AN: This chapter contains themes of sexual assault. Reader discretion advised!
She remembered the feeling of his hands, mostly. The Thalmor were known for using magic to fight their battles, so their hands were smoother than a warrior's. The buttery feeling of soft skin sliding over her body made her stomach clench and her shiver and displeasure."So sensitive," he, Trearil, purred, groping her roughly. Svala attempted to spit at her captor, but was unable due to the gag within her mouth. "I expected your body to be as rough as the rest of you, but I'm pleasantly surprised that's not the case." Trearil's face dipped to nuzzle along her breasts, giving Svala the opportunity to collide her head into his face. He recoiled with a gasp of pain, blood gushing from his nose. "Now now, is that any way to treat your host?" He growled, shocking her with powerful sparks conjured from his palm. Her body spammed in pain and she let out a weak cry through the gag. Trearil was unamused, turning his magic onto his own face next to heal his broken nose. A faint golden glow encompassed the break, setting it instantly.
"Playtime is over, I'm afraid," He said, staring at her with a lecherous grin. "But don't worry, sweet, we'll have plenty of time to continue later." Svala thrashed against her bonds, screaming curses into the gag. "I know, I'm disappointed too. But, business comes before pleasure." Trearil ran a hand through her dirty, lank hair, mocking comfort. "But first...what can you tell me about dragons?"
"Hey! We're in Whiterun!"
The gruff call from the carriage driver awoke Svala with a start. There was the familiar sensation of nausea in her stomach along with cold sweat on her brow that usually accompanied her nightmares. Grunting her acknowledgement at the driver, she dug out 20 gold to pay the man, before hopping out of the carriage and making her way into city. Night had already fallen, so her sense was that Balgruuf had already retired to his chambers for the night. Not wanting to wake the Jarl and start off the meeting on a bad note, she opted to spend the night in Breezehome instead.
"I trust you're not planning any trouble. What can I do for- Svala??" Lydia, her housecarl, began as soon as she opened the door, her greeting turning to one of surprise when she saw Svala's face. "You joined the Stormcloaks?"
She had forgotten she was still wearing her new uniform, and not her usual armor. "Hey. Long story. Got any food?"
"That's it?" Lydia continued, frowning. "You disappear for weeks and come back in Stormcloak armor without any explanation?? I was looking for you, you know! I thought you were dead!" The brunette's voice grew higher in pitch, reaching hysterical levels.
"There are worse things," Svala muttered darkly to herself, sighing. She knew Lydia meant well and was only looking out for her (which was, essentially, her job), but Svala was always uncomfortable when others showed any sort of genuine care for her or her wellbeing. Sure, now that she was the Dragonborn many people claimed to care about her and her interests, but she knew it was only a means to an end for them. They wanted her for her title, her abilities- nothing more. Lydia, however, cared about Svala as...well, Svala. It was deeply unsettling, and probably the only and closest thing Svala had to a friend. "I'm sorry, Lyds. I didn't mean to scare you. But something came up and I had to see it through. Now can I please have something to eat?"
Lydia glared at her for a minute more before nodding. "There's some horker stew over the fire. Help yourself. This is your house, after all."
After she was fed, Svala filled Lydia in on her time in Windhelm and the message she had to deliver to Jarl Balgruuf. Lydia listened patiently, keeping her expression neutral, though as Svala finished her tale she could tell that the housecarl was troubled. "Svala...Balgruuf is loyal to the Empire. He will side with the Imperials, you have to know this."
Svala shrugged. "That's not my problem, it's Ulfric's. I'm just here to give him the option. Something tells me that even giving Balgruuf a chance to accept or deny the Stormcloaks is a kindness on Ulfric's part. His dog, Galmar, was not too happy about me coming here."
"Then you must be careful," Lydia cleared her bowl and helped Svala take off her cuirass and her chain mail. "And might I suggest not wearing your uniform to Dragonreach? It might put the Jarl off immediately. He's fond of you, you know, so better to go as yourself and not a courier for Ulfric."
It was sage advice, Svala had to admit. She smiled- that was Lydia, always 5 steps ahead of everyone else. It was why they made such a good team when they traveled together. "You're probably right. I'll wear my own armor. Thanks." With that, Lydia departed with a nod for bed, and Svala opened a bottle of mead. She hoped to drink herself into a peaceful, dreamless, sleep.
