Ulfric was on his way to Solitude, finally.

He had departed the day after the wedding, bringing only a few men with him and some food and drink. They rode off the main road, sticking to forest paths where they would be undetected.

There was an excitement thrumming in his veins as he rode. Finally, finally, he would be marching on Solitude and leaving with Tullius's head. Finally, he would put an end to this war, and he would be the one on the throne, leading Skyrim back to her former glory. He could already see it, with the jagged crown on his head and Svala on his arm...no. He needed to stay focused. He distracted himself by doing his vocal exercises, to prepare himself for using the Voice in battle. Although, oddly enough, he didn't find it as painful as he used to. Perhaps Svala wasn't the only one to gain something from their last carnal exchange.

The morale at camp was much more subdued than his own when he finally arrived. His men (while still saluting him appropriately) seemed tired and rundown, which seemed unusual given how close they all were to victory. Svala was nowhere to be seen too. Odd.

He burst into Galmar's tent, letting the hide flaps close behind him. "You're here," Galmar acknowledged, not looking up from the plans he was pouring over. "Good. I have news you're not going to like."

"I never like your news," Ulfric responded, narrowing his eyes at the other man. "So spit it out."

"Vittoria Vici is dead," his shock must've been apparent on his face because Galmar held up a hand to silence him. "There's more. The Dark Brotherhood is the responsible party."

The Brotherhood was getting bolder, it seemed. Killing a relative of the Emperor? "This isn't good," he hummed, more to himself than Galmar. "Vignar and Thongvor were asking about them, claiming murders have risen in their holds. But I never thought..." he shook his head in disgust.

"We need to do something," his friend and general told him grimly. "The people are going to start to panic."

"I won't do anything until the war is won," Ulfric shook his head, banging his fist on the table. "And then I'll burn their damn sanctuary to the ground."

"There's more."

He groaned, deeply and with immense irritation. "Of course there is. What else happened?"

"I think the lass should be the one to tell you," Galmar was refusing to meet his eyes. "I'll go get her. I let her sleep after she came back...apparently it was quite a scene."

A bride unexpectedly murdered at her own wedding? Yes, he imagined that would cause a bit of a stir.

Moments later Svala appeared with Galmar, sleep still clouding her pretty features. She still saluted him upon seeing him, however, even if there was that dullness in her emerald eyes and dark shadows underneath them. "Jarl Ulfric."

"Stormblade," he nodded at her. "Out with it then."

She bit her lip before telling him in a rush, "ItwasAventus."

"What? Repeat yourself, woman, I can't understand you when you mumble so."

"It was Aventus!" She cried at him, flushed with anger. "The orphan boy."

No, no it couldn't be. Ulfric remembered the day he had brought the boy into the palace, the look of wonder and appreciation on his face..."He's only a lad," he murmured to no one in particular. "How could he be capable of this?" Surely a boy that snuck sweet rolls from the serving tray (to give to Sofie) and helped Sifnar to his bed at night was not murdering women on their wedding day. "You're positive it was him?"

"I was on top of him- I'm sure." Her voice was cold and clipped. "I thought you trusted me."

He did. "I do, but this..." Ulfric ran a calloused palm down his face. The battle had yet to begin and he was already exhausted. "You did well, Stormblade. Dismissed."

Both Svala and Galmar seemed surprised at his early dismissal of her, but they didn't question it. She stalked out of the tent without as much as another glare in his direction. He watched her hips away with every step she took. He wanted to bury his cock in her, leave impressions of his fingerprints in those thick hips...hips that would be perfect for bearing his children...

"Ulfric!"

His focus snapped back to Galmar once more. "Forgive me, old friend. These are dark times we find ourselves in."

"Aye," Galmar chuckled harshly. "And you want to put yourself directly in the eye of this shit storm."

He laughed bleakly as well. "Aye, I do. Suppose that makes me a madman."

