On Tirdas morning, she woke with a start. A loud clattering sound in the room yanked her out of her slumber and she sat up, eyes wide as she searched for the source of the disruption. She found it, not a second later when her eyes landed on a rather embarrassed looking Rona, still in the doorway, crouched over a spilled silver platter full of breakfast items on the floor and holding a hand against her knee as if she'd tripped, hitting it upon her entry. With a sigh, she rose from the bed, keeping the fur blanket around her as she did and made her way over to the closet.
She searched through the many dresses until she found one, a Stormcloak-blue dress made of thick velvet that she'd already worn once before. When Rona slipped out, presumably to fetch another tray she took the opportunity to dress herself in the now empty room. After pulling a pair of comfortable fur lined slippers over her feet, she made her way over to the rather fancy looking vanity table that had appeared the day before and began running her comb through her long hair in front of the mirror.
Impassive blue eyes stared back at her while she sat on the stool and combed through her blonde tresses while considering the past few days. Sundas was spent very much like Loredas, in her shared room with no inclination to leave. The humiliation she felt was still ripe in her mind and she had no desire to lock eyes with any of the officers that had bore witness to her deflowering. Thankfully, Lydia had informed her, most of them had joined Galmar for the assault on Whiterun. Though she knew, they would be back any day now. Word had already reached Windhelm of their success the day prior. The Stormcloak victory had been a swift one, taking control of the capitol before the sunset on Sundas and Arielle was grateful for that. It spared a lot of unnecessary bloodshed for the citizens, many of which she'd grown fond of in her time spent there.
The biggest surprise of the past few days had come from the Jarl. Each night, he joined her in bed without mention of having her again. She knew it would happen, sooner or later. It had to if she was to give him heirs but she would take every night it didn't without complaint, thankful he had at least some measure of restraint.
Rona returned, just a few short moments later with a fresh tray of food she set on the vanity before delving into the task of braiding the top of Arielle's hair. The sweetroll on the tray immediately caught her attention and she reached for it, completely ignoring the cutlery as she did. Steam erupted from the fresh pastry when she pulled it apart and she wasted no time bringing a piece of the sweet bun past her lips. Oh, it was good. Made even better by the dish of jam she dipped pieces of the pastry into. She much preferred taking her breakfast in her bedroom where she could eat how she pleased, without receiving the haughty looks of the steward. In fact, she would take all of her meals in her room if she thought she could get away with it.
When her breakfast was finished and her hair was neatly braided with the silver circlet resting atop her head, she reluctantly left her room, venturing downstairs to the court room for another long day of sitting. The majority of the day before was spent in the throne room, sitting on her pointless throne beside the Jarl's while citizens visited to ask favors of the Jarl. Most of them were either folks stopping by to congratulate them on their nuptials or to ask for an extension on their taxes. The new year was only a week away and with the war still in full swing, it had been a rough year for everyone. Surprisingly, the Jarl was rather fair with his citizens, granting extensions to those that needed it the most.
Another thing Arielle attended the day before, was the public execution of the 'Butcher'. The man's beheading was, not a pleasant sight but not exactly a foreign one either. It was a common method of punishment for the most heinous crime of murder in Skyrim. She only hoped it granted the victim's families some semblance of peace knowing that the killer had finally been stopped.
When she made her way to the throne room, the Jarl was already there, seated on his own throne. She quickly joined him, taking notice of the line of citizens stretched halfway to the doors and she knew it would be another long day spent sitting.
It was. More than a few times she caught herself spacing out before something would snap her out of it and bring her back to herself only to zone out again a few minutes later. And she was glad that she only had to attend court two days a week because she was not the Jarl, her presence wasn't needed. Though he was right in assuming that the people wanted to see her but she knew there was no way she could handle much more of this being still business. She liked to do things, work, use her hands. Whether it was fighting dragons or just playing a game of Iron Hearts with Lydia, she liked to occupy herself.
And poor Lydia, she knew the woman mirrored the sentiment. After all, it was the Nord that traipsed across Skyrim with her for over a year. Having to stay idle after all that time spent travelling is no easy potion to swallow. A glance spared at the woman seated a few feet away told her that her assumption was correct, she was bored too.
