Three days passed without so much as a glimpse of the Jarl. He hadn't left the castle, only spent the majority of his time in the war room, even taking his meals there. Til night fell and he would join Arielle in their bed after she was asleep, waking her briefly as he settled into the mattress. Then, when she woke for the day he was gone again, leaving her to herself.
Which, at first was something she thought she wanted. Solitude. Now that she had it, experiencing the loss of him after all their time spent together, she wasn't so sure. She would still not consider herself fond of the man, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't become accustomed to his presence and touch and having her new normal disrupted without warning was difficult to adjust to. What surprised her the most about it all was the fact that he hadn't tried to lay with her. Hells, he hadn't so much as touched her since she stitched his arm. Meaning the only physical contact she recieved was when Rona was braiding her hair. And while not uncomfortable, it was far from comforting, leaving Arielle to suffer with something akin to loneliness.
And she wasn't ignorant to the fact that his absence from her was intentional. Her suspicions were confirmed the day after she'd stitched his arm, when she had to endure the strange glances Galmar kept shooting her at dinner. That meal, and each one since had been particularly awkward, her public display of anger toward the Jarl had not yet been forgotten, by Galmar nor the other officers and the only sound to be heard whilst they ate, was the awkward scraping of forks against plates and the depressing tune of the bard's strumming. Exactly why he was avoiding her, she had no idea. Each day found her laying in her shared bed at day's end, turning the memory over in her mind and unable to find the cause of his swift departure.
On Loredas, she woke to an empty room. Though the freshly stoked fire offering it's warmth and silver platter on the vanity table housing her breakfast told her that Rona would be back soon enough, the bright light pouring in from the window indicating that it was already somewhere around mid-day. Each day found her sleeping in later and later and yet she still woke up feeling exhausted. With a frown on her face she went about her morning routine, selecting a wine colored dress of soft velvet from the closet before spending a good two minutes appreciating her abdomen in the vanity mirror, searching for any visible change in herself around the delicate fabric that clung to her small waist and shapely hips. She knew it was far too early, but that knowledge would not stop her from marveling at the precious babe tucked inside the safety of her womb.
It was going as well as it could, til she sat on the chair at her vanity and brought the silver goblet of water to her lips. She drank deeply, her parched throat eagerly accepting the cool liquid as she nearly downed the entire contents of the goblet. The next thing she registered was the sugary sweet aroma of the sweetroll on the tray. Unfortunately, before she could sink her fingers into the icing covered pastry she was sure would still be warm to the touch, her stomach rolled, signaling the return of the acute nausea that had played havoc with her recent mornings.
Crossing the room as fast as her feet could take her, she only counted herself lucky when she made it to the bedpan in time for the water to come back up. On her hands and knees, she heaved for several minutes, expelling every bit of the water and when her stomach was empty, she continued a fruitless heaving til her belly was aching madly and a sweat dampened the skin of her forehead. And when the final wave of nausea subsided, she slumped against the wall, thankful it was there to support her and rolled her head to the side to press the heated skin of her face against the cold stone.
Some time later, in the midst of Arielle getting her bearings the sound of the door opening caught her attention. "This child dislikes me." she groaned to the familiar sound of heavy steel boots approaching. A snorted laugh reached her ears that could only have come from her long-time Nordic companion and were she not so focused on recovering from the unexpected bout of nausea she might have rolled her eyes.
"Nonsense." said Lydia when she came to a stop beside Arielle and laid a nearby towel across the bedpan to cover her sick and she was immensely thankful for the preserving of her dignity. "Your child will love you, when it has a mind to. It's your body that dislikes you." she said, the amusement in her tone not going unnoticed by Arielle who then turned to face the woman with a rather unimpressed look.
"Keep jesting and I will be sure to repay it should you come to be with child." she quipped, already beginning to feel better. Sensing this, and whilst sporting a grin on her face, Lydia held out a hand and Arielle took it, allowing the woman to help her stand.
