The palace seemed emptier without her in it.
Ulfric scowled at himself- it had only been a fortnight and he was already pining after Svala like a damn bard. He was growing soft the more time he spent away from the battlefield. Still, Galmar refused to let him see action (the old fool had actually threatened to cripple him before he'd let Ulfric fight) so he busied himself with taking a more active role in governing Windhelm. It had become clear to him that Bone-Breaker had known more about the city's day to day than its own Jarl, and that was something he couldn't let stand.
First matters first, he needed to take care of the damn Arentino orphan who was trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood. Sending the child back to Honorhall with its current headmistress would surely end badly- either the child would attempt to kill the crone himself, or he would just escape and find his way back to the city where he would ultimately succeed in capturing an assassin's attention. Noticing that Sofie had become rather taciturn and sparse since her "mala's" absence (maybe a companion her own age would cheer her up), and that Sifnar was getting up in years and could use assistance, Ulfric thought it only best to kill two birds with one stone and invite the child to serve as the cook's apprentice in exchange for room and board. He sent one of his more matronly Stormcloak guards to fetch the boy along with a letter he had penned himself. A few short days later Aventus was serving him Snowberry marmalade in his quarters with a beaming grin and a thousand gratitudes.
Sofie, however, wanted nothing to do with him. He had tried talking to her, once, a few short days after Svala's departure. The girl had merely glared at him and shouted, "Go away! I hate you forever and ever!" Wuunferth had immediately scolded her but Ulfric held no malice towards the lass. In her mind, he had sent away the closest thing she had to a mother, possibly for good. If anything, it only made him fonder of the child; she was developing all the fire and bravado of her guardian. Even though she looked nothing like Svala, Sofie was definitely her child. He would occasionally see her practicing on the training dummies outside the palace with her little dragon bone blade, her braid swinging fiercely to and fro behind her. One day, Ulfric vowed, he would have to teach her how to use it properly.
Next, Ulfric had taken it upon himself to name Svala Thane of Eastmarch. Normally, she would have to have purchased land within his hold to be granted the title, but given the service she had done for his people by slaying the Butcher he thought an exception was in order. He ordered Jorleif to put Hjerim in Svala's name (and to also clean up the mess the murderer had left behind) before decorating the home fully to accommodate herself, Sofie, and Calder (her new housecarl). While Ulfric had ordered most of her possessions to be sent over to Hjerim by servants, he found himself in her chambers one day to retrieve something...sensitive.
He had meant to destroy the dossier the Thalmor had on him directly after Svala had told him of its existence, but he had found himself rather...preoccupied in the days that followed. For a while it slipped his mind, until one day he received a report that the Dominion had sent an increased number of Thalmor operatives to patrol Riften (why was unknown), and then suddenly the existence of that little red book was the only thing he cared about. He had nearly destroyed her chambers in his panic to find the journal until his hand brushed against something else within the bottom dresser drawer.
An amulet of Mara.
In his lap, Ulfric held both the dossier and the necklace. He had already read the damn tome a dozen or so times and could likely recite its contents by heart, but even still he couldn't tear his eyes away from it.
Operational Notes:
Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made- obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own). A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.
They were toying with him, trying to use him like a puppet. After everything Elenwen and her damn torturers had put him through, the elves still found a way to hurt him. For a moment, Ulfric tried to imagine if this was how Svala felt, but then remembered that they had taken even more from her and became enraged all over again. He would win this war and he would cut off the head of the Dominion or he would reach Sovngarde trying.
Watching the flames flicker in the hearth of his room, Ulfric still clutched the amulet tightly in his fist. Had she been wearing this in his presence and he had been too blind to notice? Or had she been waiting for the perfect moment to wear the pendant? If it was even for him. Ulfric felt sick, imagining her wearing the amulet and nothing else, her soft naked curves on display- all for another. Was it Ralof? They had spent time together after Helgen, and they had retrieved the Jagged Crown for him together...alone... His mind spun wild with different scenarios that only helped to darken his mood.
With a roar, he tossed the book into the fireplace and slipped the amulet into the locked chest at the foot of his bed.
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"Hey there! I was wondering if I'd run into you out here!"
"Hi Ralof," Svala said trying to mask her exhaustion. She had ridden through the night after leaving camp, just in case Galmar wanted to catch her to retaliate. "Thought you were up in Hjaalmarch?"
"I was called back down here," he shrugged with his trademark easy going smile. "Besides, the Reach is a beautiful but dangerous place, eh? One false step and you fall to your death, that is if those Forsworn don't get you first. Have you seen one of those Briarheart men? That's some evil magic right there." She must've had a skeptical look on her face for Ralof chuckled and added, "Though I suppose it's nothing to someone who makes a habit of slaying dragons. So what brings you? You have the look of purpose in your eyes."
