do you want, witch?" Galmar roared at her. "Haven't you people done enough? Get your damn King out here, this is his fault, isn't it? Has he cursed us all?"
"No one made you come here, Nord," the witch growled back, looking very like Madanach in that moment, and Ulfric realised that he could have stood to realise earlier that a King had a royal family, and in this land of the witches, that meant at least one in said royal family.
Madanach's blood kin had come, and she was too young to be his mother, too old to be a child. A sister, most like. A sister who, if Ulfric was any judge, might just be one of the Hagravens.
"Galmar," Ulfric sighed, mentally girding himself for what was likely to be awkward enough a conversation without his housecarl muscling in. "I will speak with her. She is here on her King's behalf… although I suspect he may not have sent her. He mentioned a sister. Are you her?"
The witch turned, locked eyes on him and actually smiled, seeming delighted, and no doubt about it now, that predatory grin was pure Madanach.
"So you're Ulfric!" she purred. "My brother told me much about you. He wasn't wrong about you being cute."
Ulfric could feel himself blushing, but he determined not to let her get to him.
"I'm not entering into marriage negotiations with you," he snapped. "That's between me and Madanach."
The witch raised an eyebrow, still smiling.
"In marriages where the stakes are this high, it's usual for the kin to help negotiate the contract," she pointed out. "Doubtless your father will be attending. Our parents are long dead, and Madanach's children are too young, so that just leaves me. Matriarch Keirine, twin sister to Madanach. It's a pleasure, Sirrah Stormcloak."
Annoyingly, she wasn't wrong. Ulfric growled and gave up. He might as well invite her in, she clearly had her reasons for being here. Presumably it wasn't to sacrifice them all to the witch gods.
"Ugh, call me Ulfric, if he's spoken to you, he's likely told you what our bargain was," Ulfric sighed. "Fine, Matriarch. What is it you want?"
"Want?" Keirine pouted, almost fluttering her eyelashes. "Why, to meet the brave Nord who'd stolen my brother's heart of course. And to ensure you really had ceased hostilities."
"Cease hostilities?" Galmar shouted. "We've been plagued by nightmares and hauntings since we arrived! We retreated and you inflict ghosts on us? Don't tell me you people aren't watching us!"
"The spies I will admit, but you don't think we'd trust you to go about entirely unsupervised, do you?" Keirine said with a shrug, falling into step beside Ulfric, seeming bent over lower than she should be for her age… but not if her real legs were twisted and deformed bird's legs and she was supporting herself on taloned feet.
"I could handle your people watching us, but the dreams and hauntings are not necessary," Ulfric growled. "We agreed an armistice."
"You think the dreams were sent by me?" Keirine laughed, rolling her eyes and sharing an amused glance with one of her human guards. "Please. If I were responsible, you'd have been plagued by them the second you crossed our borders. Alas, I don't have that power. Not yet. No, the dreams are because this place was the site of an old battle, the one where Tiber Septim massacred an entire settlement with his Voice, and went on to enslave the Reach. All the bloodshed has thinned the Veil and the local spirits have never forgotten. The presence here of a troop of heavily armed Nord invaders, led by one with Voice magic, has probably provoked them. The ones embodying dead Nords want to know why you led them to their deaths, and the ones reflecting dead Reachmen think you're invading again. I'm unconvinced they're wrong."
"Well, can you get them to stop?" Ulfric cried. "They're driving us all mad! Don't tell me you don't have some sway in the spirit world."
Keirine tilted her head at that, clearly thinking this over.
"There is a shrine to Dibella over there," she purred. "We worship her too. She presides over beauty, fertility, passion, creativity, poetry, the arts… and diplomacy. It is she we turn to when we wish to strike a bargain. Shall we sit under her auspices and talk?"
Ulfric was absolutely certain that this one knew absolutely nothing about any of the things she'd just listed, but he had nothing to lose by hearing her out.
So he escorted her to the shrine, sat down with her on the steps and waited to hear what she had to say.
"So, you came here to see me, why?" Ulfric asked. "Does Madanach know you're here?"