"No," Galmar said with a smirk. "Just a king."

Dinner that night was a subdued affair. By the time both he and Galmar rejoined the rest of his troops, a stew was simmering over the fire, tended to by Svala. His breath caught (only for a moment, not that he'd ever admit it out loud) to see her auburn hair coming loose from its braid, framing her face, tinged pink from the steaming food. She didn't even notice him.

"See, Alvie, you have to season food to make it taste good," she was saying (loudly) to one of the battle maidens. "A little bit of salt and garlic goes a long way."

"Oh stuff it, Stormblade," the battle maiden (Alvie, was her name?) laughed, accompanied by a rude gesture. "My food wasn't that bad."

"You must be hard of taste, Anvil-Veins," Galmar laughed, pulling Ulfric down to sit with the rest of the men. "I'd rather eat what my horse shits out than your slop."

There was a bowl of whatever Svala had been cooking being pushed into his hands by another one of his men. She was still oblivious to him (or ignoring him, it was impossible to tell with her), busy spooning out food for the rest of his troops. He could smell tomatoes and garlic and leeks, and as he brought the bowl to his lips the delicious flavor filled his mouth. Normally, he wasn't a fan of venison (Sifnar knew better than to serve it to him) but he wouldn't have changed a single thing about her stew. "Stormblade," he said, still staring at the contents of his bowl. "This is divine."

She didn't respond, but he noticed that her cheeks were a tad redder than before.

Ulfric tried to calm the fluttering emotions raging inside him. While all he wanted to do was claim her in front of everyone, throw her onto the ground and fuck her until all she knew was his name...no. No. He breathed deeply through his nose. Remember what happened with Rea.

Once he had started sleeping with the Forsworn warrior, he found his attention lacking in battle. Every time an arrow whizzed by her head, or a sword came slashing at her, he would still and fight his bodily urge to intervene. After Rea's murder, once he had begun his affair with Rikke, he found that his chivalrous concern had become dangerous once again. There was even a nasty scar (a memento from when he had leapt in front of Rikke to save her from being cleaved in two by a battle axe) on his thigh to remind him what a preoccupied mind led to in the heat of battle. No, it was best for himself (and Svala) if he kept his distance from her. At least until the battle was over. He would just need to ensure a Stormcloak victory to guarantee another night with her. As if he needed more incentives to win the war.

His troops were passing around bottles of mead and singing near the fire as the sun dipped low over the horizon. A stillness had settled over the camp, and as Ulfric finished the last of his soup he found he wanted to join in the camaraderie (well, as much as someone in his position could). However, all hopes of that were dashed when one of the sentries positioned at the road came running into camp. "My jarl, my jarl, Elisif is approaching!"

"Elisif?" Galmar asked, shooting him a look. "Is she alone?"

"No," the lad shook his head rapidly, still breathing heavy. "Legate Rikke is with her."

A dark look passed between himself and Galmar. Elisif certainly had a lot of gall to waltz into his camp before an impending invasion. Dread settled within him, heavy as a stone. "Galmar and I will meet them. The rest of you will stay here, weapons at the ready, in case we're in for a nasty surprise. Stormblade?" Her head snapped up to stare in his direction, a bottle of mead still pressed to her lips. "In your tent, out of sight." He half expected her to argue but she merely rolled her eyes and relented, finishing the bottle before tossing it away.

They met the women in the middle of the road, much to their visitors surprise. "Jarl Ulfric," Elisif called to him. "I assure you, my intentions are pure."

Galmar spat at his feet. Ulfric snorted. "Is that why you come skulking to my camp in the night, like a thief? Out with it."

"Ulfric honestly," Rikke glared at him over Elisif's shoulder. "Tullius doesn't even know we've come. Now will you hear us out?"

"I don't like it," Galmar said lowly to him. "That wench is always up to something."

He held a palm to silence him. "Elisif, I'm listening."