"Never pictured myself the mothering type." said Lydia while Arielle took a few tentative steps, testing her ability to remain upright.
"Really?" Arielle asked, not bothering to hide her surprise. "You practically mothered me all the way across the province." Fortunately, it seemed the nausea had dissipated so she crossed the room, making her way to the vanity and donned the circlet of silver and sapphires.
"Yes and that is still a full time job." she quipped, causing a smile to come to Arielle's face. Her gaze strayed to the sweetroll that still sat on the silver platter, which was no doubt as cold as the snow that fell upon Windhelm by now and eyed it hungrily. But as hungry as she was and as good as the icing covered pastry still looked, she was unable to hold down water and she just could not bring herself to chance it with actual food. She ran her fingers through her hair to separate the curls before applying a bit of lavender oil to her wrists and neck. "Speaking of.." Lydia tacked on after a moment, her hesitant tone catching Arielle's attention enough for her to set the bottle of scented oil down and turn to face her housecarl with a curious expression. "I saw Galmar.. last night." she said, a light blush dusting her cheeks and Arielle's eyes widened at the revelation. "That's not what this is about." she quickly tacked on with a shake of her head, her expression turning serious.
"He isn't sure which officer that was present at dinner the other night talked, but one of them did and now there's rumors going around the barracks. It seems that a few of the men aren't so willing to follow a man that would mistreat his wife, especially someone as loved and respected as the Dragonborn, someone they view as their saviour. Whispers of desertion reached Galmar's ears just yesterday."
Arielle felt herself go pale as the gravity of the situation settled in her mind and she found herself sinking into the chair at her vanity, grasping the back of the chair for support while an expression of genuine fear overtook her features. Soldiers were considering desertion.. because of her. Because of what she said in front of everyone. Her pulse raced in her veins as she tried to get a grip on her thoughts around the mounting panic. Arielle wasn't a war hardened veteran but she knew at least one thing to be true- you can't win a war without soldiers. Oh gods, what had she done? How could she have been so careless? She may very well have just handed Skyrim over to Elenwen herself with her outburst. Was that why Ulfric avoided her, because she cost them the war? "They're only whispers.. for now." said Lydia, her calm voice cutting though Arielle's thoughts, but the warning in her tone rang loud and clear in her mind. "But it only takes one well placed spark to start a fire."
Though she did not regret the words she said, she knew deep down that she should not have argued with him so publicly. He was a Jarl and as much as she hated it-she was the Dragonborn. Her title carried influence whether she liked it or not and they had far too many enemies to air their dirty laundry to the public. As if wanting to add insult to injury, her mind then conjured the memory of her wedding day. How the people applauded and cheered to see their union, the hope for a better future reflecting in their eyes. Even worse, was the fact that she was with child now. One of her hands found it's way to her abdomen, as she reeled from the consequences of her actions and a new type of fear bloomed in her mind, fear for her child. They couldn't afford to lose this war. There was far too much at stake and after everything the last year and a half had thrown at her, she couldn't fathom the additional pain of losing her child.
Her nausea returned, a side effect of her anxious mind she was sure, but she did her best to ignore it. Instead, she focused on what she could do to fix the situation. One of her hands rose to where the circlet sat on top of her head and removed it. She held it between her small hands, her thumb exploring the textured sapphires inlaid in the thin silver. She had a part to play. A big one, she realized. Not just as Ulfric's wife, but as the Dragonborn. And for the sake of Skyrim and for the sake of her child, she would play that part, she had to. After all, she chose this, she reminded herself and now it was time to follow through and pray with every bit of her soul that it wasn't too late. "Could you fetch Rona?" she asked Lydia without meeting her eyes. Her housecarl didn't respond but she could both hear and see the steel of her boots at the edge of her vision as she crossed the room, soon followed by the click of the door as it closed behind her.