"No, but don't worry, I'm not here to harm you!" Keirine laughed. "I wanted to see you for myself… and I wondered if the spirits might be giving you trouble. I might be able to help with that… for a price."
He knew it. And he had no way of knowing she'd not caused the damn problem in the first place… but her explanation of the old battlefield being haunted anyway had the ring of truth to it. He'd picked this site because it was the site of Talos's first big victory. He'd not stopped to think perhaps that might have been a mistake.
Too late now, and moving his men again would look weak. He'd had enough trouble convincing them of the need to retreat, and only the promise that Madanach had agreed to give them land and the right to worship Talos had swayed them… if they helped defend his country from the Empire that had betrayed them.
It was a measure of how weird things had got that that bit had got a cheer from everyone. And so he'd brought them all here and claimed Old Hroldan as theirs… and was only now finding out there was a reason the Reachmen had never reclaimed this place.
"And your price would be what," Ulfric snapped. "Gold? Goods? Favours? It had better not be a blood sacrifice."
"Not exactly," Keirine said carefully, in a way that implied someone was probably going to die. "Does battle count?"
Not what he'd expected. Ulfric leaned closer, wondering who he'd have to fight. Talos knew his troops were getting agitated. A little fighting might be just the thing.
"Who are we fighting?" Ulfric asked, trying not to sound too eager and Keirine actually laughed.
"Oh, you Nords. A little magic and you all make that face – yes, that one, like someone just opened their bowels in front of your High King – but order you to bludgeon someone dangerous and you're all ears. Ha! No matter. That's what I have need of. Big strong warriors."
"Didn't you lead an entire force of them to Markarth only yesterday?" Ulfric asked and Keirine paused, nodding cautiously.
"Yes, but they're tribal Reachmen. They won't rise their blades against a Matriarch. A problem if I need one of them punishing."
"You're one. Can't you face her one on one?" Ulfric asked and Keirine gritted her teeth.
"She is First Matriarch and has her two daughters, also Hags, at Lost Valley with her. Any one of them I could fight on her own, but all three at once? No. My troops will be useless and I can't fight her alone. Even my brother cannot get involved or risk losing his crown. And yet she must be punished."
"Why, what did she do?" Ulfric asked, and Keirine actually bristled… and the glamour slipped, just for a moment, revealing clawed fingers, taloned feet, tight skin on her face and fanged teeth bared in a rictus.
"It's what the traitorous bitch didn't do. You invaded down this route, met our lines at Karthspire… and if someone had been doing their job, while you were hammering the Karthspire defenders, Lost Valley would have taken you in the rear and slaughtered you from behind, leaving you trapped between two forces in a narrow canyon. You can only Shout in one direction at a time, Nord. You'd have been annihilated," Keirine growled, vicious anger flashing in her eyes.
"And yet here we are, surviving," Ulfric grinned, trying not to laugh too hard at her. "Are you disappointed?"
"I will live," Keirine muttered, glamours settling back into place. "She however will pay. I do not care if she is First Matriarch. She nearly cost my brother his crown and his life. He is the anointed King. We crowned him in the old ways. She owes him her loyalty, and if she will not give it, I intend to call her on it. I intend to challenge her for her title of First Matriarch in a battle to the death. My own soldiers cannot help me… but yours could. How about it, Ulfric? Help me kill three Hagravens, and I'll help you deal with your little haunting problem."
"You can't do that first?" Ulfric wondered aloud, and Keirine laughed.
"Hardly. It's not that I don't trust you, although I don't, not quite, not yet. It's that I don't fully have the power. I am only one Matriarch… although as blood kin to the crowned King, I do have a connection to the land that I never had before. As the one who brought down the First and took her place… well now, that would give me real power. Madanach could benefit greatly from a First Matriarch he can actually trust, and you'd benefit from one who owed you a favour. The fact you would also have shown us both some loyalty and a willingness to bleed for our cause, that would also go down well."
"You're not worried that using Nord mercenaries to fight your own would turn people against you?" Ulfric asked. "In Skyrim, that might be considered cheating."
Keirine's eyes widened and then she let out a delighted cackle, as if she thought the idea was hilarious.