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Ulfric had been restless until he knew the Dragonborn was back in Windhelm. The thought of Balgruuf's answer had him on edge; he much preferred the man would see sense and lend his aid to Ulfric's cause, but the Jarl of Windhelm knew better. Balgruuf was a stubborn man, and his neutrality in the war thus far had only confirmed Ulfric's suspicions that he was remaining loyal to the Empire. Still, Ulfric needed Whiterun, and would have the city with or without its current Jarl.
"I have your answer," he could hear the Dragonborn coming before he could see her, as it were. Ulfric had been in his war room with Galmar, as usual, discussing battle plans when he heard the palace doors swing open and the voice of his most headstrong recruit enter. Jorlief skittered after her, trying to get her to wait for his reappearance in the throne room. However, she was not to be deterred, and tossed his axe on the table without ceremony, knocking over a few flags from his map in the process. "I take it you know what this means?"
"Give the word, my lord, and Whiterun is yours," Galmar growled beside him, bloodlust in his eye.
Ulfric sighed. "Is any man ever ready to give the order that will mean the deaths of many?" He was no stranger to war, or death, which is why the thought of killing more sons and daughters of Skyrim wearied him greatly.
"No,". Galmar agreed quickly. But neither is every man able to give that order when he must. But you are that man, Ulfric. You've been that man before, and you'll be him again. And these men and women- they call themselves Stormcloaks because they believe in you. They are the meanest, toughest sons of bitches Skyrim has to offer. And they want this. They want this as much as you do. Perhaps, they want it more."
Ulfric considered this for a moment, and then turned his attention to the woman waiting within the shadows. "And what say you, Dragonborn? Is it time to take the city?"
"I'm just a soldier," she snorted, shaking her head. "Your housecarl here has just given you a better speech than I ever could, so why ask me?"
Ulfric studied her closely, taking in her momentary look of surprise as he asked for his input. Ah, yes. He could remember her in Helgen clearly now, that same incredulous look upon her face, mingled with her rage, as she strode defiantly towards the block. It was her eyes, he decided. So passionate, so green, like chips of flawless emerald. He couldn't believe he had overlooked her the first time she had travelled to him, wishing to join his ranks. A woman like her was not easily forgotten. It must have been the shock of hearing that she was the Dragonborn, Ulfric decided. "You're more than just a soldier, you are the Dragonborn. And Whiterun is your home. You have as much a stake in this decision as I do."
She was quiet for a moment, considering. "Balgruuf was drafting a letter to Tullius as I was leaving. I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. Either take the city now, or deal with an Imperial onslaught later."
Ulfric nodded. She was smart and calculated when she did not let her temper cloud her judgement. "You're certain we're ready?" He asked, turning his attention back to Galmar, trying not to notice the small flush creeping up the Dragonborn's fair skin. "Whiterun's army will no doubt be bolstered with. And those walls around Whiterun are old, but they still stand."
"We are ready. And I might be old myself, but I'll kick those damn walls down with my bare feet- if you would only ask me to do it!" Galmar cried, thumping a fist on his chest.
"I'm sure the smell alone could cause the walls to fall," the Dragonborn muttered under her breath, and Ulfric chuckled. Again, her emerald eyes flickered to him, the hue of pink on her cheeks deepening.
"Ha, I'm sure you could do it, too. Alright." Ulfric sighed once more, cracking his knuckles. "This is it. Send the word; 'a new day is dawning and the sun rises over Whiterun.'""
Galmar grinned, "Aye and the sons of Skyrim will great that dawn, teeth and swords flashing."
"So it begins," Ulfric turned to look at the Dragonborn once more. She did not seem as excited for battle as Galmar, but nor was she has hesitant as Ulfric was himself. If anything she seemed rather...bored. "And...?" He motioned to her, waiting for her to fill in the gap with her natural name, not Dragonborn or Unblooded.
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Svala,"
"Svala," the name tasted good on Ulfric's tongue. A good, old Nord name for a strong Nord woman. Fitting. "Good work. I want you on the battlefield, tomorrow, the front lines. I have a feeling about you."
Her face as red garnet, she simply nodded before scurrying out of the room.