"There's an enemy wagon loaded with coin and weapons. We need to capture it." She shielded her eyes from the sunshine, trying to scout ahead up the hillside.
"Really? It just so happens we've been tracking a wagon! For about a day now. So that's what's in there? Coins and weapons?" He eyed her suspiciously. "How do you know that?"
She smiled mischievously at him. "I blackmailed Raerek for the information." Ralof laughed, shaking his head at her. "Well, that was crafty. I'm sure having a steward in the pocket will come in handy. Lucky for us, that wagon recently had a little...accident. They're stranded now. Just up the road!"
Perfect. Her fingers thumbed the pommel of her sword, ready for a fight. "So what's the plan?"
"First we're going to take out their sentry, then we'll situate ourselves overlooking the camp. Next, you'll infiltrate their position and get their attention while we hit them with a barrage of arrows. With a bit of luck, we'll catch them completely off guard and even the odds a little." She had stopped listening midway through, instead climbing a rock to use as a vantage point. Her dragon blood must've granted her better vision as well for she could just make out the shape of the crashed wagon on the side of the road.
"I have a better plan," Svala had already unsheathed her swords and was beginning to stroll back towards the convoy. "You wait here, and I'll take care of it."
Some of Ralof's men scoffed at her. Even the Captain himself seemed slightly uneasy with her attitude, though he knew better than to try and argue with her. "All right, if you insist. But we'll come running if it sounds like things have gotten out of hand."
She rolled her eyes before sneaking into the tree line, careful to stay out of sight. Like Ralof himself had said, she stayed dragons on a (semi) regular basis now. Surely she could handle 8 or so Imperials without a fuss. The first sentry was overlooking the wreckage on the small cliffside. She slit his throat while his back was turned and descended on two other soldiers before they had time to even realize she was there, sinking her swords into their skulls. By this point, there would be no more sneaking- the other members of the convoy were rushing at her in earnest now with their weapons drawn.
"Krill!" She shouted, watching as the soldiers staggered backwards, an eerie purple glow spreading like spiderwebs up their veins. Slowly the Shout would poison them, draining their life force and making them weaker and more vulnerable to attack. The Shout wasn't as powerful as it could be (she only knew one word of it) but it was enough to buy her time. Using speed to her advantage, Svala whirled out of the path of mace being swung at her and slashed wildly, disemboweling one. One of the Imperials (still slightly glowing purple) swung a battle axe to her right- she dove into a roll before burying her steel into his back. Only 3 archers remained, trying to slow her from a safe distance. She flung her dagger at one, where it found its mark within the forehead of one archer, and then went into a zig zag sprint towards the other two. Since her path wasn't straight arrows harmlessly flew by her, and by the time the archers could reload, she made quick work of slicing them both in half.
After, as she stood panting surrounded by corpses, feeling their cooling blood on her face, all Svala could feel was...hollow. Anger and disappointment still simmered beneath the surface. Normally a good fight made her at least feel better, if only somewhat. Perhaps there was a dragon around somewhere- nothing beat the feeling she got when absorbing a dragon's soul. It was almost like a climax in its intensity and always sent her blood rushing.
"We make quite a team, eh?" Ralof called to her, running up the hill followed by his platoon. She grabbed a hide helmet off of one of the bodies and threw it at him in response. It landed a few feet in front of him, bouncing on the stone of the road. "I'll stay here and guard the shipment. You get back to camp with the news. Have them send some men- with a new wagon. This one isn't going anywhere." The other Stormcloaks laughed loudly, still eyeing Svala warily- the was a healthy amount of fear in the way they approached her now. Good.
"Actually, you should be the one to go to camp," Svala was already trying to break into one of the chests from the wagon. Damn lock was tricky- she had already gone through a few picks. "I may have Shouted at Galmar earlier so I doubt I'm his favorite person at the moment."
"Shouted or...shouted?" Ralof asked her lowly, crouching by her side. When she didn't respond he simply groaned. "Svala, you can't just go using the thu'um on anyone who crosses you."
"Now you sound like Arngeir," she grumbled still fiddling with the lock. "I'm the Dragonborn, remember? Rules don't apply to me."
He sighed before commenting, "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you or am I going to have to force it out of you?"
"Like you could," Svala retorted with a raise of her eyebrow. The chest popped open (finally, she had wasted 5 lock picks on the damn thing) and she instantly removed one the coin purses and placed it into her bag. "I'm fine, Captain. This is just my usual sunny disposition."
