TITLE: What is Hidden in Snow
CHAPTER: 9
"I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king."
—Boromir, Fellowship of the Ring, LotR
About a mile from the stone bridge, Brynjolf heard the sound of galloping hooves.
"You'd best pullover, lad. Sounds like a dozen or more."
The drive nodded and guided the horse to a flat snowy area just off the road. Apparently, unconcerned if they were friend or foe the horse dropped his head to paw up the snow searching for grass.
Quite the opposite, Brynjolf pushed his wife down on the floorboards, grabbed a Dwemer bow, and slid his matching daggers into this chest strap of his thief's armor. The first dagger had clattered to the wood planks before Brynjolf remembered he wasn't wearing any armor at all.
"Nocturna!" he swore, frustrated and angry at his predicament. He fervently wished he hadn't allowed the Jarl to talk him into wearing this fancy court getup. Tossing the finely woven green robe aside, Brynjolf jammed the blades into the decorative belt.
Seconds later a squad of a dozen riders charged around the bend snow flying in all directions. The sound of metal bits, weapons, and leather muted in the drifted snow. The horse's breath rolled like waves of steam, circling their heads and obscuring the riders.
The leader rider threw up his fist for to signal his squad to stop and slid his horse to a halt next to the wagon. The destrier snorted and reared at the rough handling.
"Brynjolf!" Ralof shouted, relieved to see the master thief. "One of my spies in the Palace sent a warning. Ulfric's gone mad. Our lady may be in danger. Take this horse, we must make haste." Ralof whistled, and a horse cantered up.
"You'll not go without me, Husband."
"Ye canna ride, Ingun. The babe." Brynjolf yelled while Ralof motioned two of his soldiers to escort Ingun to Windhelm.
"I've been riding since I was…" She exclaimed with her hands on her hips. "And just who taught you to ride a horse, Master Thief?"
"You're as stubborn a lass as they come." Brynjolf lifted Ingun off the wagon and into his arms. Settling her in the saddle in front of him, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Then with his strong arms on each side of her protecting her from a fall, they resumed their gallop toward Windhelm.
The guards didn't challenge them as they galloped into the town, their shod horses striking sparks on the icy stone bridge. Equally, surprising the gates opened for them, and they continued their rush up the lane to the great doors of the Palace of the Kings.
Brynjolf made it through the doors first with Ralof on his heels. His daughter's bright red hair shone like a beacon, and he headed straight for her. He found her kneeling next Ulfric Stormcloak. His sharp eyes followed the trail of blood.
"Da!" She cried and jumped to her feet. Dressed in a simple gown of embroidered muslin and a green surcoat, Vex had helped her clean up and dress. Although, Brynjolf saw the anxiety in her eyes, at least he hadn't seen her on her hands and knees before Ulfric. It was a tale the Greybeards would never tell.
"Lass," with is arms opened wide he caught her as she threw herself at him. "Are ye alright my daughter, we heard the news."
Vika raised her head and looked around the room, "How could you have arrived so quickly?
"Your Mother and I decided to make a visit to our betrothed daughter." He lowered his voice, "The Jarl thought it a good cover to make sure you were safe and healthy." She gasped when Brynjolf touched her cheek, and Vika turned her face away. All her action accomplished was Brynjolf seeing the red handprint on her cheek and the bite mark on her shoulder. She yanked the surcoat up to hide it, but her father had already seen it. He closed his eyes and willed himself to stillness. Then Brynjolf pushed her sleeves up and discovered the bruising. The twisted discoloration from Ulfric's hand glowed red and hot in the firelight.
"Brynjolf, Master Thief. The Brothers of High Hathor would speak with you." Arngeir's command rocked the stones in their mortar.
"It's alright, Da." Vika placed a hand on her mother's arm to reassure. "They… They rescued… Never mind. We must hear what they have to say. Ulfric doesn't have much time, and he's beyond anyone's skill to save."
Arngeir stared at a point only he could see and waited. Members of the court filtered into the feasting hall in ones and twos. No one dared say a word. Guards rested hands on the hilt of their swords.
Finally, he spoke, "The Jarl's approach! We shall wait their arrival."
The occasional murmur and soft moans from Ulfric were the only sounds in the hall. Vika stood quietly flanked by her mother and father. Ralof came as close as he dared. His movement caught Vika's attention, and they locked eyes. Rage flared in his blue eyes, and she watched his fists clench. Her heart ached with shame that he could see the bruises.