"Dibella bless you, child, that is adorable," Keirine laughed. "Ulfric cariad, if she had done her job, there would be no Nord mercenaries available and no immediate need to challenge her. As it is, using the Nords she let rampage into the country in the first place as a tool to punish her with will be poetic justice. The Reachmen value cunning and power, Ulfric. Using cunning to win power has never failed to impress them yet. Also the lesson that if you plot against Madanach, you had better be sure it'll work, because there's an excellent chance he might turn your own plot against you is something I think the Reach could stand to take to heart."
Ulfric should not be finding this enthralling and yet there was something impressive about her reasoning. The irony amused him, if nothing else, and his men could do with the opportunity to fight at least some Reachmen.
"All right, Matriarch," Ulfric agreed, grinning at the thought of an honest-to-good fight at last. "Come, let's find some paper and take over one of the rooms in the inn. We have us a battle to plan."
The resulting planning session had left Ulfric with the impression that Keirine, while clearly very bright, wasn't usually involved in the battle planning, because she was asking a lot of questions, frowning at the roughly-drawn sketches of Lost Valley Redoubt as if she'd never seen a battle plan before, and generally letting him make more decisions than he'd expected.
"You've proven your might," Keirine said with a shrug when he mentioned this to her. "I'd be foolish not to take advantage of your expertise."
He'd have been more susceptible to the flattery if he'd not seen her real face. As it was, Ulfric elected not to let it go to his head. He wasn't blind to this being a test of his loyalty, which meant there could be a dagger waiting for his back yet.
Still, the men seemed fired up and Galmar had wasted no time in selecting five of his finest, and the small party was lying in wait to the west of the camp. While the camp was hard to invade from the road, there was another way in across the cliffs to the west. There was only a small watchtower, which one of the Hags had just left in a hurry, making her way to the platforms at the top of the Redoubt. Keirine had seemed to think it wouldn't be heavily defended, if at all, and anyone in there would likely run to fight her. They wouldn't expect an attack from behind. And so Ulfric had scaled the cliffs as the sun came up, with Keirine landing at the top in bird form then throwing some rope down, and now they were lying in wait, Keirine having gone off to issue her challenge at the main entrance.
A pause, then shouting and magic… and an ice spike in the air, which was the signal to attack.
"Remember, do not attack the blonde one or her guards, just the other three and whoever sides with them," Ulfric reminded his men. "Galmar, what."
"Don't see why we can't kill them all," Galmar growled. Others might complain, but Galmar was the only one who'd ever question Ulfric's orders. "We're here to kill witchmen, aren't we?"
"We're being paid to kill Lost Valley's Hagraven leaders, not the blonde one challenging them," Ulfric snapped. "And if you have a problem with that, keep this in mind. She is the one paying us. Now MOVE IT! FOR TALOS AND THE NORDS!"
"FOR SKYYYYRRRIIIIIMMM!" the Stormcloaks roared, charging into battle, half a dozen of Ulfric's best all falling into line behind their leader, and as Ulfric arrived, one Shout sent the enemy Hags flying, Keirine seeing the onslaught coming and falling back, pulling her Briarheart guards back and sending up a ward just in case.
With the foes, three Hags and two Briarhearts, stunned and helpless for a few brief moments, the outcome was a foregone conclusion. Ulfric's men were on them, and their targets recovered too late to do anything about the axeblows and sword-thrusts raining down on them. And once the blood was flowing, Keirine's blood magic, draining the life out of the First Matriarch of the Forsworn, did the rest.
"Why?" the dying Hagraven cried.
"My brother weathered the storm and returns it with interest," Keirine growled. "Reap what you sowed, Grania."
First Matriarch Grania had no answer for that, because Galmar had decapitated her by that point, and six Stormcloaks turned to where their leader was approaching Keirine.
"Matriarch. Your enemies lie dead, as requested. You can hold up your end of the deal, I trust?"
"Your men will have coin," Keirine promised. "Maybe some enchanted bits and pieces too. I'll announce to the camp below they have a new First Matriarch, and meet you back at Old Hroldan. I'll exorcise the place for you, and then tell my brother..."
