Sylgja's eyes followed her husband as he sat down in his usual seat at the head of the table, beside her, his back to the fireplace. She had seen his eyes widen as he had opened the first letter, his face going from puzzlement, to surprise then finally to a look of resolution which she knew all too well.
It was similar to the look he got when he received a message from Jorrvaskr or else from one of the jarls asking for his help, but more than that. Only once before had Sylgja seen that look in Uhther's eyes and that had been years ago, on the day he had departed for Solstheim. It was the look of a man readying himself for something, something that even he could not guess at. It was the look of a man expecting adventure.
Even now, after years of marriage, Sylgja sometimes forgot who it was she was married to, and what he represented to the people of Skyrim. She had grown so used to Uhther being just who she saw every day. The brusque but good hearted man she had met so long ago, who had cleared a mine of frostbites and then offered to carry a message to her parents. Who had returned to Shor's Stone every week since then, for the ebony he had claimed at the time though later he confessed it was to see her. She still remembered the tingly, excited feeling that had come over her when he had appeared in the village, looking for her, an amulet of Mara around his neck. He was the man who had made a home for her and the two girls, the father of her son. He was all she could want of a husband.
But then there was the other side to him. The adventurer, the hero, the slayer of monsters, the man that made the other children gape when they walked through town together and come running up to Sofie and Lucia, all of them wanting to play with the children of the Dragonborn. Uhther had always done his best to keep that side of himself out of their lives. He wanted Sylgja and the children to think of him as a man like any other, he had told his wife shortly after their marriage.
'Let the others think of me however they like,' he had said as they lay together in their bed, 'with you I want to be just a man, with no one expecting or wanting anything more of me. Is that alright?'
Sylgja had responded by leaning over and kissing him. She had never wanted to be with some legendary hero, she had only ever wanted to good and honest man. If that was what Uhther wanted to be with her, then that was as much as she needed. They had made Æthur that night, she was sure.
And Uhther had been true to his word. All these years, the only face he had ever shown his family was the one of loving husband and doting father. Only once had Sylgja ever seen the other side of him. The true side of him.
It had been the month after they were married, before Sylgja knew she was carrying Æthur. They had come to Lakeview Manor for a week away from the hustle and bustle of Windhelm. That first evening, Sylgja had been in the main hall, preparing dinner, when the door had crashed open. Spinning around, she had seen three men armoured in rough iron burst into the house. Bandits! One of them was holding the girls, a large arm wrapped around each girl's neck. Sofie was screaming and crying while Lucia was snarling, kicking her legs and trying to bite the man's arm.
Sylgja had heard thumps against the wooden boards upstairs which told her that Llewellyn had seen the intruders too. Roggi had come running into the hall from his back room and froze when he saw the intruders.
Where was Rayya? Sylgja had thought with the frustration born of fear. Had she let them slip past her?
The sound of clashing weapons from the now open door had answered that question. Apparently these three were not alone and had merely run in while Rayya had her hands full with their friends.
'Gold!' The leading man had said then, gesturing at Sylgja with a war axe, 'jewels, whatever you've got. Quick now, or we slit the girl's pretty neck.'
That had been all he had said as just then a feathered quarrel had sprouted from his throat. Uhther kept a hunting bow and a quiver of steel tipped arrows on the upper floor and it seemed Llewellyn had taken it upon himself to act. Blood gushed from the leader's throat. The shock of the impact took all strength from his legs and he collapsed to the floor, clutching his neck, trying to stop the bleeding.
His companion, the one holding the girls, had dropped both of them in his surprise and they both ran to Sylgja. No sooner were they in her arms then a sound like thunder boomed through the house, rattling the windows and sending everything in the living room flying, including the intruders. The leader's body and one of the bandits were slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor while the one who had held the girls had flown back through the open door.
Turning, Sylgja had seen him. Uhther, the real Uhther, the Dragonborn. He had worn no armour, just a simple tunic beneath the leather apron he wore when he went down to the cellar to work in his forge. But in his hand he had held the sword. Dragon's Breath, the blade he had made from the bone of a dragon he had killed, with an edge keener than the finest razor, the blade glimmering with the enchantment that caused first flames to flicker down it, then ice and finally lightning, crackling down to the blade tip. In his off hand he held a simple shield banded in steel.
The Dragonborn's face was thunderous.
'Take the children to their bedroom,' he had called to Sylgja, without taking his eyes from the bandits, 'don't come out until I come and get you.'
Not waiting for a reply, he had charged. Straight down the hall and out the door. Roggi, who had retrieved his old family shield during the commotion, charged after him, a sword of nordic steel clutched in his hand. Llewellyn had come down the stairs, slowly. The bow was still in his hand but the bard was visibly shaken. He was no warrior. Sylgja doubted that the man had ever killed before. Lucia took him by the hand and the four of them walked quickly into the children's bedroom, closing the door and locking it behind them.
Then they had waited. The two girls had huddled in Sylgja's arms while Llewellyn had drummed his fingers nervously against the bow. From outside, Sylgja could hear the noises. The noises she had heard about but had never heard for herself.
