For a day, everything was perfect. Gallica could not remember how long it had been since she had spent a full day out of armor, and she luxuriated in having the leisure to simply read while Ulfric was attending to the everyday duties of running a city. Before despairing of producing a daughter that would grow up to be a fine Imperial lady, her mother had insisted that Gallica be given a classical education, and what had been near torture then - all those dusty tomes of history - was a rare pleasure now.
On the second day, the gifts began to arrive. They were small things at first, mere tokens. A carved and gilded drinking horn from a wealthy family of Windhelm here, a dragon-pommeled dagger from a wealthy burgher there. She tried to accept them graciously, but when a helm arrived that would not have been out of place in a Jarl's treasure room, however, Gallica balked.
"Where in Nirn did it come from?" she asked, staring dumbfounded at the jeweled and intricately decorated thing in her hands.
"The Jarl of Dawnstar, I believe," Ulfric replied, mildly, sounding pleased. She turned it in her hands, feeling its weight. Too heavy, too pretty to fight in. It was the most expensive thing she had ever held in her hands and the idea of it made her uncomfortable. And then a thought struck her.
"How did they know where-" she began, and then looked up at Ulfric, frowning. "You told them where I was."
"I sent riders out after you arrived," he agreed. "The other holds deserved to know about your victory. You are quite a well-known figure by now, Dragonborn, and the Jarls will need to look to their own defenses."
And you wanted them to know that I came here to you first, she continued in her head, but pursed her lips to keep that and several other ill-timed comments from coming out. So, everyone in Skyrim knew that she was in Windhelm at the Palace of the Kings. That was not going to go over well in Solitude. And that was exactly how Ulfric had wanted it, if she had to guess. He must have sent the riders out almost as soon as she had arrived.
She stared at him for a long moment, feeling Galmar watching her like a hawk from nearby, and set the helm down with a sigh. It was vexing that Ulfric had not consulted her first, but with everything going so well otherwise she did not want to make a scene. Especially in front of his household.
"Is there anything else I should be aware of?"
"Now that the dragons have been dealt with, we will need to tend to the offensive before winter sets in in earnest. I want you at the planning table with me. Your experience with Tullius and with Whiterun will be an asset," Ulfric replied, smiling at her.
"Ulfric," Galmar interjected, before she could level her own objection, "should we put so much trust in a foreigner? Has she even sworn her service to you yet?"
Gallica kept her expression carefully guarded as she met the old soldier's frowning gaze. Of course he was suspicious of her. Why wouldn't he be? There was clearly more to it than that - jealousy, perhaps - but it would not improve the situation to challenge him directly. She wouldn't be cowed by bluster, though he did have a point. She remained silent, waiting for Ulfric's reply.
"In time, old friend," the Jarl replied, peaceably. "The Dragonborn has come here in good faith."
"Or else as a spy," the housecarl grunted, suspicious, his lip curling.
"We two were also sworn to the Imperial Legion once, Galmar. All of us standing here have seen the true face of the Empire," Ulfric replied. While his expression was calm, there was a note in his voice that brooked no further argument. The housecarl stepped back, but Gallica could see his mind working, calculating, waiting for another chance to reason with his liege.
"Now, before dinner, there is something I want to show you." Ulfric said to her, and she followed him, casting a glance back to catch Galmar's scowl before they left the hall.
~~0~~
"Galmar is a good man. And a good soldier. He has a point," the Jarl said, a few moments later, as they strolled the halls of the Palace, "There will be questions. We should put those to rest as soon as possible and make it clear that you stand under my banner. Galmar's concerns I allow because of his service and the length of our friendship, but I will not have others questioning your loyalty."
Gallica frowned, uncomfortably, gazing straight ahead as she tried to quell the sudden return of the uncertainties she thought she had left behind her. She supposed it was unavoidable, and she knew she would have to take a stand eventually, but this seemed rushed and she was not pleased to have decisions about her life made for her.
"If you trust me, then what questions can there be?"
"I trust you with my life, my heart," Ulfric replied, earnestly. He meant this, she knew, and that made her feel a little better. Before she could relax, however, he continued, "But this is about more than just us. The people will believe what they can see. They need their pageantry and their stories, and I need my future queen and my right hand to be above reproach in their eyes. The men you command must know that your orders come from me."
"I am not anxious to command anyone," Gallica replied, uneasily, and he stopped, putting his large hands on her shoulders. She looked up into his face, noting his blue eyes, his handsome features, and the way that seeing him made her thrill and tense at the same time. He smiled at her, brushing her cheek.
"I have fought in wars since I was old enough to hold a sword. I weary of war, too. But that is why I know we have tocontinue fighting. I have held too many dying men in my arms in foreign lands. I'm sure that the same is true of you. That is not the world I want to leave to our children one day."
Gallica could not help but return the smile at that. The idea of peaceful family life with him warmed her. She touched his fingers for a moment, and then sighed.
"There must be a way to broker a peace," she urged. "You saw for yourself at High Hrothgar that Tullius is not unreasonable. There is a possibility-"
"I am done speaking with General Tullius," Ulfric replied, with a disgusted huff, and Gallica realized too late that bringing up the General had been a mistake.