The sound of a pleading voice snapped her out of her latest daydream and her eyes wandered to find the source. They zeroed in on a rather pale man with sharp features. He was built like a Nord with a face resembling that of a Dunmer and shaggy black hair that overshadowed light blue eyes. An interesting mix indeed, but not a very shocking one since both Nords and Dunmer made up the majority of the city's population. He, like so many others, was asking for an extension on his taxes. Apparently the man runs one of the more prominent farms just outside the city and had fallen behind on his work due to an injured hand. She could see the thick wrappings on the man's hand and was out of her seat before she even realized what she was doing.
She crossed the space between them, taking note of the man's widening eyes as she approached him. "May I?" she asked, gesturing to his hand so she might get a closer look. Instead of answering her, his wide eyes went to the Jarl. She didn't look, but he must have given the okay because a moment late he nodded, raising his hand and she immediately started unwrapping the wound. When the final scrap of fabric was pulled away, she could see that the gash ran deep and clear across his palm. The man was definitely not lying about not being able to use it. "How did this happen?" she asked him while passing the used wrappings into his free hand.
"I was tilling the ground under one of my cold frames and got distracted." he explained as she held it close to her face, searching for any signs of infection. Thankfully, there were none so without wasting any more time, she closed her hands around his injured one, ignoring his wince of pain to focus on bringing her hands alive in the soft glow of a healing spell. It didn't take long, a moment or so before the wound was closed completely. She inspected it once more to be sure it was fully healed and it was, the wound was gone, the thin scar running across his palm the only evidence it had ever existed.
She watched his face shuffle through several emotions when he realized he'd been healed. His expression eventually settling on awe as he looked back at her with light blue eyes. "Dragonborn.. I.. don't know what to say. I can't thank you enough! I-"
She held up a hand to halt him from going any further. "Don't let it go unrewarded." she told him. "Knock on your neighbor's doors. Lend them a hand if they need it." she told him firmly and he nodded immediately. "I will." he promised. After several more thanks and an extension granted by the Jarl, he turned to leave. Arielle was nearly back to her seat when the doors opened once more, the march of many steel boots gaining the attention of everyone in the hall. Galmar lead the approach, an exhausted smile on his face but not much worse for wear, seemingly unscathed from the battle he'd participated in. A few of the soldiers at the back were pulling two carts, an odd sight but her mind quickly disregarded it. After all, they'd just come back from a bloody battle. She wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know what the cart's contained.
"Galmar!" Ulfric bellowed in that deep voice of his as he left his throne to meet the man halfway. His tone was the closest thing to excited she'd ever heard from him. Jorleif immediately began ushering the few remaining citizens out of the castle, offering words of encouragement and promising to hear them out tomorrow. Which, Arielle thought was rather sad. Once again, the people of Windhelm were being pushed aside for war matters. But, she couldn't exactly hear them out herself, Dragonborn or not she was only the Jarl's wife and held no authority over city matters. Ulfric reached the men and she could hear the murmur of their excited conversations. With a sigh, she rose from her throne and met Lydia's brown eyes. She could tell by the look on the woman's face that she was less than thrilled about Galmar's return. With their time at court at an obvious end, she began making her way out of the throne room with Lydia in tow.
They retired to the library, which was now one of Arielle's most preferred places in the castle. It was secluded and usually no one came by to bother her which meant she was free to read in peace. "Maybe you should read a book." she said to her Nord companion that was sitting on the small couch and looking a little embarrassed, clearly not ready to face Galmar again after their unexpected night of passion. Arielle was browsing one of the tall bookshelves herself for a book to get lost in. The fingertips of one of her hands slid over each book's spine as she read the many titles housed in the history section. "Or swing your sword." she tacked on after realizing she'd never once seen Lydia with a book in her hands. The woman was about as Nord as they come and would probably much prefer swinging steel to reading a tome.
Surprisingly, she heard Lydia abandon her seat on the couch and turned to watch the woman take the few steps to the closest bookshelf. Briefly, she wondered what kind of literature the woman preferred but before she could offer assistance to her housecarl, her attention was stolen by a commotion entering the doorway. Ulfric entered, a rather calm expression on his face and she immediately felt sorry for Lydia when Galmar followed closely behind. A confused expression crossed her face when two other soldiers entered the wide doorway, each of them pulling a cart behind them.