"Here?" The female Jarl looked around the forest with distaste. "Couldn't we do this somewhere...warmer?"

"Speak woman!" He barked at her. Honestly, did she expect him to follow her to Solitude? Just how dense did she think he was?? "Or I shall depart."

"Ulfric," Elisif was trembling- whether it was from the cold or his ire, he couldn't tell. "Please, just...take a stroll with me? I'd like us to be able to speak as equals...one last time."

He sighed. "Fine," he relented, even with Rikke and Galmar's loud objections. "You two remain here. We will return timely." He held an arm out to Elisif (Ulfric was a lot of things, but let it never be said he wasn't a gentleman) and together they began to walk into the forest.

"First, let me offer you my sincere congratulations. I know that the road here has not been easy for you. I can hope-"

"Oh stuff it, Elisif," he growled over her timid voice, stopping as they came to a small clearing. "Save me your simpering niceties. We both know you're not here to congratulate me."

For a moment, she looked insulted, before the emotion ran from her face like a summer's rain. "Fine. What can I do to convince you to leave Solitude untouched? With all the bloodshed we've experienced recently I would like to spare my people any further indignities."

He laughed, harsh and loud among the quiet of the night. "Give up?! You would have me discard the sacrifices of my men, the very cause some have given their lives for, and for what?! To save the precious nobles of Solitude the same 'discomfort' that the rest of Skyrim lives so comfortably with??" She seemed to wilt under his harsh words, cowering away from him as though he might strike her. She must've been mad, truly, to expect him to honor such a request so near the end of the war...unless that wasn't her real reason for coming. "Last chance, Elisif. What is it you're really asking of me?"

She bit her bottom lip and stared at him through the darkness, her eyes big and luminous and glistening with unshed tears. "Please, spare me," Elisif whispered. "Let me retain my position as Jarl, or at the very least, my life."

Now this was interesting. To see the ice queen herself, Elisif, tearfully begging him for her life? Yes, there was promise here. "And what would you give me in return?"

The pure desperation on her face was more intoxicating than any mead. "Anything."

He grinned widely, putting a hand on the crown of her head, his fingers fisting through the brown locks. He could feel Elisif stilling from his touch. "Prove it." He growled in her ear.

The look on her face was naked disgust (masked to the best of her ability) as she slowly sank to her knees in front of him. Ulfric swore his heart was beating so loudly he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. It wasn't as though he held a secret flame for Elisif, no- it was the sheer power at humiliating her, at letting her know definitively for once and for all who held all the cards here. Small, shaking fingers unlaced his breeches and he took pity on her, helping her unpack his growing length.

Elisif's eyes now shone with hate, not tears, as she opened her mouth and took him inside. He let out a deep moan at the feeling of her hot wet mouth, her soft lips on his shaft. She couldn't fit him entirely in her mouth (she probably had never experienced such a cock in her life, the thought made him even harder) so she used her dainty, unblemished hands to work on what remained outside. She played with his balls and gripped him tightly, no doubt trying to finish him quickly and end her humiliation, but Ulfric was having none of it. While he was enjoying the stimulation, he found reducing the once proud Jarl of Solitude to the debased, slurping mess on her knees in front of him to be much more gratifying than any old orgasm.

"Oh Elisif, are you thinking of him?" He asked sweetly, forcing her deeper onto him until she choked. "Or are you not used to being handled by a real man?" His grip in her hair tightened as she mumbled something out around him, the vibrations doing wonderful things to him. "What would dear Torygg think, seeing you now, sucking down the cock of the man that bested him?"

When her head raised to look at him once again, tears were steadily falling down her hollowed out cheeks. He thrust deeper into her mouth, setting an unsteady and rough rhythm until he shuddered violently, spilling into her mouth. When she went to spit, he clasped a hand over her lips, keeping her mouth firmly shut. "You'll take everything I have to give you, or it's no deal." Whimpering, she nodded, dutifully swallowing before pushing his arm away spitefully and opening her mouth to show him it was empty. "That's a good girl." Personally, he had been toying with the idea of finishing on her face so that there would be no way to hide her shame...but the self loathing evident in her posture was good enough.