Ulfric had not forgotten his humiliation at Helgen. He would press onward in this war just to spite Tullius, Gallica was sure of it. She considered pursuing the issue, but though better of it. They were still learning each other, but she was beginning to get a feel for Ulfric's moods. Arguing with him directly about anything was unproductive. He could be persuaded, but indirectly. Galmar, she had observed, was good at that and she could learn from the example. It had to seem like Ulfric's own idea. She could remember her mother, stubborn and stalwart Imperial lady that she had been, saying something similar about her father. So she decided to take a leaf from her mother's book for once. There would be other opportunities to make her point.
The western parapet of the Palace looked out over the city of Windhelm and the rugged terrain of Eastmarch. There was snow on the wind, and the hazy sun was setting over the distant mountains, casting a grey-golden glow over the world.
"This is what we fight for," Ulfric said, gesturing towards the scene.
Gallica did not reply. She was too ill at ease already to stomach any more of his dogma tonight, though the vista was pretty enough. She tried to focus on that. Ulfric surveyed the mountains for a moment longer and then turned to her, his expression warm - their earlier discussion already forgotten.
"With all of these gifts arriving at the palace, I felt that you should have one from me, too. I won't be upstaged."
She smiled at the joke and watched as he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a small object - a ring, Gallica saw, as he opened his large hand to show her. The light from the sunset glimmered off of the intricately tooled gold, illuminating insets of garnet and sapphire that formed a complex pattern around the band.
"This was my mother's, given to her at her wedding by my father. I had planned to wait until our own wedding to give you this, but the official ceremony will have to postponed until after the fighting is done. Since you have already given me your token, I wanted you to have one from me."
His expression was eager for her approval, and Gallica held out her hand, allowing him to slip the ring onto her finger. It was very slightly tight, but not uncomfortable.
"It's beautiful," she said, a lump forming in her throat as she looked down at the bauble. Her hand was still clasped warmly in his, and she squeezed his fingers. It was beautiful. It meant something to him, and that meant that she meant something to him. And so why did that make her feel so strange? "Are you sure? This all seems to be happening so quickly."
"I don't need more time to know what I already feel." Ulfric told her, slipping his hands around her waist and grinning at her. "Besides, you're a hard catch, Dragonborn. Now that I have you, I'm not letting you go."
Something about that phrase prickled in the back of Gallica's mind, but she put it aside as an artifact of their earlier conversation. Instead, she smiled and leaned against him, letting him kiss her and then put his arm around her as they watched the sun dip below the mountains. Perhaps he was right and their fates were bound together, and that was why it all seemed to be falling into place so quickly. The strangeness of it was just her own fears and guarded suspicions rebelling against the idea of happiness. For how could something that made her feel so wonderful be wrong?
~~0~~
The following day brought dark clouds and wind, a heaviness to the air, but no proper storm. Gallica woke feeling restless, and prowled the hall until finally settling herself to the task of unpacking and checking over her armor. She had wiped the gore from it before leaving the mountain, but there were always straps and loose rivets to replace. The dragonbone had held up well, better than steel, but it would need a proper cleaning to keep it in shape. The exertion would keep her mind and body occupied and off of other things.
She had just finished oiling and testing the last strap on her cuirass when a servant informed her that Ulfric had sent for her. Wiping her hands, she made her way down to his study, mostly converted now to a war room. As she approached, however, hearing the susurrus of the conversation within, she stopped in her tracks and listened. The two men were discussing Whiterun, and she felt something in her chest constrict as she realized what was being said.
"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message," Ulfric's voice echoed.
"If by message, you mean shoving a sword through his gullet." That was, of course, Galmar. His voice was low, a sullen growl.
Ulfric seemed to hesitate for a moment, but continued, "Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would send a more powerful statement, don't you think?"
"So, we're ready to start this war in earnest then?"
"Soon."
A pause and then Galmar's voice again. "I still think you should take them all out like you did-"
At that point, Gallica had heard enough. She had known that Ulfric and Balgruuf had a history together. She had known that Balgruuf was in an unenviable position between the two powers in Skyrim and that this could not last. But the casual way that Ulfric and Galmar talked of killing or deposing the Jarl of Whiterun - who had gone out of his way to help her during the dragon crisis - angered her. She forced the feeling down, gritting her teeth as she stepped through the short corridor and into the war room. This is not the time, this is not the place, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra in her mind. This was the way of war, she would do her position no good to explode over tactical considerations, but mostly she did not want to give Galmar the satisfaction of seeing her lose her temper. Ulfric turned to her and smiled as she approached, and with great effort she arranged her features into a tight-lipped response.
"There you are. I see your morning has been productive," he said, fondly, gesturing at the oil cloth she had tucked into her belt and forgotten. Galmar's face remained a mask. Silently, he crossed his thick arms.
"You sent for me," Gallica reminded, tersely. Ulfric was not a fool, she knew. She saw the subtle shift in his expression as he recognized her discontent, and glanced at his housecarl.
"A moment, Galmar. I would speak with the Dragonborn alone."