Only a few moments passed before Lydia returned with Rona in tow. Though it was more than enough time for Arielle to solidify her intentions and steel herself for what she had to do. She took small, tentative sips of water from her goblet while Rona braided her hair into a more traditional look, per her instructions, complete with cuffs of silver throughout. It was a look reminescent of her wedding day, almost fitting for the promise she was making to herself and to her child. A promise that she would be the best mother she could be. A promise to be the wife she signed on to be. A promise to do better.
When her hair was finished, she sought out a different dress. Exchanging the wine colored one for her favorite blue one with a rounded neckline that would perfectly display the jeweled bear amulet that hung from her neck, Windhelm's coat of arms. After smoothing the new dress over her figure and pulling a rather comfortable pair of slippers over her feet, she left the room with her housecarl in tow and the pair made their way downstairs. Windhelm's healer Sonja had come by the day before for their scheduled Fredas meetings to retrieve the donated potions and her original plans for the day involved her spending the day in her library-turned-office beginning the process of making more for the following week.
Unfortunately, those plans came to a screeching halt when Lydia came to her. Instead, her feet came to a stop outside the war room. She could hear the voices of what had to be a few officers inside, muffled by the thick door but still discernable from Ulfric's deep voice or Galmar's gravelly one. A deep breath invaded her lungs and she squared her shoulders. When she pushed the door open and crossed the threshold, Arielle was immediately greeted by an unexpected warmth. Of course, it made sense when her mind registered just how many men were crowded around the map covered table in the now silent room. The eyes of what had to be at least fifteen men, all of whom with a bottle of what she assumed to be mead in front of them, turned their gaze on her as she entered. Ignoring them for the time being, she instead crossed the room to the desk her mountain of a husband was sitting at, surrounded by a rather sizeable pile of letters.
He was watching her approach, his light blue eyes slightly widened with her unexpected appearance. Without missing a beat, he held his hand out for hers which she gave him when she reached his side. Then his lips were pressed to the back of her hand, a gesture that was familiar though it felt anything but after the long days she spent without physical touch. When his lips left her skin he made to release her hand but she didn't let go. Perhaps only just now realizing how touch starved and lonely she was, she clasped both of her hands around his much larger one, thankful that he made no move to stop her. Her eyes were drawn to the ink and charcoal smudges on the tips of his fingers when it transferred to hers. But it was the smooth skin of the back of his hand that conjured the memory of his marred and abused flesh and she could not stop the sadness that welled inside her from the horrors she now knew he'd been subjected to.
The harsh sound of Galmar clearing his throat from a few paces away reached her ears before he resumed the previous conversation and though she did not look, she could hear the hasty marks of charcoal against the map and quiet murmers of the resumed conversation as they continued their battle plans. "I heard you were ill." Ulfric said, an edge of concern in his voice. Though whether it was from her being ill or from the fact she had yet to let go of his hand, she wasn't sure.
She nodded. "I was, again." she said, meeting his eyes. "I made the mistake of drinking a bit of water. Too early, I think."
Then, quite unexpectedly after so many days of being avoided, his free hand landed on the deep curve of her waist, pulling her closer til only a few inches of air separated them. Being as close as she was, it was impossible not to see how stressed and tired he looked. Even his hair suffered. Hair that was usually plaited neatly away from his face and decorated by silver cuffs now looked as frizzy and unkempt as she'd ever seen them. "And now?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
"Starving." she admitted with a frown.
"Jorleif." Ulfric called, turning his attention toward the far wall behind her and she looked over to see the steward standing there, going over what looked to be several pages of notes.
"Yes, my Jarl?" he asked, the movement of his lips exaggerating the scruffiness of his outrageously long mustache that she passionately wished he would get around to trimming. She couldn't help but liken the scruffy thing to a mole that used to dig it's tunnels beneath her mother's garden back in Helgen, wreaking havok on their vegetable harvest.