Galmar had reached for his axe and advanced on her, furious to see her unmasked as a Hagraven, with an unconcealed Briarheart at her back (one had fallen in the battle).
"Wait, that's Madanach's sister? We're giving our blades to one of those monsters? Stand aside, Ulfric, I'm killing her mysel-"
Ulfric not only did not stand aside, he moved to shield her, arms outstretched as he stood between certain death and the First Matriarch of the Reach.
"No," said Ulfric, barely flinching, and Galmar's axe paused mid-swing.
"What?" Galmar cried. "Ulfric, what is wrong with you! She's a damn Hag!"
"She's a witch who will help keep us safe from the Thalmor and their toadies," Ulfric said firmly. "And the witch who hired us for this job. And her brother is the man I will be swearing fealty to. We will have our sanctuary to worship Talos in safety, Galmar. If the price is protecting Madanach and his people, so be it. I keep my oaths, my friend. Need I remind you of yours? You once told me you'd follow me to Oblivion if you had to."
"Aye, but I didn't think you'd actually take me up on it!" Galmar snapped. "Didn't think you'd lead us there and start siding with the damn Daedra either!"
"No one is keeping you here, Nord," Keirine purred. "You're welcome to leave my brother's lands. Build your sanctuary out on the tundra instead. See what the Thalmor decide to do about it. That young Jarl of the plains, Balgruuf is it? He'll be able to give you about as much protection as Jarl Igmund could."
There was muttering behind Galmar, and he began to sense the mood changing, as it had been since Ulfric had denounced Igmund, Raerek and the Silver-Bloods as treacherous snakes who had no intention of honouring their deal, and how that meant Stormcloak priorities were changing. That Madanach might allow a Talos sanctuary here in return for fealty had been surprising news and not entirely believable, but many had been thinking about it. Hearing Madanach's own sister imply that Igmund's word was worthless but that Madanach's protection might mean something was starting to change a few minds. Galmar however remained unconvinced.
"And I'm supposed to just believe you're not in league with them yourself?!" he cried. Keirine shrugged.
"I've never had dealings with them, and my people trust them not at all," Keirine said, sounding surprisingly calm considering Galmar hadn't let go of his axe. "Did you wish me to kill a few of them as proof of my sincerity? It could be arranged."
That did give Galmar pause. He was a simple man of simple passions, and offering to murder Thalmor had a way of defusing his aggression. Still suspicious, he lowered his axe.
"How many?" he asked warily. "Twenty?"
"Twenty?" Keirine bristled. "That will bring the wrath of the Dominion down on all our heads. It needs to be stealth hits, not bloody slaughter. They need to not know for sure that we definitely killed them. I will get you three."
"Three? THREE?" Galmar shouted. "Barely worth getting out of bed for! Twelve!"
"Nine," Ulfric said quietly. "Nine of theirs. It was always a sacred number to Nords. It will send a message. Do not worry about delivering all their heads at once. I at least can be patient."
The men behind Galmar roared approval at that one, and Galmar realised he'd just been completely outmanoeuvred by the commanding officer who was always one step ahead of the rest, and laughing sheepishly, he put his axe away as he recalled why he followed Ulfric in the first place.
"All right, witch," Galmar laughed. "I'll have the men set some pikes up ready and waiting."
"I'll be sure to have them filled by year's end," Keirine promised, smirking. "In the meantime, I'll organise your pay for this and do that exorcism for you, but that chest over there will have Grania's stash of valuables. Help yourselves, although if you don't recognise it, give it to me first. I can't promise all the stuff in there is harmless."
Mercifully, all of it turned out to be fairly run of the mill – gold, gemstones, a dwarven battleaxe that Ulfric told Galmar he could have, a healing potion which Ulfric took for their supplies… and an ancient Nordic sword, inscribed in Dovahzul.