In Shor's Stone, she had faced the giant spiders that sometimes broke into Redbelly Mine, she had even killed a couple of them, but the sounds those horrors had made were nothing to the sound of men and women fighting, killing and dying. Shouting curses, begging for their lives to be spared only for their voices to be cut short, never to be heard again. Once or twice there came a burst of light followed by the agonised screams of the bandits engulfed in dragon fire.
Her husband's work.
Sylgja had no idea how long they had waited there, only that the fighting had stopped and then someone came and knocked on the door.
It had been Uhther. Dragon's Breath was sheathed. He was her husband again. She and the girls had hugged him while Uhther had given his thanks to Llewellyn for his quick thought in saving his daughters.
So long ago that seemed now, and not since then had Sylgja seen Uhther the Dragonborn. But he was there again, now, as he sat beside her at the head of the table, still fixing the note with a piercing gaze. Sylgja did not know if she felt worried, scared or proud of her husband.
'Do you know how long ago this was sent?' Uhther asked the courier, accepting a horn of mead from Roggi.
The courier shook his head. 'I was merely given it by the jarl and told to get here as fast as I could.'
Uhther nodded. It was the answer he had expected. He folded the note and placed it on the table.
'Well you have my thanks,' he said, 'I'll see to it that you're well rewarded.'
'Oh, that's not necessary,' the courier protested, 'anything for the good of the empire, right?'
There was a flat tone to his voice that Sylgja could not help but notice. Neither, it seemed, had Uhther. The dragonborn fixed the man with a hard look before speaking.
'You were for Ulfric during the war?'
It was a question, though Sylgja could see the answer in the stiffening of the man's back and was sure Uhther had known without asking. Her husband smiled and pulled something from underneath his tunic that hung from a leather cord. An amulet of Talos. Uhther had told her it had been a gift from his mother when he had been a boy growing up in the city of Bruma, before he had had to leave. He had never told her why.
'Its alright,' Uhther said, reassuringly, 'that war is long done.'
Finally, the courier nodded. Instinctively, Sylgja's eyes went to Sofie. The dark haired girl had gone pale.
'Did you see much action?' Uhther asked, looking at the courier with an interest that surprised Sylgja. The courier shook his head.
'Not much,' he said, 'I ran messages, mostly. I was there at the Battle of Windhelm.'
Suddenly Sofie stood up and took her brother by the hand.
'I'm going to put Æthur to bed,' she said, her voice tight, 'its past his bedtime.'
The sky had grown darker as they had been talking, though not by much.
'It is not!' Æthur said, indignantly. But Sofie would not be argued with and Æthur was nearly dragged away to the children's bedroom. Lucia followed behind them, shooting a disapproving glare at her father who waited for the door to close before speaking again.
'Sofie doesn't like talking about the war,' he said, softly, 'when I found her she was living on the street. Her mother died when she was young, and her father was a Stormcloak who didn't see the end of the war.' A long silence greeted these words. The courier seemed to have something he wanted to say but was too nervous to say it. As it turned out he didn't need to, for Uhther saw his face and knew what it was. 'You're wondering if it was I who killed him? I thought so. In truth, I don't know. I was certainly not the only man to kill stormcloaks during the war. But I never forget the fact that it might have been me.'
Sylgja saw the courier bite his lip.
'Does the child know?'
'She knows who I fought for,' Uhther answered, looking across and catching the look of anger and confusion in the courier's eyes, 'a choice you disagree with, I see.'
'How could you do it?' The courier, it seemed, could hold himself in check no longer, 'you were the hero we were waiting for. You could have swept the empire aside like dried leaves. Ulfric might have reigned as high king. We might have been free of those damned elves. But now Queen Elisif, the Thalmor's little doll, sits the seat that should have been Ulfric's. Why? Why did you turn on your own people?'
Rayya, her face a thunderstorm, had stood while the courier ranted, her hand going for the hilt of Witchbane, her own dragonbone sword. Uhther held up a hand. Rayya slowly took her hand away from the sword hilt and took her seat, albeit grudgingly.
'Come,' Uhther stood, indicating for the courier to join him, 'there's something I should show you.'
Hesitantly, the courier stood and was led upstairs. Sylgja knew, somehow, what her husband intended. He kept that dossier close at hand wherever he went.
What is he scheming now? Sylgja wondered. On the surface, Uhther did not appear a cunning, nor overly intelligent man. Not that that was a bad thing. That plain honesty of his was one of the things which had first drawn her to him. But behind that simple face there was a mind always at work. He had been planning something for years now, some new adventure. Sylgja wondered if this letter from the arch-mage was part of that plan. Or something new.
Thinking of this drew her attention down to the other letter, the one Uhther had not yet opened. Did she want to know?
Quickly, before she could change her mind, Sylgja reached down, cracked the seal, and unrolled the letter. It was a short message. But one that Sylgja immediately understood. Uhther kept little from her and had always told her his plans. This latest one was no different.
She supposed a part of her had hoped it wouldn't work. She had no wish for Uhther to disappear again, on what would likely be his most dangerous journey. But there it was before her, in a flowing, elegant hand. Proof that this part, at least, had been successful.
I am in. This one stands guard for the ambassador. Ready when you are. -Kharjo