"I thought you might be in here." Ulfric said, his voice all too casual and she noticed Jorleif also filing in behind the carts. The steward directed the two soldiers to leave the carts and make their way back to the barracks.
"What's going on?" she asked him, addressing the Jarl in what was probably only the fifth or so time since they'd been married. Icy blue eyes were unreadable as they stared back at her, though she would swear the corner of his mouth was upturned in an expression that looked almost smug. "Come. Have a look." he said, gesturing to the carts with a wave of one of his large hands. Not sure what he was up to, she reluctantly crossed the massive room to where the carts sat before peeking inside the first one. A look of genuine surprise crossed her face when she realized that she was looking at her own belongings.
She couldn't believe it. But the proof was right there in front of her. Books, scrolls, alchemy ingredients, artifacts she'd taken from barrows that she probably shouldn't have but did anyway filled both of the carts and it had all come from her house in Whiterun. "A gift from the new Jarl of Whiterun. Your former home there is going to be turned into Whiterun's first orphanage for the children that lost their parent's to the battle. He thought you'd like to have your things back." Ulfric explained, only confusing her further. Vignar was not a generous man and she couldn't picture him giving a skeever's behind about parentless children.
"Get her a desk, Jorleif. A nice one." he said suddenly and she looked over to see him standing at the other cart and holding up a glass jar of crushed ice-wraith teeth, his mouth twisted up in a half smirk. "And proper storage for these." he added before setting the jar down amongst the other ingredients. "Come Galmar. Whiterun is ours, let us plan for Markarth." With that said, the three men took their leave, leaving behind a rather stunned and confused Arielle. She could hear their retreat, steel boots connecting with the rug covered hallway as they made their way, presumably to the war room to plan their next conquest. With their victory in Whiterun secured, it only left the holds of The Reach, Hjaalmarch and Haafingar. Arielle suspected, at the rate of success they were having that the war may very well be won by winter's end. She certainly hoped it would be, the people had suffered enough losses and she was very much looking forward to the rebuilding of Skyrim. It was something her father talked about endlessly and she hoped to see it come to fruition. A healing of the land.
"Well, that was interesting." Lydia said, starting the task of pulling one of the carts to the only open space left in the room, the corner to the right of the door. A large, standing candle holder was the only thing occupying the corner which would make the perfect spot to store her belongings. "It was." Arielle agreed while she began sifting through the items in the second cart, taking mental inventory of what was there and what wasn't. A mold of a dragon claw, made of solid gold stood out and she held it up. Lydia was already back to retrieve the second cart and smiled at the sight of the claw. "Can't believe you kept that thing. The Jarl's in for it, he has no idea how much of a hoarder you are."
Arielle smiled at the woman's playfulness. "I like stuff." she said with a shrug. "Especially stuff I find on my own."
"Your house always reminded me of Paarthurnax's lair." Lydia teased. "Could barely see the damned dragon around all the 'stuff' he collected."
"Well, he had a thousand years to collect stuff. I've only had one." she said as she made her way over to the cart in the corner to go through it. She began making piles on the floor, separating each of the items by category. Books, ingredients, artifacts and enchanting equipment all had their own pile. It wasn't all of her stuff, but she was thankful to have at least some of it back. A short while later, Jorleif returned and following closely behind him were several servants bringing in an excessive amount of furniture. A large desk with a heavily cushioned chair, two empty bookshelves and a work table were all crammed into the corner of the library, just beneath the stained glass windows, for her own use.
"I can't believe Vignar did this." Arielle said, still trying to wrap her mind around it all.
Jorleif scoffed. "Vignar Gray-mane had nothing to do with it. Your things were sent by the Jarl Hrongar." She turned to face the man with a look of shock on her face. "Hrongar?" she asked, not bothering to hide her surprise.