Vika misunderstood Ralof's behavior. Frustration and sadness clenched his fists together, not anger. Of course, he could see the bruises. He resolved at that moment that he would not leave her side again. She will become his wife or he will become her companion and they'll adventure together. One or the other would happen. Ralof reached out for her, and his heart soared when she accepted the hand he offered, lacing her fingers through his.
All eyes turned toward the great doors as one by one the Jarls of Skyrim entered the Feasting Hall. Like a funeral procession, they approached the throne. Deliberately ignoring the commotion around them, stewards quickly filled the table with wines, mead, and food.
"You little bastard let go of my woman!" Somehow, Ulfric had made it to his feet and staggered toward Ralof waving a knife, "Get your dirty son of a whore's hands off her."
With all eyes upon them, Ralof stepped in front of Vika and faced Ulfric. "No one will listen to your raving Stormcloak. The truth is known, and the Jarl's have to come to formally dispose of you."
"Dispose of me? I'm the Jarl of Windhelm," he shouted. "Leader of the Stormcloak rebellion. I'll be the high king someday!"
Laila the Lawgiver, Jarl of Riften, stepped to the dais. "Listen to me! This diary was made known to me by the heroic efforts of Vika the Dragonborn. It details Ulfric's capture and torture by the Thalmor. They made him a deal. A deal, which he honors to this very day. The Thalmor wishes the civil war to continue, and Ulfric agreed to assist them in keeping the land, our land, in chaos and strife. Each of you may read this diary. But I declare now in the presence of the Jarls and the Brothers of High Hrothgar that Ulfric Stormcloak is a Thalmor spy and traitor to the Fatherland!"
Encircled by the Jarls, Ulfric staggered back at the revelation. The secret he'd fought to keep was out. His carefully structured world was falling around him.
"I ended the civil war by defeating the Jarl of Whiterun. My armies… My Stormcloak armies… Will rule Skyrim under Ulfric the Bear's banner. Ulfric the High King of Skyrim! The Dovahkiin will rule by my side and give me the sons I require so that my bloodline will rule Skyrim forever!"
Oblivious to the Brother's movements behind him, Ulfric continued his ranting as they all watched the last of his sanity drain away. The once proud man, now bent and spitting his words, while blood continued to drip down his back from the head wound and stain the his fur mantle.
In a movement quicker than the eye could follow, Brother Einarth snatched the knife from Ulfric's hand. The once proud man cried out and scuttled away like a snow spider.
"I have no sons. But my little dragonborn will finally yield to me and give me all the sons I need! Where is my little pet? Come out! Come out! We haven't finished our playtime! You've tempted me long enough…"
Ulfric stopped shouting to look down at the Dwemer knife protruding from his chest. His heart's blood began to spurt rhythmically around the blade.
"Before you die, Stormcloak. Let it be known the captain of your guard, Ralof of Riverwood is your son!" The Brother's voice rang through the Feasting Hall. "Bastard he may be, but he is an honorable, brave man and your heir. Now die, Stormcloak and rid us of your taint!"
Eyes round with fear, Ulfric clutched futilely at the dagger embedded in his chest while his eyes searched the crowd.
"Ah, there you are my pet! Don't listen to their rantings of the bastard. Come heal me with your magic. Please, little dragonborn… I loved you… Vika… I tried…"
Vika turned her face into her mother's shoulder and wept, not for shame or fear, because it was over. The nightmare, which she allowed to happen, because of her girlish crush was at an end. As she straightened her shoulders and wiped her eyes, she took on the mantle of an adult woman. Vika discovered even more courage in her mother's understanding smile.
A few steps away stood her father, waiting for his daughter's response to what he'd just done. She could either hate him forever for killing Ulfric or forgive him. The burning moisture in his eyes blurred the lines of Vika's face so that he couldn't see her reaction.
"Da." Was all he heard until she was in his arms and thanking him for ending her nightmare.
"I thought you might hate me, lass. But I could not hear more from him concerning you. I should have protected you better than I have."
She smoothed his face with her hands. "You have protected me. You came to my room that night and forced me to think about what I was allowing to happen. My arrogant and girlish ways were hurting the ones I loved."