"Svala..." Ralof began. She silenced him with an icy glare. She knew he meant well, but the last thing she needed was to start gushing about her feelings. Better to keep them locked up tight inside where they couldn't poison her- she needed to be alert and on her guard at all times, after all. She had a job to do. "You know some nights when I close my eyes, I see a battle stretched out in front of me, like I'm still there...Do the men you've killed haunt you? Mine do."
"Only a beast kills without feeling," she answered him softly, knowing all too well what it felt like to be haunted by those she had slain- rather directly or indirectly. Ralof placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. She stiffened.
"If you try to kiss me I'll punch you," she growled in warning at him.
He laughed loudly at that. "You're not really my type," Svala raised another eyebrow at that. Hastily, Ralof continued, "No! Not like that. It's just...er...well...women aren't my type."
Ah. She smiled and gave him a friendly punch in the arm anyway. "Come on," Ralof stood, offering her a hand up as well. "We'll go give Galmar the news together; the whelps can watch the carriage. Then I say we scrounge up some mead- you look like you could use a drink."
Svala couldn't agree more.
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"My Jarl, Jarl Elisif and Legate Rikke have just arrived in Windhelm. Will you receive them tonight?"
Ulfric wanted to groan. He knew Elisif was coming but the thought of entertaining her and Rikke (of all people) was enough to make him want to drink heavily. Hosting Elisif would be uncomfortable enough- he didn't make a habit out of dining with widows he had created, but Rikke too? Talos be good, he had grown up with Rikke in Markarth. They had fought together, played together, even bedded each other (once, when they were both too green and inebriated to know what they were doing). He didn't need a glaring reminder of an old friend's betrayal on top of having to face Elisif's simpering grief all night. Still, he had little choice. "Of course. I will be down in the great hall to greet them at once. Have Aventus bring us some mead and tell Sifnar to start plating the feast."
Before leaving his chamber, however, Ulfric found himself slipping Svala's amulet of Mara into his pocket. Even after he had discarded the amulet into his chest, he was unable to stop thinking about it (rather, her wearing it), and retrieved it instantly, keeping it on his person at all times. It had become a kind of talisman to him, he realized, a way of keeping her close to him when they were apart. Of course it was a ridiculous notion that had him feeling like a simpering fop- Svala wasn't his. It shouldn't matter to him where she was; she was just another member of his troops, nothing more. The sooner he learned that, the better, especially as he was about to dine with a woman who could very well become his future wife.
Elisif lived up to her name, that was true- she was fair. Light in skin with honey brown hair and soft green eyes, it was clear why many men would see her as desirable. Even Ulfric had to admit that bedding her wouldn't be a chore should the need arise, but he wasn't anxious to commit the act either. Rikke strolled behind her in full Imperial armor, stone faced as usual. "Jarl Elisif, Legate Rikke, allow me to welcome you to Windhelm. Please, join me for supper and warm yourselves by my hearth." He tried to sound as charming as possible, and while Elisif smiled politely and tipped her head, Rikke was not so easily convinced.
"Ulfric, I think we're all past pleasantries, don't you?" Rikke said dryly, accepting the goblet of mead Aventus offered her. He noticed the child's hands were shaking as he held the serving tray- poor lad's eyes had grown as wide as saucers the second he saw Elisif enter the hall. Someone had a crush it seemed.
"What kind of Nord would I be if I did not offer my guests proper hospitality?" Ulfric retorted, taking his seat as head of the table before motioning to the women to do the same. "I am nothing without my honor, after all."
"Honor?" Rikke barked a laugh. Elisif silenced her with a dangerous look.
"Ulfric, I trust Galmar relayed the reason for my visit to you," Elisif's voice was soft and sweet; she was the perfect picture of a noble lady (and Svala's opposite in every way, though he tried not to dwell on that). "I am sure that you're as anxious as I to discuss terms?"
Ulfric blanched, although he was confident that it would not show on his face. She made it sound as though he had already accepted. "I believe that sounds premature, don't you my lady? This is merely a friendly conversation to further discuss the intentions of this...arrangement."
"Intentions?" Rikke eyed him angrily. "Ulfric, the intention here is to end the damn war!" She pounded a fist angrily on the table top and Elisif blushed but did not stop the legate. "This madness of yours has gone on long enough. Skyrim needs the Empire to survive! Surely you can put your own ego aside and see the greater picture?"
"To my knowledge, I thought Lady Elisif was offering her hand, not you, Rikke," He said coldly. "So I would hear the intentions of the woman who wishes to call herself my wife and queen before that of her guard dog." He noticed that Rikke's hand had instantly gone for her weapon as she glowered at him.