"Now where did this come from, I wonder," Ulfric murmured, lifting it up and reading the inscription, being the sole member of the group who could. "Al-ka-ir uth zu'u wahl fah Hjalti… Alcaire was Talos's birthplace, and Hjalti, that is an old name for him. If this inscription means what I think it does, this sword might have been an official gift of some sort for the young Talos, a coming of age present or indicating he'd completed his sword training. Galmar, look at it, this could be a priceless relic of Talos."
Admiring gasps all round, and Ulfric claimed the sword as a trophy, feeling very pleased with himself. Never mind the coin, he could have that distributed among the men. This sword was worth the effort all on its own.
All that was left was the exorcism, and despite the protests of the Stormcloak chaplain, Lortheim priest of Talos, Keirine was allowed in to carry out the ritual as night fell, Ulfric rather pointedly telling Lortheim he'd had three days by this point to produce some effects and nothing had happened, why not let the local witch have a go.
And so candles were lit, the camp fell quiet, Keirine sacrificed a goat, and the Veil became visible.
Hordes of dead Reachmen, women and children immediately appeared, hands outstretched, all pawing at the Stormcloaks, all howling for justice, and several of the Nords reached for their weapons or their comrades, some even leaping into the lap of the one next to them. At least until Keirine called for calm.
"Enough!" Keirine hissed. "I am Keirine ap Caradach, First Matriarch of the Reach! Sons and daughters of Red Eagle's land, Dibella's own country, hearken unto me! Do you recognise me?"
As one, the horde of Reach ghosts turned to stare at Keirine… and then, slowly, one by one, the ghosts of dead Reachfolk started to kneel, parents pushing their children to their knees and everyone saluting, all clearly recognising Keirine's authority.
"Who speaks for you," Keirine growled, and there was a murmur around the crowd, before a young woman stepped forward, her spectral form coming to stand before the Hagraven.
"I will, Matriarch," she said quietly. "I am Rhianna ap Caridwen, Priestess of the Old Gods, from the settlement of Yroldain."
"Greetings, Mistress Rhianna," Keirine said, voice becoming gentle. "Why can you not go to your rest?"
"We fear," the ghost whispered, and the others echoed her, the words 'fear… fear… fear' sweeping round the camp. "The invaders are here, burning our homes, killing our goats, our kin, killing us, they'll kill us all, they'll kill us all!"
'Kill us all, kill us all, kill us, kill us, killers, killers, killkillkillkillkill…"
"STOP!" Keirine cried, and the ghosts fell silent, although Lortheim quietly intoning prayers to Talos to give him strength and several Nords whimpering could be heard quite clearly.
"There is no fire," Keirine said calmly, staring at the ghost woman. "There is no fighting. The Nords have laid down their weapons. Their leader, the Great Tongue, the Stormcloak himself, has met with the Reach-King and agreed to peace. There will be no more Reach-blood shed here."
Rhianna gasped, glancing at the other ghosts, and then as one they all turned to Ulfric. By Talos, but Ulfric hadn't thought he'd be dealing with this. If he'd known about the spirits he'd have turned this job down. But he was here, and he wasn't backing down.
"Hjalti, Stormcrown, you have much to answer for," Rhianna hissed at him. "You whose Thu'um has shattered our country. How has the King not killed you?"
"Say something," Keirine murmured. "Tell her you repented and laid down your weapons. Tell her you have had your fill of blood."
Nine help him. But every pair of eyes, living or dead, was on him. He owed them something.
"I came to him under flag of truce," Ulfric told the ghost. "Mistress Rhianna, I came here because I was asked and promised a valuable reward in return. But I met with your King, and he opened my eyes. My backers are playing falsely with us. But King Madanach, he can offer us what they cannot. He has made me a better offer. And so I have pledged peace. For now, at least. The negotiations are still under way."
"You came here, killed our people, desecrated our land, for COIN?" Rhianna hissed, features twisting into something demonic, not unlike a Hag's, and the Reach ghosts were also hissing, reaching for weapons or magic, and Ulfric, panic starting to rise, turned to Keirine in desperation.
"Witch, do something," Ulfric snapped and Keirine rolled her eyes.
"Reachmen do not care about material wealth like Imperials do, Ulfric," Keirine hissed. "Give them something else. Tell them the truth!"
