Svala lie awake in her bed in Candlehearth Hall that night, thumbing through the dossier on Ulfric she had acquired within the Thalmor Embassy. Her new Stormcloak uniform lay in a crumpled heap next to her bed, which Galmar had handed her along with a rather severe tongue lashing about "respecting the chain of command". That pompous blowhard was going to make her retrieve an ice wraith tooth, in order to prove herself, but had reconsidered when she had emptied out not one, but five ice wraith teeth on the table before him with a steely glare.
"Don't fuck this up," had been his final warning as he handed her the uniform. "Ulfric sees something in you, Dragonborn, but I'm not convinced. It'll take a lot more than some teeth to prove yourself to me."
It was rather refreshing, she thought to herself, to have to prove herself to anyone since she had been discovered as the Dragonborn. The title alone seemed to convince people that she was able to preform miracles, or that she was some sort of legend made flesh. It was all very daunting, honestly. Svala longed for the days she could just disappear into the forests of the Rift, alone except for her horse and hunting dog. Unfortunately, those days had been obliterated long before she became the Dragonborn- they ended the day she had been captured by the Thalmor, which led her on a wagon to Helgen, awaiting the block.
He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had been broken) and then allowed to escape. Svala shook her head as she read, swigging mead from the bottle. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, the Bear of Markath, broken by some elves. The Rolff Stonefists of the world who believed in his "Skyrim for the Nords" would never believe it. Luckily for Ulfric, Svala was no stranger to just how ruthless the Thalmor could be in their...interrogation methods, and honestly respected Ulfric (a little) for how long he had managed to hold out without breaking. It wasn't as though she hated the man, however, she just thought him arrogant and self-serving, not unlike most of the other men of power she had the misfortune to meet.
Her fingers ghosted along the scar running the right side of her face. A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloak must be carefully managed.
Svala grinned. She pressed on the handwritten words, feeling the ink smear underneath her fingertips. She had reread that sentence every night, for a fortnight, dating back to the very day she'd stolen the dossier. The Thalmor didn't want Ulfric to win, eh? Well, that was as good a reason as any to tie herself to his cause.
Even if it meant putting up with the man himself.
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"We need to send a message," Galmar was explaining to Ulfric as passionately as always, but the Jarl's mind was on other things. Particularly, his newest recruit- the Dragonborn. There was something about the Nord that was...familiar to him, although he was unable to place it. "Well? What do you think?"
"Hmm?" Ulfric turned his attention back to his second in command. "Oh yes, Balgruuf. I have a plan on dealing with him. I'm thinking about sending the Dragonborn to Whiterun."
"The Unblooded?" Galmar snorted. "Why her? Because she's the Dragonborn?" He spit on the ground. "I don't even believe that she is. You ever see her kill a dragon?"
"Because she's thane of Whiterun," Ulfric pressed his fingers to his temple; he could feel a headache brewing. When had things become so complicated? His place was on a battlefield, with a sword in his hand, not in the palace playing politics. He so desperately wanted to be the king Skyrim needed, the king Skyrim deserved, but with each decision he felt as though it was becoming an impossible dream. "Regardless if she's the Dragonborn or not, Balgruuf believes that she is, which means he will be more receptive to what she has to say. Remember, I'd like Balgruuf as an ally rather than an enemy. The less bloodshed, the better."
"Have you forgotten this is war?" Galmar's bushy eyebrows raised incredulously. "We have the men. We have the element of surprise. We should take the city now!"
"No." There was an edge in Ulfric's voice that he rarely used with Galmar, his friend, of all people. "Jorlief?" His steward came at once, appearing in the entrance to the war room. "Fetch the Dragonborn."
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Svala detested being "fetched'. Yet there she was, standing in front of Ulfric as he sat high on his throne. "You wanted me?"
Was it her imagination, or did he blush a little at her words? "Yes. I did. I need you to deliver a message for me."
She snorted. "I'm not a courier. You know, when I agreed to join your war, I thought it would be as a soldier and not an errand girl."
"I want you to deliver my axe to Jarl Balgruuf," Ulfric continued stonily as though he had not heard her. "I'm aware that he made you his thane, and that you own a home within the city. Since you two are...familiar, I'm sure that this would be an easy task for you."
She shrugged. "Just the axe, eh? Nothing else?" Her eyes fluttered to Galmar, who was glowering at her from the war room as he attacked a loaf of bread. Interesting. It seemed as though there was trouble in paradise between the Jarl and his dog.
"Men who understand each other often have no need for words. There are but a few simple truths behind one warrior giving another his axe. Balgruuf will know my meaning." Ulfric's piercing blue gaze roved over her face with such scrutiny, that Svala almost flinched from it. "Before you go, Dragonborn, I must admit that you look...familiar to me."
"I would hope so," she smirked, approaching the throne to receive Ulfric's axe. "We shared a wagon ride to Helgen together."
Ulfric's eyes widened with comprehension, and a small smile tugged at the sides of his mouth. "Ah. Yes. You were much...thinner then."
"Dirtier too," Svala laughed bitterly. "But I suppose the Thalmor aren't known for their hospitality." She relished in the brief look of guilt that flashed across the Jarl's face as she brushed her fingers against his knuckle, taking his axe from him. His hands were just as massive as the rest of him, she noticed absentmindedly. Rough, and calloused too. Warrior's hands. "I'll make sure Balgruuf gets your message."