"Yes." he said with an affirmative nod. "If there's nothing else you need, my lady, I'll take my leave. I've got to see to a dispute in the kitchens." She shook her head and with her permission now secured, he quickly made his way out of the library looking as flushed as she'd ever seen him. He was more high strung than she was when she found out she was the Dragonborn and she genuinely wondered how he lived like that. The man ran around the castle like every second was too precious to let slip by without getting some form of work done. Arielle's life had never been like that. Even in her pursuit to find the World Eater, she'd had plenty of downtime. Plenty of time to dwell on her mistakes and pick apart each decision she made with the sharp edge of a knife called hindsight.
When the room was empty of the steward and his help, Arielle immediately adopted the task of putting her things in their new home while a small part of her mind wondered about the Jarl's intentions for gifting her the furniture equivalent of an office. Perhaps he was all too eager to have her keep to herself. After all, her presence was only required when it came to bearing his children. What better way to keep her occupied, than seclude her to one room of the castle?
Her pondering continued in mostly silence as Lydia had finally chosen a book of her own and after stoking the fireplace, settled into the couch, leaving her to muse over her mostly stolen artifacts. The afternoon passed slowly while Arielle worked and she barely noticed when the light outside the window faded to black. Only pulled form her thoughts by the sharp sound of steel boots in the doorway. She tore her eyes off the alchemy ingredients she was taking inventory of on a notepad to see the mountain of a Jarl taking up most of the doorway, icy blue eyes regarding her with a look she couldn't quite decipher.
"Shall I escort you to dinner?" he asked and without having much choice in the matter, she placed her notepad and quill of the desk, crossing the room to take his offered arm. Lydia followed closely behind and the three made their way to the dining hall that had gone back to having only one long table in it. She took her typical seat, to the right of the Jarl and Lydia sat just beside her. Unfortunately, that put them across from Galmar and the silence between them was tense and awkward even before the food was served.
Arielle brought a goblet of water to her lips while a plate of chopped vegetables sitting on a bed of cabbage was placed in front of her. The water was flavored as it usually was. She could see halved cherries and snowberries floating around her cup lending their flavors to the chilled liquid. "Windhelm needs a temple for healing." she said, cutting through the silence with something that she'd had in the back of her mind since she'd healed the farmer's hand. She was honestly surprised that it didn't. Windhelm was nearly the size of Whiterun and a home for many of Skyrim's soldiers, plenty of whom came home with injuries at one time or another.
"Temples are expensive." Ulfric said immediately and she clenched her teeth but let the subject drop while pushing the vegetables around her plate with what she actually thought was the right fork. As much as she'd hate to admit it, she really was getting better at fancy dining. "But.. It's not a bad idea. I'm sure Jorleif can move some things around." he said assuredly and she looked over, not bothering to hide her look of genuine surprise though he did not meet her eyes. Instead, his attention was stolen by one of his generals at the table. A man who, upon a quick glance his way told her that she had no desire to make eye contact with for she was sure he was one of the witnesses to their consummation. Another pair of eyes she had no desire to see was Ralof's. He'd been sent to Whiterun and she had not seen his face among the one's returning earlier and she wondered if he might have been stationed there.
Feeling suddenly embarrassed from the memory of their wedding night, she excused herself from the table and made her way back to their shared room for the night. Lydia followed, but retired to her own room. Leaving Arielle to be welcomed by a peaceful silence when she reached her room, seemingly at the perfect time as it looked like the fire had been recently stoked. She changed out of her blue dress and into a thin silk robe while her small fingers pulled the braids out of her hair. Once her hair was free of it's confines and with the long day finally at an end, she climbed under the thick fur blanket on their shared bed. Assuming he would have no problem waking her up if he wanted her, she relaxed into the mattress and finally allowed her exhausted eyes to close.
Ulfric stayed at his desk long after Galmar retired from the war room for the night. He spent the majority of the evening responding to letters from his generals stationed at the various camps around Skyrim. Too much time sitting at the desk had his back stiff and his mood thoroughly soured. Yet, instead of returning to his own bedroom, where he was sure his young wife would be, he decided to stay at his desk and do a bit of light reading.
