Svala couldn't wait to get out of Solitude.

The celebrations had turned rowdy as night fell, and many of her shield-brothers had begun to get rather handsy with her. There was only so many times she could "politely" turn down their advances before punches started being thrown...and something told her Ulfric wouldn't be pleased to see his general (and possible future queen, if he had his way) brawling in the streets with her allies. She drank a few bottles of mead, joined in singing The Age of Oppression, and then went to make her way to her horse.

It was time to go home.

The thought gave her pause; since when had Windhelm become home? Hjerim was nothing more than a place to deposit her things, rest up, and eat for free. She couldn't afford to think of it any more than that. She couldn't, not if she wanted Sofie to remain safe.

As she approached the gates of the city, the sun gone from the sky and the fires (some she had helped set) burning low, she could hear screaming coming from one of the barricaded businesses. Sighing, she is paused for a moment, deciding if she wanted to investigate it or to continue on her way. The screams increased in both volume and frequency and, with a reluctant groan, she pushed the door open.

The sight inside was gruesome. Her "shield brothers" were holding the Altmer shopkeep's limbs apart, keeping her spread open like a pig on a spit. One was pawing at the ties to her bodice even as she thrashed and cried, while another was fumbling to take off his own trousers. "Shut up," another kept saying dispassionately, striking the mer across the face every so often.

Svala saw red.

With one movement she grabbed the nearest Stormcloak to her by the scruff of the neck and sent him flying across the small shop. Bolts and reams of fabric rained down upon his head as he gave small groans of pain from where he laid. The other three had instantly released the shopkeeper upon seeing her ire, quickly scrambling backwards away from her. "Stormblade, please-" one began hoarsely, but she punched him soundly in the face, silencing him instantly. He fell backwards with a dull thump. With screams of terror, the remaining Stormcloaks rose to their feet and tried to scramble out of the shop. Svala kicked one in the ass, finding immense pleasure in watching the little man soar before landing face first in a mud puddle. She hit the other with a Shout (just unrelenting force- she imagined Ulfric wouldn't be too pleased if she killed the man) for good measure. She wasn't entirely sure where his body ended up.

When she faced the Altmer, the woman was already holding up her hands defensively in surrender. "Please don't hurt me! You can take anything you want!" She cried, her eyes squeezed shut as though expecting to be hit.

Irritation rippled through Svala. "I'm not going to hurt you." She held out a hand to the mer, helping her stand. The Altmer woman still eyed her suspiciously as she brushed the dirt from her dress. "Are you alright?"

"I've been better," the shopkeeper replied venomously. "Do you feel better about what you've done now that you're through playing hero?" While she motioned around her ransacked store, Svala had an inkling it was not the mess she was referring to.

She bristled at that. "Look, I didn't have to stop them. I could've kept going on my merry way and let them have their way with you...but as a woman, I've been there myself, and it's not something I'd wish on anyone, even a stuck up mer like you." The shopkeep flushed at her words. Good. She knew there were quite a few of her "shield sisters" in Ulfric's ranks that would've just kept walking.

Svala turned on her heels to leave when the shopkeeper called after her. "Wait. I- I don't like owing people things," the mer said, softer than before, but with the same amount of bite. "I don't want anything on my conscience, should the Divines take me soon." She stared at Svala expectedly.

"I don't need anything," she muttered tiredly. "I just want to get out of here."

The Altmer studied her for a moment, before loudly sighing. "Akatosh preserve me, wait here." Svala waited, her irritation only growing as she heard the mer shopkeeper rummaging around in the back rooms of her shop. Finally, she returned, a bolt of blue fabric in her arms. "Not surprisingly we have an excess of blue," she told her, her tone snarky. "I think this is the right shade..."

"Stop," Svala held up a hand. "I don't need a dress." What she really needed was a soft bed and more mead than she could drink. "It's very kind of you but- oi!" She swiveled, just in time to see the Altmer accosting her with a measuring tape. "Stop that!"