Ulfric closed his eyes, not liking this, but his men were starting to panic, the spirits were angry, crying and screaming and objects starting to fly round the camp and rattle on their own, and things were getting perilously out of hand.
"All right!" Ulfric cried, giving in. "Yes, I came here for coin, but I was wrong! I see that now! I'm negotiating with Madanach over the details, but a better offer is not why I laid down my arms! I stopped fighting for love!"
The spirit stopped and everything fell still. Rhianna, humanlike again, had quietened down and was watching him with interest.
"For love?" she asked. "Love of what? Who?"
"Love of the Reach-King," Ulfric admitted, because while it wasn't love yet, it could be. An argumentative, combative kind of love, with wildfire Madanach never easy to control or predict, but Ulfric could imagine waking up with Madanach in his arms, Madanach sleepily cuddling next to him, and quite possibly little baby Eola in the cradle next to the bed, happy to be picked up and cuddled by either of her fathers.
Ulfric wasn't sure how it'd actually work out, but one thing he did know. He wanted that cocky, arrogant witchman in his bed, that irritating grin wiped off his face as Madanach submitted to him and begged him for more.
Never mind conquering your land, I will settle for you, Madanach. And no one harms what is mine. No one.
It wasn't love but for a man like Ulfric, it was the next best thing.
"Love?" Rhianna whispered, eyes lighting up. "What, of the King? Did your eyes meet on the field of battle, everything seem to stop, and you couldn't help but throw your weapons down, beg his forgiveness and offer him your hand?"
Ulfric opened his mouth to answer that it hadn't quite been like that, but Galmar beat him to it.
"Took one look at him on the ramparts and called him a beautiful witchman bastard," Galmar cheerfully informed everyone, not troubling to keep his voice down. "Then there was one official parley, and then another secret one in the middle of the night when Ulfric sneaked off to his keep without anyone knowing, and then in the morning Ulfric's doing the walk of shame back from Markarth and tells us all the siege is over and he's got a peace deal and we're all settling out here."
Gasps and barely muffled laughter from the Nordic contingent, all hastily stifled as Ulfric swept a furious glare over his people, eyes landing on Galmar particularly fiercely.
"I did not do the walk of shame," Ulfric snarled at his unrepentant housecarl.
"Proud of it, were you?" Galmar laughed, and Rhianna actually squealed.
"Oh, that is so romantic!" she gasped, clasping her hands, and behind her, the crowd of Reach ghosts all collectively made a noise that sounded like 'awww!' Ulfric could only put his head in his hands, his reputation in ruins… but the ghosts didn't seem to mind. Keirine wound up the negotiations, asking if the ghosts would please leave the Reach-King's repentant future husband alone, and to everyone's relief, the ghosts agreed and took their leave.
The entire camp relaxed and Ulfric was on the verge of thanking Keirine for her help… when another ghost appeared. This one was a Nord.
"Hjalti!" the ghost cried, reaching out for him. "Hjalti, brother, do you not recognise me?"
It was heading straight for Ulfric, arms reaching out for him – a grim-faced, bearded Nord warrior, ignoring everyone else, his eyes fixed on Ulfric Stormcloak.
Ulfric turned to Keirine in a panic.
"Do something!" he hissed. Keirine just shrugged.
"What do I know about Nord ghosts, Stormcloak? He is one of yours, talk to him! If he calls you brother, greet him as such and ask why he's still here and not wherever you people go when you die."
Ulfric growled but with the ghost right there, he had other problems than unhelpful Hagravens. Gritting his teeth, he realised he had no choice but to do what she asked.
"Brother," Ulfric acknowledged. "It… has been a long time. My friend, you fell in battle, you gave your life in my service. Why are you still here? The glory of Sovngarde is yours. Shor's Hall is waiting for you! Why haven't you left?"
"Not without you, my friend," the dead Nord said, hopeful smile on his face as he came to sit next to Ulfric. "Hjalti, you said after this battle that you would give me your sword and make me your sworn brother! I've waited, Hjalti! I've waited so long! Waiting for you to honour your promise!"