"Have the kitchen send some bread and broth over and for the love of Talos get her a chair." he ordered, startling the steward into movement. His jerky reaction looking almost comical and she would have felt bad for him if she did not know that to be a part of his eccentric personality. The way that man moved about the castle was down right ridiculous at times.
"No need for a chair, my Jarl." came another voice and her eyes were drawn to an auburn haired officer she knew to be Tobias. He was already out of his chair across the table from her and the Jarl tilted his head to his left, indicating where he wanted the chair placed.
"Good man." Ulfric said when the chair was in place before he turned his attention back to Arielle. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked, catching her off guard with his question. Not once in all their time spent together had he given her the opportunity to say no to anything and the expression that crossed her face more than conveyed her surprise. Perhaps the situation was even worse than she thought it was. She nodded, releasing his hand to round his chair, her eyes briefly flickering to the table housing the jagged crown as she passed it, reminding her of what was at stake as she took the seat beside him.
It wasn't long, a few minutes or so before one of the kitchen's severs returned with a tray of food for Arielle. A piece of bread, bowl of broth and a steaming mug of what she assumed to be tea all sat on the silver tray she was served on the left side of his desk. The bread seemed like the safest bet so that's what she started with, all the while praying to the Nine that her food would stay down. She'd been humiliated enough in her short life, she would be just fine without adding throwing her lunch up in front of a room full of people to the list. When she ate as much as she could confidently test her stomach to hold down, she turned her attention to the Jarl's ever growing pile of letters. He'd already resumed the task of responding to the ones in front of himself, his ink-dampened quill swiftly and easily gliding over the fresh sheet of parchment as he replied to another message.
She busied herself with her own pile of letters, reading through them and separating them into piles of varying import as she'd done so many times before. Though it wasn't long before her thoughts strayed, she couldn't help but wonder which officer -or officers rather- were talking in the barracks and whether or not they were currently in the war room, listening, waiting for another opportunity to undermine them. A tingly feeling sprouted in her hands, her pulse beginning to race at the thought of a threat being so close to home, just waiting for some new piece of information to use against them. Not to mention, the amount of effort it took to keep her breathing even was far from pleasant. And in the back of her mind she couldn't help but wonder, if it might always be this way. Would she always be surrounded by hidden enemies? At least when slaying a dragon, she knew the identity of her opponent. This was a brand new game and she was already at a disadvantage from going in blind.
How long it went on for, she wasn't sure. Though, she did manage to sort a few dozen letters around her anxious thoughts and when Jorleif reappeared sometime later to announce dinner was ready, she inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Outwardly, she kept her eyes on her task as the men filed out of the war room, leaving her alone with her husband and their housecarls. "You can go ahead if you'd like." Ulfric said, earning her attention. She looked over to see the quill in his hand still gliding across the parchment, his eyes never straying from his task. "I'll be a few more moments." the reluctance in his tone giving her the impression that he wasn't coming, despite the words that passed his lips.
A deep frown came to her face at that. Arriving separately, if he arriaved at all, would only encourage the rumors, adding kindling to the fire against them. "Are you not going to escort me?"
"No." he said, almost bitingly. "You're the Dragonborn. I'm sure you can find your way there just fine." Her frown deepened at that. What happened to the Ulfric that greeted her upon her entry? She detected no noticeable change in his mood til the other men left. Perhaps he was still upset with her for the scene in the dining room. But soured mood or no, he still had to attend dinner, with her. Otherwise..
One of her hands migrated to her abdomen, an action she was all too familiar with now. The precious life beneath her small hand reminding her that there was too much to lose, and Arielle was sick of losing people she cared about. No, she quickly decided, if he wasn't going to try, she would. "It would make me uncomfortable to arrive alone." she pressed, testing the waters of his temperament. His hand stilled and for the first time in a few hours, he met her eyes. His icy blue ones roaming her face while his own wore an expression that was something akin to confusion. "You want me to be ..comfortable. Don't you?"