"You're thick, even for a Nord," the mer hummed under her breath as she began to wrap the tape around her breasts. "No wonder you always wear armor."

Svala's cheeks burned with embarrassment. She wanted to argue that wearing armor all the time was a matter of necessity, not fashion, as she was constantly encountering situations that tried to kill her. Instead, she settled on mumbling, "You know me?"

"Everyone knows you," the mer laughed without humor. "Ulfric's whore, the great Dragonborn herself. Akatosh granted you such power and what do you do? You use it to fight the war of a racist tyrant." She stepped away from Svala with that same pinched, judgmental look on her angular elvish features. For a few, tense moments, no one spoke. Until finally the shopkeep broke the silence, turning her disgusted gaze away from Svala. "I'll have the dress sent to Windhelm. I assume you're going to need something to wear to the coronation, I'll have it done by then."

Divines, the coronation. Another dog and pony show she'd be forced to attend. And while she wanted to tell the mer where exactly she could shove her dress, she noticed the subtle way the shopkeeper's hands trembled as she was measuring her, the way her eyes kept flittering nervously to the man left unconscious on her floor. She knew what it was like to cling to normality when reality had turned everything but. "Thank you," Svala said instead. "I'm sure it will be lovely."

"Of course it will," the elf snapped. "Radiant Rainment only dresses the best. Even you'll look lovely."

Svala's eye had begun to twitch again. "It's amazing how you have any customers with service like that." She grabbed the (still) unconscious man by his hair and tossed him out into the street, all the while keeping her gaze on the mer she was addressing. "Might want to work on your sales approach."

"I only make the dresses, I don't sell them. Ta-" she stopped suddenly, a deep sadness passing over her angular features. Must've lost someone during the siege. "Never mind. Now get out, I'd like to get some sleep."

Svala didn't have to be told twice. She stormed out of the shop, stepping over the bodies of her brothers in arms that she had bested. She had nearly made it out of Solitude before exhaustion made itself known, causing her knees to buckle and leaving her stumbling.

"Stormblade!" A familiar voice exclaimed and she looked up to see Thorald rushing towards her. "Are you injured?"

"No," she grumbled. Had he fought in the battle? She couldn't remember seeing him...but then again, everything had blurred together. "Just tired. Need to get to my horse."

"Your horse?" He echoed. "Stormblade, I don't think you'd be able to make it very far." His eyes traveled to her unsteady legs and she had to chuckle in response. He had a point. "I'm sure Ulfric- sorry, King Ulfric would want you to stay in the Blue Palace." She noticed Thorald's hasty correction of Ulfric's tutelage (even though he himself had said mere hours ago that he would not call himself king until the Moot) and the dusting of pink on his cheeks. "Please allow me to escort you, m'lady."

When he held his arm out to her, a tiny part of her gasped like a young girl, but for the most part she smiled graciously and accepted his assistance in supporting the majority of her weight. By the time they reached the palace she was half asleep on his shoulder, the world passing by her in choppy pieces.

The next she knew, she was blinking awake in a darkened room, the charred smell of burnt flesh making her gag. Had there been a fire? She waited for her eyes to focus before seeing a hunched figure by the doorway, still obscured by the darkness.

"Unbelievable," a female voice was murmuring. "Impossible! Dunmer have natural resistance to flames..."

"Flames?" Svala muttered sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "The fuck are you talking about? And what are you doing in here?"

There was a battle cry and then a bolt of lightning came flying at her head. "Fuck! I'm awake now!" She swore, grabbing the closest dagger to her and hurling it towards the figure. There was a moan and a wet sounding splat and she knew the dagger had found its mark. "Now...who are you?"

"You really don't remember me, Dragonborn?" The figure asked with bitter laughter. "After I helped you slay your first?"