The soldier grimaced, a comment to himself, but he stepped towards the door. He cast a warning glance Gallica, as if to remind her that he was still watching her. She returned it almost belligerently, feeling the blood begin to surge in her temples. But the Legion had cured her of the habit of lashing out and so she waited.
"You're angry," Ulfric ventured, once the door was closed. He did not seem disturbed, but Gallica knew that he must be. "Tell me what troubles you."
Here we go, she thought, and drew in a breath.
"When were you going to tell me about your plans for Whiterun?" she asked, cutting directly to the point.
Ulfric's expression, to his credit, did not change. He shrugged.
"As soon as a firm plan was made."
He was acting as if this was nothing, just run of the mill business, but Gallica knew that this was not the whole story. He wanted her tactical experience and her clout on his side. He would not have left her out of the meat of this discussion about Whiterun unless he was hiding something from her. This was too calculated to be simply an accident.
"You know that I'm a Thane of Whiterun. By the Eight, Ulfric-"
"Nine," he reminded her, calmly enough, but she could see an unpleasant fire beginning in his eyes. Gallica stared back at him, refusing to back down this time.
"I will participate in nothing that directly threatens Jarl Balgruuf's life or that of his family. You should know that," she told him, finally, as the tension in the air increased.
"Divines willing, you won't have to," Ulfric acknowledged and shook his head. "Galmar believes a sterner lesson to the other Jarl's will be necessary, but I would rather solve this without bloodshed. Balgruuf is an honorable man. I was hoping his respect for you would convince him to see sense."
"And if he doesn't take your side in this? If he prefers to remain out of it altogether?"
"That is no longer possible." He leveled a pointed glare at her. "For either of you. The Empire is bringing all of its weight to bear on Whiterun. How long before Balgruff capitulates to their demands? As his Thane, it speaks well of you that you would leap to his defense, but if he will not support us then he is against us. I have no wish to see him struck down, but this is war. No one can fault you for allowing your loyalty to your king and betrothed husband to supersede your loyalty to Balgruuf."
His voice had changed from the casual tone he normally used with her to the growl of a Jarl addressing a subordinate. She sensed how close the conversation was to spinning out of control, and she tried to pull herself in. Patience, she thought, diplomacy.
"That is what I wanted to speak to you about, in fact," Ulfric continued. "We can delay no longer. The Empire is already moving their troops. Things are coming to a head. I need your talents on the battlefield. And so, it is time to make your loyalties known publicly and prepare the offensive."
"Let me go to Solitude. Let me speak with Tullius and convince him to extend the peace," Gallica suggested, the words coming out quickly, but they were struck down.
"No!" the Jarl barked at her and she could see he was truly angry now. He shook his head, scowling. "The time for talking is long over with. You promised me an end to this fence-sitting, Dragonborn. If you stand with Skyrim - with me - then stand."
"Dragonborn," she nearly spat, her lips curling bitterly as she paced a few steps away from him, trying to control her temper in the face of him losing his.
If she never heard that title again, it would be too soon. She was sick to the bone of the Dragonborn, of dragons, of being a pawn in everyone's game.
She turned again, feeling her face flushing with frustration. "I have a name, Ulfric."
"An Imperial name," he replied and this pushed her anger over the edge.
"My name! My grandfather's name. I am not ashamed of it!" she exploded, taking a step towards him, her finger stabbing through the air like a lance. Her breath came heavy and she felt her shoulders tensing as she shook her head, fuming. "Is it me you want, Ulfric? Or just the Dragonborn?"
"You forget yourself."
His response was quiet, but as icy as the north wind. They glared at each other, unable to overcome the stalemate, until she turned away and shook her head - so angry that she could feel her muscles strain from where she had held them tense for too long.
"This is difficult for you. You grew up in Cyrodiil. You swore oaths to the Emperor, and you are too young to remember what he cost us. I understand. But, you are here now and I must know. Will you stand with me?" he asked finally, his voice gentling a little as he stepped towards her. He was making it personal again. It was always personal with Ulfric, whatever the situation.
"With you," she replied, not looking at him, even when she felt his hand rest on her shoulder, "yes."
"Then trust me, heart," he cajoled. She let him turn her and lay a kiss on her brow. "I ask nothing of you that I would not do myself."
That is hardly comforting, Gallica thought, but maybe unjustly. The energy to sustain the argument was draining out of her, though, and she sighed. Love was not turning out to be a bed of roses, but neither was she young or foolish enough to think it was supposed to be entirely bloodless. She returned his embrace with real feeling, and then stepped back.
"I need to take a walk. Clear my head."
"Speak with Galmar when you have a moment. You will be working under him in the field for now and I believe he has a task for you. A sort of initiation," Ulfric replied, smiling,as if they had not been arguing moments before.
Gallica nodded and left, heading towards the great doors at the end of the hall and ignoring the hulking, bear-helmed general as she passed by. There would be time enough to deal with him when she had had some fresh air. Perhaps she had been cooped up inside for too long. The chill, salt breeze of Windhelm would help with that, and perhaps take the sting out of falling into the shadow of her own legend even with the man she was growing to love.