"Friend, I think you have me mistaken for someone else..." Ulfric began, but his soldiers were all watching him and whispering, and Galmar in particular was looking very suspicious.
"Wait, Ulfric, didn't you say Hjalti was the original name of Talos?" Galmar demanded. "Are we talking to one of Talos's closest friends as a young man?"
"Hjalti, there is no mistake, I would know your Thu'um anywhere!" the ghost said, sounding far more confident than he had any right to be, and oh gods, now everyone really was whispering, with suspicious looks from the Reachmen and as for his own… sweet Breath of Kyne, their mood had gone from anxious and wary to staring at him in absolute adulation.
They are going to think I am Talos returned at this rate.
It didn't bother him quite as much as he'd thought.
"What do I do," Ulfric said quietly to Keirine. The Hag just shrugged.
"He's stated his desires pretty clearly," Keirine said, examining her fingernails, probably checking to ensure the illusions were holding and those were nails still and not claws. "He's been waiting for his old friend to return, declare him to be his sworn brother and gift him with the sword he promised. So do that, give him that sword you found with Hjalti's name on it, and he'll probably be more than happy to go to this Sovngarde place and keep a seat and a drink for you."
Ulfric's hand went to his sword, his new-found relic of Talos that deserved a temple, a fine display and priests to tend it, that he'd been thinking of making the centrepiece of Talos worship here. Was Keirine seriously suggesting he give it up for a damn spirit?
"You're not serious, I only just got this sword!" Ulfric hissed, and the ghost looked confused.
"Hjalti, you've had it for years, it was a gift from the swordmasters of Alcaire!" he protested. "You promised me, Hjalti!"
Ulfric groaned and turned helpless eyes to Galmar… and found no help whatsoever.
"Ulfric, give the man his sword and declare him your brother!" Galmar sighed. "He's one of Talos's intimate friends and his dying wish was for Talos to tell him it was mutual. He's put off Sovngarde for centuries waiting for this! What sort of men are we if we take it away from him? Can we call ourselves Nords if we say no?"
It was nice of Galmar to say we, but Ulfric knew damn well this one was all on him. Reluctantly, Ulfric unfastened the sword and held it out to the ghost.
"I promised you, didn't I?" Ulfric said ruefully. "My brother, I swear to you the world shall know we're kin, as if you were my own blood. Here, take the sword with my name on it, and wield it, that all may know whose name you fight in."
The ghost looked near tears as he took the sword, promising he would fight at Hjalti's side whenever he needed him, and would bear this blade proudly.
"Our campaign in the Reach is over, my friend," Ulfric told him. "We have a victory and land of our own. I won't need you in my armies, and you deserve a rest after your long vigil. The only battle I require of you now is in Sovngarde. Wield that blade against Tsun, and when you've proved your mettle, save me a warm seat and a cold ale. I will join you one day, when my work here is done."
The ghost tearfully promised Ulfric he'd do this very thing, embraced him in a full Nordic bear hug, which Ulfric returned, somehow managing to make it not look awkward, and then the ghost faded away, off to spend his afterlife quaffing mead and boasting about how Hjalti-now-Talos was his sworn brother and had gifted him his sword as a token of affection.
"Well done Ulfric, knew you had it in you!" Galmar laughed, patted him on the back, and Keirine brought the ritual to an end and got to her feet.
"Indeed. I do not believe you will have any further problems with hauntings," Keirine said smoothly. "Now, I should really head back to Markarth – what is it, Stone-Fist?"
"You're not staying?" Galmar said, confused. "We've got mead! We fought a battle! We got rid of the spirits! Now it's time for the drinking!"
Roaring from the assembled Nords, and Keirine's eyes had glazed over, Ulfric could tell.
"You truly don't have to stay," he told her, and Keirine glanced at the warriors behind her, all of whom were looking hopefully at the casks of mead appearing suddenly, and then two Nords carried out an entire hog carcass and began preparing it for roasting, and one of the Reachmen actually whimpered.
Keirine sighed and gave in to the inevitable.
"If we are invited, we shall stay," Keirine said wearily. "Just know I refuse to participate in any drinking games."