"Aye and you offered yourself to him to protect us."
"It seemed the only answer. He would not allow me out of his sight. Da… He almost won. He hurt me… if the Brother's had not shown up…"
"Hush, Lass. We'll have time to talk about that later." Over Vika's shoulder, Brynjolf watched Ulfric Stormcloak, the Bear of Windhelm, fall headlong to the stones of his Feasting Hall and move no more. The master thief swallowed over a dry throat. He'd just assassinated a Jarl.
"I demand more proof than the ranting of these old men!" Siddgeir the Jarl of Falkreath, shouted, slamming his fist on the table planks.
No one heard the door open again, until a diminutive blond woman with lines of anguish on her face and the effects of hard work on her hands, spoke. "It is the truth!"
"Who is this? This peasant?"
"She's my sister and if you call her a peasant again, you'll answer to me."
"Oh, what's this? The cub speaks?"
"Shut your mouth, Siddgeir. You add nothing and help not at all." The Jarl of Winterhold waved his cup toward the Brothers. "We all need to hear what they have to say."
Ralof hurried to her side, "Gerdur what are you doing here? It's not safe. Everything is in chaos."
Gerdur embraced Ralof, "I love you, Ralof. Remember that when you decide you can't forgive me for what I'm about to say."
"Gerdur, what is it?"
She shook her head at Ralof and looked to the crowd, "Hear me, now! When I was but fourteen summers, Ulfric passed through Riverwood and took me for his amusement. He cared not that I was a maid and ignorant of the ways of men. Next morning, he left with his men and me with a child growing in my belly. The good people of Riverwood could not save me from Ulfric, but they protected me and my unborn child by giving out the story that Ralof was my orphaned brother from Cyrodiil."
"The wench lies!"
"I do not lie. Bring out Galmar Stone-Fist. He was there, and he came back later to check on the child and give me enough money to make a success of the Sawmill. Ask him yourself!"
Skald the Elder, the Jarl of Dawnstar, stepped forward, "Aye, bring him out, and I'll vouch for the truth of it. One night, deep in his cups, Ulfric revealed to me that he left a bastard behind in a small town. I didn't make much of it at the time because I imagined he'd left many such offspring across Skyrim."
The sound of dragon's wings beat a tattoo against the windows and doors of the Palace of Kings. The great wooden doors crashed open. Servants screamed, and outside guards shouted to one another. A single voice drowned out the other sounds, vibrating the air with its power.
"Do not question the wisdom of my Brothers! Zu'u paarthurnax saag nii los vahzah ahrk tol los ganog...I speak the truth!"
Vika emerged from the crowd, calling to the great white dragon. "Fahvos lost hi ni fun zey do daar us, Dovah…Why have you not told me of this before, Dragon!"
"Because Dovahkiin, the tiid… The time was not right. Now it is genun… revealed."
"I have all the proof I need," shouted Skald the Elder.
"And for me as well. Let the boy speak," Elisif the Jarl of Solitude called out.
"Aye, let him speak!" Came shouts from across the hall.
Ralof of Riverwood, a small town country boy, grown into a man as captain of Ulfric's Stormcloaks, moved to the front of the Hall, and turned to face the crowd. Before speaking, he unwound the blue cloth from around his shoulders and tossed it deliberately to the stones.
Vika stepped back from her parents. With all eyes on the Ralof, it took her only a moment to cast the spell that allowed her to flee the Hall unnoticed. She ran down the snowy steps, calling for the dragon.
"Paarthurnax! Come back!"
Searching the skies for him she nearly stumbled on ice and broken stone. With a great flurry of white wings, he scooped her off the ground and held her until she climbed aboard his neck.
"Take me away," she sobbed, hugging his great neck. "Take me high into the freezing air of my Skyrim so that I may think upon all that has happened."
"You allow the scars on your back to weigh you down. It's like a shield you carry. Ris tum hin spaan, Dovah…Put it down, Dovah. You have carried it long enough. Stin… Freedom grants you the opportunity to live a fuller life than the narrow path you now trod. Weep if you must, then sleep in the safety of my protection. When you are ready I will take you back to Winterhold."
Paarthurnax stretched his wings and headed south where the Dovahkiin might be warmed by the sun of Skyrim and woken from her frozen sleep and freed from the prison of her demons.