He reached under the ever growing stack of letters to retrieve the small journal he'd spotted in one of the carts earlier. It was heavily used and the pages were half separated from the book's spine. The cover itself seemed sticky with what smelled like dried wine. He took it on impulse, ignoring the curious glance Galmar shot him before he tucked it away for later reading. Because how else was he supposed to get to know her? That woman was dead set on dismissing him, despite his many attempts to converse with her and the gifts he'd showered her with. The only time he'd seen any hint of her true self was when she was mad at either him or someone else. She seemed to have no trouble expressing herself when she was angry.
Despite doing everything he could to make her life more comfortable, most days he was met with an impassive glance that only served to irritate him. Any other woman would have happily accepted his proposal. Any other woman would have come around by now. Had he not made up for his few transgressions? Given her space? Complimented her ethereal beauty endlessly? And there was nothing he couldn't give her, if she would just ask for it. Yet, still she denied him, remaining displeased by his efforts and his frustration only mounted for it. One of his hands smoothed the hairs of his goatee down while he simmered in his irritation.
It was as if she'd resigned herself to be miserable for the rest of her days. She had no interest in even attempting to make things work between them. And things could be decent between them, genuine even. He'd seen it happen in his own parents and was sure they could get there themselves if she'd allow him a gods damned scrap of an opportunity to make it happen. He knew she was a stubborn thing from their very first meeting when she all but demanded a peaceful halt to the war, but he never once expected this amount of resistance.
Of course things got.. complicated, when Ralof appeared. She had done nothing to quell his assumptions, allowing his anger to boil over til he lashed out. Was she not as much at fault for the way things happened? He thought so. Yet she continued to act like he was the one solely at fault. It was beyond maddening. Something had to give..
With an exasperated exhale, he flipped the cover open, nearly separating it from the book's spine as he did. A quick move of his hand brought a bottle of mead to his lips. He drank deeply, the honeyed brew going down smoothly as he swallowed. Turning his attention to the very first entry, he began reading..
20th of Sun's Dusk. 4E 201
It's been three months since Helgen, since I lost my parents. Their loss still pains me greatly to this day. So much so that I can't even talk about it yet. Even now, just the simple act of writing these words is proving more difficult than I could have thought possible. Lydia thinks this will help, since I can't even communicate my feelings to her and she is sworn to me. Everything has changed so much in such a short amount of time that I'm still struggling to come to terms with it all. I am the Dragonborn, I now know this to be true. Yet I can't help but loathe that truth in it's entirety.
From the moment I killed Mirmulnir and took his soul, I knew there was no going back to the person I used to be. The awakening of my dragon soul has changed me in an irreparable way. I still have my aspirations, my dreams for a life that is far from this one I'm currently living. But those desires are now overshadowed by this power I struggle at times to control. My Thu'um swims just beneath the surface and threatens to break free from my chest from the simple act of drawing breath. Master Arngeir is confident that control will come quickly with practice. But things are happening so fast and the power that has awakened inside myself terrifies me with a sense of foreboding.
For now, all I can do is look forward. Waiting, expecting the next calamity in this series of unfortunate events. My thoughts are not with me at High Hrothgar. They are focused on what awaits my return to Whiterun. The man that named me thane did not take kindly to me declining his proposition of marriage. But how could I ever give my hand to a man that I barely know. My mind is fresh to the ways of the world outside Helgen but my father's teachings remain and I could not shame him in such a way. I can see in the Jarl's eyes when he looks at me, that he's looking for ways to exploit my power. He looks at me as if I'm a weapon, a thing to be used as he pleases. And the people.. they now look at me like I'm some great hero that will resolve all of their problems. The responsibility that has suddenly been thrust upon my shoulders seems unbearable in it's heaviness. A burden that weighs on my mind and my heart and I can't help but feel as if I'm drowning in it. Most days I struggle with the simple act of drawing breath around my heavy thoughts. It's as if they're so tangible that they're constricting my lungs, depriving them of the precious air I need to survive. And I'm starting to wonder, if it might always be this way.
One thing I know to be true, is that no part of me desires this power I've come into. The day the Greybeards called for me, I will forever remember as one of the worst days of my life. Second only to the loss of my beloved family. But I know, deep down that I have many more rough days ahead. I can feel it. And I know going forward, nothing will ever be the same...