Ulfric promised to try and preserve her dignity, and the feast began. As food and drink was shared, and Reachmen soldiers started cautiously sitting down with Nord warriors, Ulfric began to relax. Today had gone well, and two warring enemies were finally starting to turn into friends. It wasn't a bad outcome.
It would have been an even better one if Keirine had brought her brother with her.
The drinking session did not, in the end, turn out to be as fraught as either Ulfric or Keirine had feared, although there were a couple of incidents involving cultural misunderstandings over the role of violence in a victory celebration. It turned out Reachmen reserved violence exclusively for the battlefield, and had no concept of a friendly brawl, whereas Nords regarded a party as dull indeed if there hadn't been at least two punch-ups. The misunderstanding had only been resolved when one of the Reachwomen had commented that she'd met people with stranger kinks, and at that point the Reachfolk had suddenly seemed to get it… sort of. Brawls which involved things like rules of engagement and safe words weren't something the Nords were exactly used to, and they definitely weren't used to their opponent suddenly shouting 'come to my arms, you beautiful Nordic bastard – what, it worked for the king, right?' and kissing them at critical points in the fight. At which point it became apparent to the Nords that while Reachfolk only fought for real, their concept of courtship encompassed a greater set of behaviours than the Nords had imagined, and that it turned out that to a man, woman or other, the Reachkin who'd agreed to fight had in fact fancied the Nord in question. Which put an interesting slant on matters, to say the least.
It had ended up with an awful lot of people waking up in tents that weren't theirs, and a lot of awkward silences the next day… but one or two of the Stormcloaks were seen furtively seeing off their previous night's bedmate in such a way as to imply they might be seeing each other again.
Thorbjorn had been knocking back every single jenever shot the Reachmen had put in front of him and had no real memory of anything past his third, but had what looked like lovebites all over him. Brunwulf had been seen sobbing his heart out over Skardan with two of the Reachfolk comforting him and telling him quietly that Skardan would have wanted him to move on with his life, and while Ulfric didn't think anything sexual had happened, Brunwulf seemed more at peace this morning.
And Ulfric had spent the evening sitting with Keirine, watching Galmar drink his own body weight in ale in what he could swear was an attempt to impress the First Matriarch of the Reach. He was fairly certain it wasn't working, although when Galmar finally did pass out, Keirine stroked his hair rather fondly and had her Briarheart guard pick Galmar up and take him back to his tent.
"You know, I would have done that myself," Ulfric protested as he followed behind. "You do not need to tend to Galmar after he's had a few."
"Perhaps," Keirine said, amused. "Only I feel partly responsible. Does he often get nervous? I have a feeling he was drinking to calm his nerves."
Ulfric hadn't been aware Galmar had ever suffered anxiety in his life, which troubled him a little if she was right.
"Perhaps it was drinking with a Hagraven," he said, eyeing Keirine with the glamours off. She wasn't that old, and if you were prepared to overlook the talons and feathers, perhaps… no. Not Ulfric's type. But Galmar's? He'd never have thought so, and yet before coming here, he would never have said Madanach was his type either.
Keirine did laugh at that. "Perhaps!" she cackled. "Well, I will leave him some potions and when he wakes up, you tell him he doesn't need to fear on my account. He kills my enemies, I'll kill his, everyone's happy."
"That will keep Galmar happy," Ulfric promised. "He is a simple man of simple pleasures. I almost envy him."
"You are certainly not simple," Keirine agreed, nodding. "I would never have taken you to my bed. You are too dangerous for that. Too intelligent. I prefer my men straightforward and easy to control. But for my brother, you'll do nicely. He is easily bored and likes a challenge. You are definitely that."
Ulfric could agree to that. And so the next day, when the Reachmen took their leave, he could sit back, sip a mead, and decide that all things considered, that could have gone worse.
A/N: The inscription on the sword means 'Alcaire had me made for Hjalti'. Stands to reason Ulfric the ex-Greybeard would know his Talos-lore, and how to read the Dragon tongue. I did like being able to get the Old Hroldan ghost from in-game into this.