"We have a deal?" Elisif asked him in a raspy voice, still on her knees. "I'll be safe?"

"I suppose," Ulfric answered with a cruel smirk. "You'll remain as jarl, but it'll be on a much shorter leash."

"Thank you," she breathed out, crumpling onto the earth. "Thank you, Jarl Ulfric."

"Now scurry back to your palace," he was already walking away towards the road, leaving her in a heap on the ground. When Galmar and Rikke saw him return alone, a moment later Rikke's sword was pointed in between his eyes. "She's fine," he sighed. "Rikke, honestly- you know me."

"I thought I did," she told him, quivering with silent rage. "Until Torygg...until all of this..." he could feel her pain. He emphasized with her pain- hell, he remembered the very moment that they stopped being lovers, friends even so vividly...

"Tell me it isn't true," Rikke had come bursting into the palace, her face stricken with anxiety. "Please tell me you didn't kill King Torygg."

"Rikke...this is hardly the time," he had tried to chase her away, not willing to have such a difficult conversation with his most trusted confidant. "I-"

"Sweet Talos," she breathed in horror. "You did. You really killed him. But...why?! Why would you do such a thing?!?"

"He was weak, Rikke!" He roared at her, taking no pleasure in the shock that made her eyes widen. "I challenged him, honorably, in the old way, and he lost! I will shed no tears for him."

"And what of what you've done to Skyrim? Leaving her without leadership?" Rikke's eyes were so wide and bright, and her face so pale.

"Who says she'll be without leadership?" Ulfric asked her smugly. "I will be taking the throne. It's about time we have a leader with the balls to take on the elves."

"You? King?" Rikke's answering laugh was harsh and loud. "The Ulfric I knew didn't even want to fight in the Great War...he wanted to be a Greybeard, master the Voice. Remember?" When he did not respond, she let her swordbelt fall free from her hips and go clattering to the stone floor below. "I don't know who you are anymore, and I can't fight beside you."

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, rising from his throne to go for her sword. "You'll be a general, naturally, second only to me. And once we have the support of the Empire we'll go-"

"Are you listening to yourself? The support of the empire?!" Her voice was high and shrill, echoing around the cavernous palace walls. "The empire is not just going to hand you a kingdom, Ulfric! You're speaking of war! Brothers against brothers, fathers against sons! Would your ambition really lead you down such a dark path?"

He didn't respond. He didn't have to. Rikke rolled her eyes and spat on the ground in front of him. "Unbelievable. Goodbye, Ulfric."

"Where are you going?" He called after her, still disbelieving how stubborn she was being. A few hours rest, a good meal, maybe a roll in the hay and she'd come around soon enough.

"To join the legion!" She shot back, murder and tears in her eyes. "Skyrim needs someone worthy to fight for her."

"Go then," he dismissed her dispassionately. "Become a traitor to your homeland, your people. Let us meet again on the battlefield."

"The only traitor I see here, Ulfric, is you." With that, Rikke stalked out of the Palace of the Kings for the last time, letting the heavy iron doors slam shut behind her.

"Rikke," Elisif's sore, quiet voice snapped him out of his reverie. "I'm fine. Let's go back."

As he and Galmar watched the women depart, Galmar asked him in a low voice, "What did she want?"

He laughed. "She wanted us to leave Solitude in peace." He would keep the real reason Elisif sought him out to himself- after all, he did not think that Elisif herself would be too eager to recount the tale.

Galmar laughed as well. "That wench has a pair of balls, I'll tell you. What did you tell her?"

"What she wanted to hear," Ulfric responded with a shrug. "Not that it matters. We march on Solitude come first light."

He had waited long enough.