Briefly, his eyes dropped to the hand that still covered her abdomen, then he released the quill from his grip, allowing it to fall to the parchment beneath his hand and got to his feet. "I do." he said assuredly, holding a hand out to help her up and surprising her with just how easily he caved. She placed her hand in his, allowing him to help her stand before taking his arm. The cold steel of his bracer offering her no measure of comfort as he led her away from the war room, their housecarls in tow and they made their way to the dining hall.
Their combined entrance seemed to set the tone for what turned out to be a rather normal dinner, which she was immensely thankful for. Even the bard, Inga, seemed to be playing a lighter than normal tune. The only complication came in the form of a personal one when her nausea returned the very second she was served her first dish. A bowl of soup that was seasoned so strongly she wondered if it happened by accident. Her reaction to cover her mouth with the back of her fingers did not go unnoticed by Ulfric who then demanded the soup be taken away and replaced by more of the bland broth and bread she'd picked at for lunch. Once her nausea subsided, she ate what she could stomach to, all the while cursing this new aversion to food and hoping that it wouldn't last much longer. Fortunately, the rest of dinner passed by without issue and when it was over, a now exhausted Arielle left Ulfric to finish up whatever work he had left and returned to her bedroom for the night.
She sat at her vanity, taking her time undoing the intricate braids before running a comb through her long tresses. When she was nearly finished with the process, her attention was drawn to the door as the sound of it opening reached her ears. Ulfric entered, closing the door behind himself as he did and her eyes followed him as he began the process of undressing. She continued running the comb through her hair as he rid himself of his armour and clothes before making his way over to the wash basin a few feet away from her vanity table. A deep frown came to her face when the light of the fire reflected off his many scars, illuminating the lot of them against his heavily muscled frame and she was once again overwhelmed by just how many there were. After putting a pot of water by the fire, presumably to warm up for washing, he faced away from her, his fingers working to take out his many braids.
Her eyes wandered to the bandage still wrapped around his thick bicep and she wondered if it had been changed at all in the past few days. She assumed not and the strain on his stitches from undoing his braids was probably not lending any help to the healing process. It would scar, she was sure, but the more he moved his arm in a way that pulled at the stitches, only worsened the outcome.
Resuming her task, she kept her eyes on her own hair in the mirror while he washed up and redressed in a fresh blue tunic and trousers he retrieved from the dresser to her right. A quiet moment passed and when he did not move away from the dresser, she spared a glance at him only to frown at what she saw. "You're going to rip your stitches out doing that." she said as he worked to rebraid his golden locks. At the sound of her voice, his hands stilled and he met her eyes.
"They'll be fine, I'm sure." he said, before turning his attention back to his hair and it took everything in her not to roll her eyes. How typical of a Nord to care more about his braids than his wounds.
She did not spend her time cleaning and stitching his wound for him to mess it all up by fussing over his appearance. With a huff of frustration she stood from her chair and tossed the comb she'd been using onto the polished wooden surface of the vanity table, perhaps a little harder than was necessary. Ulfric was already staring at her when she looked over. "Well, sit down." she said, pointing at the chair she'd previously occupied as she did. "I can't reach if you're standing." Obviously, because he was a giant among men.
"You want to braid my hair?" he asked incredulously, the surprise in his tone nearly palpable.
"Re-stitching your arm would make me uncomfortable." she told him pointedly. Apparently it was more than enough to convince him because he took the seat at her vanity. She took a moment to grab the thick Nordic braid cuffs from the dresser, cuffs that were much larger than the small ones she sometimes wore and set them on the vanity. Then she ran the comb through his still damp hair, being sure to remove any tangles before she began the process of braiding. The fire crackled and popped as the logs burned in the fireplace, the sound seeming almost too loud in the otherwise quiet room while she worked on his hair. Though she was not oblivious to his gaze on her hands as she plaited his hair in it's usual style, thick braids away from his face with the ends secured by the cuffs. She never really looked at his hair before, beyond his preferred style. But now that she was up close, she could see the bits of gray coming through at his temples and feel the softness of his tresses between her fingers. He had rather nice hair, she decided and the additional contact after days of nothing was far from what she would consider unpleasant.