Dunmer...first slayed dragon...it had to be..."Irileth." Svala groaned. "I figured you and Balgruuf left Skyrim first chance you got."

"So Ulfric can destroy her properly?" Irileth snorted, rising to her feet and coming into the light so that she could see her properly. There was waxy, light purplish skin glistening around her left eye- fresh burns. "Not a chance."

"What happened to your eye?"

Irileth glared at her coldly. "You burnt me. In your sleep."

Svala hummed to herself. That was new. She didn't remember having any particularly fiery dreams... "And you were in here to, what? Kill me?"

At least the disgraced Dunmer had the sense to look sheepish as she nodded. "Since the Brotherhood apparently couldn't..."

"Wait," Svala was hastily lacing her boots with one hand while threateningly pointing a dagger Irileth's way with the other. "You hired the Brotherhood?"

"Don't be ridiculous," her would-be assassin scoffed. "Balgruuf did. I just wanted to enlist properly, kill Ulfric on the battlefield with honor and not in his bed like a coward." Svala could sense Irileth trying to sneak towards her, thinking her distracted.

"But that didn't stop you here." She scoffed before letting another dagger fly, smirking as it sheathed itself between Irileth's eyes, the ghost of surprise still on her face as her body fell with a thump.

Moments later there was thunderous pounding on her door. "Stormblade! Open up! Stormblade!" She threw the door open with an irritated groan, stepping over the fresh corpse in the doorway, only to find Thorald, Galmar, and Ulfric awaiting her with their weapons raised.

"Are you alright?" Ulfric asked her first in a rush, grabbing her by the shoulders and examining her closely. "Are you injured?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at Ulfric's massive, bare, scarred and hairy chest. "What's with the reception?"

"Balgruuf," Galmar spoke the name so venomously she wanted to cringe. "Tried to kill the king while he slept, fucking coward."

"Murder must be in the air," Svala mused, kicking Irileth's body into view. "Had a visitor myself."

Ulfric's cold blue eyes glanced down at Irileth's corpse with disgust, his grip on her shoulders tightening almost painfully. "Thorald, you will stand guard outside this room for the remainder of the night. Galmar, bring me Elisif. I have...questions for her."

Galmar dispersed immediately and while Thorald lingered for a moment, a stern look from Ulfric sent him scattering outside to stand guard. "You're sure you're well?" He asked her once they were alone.

"I'm used to people trying to kill me, Ulfric," Svala answered him with slight smile. "Aren't you?"

"Yes," Ulfric's nostrils flared. "But I'm not used to people trying to kill you."

She knew a normal woman would kiss him and invite him to bed...hell, any other being but her would do that. Instead, Svala wriggled herself out of his grasp and massaged her neck awkwardly. "I'm going back to Windhelm in the morning." She announced instead.

Ulfric's eyes widened slightly in surprise but he recovered quickly with a nod. "Of course, you're allowed to come and go as you please. But Thorald will accompany you- no, I insist, and I expect to see you at the feast."

"Aye," she rolled her eyes, smirking at him with her tongue out. "Even got myself a dress today. How about that?"

"I'm surprised you know what a dress is," Ulfric chuckled. "For all the times I've seen you wear one."

"Could say the same about you," she retorted with an even cheekier smile. Ulfric laughed a little more before covering her lips with his own in a surprisingly tender kiss.

"Safe travels, Stormblade. Sleep well." He murmured against her lips, forehead resting against hers as her head swam from the unexpected intimacy.

Elisif was thrown in front of him in a crumpled heap as Ulfric lounged luxuriously in the former's throne. "My king I don't understand-" she stammered, looking up at him with wide eyes and trembling lips. The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon.

"I had an unexpected visitor last night," Ulfric hummed, motioning to Galmar who tossed Balgruuf's severed head at the female jarl. She squealed and scrambled away from his gift, now looking even paler than before. "I would've thought Balgruuf and his brood would've traveled out of Skyrim...certainly not hole themselves up in the capital city. Seems a rather bold choice for a displaced jarl, wouldn't you say Elisif?"