"Legate Rikke, leave us," Elisif commanded quietly, placing a hand on Rikke's shoulder. The warrior looked ready to bury her sword in Ulfric's gut as she stood from the table, her face flushed in rage. Well, if she wanted a fight, he wouldn't back down. He always could take Rikke in their youth- a few years would not make any difference. Still, Rikke obeyed, giving Ulfric one last venomous look as she made her exit. "Now we can speak freely."
"I must admit," He began, chewing his cut of venison slowly, and feeling relieved that Rikke was out of earshot. "I was rather surprised that you of all people were offering yourself to me, given our...history."
"You killed my husband," the Jarl of Solitude said plainly and emotionlessly. She sipped her wine as though they were discussing the weather. "It was an honorable challenge and Torygg lost. Such is the way of our people."
"And you expect me to believe that you hold no ill will towards me?" Elisif shook her head. "Even if I could accept that, my lady, I would still not believe you were willingly giving yourself away. Tell me, is this something Tullius cooked up?"
"You think I would let General Tullius use me like a broodmare?" She raised her chin indignantly, pushing away her plate. "Ulfric, you insult my honor. This truce was entirely my idea. While I admit, the idea of becoming your wife is still...foreign, to me, I am not unwilling."
He wasn't surprised by her hesitation- Torygg had been a young man who liked to think himself a warrior and a king, but was completely unprepared for the weight of those titles. Torygg would have never made it on a battlefield, he would've been too concerned with keeping his pretty face intact for his fair wife. She would probably be repulsed by countless scars lining his older physique and the deeds he had done to deserve some of them. "Am I not up to your standards, then, Elisif?" Ulfric asked lightly with a smirk. "Would you prefer someone younger to warm your bed?"
"I've often heard it said that Nords are like a good wine," she answered airily with a coquettish smile. "They often are better with age." Ulfric was surprised- so she wanted to toy with him, did she? She was willing to play the blushing maiden to get what she truly wanted?
"You want to be queen," He said plainly, taking a large draft of his mead. Ulfric didn't have the patience for her games. His other hand was enclosed tightly around the amulet of Mara within his pocket. He could feel the grooves of the metal biting into his palm, imprinting on his skin. "You want what you believe you are owed, what I've 'stolen' from you, is that it?"
"Not at all, Ulfric," Elisif's smile remained plastered on her pretty face. He found himself wondering when was the last time she had displayed a genuine emotion. "I just believe there is a way for both of us to walk away from this satisfied. This is what I propose- you would continue to control Eastmarch, Winterhold, and the Rift and the Empire would regain control over Hjaalmarch, the Reach, and Haafingar."
"And Whiterun?" Ulfric asked as though he were actually considering this farce, when in reality he would rather die than surrender. "I have taken it, as I'm sure you recall."
"It could be negotiated," Elisif said with all the grace of an experienced politician. "What say you?"
He sat in silence for a few minutes as though pondering her proposal, when in reality he was just enjoying watching her sweat. "No," Ulfric smiled largely, showing all his teeth in a predatory fashion, when he answered at last. The smile fell from her face and she reached for her goblet of wine to try and hide it in vain. "Why would I think of even partial surrender when I have the advantage? My forces take Fort Sungard as we speak, I have the Jagged Crown. The Dragonborn of legend is a trusted ally among my ranks- how could I lose?" Elisif tried to open her mouth to respond but he continued on. They were in his palace, after all. "The gods themselves have chosen me to lead Skyrim and I will not ignore the call of destiny, and I will not hesitate to stop any who get in my way."
"I have said my piece," she said. There was a flicker of fear within her gaze as she looked at him. Good. She was as much of a snowflake as her milk-drinker husband was, with no true stomach for war. She didn't deserve to be queen. "I suppose we will have to see what transpires, then."
Ulfric laughed harshly, removing himself from the table. He was finished with this, with her. Even if she had a pretty face, she was too timid, too passive. As much as Svala's pigheadedness drove him insane most of the time, he found he would rather converse with a wall than have an empty "pleasant" conversation. He missed her fight, her passion. He wanted her, not the artificial, vapid, politician seated in front of him. "You have your answer, Jarl Elisif. Now I'm afraid I must retire for the evening, but you and Legate Rikke are free to stay the night and depart in the morning. And a word of caution, Elisif," she seemed to study him with both shock and indignation- clearly she had expected this to end a very different way. "You will soon see what a true High King of Skyrim looks like, and you may then rethink your offer to marry one."