It didn't take long, a few minutes or so to plait his hair away from his face. "I'm finished." she announced after securing the last silver cuff to the end of a braid and releasing his hair, almost reluctatnly so. She clasped her hands together, lacing her fingers while he examined her work in the mirror. Her mind replayed the events of the day and she found herself desperately hoping that she hadn't done too much damage with her outburst.
"It's perfect." he said, turning to face her, taking notice of the deep frown her expression had turned into.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you in front of others." she said before he could ask. "It was thoughtless and.. immature. I know what we're fighting for and I know what's at stake. You don't have to avoid me anymore.. it won't happen agian."
One of his hands found his hair and he let out an exasperated sigh as he smoothed his hair back. He was quiet for a long moment, perhaps considering her apology. He inhaled deeply before he spoke again. "If there's any consequences to face, it will be my own fault and not yours for speaking the truth. Politics are a delicate thing that you will learn in time and as far as avoiding you, I was not. I only meant to give you the space I thought you wanted."
"Oh." she said, letting her eyes drop to her still clasped hands and chewed the inside of her lip while considering his words. She supposed she should consider herself lucky that he wasn't upset with her, especially with the knowledge of what was at stake. She knew she would be furious with him herself if he caused harm to their child, inadvertantly or not. But she was sure her own guilt would remind her of her shortcommings for the forseable future as self-doubt wormed it's way deeper into her mind. Yes, she was sure, her own thoughts would provide plenty of punishment on their own.
His movement cut through her thoughts as he took the few steps that separated them, til her neck was forced in a rather uncomfortable position as she met his eyes that seemed somewhat softer as they roamed her face. "You have to tell me what you want." he said, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. "I can't read your mind and I have no intentions to live with a miserable wife who would despise me."
"I don't despise you." she said, sure that her words were true. While he had done things she knew were not excusable, she also knew that there were far worse things one person could do to another. His own abused flesh was proof enough of that.
"Then, you are a far better woman than I deserve." he said. One of his hands worked it's way between hers to separate them and slowly, almost tentatively pulled her left hand closer before sliding the velvet sleeve of her dress up her arm and revealing a nearly faded bruise on her wrist, it's yellowish color barely discernable from her fair skin. He sighed deeply at the sight of it, his frown deepening if that were somehow possible and she could see the regret swimming in his eyes. "I'm not fool enough to ask for forgiveness." he said, shaking his head while his thumb stroked the delicate flesh of her wrist. "But I give you my word.. I will never dishonor you like this again." With that said, he released her arm and before she could respond, left her to round the bed to his side where he began removing his trousers.
Her stomach did an elated flip at the thought of what was to come. After days of nothing, she was damn near eager for physical contact. After snuffing the few candles on her vanity, she made her way to her own side of the bed as he got comfortable on the mattress and slipped the dress off her frame, leaving it where it dropped on the rug before taking the few steps of the dais and sliding beneath the blanket beside him. Though her elation quickly faded away when he made no move to have her, no move to even touch her.
It felt like her stomach sank deep into the pit of her belly as they lay there, side by side to the tune of their combined breathing while the events of the day danced in her mind. The thought of enemies in their own household was not a pleasant one and one she was sure she would never be used to. "Will we always have so many enemies?" she asked after a moment, rolling her head to the right in time to see him mirror the action. The fireplace burned brightly, illuminating the room enough to make out his expression, enough to see that he was still frowning.
"Always." A sorrowed expression came to her own face at his response and now needing touch more than ever, she moved closer til her body was pressed against his. Her hands clung to the soft linen of his tunic and she was thankful when one of his strong arms came around her, the action offering a comfort like never before. And in that moment, it was a comfort without equal. Because, in that moment, she knew she wasn't alone.