"I don't make it my business to try and understand the actions of men." She answered him coolly, trying to regain her composure. "What do you require of me, my king?"

"How did they get here, Elisif?" He growled, losing all patience. "How did they arrive in Solitude, so far away from Whiterun, to try and assassinate me in my bed?" He stood, grabbing his axe from its sheath and dangling it in front of Elisif's pale face. "I can think of one answer. Can you?"

"Ul-my king, we had a deal...I had no idea Balgruuf would do something so idiotic, you have to believe me I-"

"Elisif," Ulfric tutted at her. "I'm so disappointed in you. Just when I thought we had found," he smirked nastily at her, remembering the feeling of her plush lips around his cock. "Some common ground."

"Balgruuf's actions were his own!" Elisif cried, her eyes still wide but her voice no longer wavered. "Ulfric, for better or worse you know me. If I really wanted you dead, do you think I would send Balgruuf the Greater to do the deed?"

Galmar guffawed from his perch in the corner of the throne room, moodily devouring a hunk of cheese while he looked on in grim amusement. Ulfric held up a hand to silence his friend, still smirking cruelly at Elisif on her knees. The memory of the last time he had her in such a position was not lost on him. "No," he relented after a few tense moments. "But do I think you would house my enemies? Stoke the flames of their rage and vengeance, leaving you poised to take the throne when I fell?" He rose in a flash, wrapping Elisif's long hair in his fist and ignoring her cries as he dragged her to him. "Well I believe that sounds very much like something you would do. Don't you agree, Galmar?"

"Aye," Galmar snickered. "Sounds like the work of a traitorous snake alright. Give her the axe and be done with it."

"No! Please! I'll do anything!" Elisif gasped as she twisted in his grip. "I would never betray you, my king! Please let me prove my loyalty to you!"

It would have been so easy for him to take her head. He could see it perfectly, her pretty little head on a pike next to Balgruuf's and Irileth's, welcoming all of Solitude to his reign. Still...the Moot had yet to meet and he had made it clear he wouldn't accept the title until it had been officially granted to him. He couldn't imagine beheading Solitude's former jarl (whose husband he had also killed) would be the best move for diplomacy...and besides, he knew Elisif. If he wanted to make the poisonous viper suffer, death was not the way to do it.

Humiliation was.

"Here we are again," he mused, pulling her face closer to his own so that he could hiss his next words in her ear. "I thought having you choke on my cock would be enough to prove to you that you are no longer in charge, but you've been playing with me all along, haven't you?" He chuckled, dark and dangerous, and watched as her faced flushed and her lips parted oh so slightly...interesting. "Does this arouse you, Elisif? Has this been why you've been such a traitorous bitch to your country? You just needed my...attention, again?"

"No," she spat at him, even with her cheeks pink with embarrassment (or lust, it was impossible for him to tell) she was still eyeing him with naked hate. "I would rather be split open by a daedra than ever reach for a man such as you, my king."

Ulfric slapped her so hard across the cheek that her head recoiled and she fell from his grip. Good. Let her learn her place. "Galmar, keep this wench in the dungeons until she learns to respect her king," he growled at Elisif's crumpled form. "And place Irileth and Balgruuf's heads on pikes outside the city gates."

"Aye," Galmar agreed with a murderous grin, hoisting Elisif to her feet despite her struggles and protests. "Before I go though, I didn't want to interrupt before but..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It was the first unofficial day of his rule, as it were, and he was already exhausted by dawn. "What now?"

"She's been hiding them all," Galmar finished, almost gleefully. "All the displaced jarls. She's been hiding them in the cellars, Thorald found them last night."

Naked rage washed over Ulfric like a crashing wave. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before opening his eyes once more to stare at Elisif with pure hatred. "Change of plans, Galmar. Leave her with me."