By the Nine, I'm a soldier, not a sneak. There's no way I can get from here to the exit without those shades noticing me!
Evergreen eyes watch from the open door as spirits move about the room in seemingly random directions. It would be much easier, the man figured, to go in and fight the ghosts- but that apparently was not the reason for this path it seems. Ulfric's gaze looks for something- anything!- that might give him some sort of advantage over this damnable situation. He finally spies a rather innocuous looking potion on a table in a room off to his right.
The color of the liquid in the bottle brings forth a memory for the ruler- a memory from a time when he was just the Jarl of Eastmarch leading his army in the fight to free Skyrim from the Empire and their Thalmor puppet masters...
"Heavy armor does nothing in the ways of being stealthy, my Jarl, I've told you this before. What your men say regarding the Legion and their plated armor is true: they gleam like fresh fallen snow and clank like a kitchen. It also slows you down and has a very bad habit of being noisy at the worst possible time."
Long fingers hold up a corked round vessel filled with white liquid that they had just bottled. "Even with something like this invisibility potion wouldn't be able to help if you or any of your officers were to try and maneuver around the Legion in your preferred gear." As the woman sets the potion back on the table, she continues the impromptu lesson. But, I know you'll never give up your armor up as it has never let you down, so unless you plan on taking it all off and carrying the pieces, the only advice I can give you is to move slowly and be aware of where you step... Or, you can forgo the sneaking altogether and just kill what is in your way, because chances are you'll end up having to do that anyway. Besides, you are too honorable to do things my way- leave the more questionable habits to those of my ilk, because in the end what is one more person looking down on a sneakthief?"
"Perhaps, should we survive to the end of the war, you and I can continue this discussion on the benefits of light armor? Surely you can agree that one is never too old to pick up a new skill or two?"
A flaxen eyebrow arches slightly over a skeptical cobalt orb- clearly the thief was not such a request from someone such as him. "Perhaps, if those who hold our fates in their hands wish it, my Jarl. Though, I will admit, the thought of teaching someone as stubborn as you will be a challenge- and I never back down from a challenge."
Little did the Stormcloak know at the time, but that conversation would be the cornerstone for what not only would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but the start of the end- the end of the war, the end of Skyrim being under the yoke of the Empire, the end of the Thalmor's interference in affairs not their own. It was also another beginning- the beginning of something wonderful. And then you had to go and muck it up.
"I sense a presence..."
Damn it straight to Oblivion. Not the time to dwell on the past old man! The High King comes back to himself and the now just in time to dodge a shade's blade and quickly whips out his own. "This should be fun!"
Thirty minutes and a good number of cuts and bruises later, three piles of ghostly remains lay around the room. Ulfric leans against a stone wall, struggling to catch his breath. Old clearly didn't sum up how he felt right now- he had gotten lazy since the end of the war, that much was evident, not having the time to keep himself in shape. That is going to change once I receive my answer. If I get this tired after fighting three spirits, what will my body be telling me after a fight with one living person? "Is this what she had to deal with? Could it even be worse?" the man wonders aloud as his spits some blood out of his mouth. Of course it can, don't tempt fate. As he moves on through the rooms with his sword still unsheathed, the rebellion leader uses his other hand to pull out the parchment that Brynjolf had left him just before a closed portal.
"Above all they stand, vigilance everlasting. Beholden to the murk yet contentious of the glow." What in the name of Talos does that mean... The confused man opens the door, blinking at what he saw as well as didn't see. Oh. A vast room lay before him, a mix of brightness and shadows. Not thinking of the clue written on the parchment, Ulfric takes a step into the light, only to jerk back with a grunt. Biting back a swear, he looks down at his hand and blisters forming on the dry, rough skin. Well, that explains so much. I'm beginning to wonder if that blasted thief set this all up to get me killed.
Or maybe you're thinking with the wrong mindset. You're thinking like a person who fights in the open, not one who hunts from the shadows, the Nord's conscience goes reprovingly. It shows you either weren't listening to a damned thing Inkeri told you years ago, or your mind is like a sieve. A thief's worst enemy is a well lit area- it can lead to capture, jail time, or even death. What sneak would willingly walk into the light? The ruler huffs at the voice in his head, which oddly sounded like Galmar, then sheaths his sword and begins to move, listening for anything that might jump out at him all while trying to mind his steps. Let's not tell my Housecarl that my inner voice sounds like him- he'll gloat about it for days and never let me live it down.
"Traps are every person's nightmare, and the amount of triggers used for them are baffling to say the least. The good thing is, my Jarl, is that with time, patience, and a little bit of luck, most of them can be avoided or used against the people who might have set them to begin with. Just keep in mind that dart traps, while seemingly harmless, can end up being deadly if the tips are coated in a long lasting poison."
Another random conversation snippet comes back to him and the man sighs softly, continuing his way through the room. What I wouldn't give to have her here. To have her support for so long, only to lose it because of my stupidity. What's the leader of the Stormcloaks without his Stormblade at his side? He was stupid back then, telling Inkeri that from that point on Skyrim was his priority and he couldn't afford to focus on anything else but that. Strangely- or maybe not, in hindsight- the woman didn't shed a tear. Sure, in the past she cursed him more than once and may or may not have tried to shout him off a wall in Windhelm when he tried to keep her from the battle at Whiterun, but never once did he ever see her cry in the time he knew her... Maybe you didn't deserve to see it.
Eventually, the seeking man makes it to the next room, coming before a statue of Nocturnal. Green eyes look down at the dead body of the bandit before it and Ulfric could only wonder what was the cause of death- a wound or perhaps the wrong offering? He pulls out the parchment again and reads the next hint. "Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried."
"Dii Vahdin, tell me of Nocturnal?"
"You mean you never learned of her?" A teasing voice goes.
"From your perspective."
"Very well, Dii Bronjun. I suppose I can humor you, though I can't understand why you would need to know of such things." The woman in Ulfric's arms looks up at him, sliding easily into what he called her instruction role. "She is the Night Mistress, the Mother of Night. As another member of the Guild once told me, she is 'like a scolding mother who pushes her child to do better.' and shows that she's not like the other Princes of Oblivion. She is the source of our luck, which flows from her plane of Evergloam. It plays a role in all of our lives, not just thieves...and the majority of Nirn doesn't know the cost paid to keep that luck mostly favorable."
"Price?"
A nod, followed by "Everything in life comes with a price- a sacrifice. This war will come with a price for all of us. Some, it will be death on the battlefield. Others, it could be executions. And for some, emptiness and the wish to die."
"Surely it cannot be all that bad?"
"For the people of Skyrim, time will heal the wounds left by the war, whether they support you or they support Elisif. They've made enough sacrifices. Others will have to sacrifice for the future."
"Which are you?"
"I'm a tool for Gods and Daedra- they play music and I willingly dance to their tunes, and I accept that I will sacrifice much for the people of Skyrim. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the time will come where I too will have do so."
Blonde eyebrows furrow and the man leans over, pressing goatee framed lips to her mouth. "You'll never lose me. I swear to Talos, Inkeri Snow-Hammer, that I will stand with you today, tomorrow and long after we're brought to Sovngarde. And believe me, nothing is going to stop me from making sure we end up together in the afterlife."
How could he have forgotten, that promise he swore over three years ago to a woman who meant more to him than the crown she helped find, the throne that was now his, the title now bore. A promise broken because of his stupid claim that the Kingdom was what was the most important, that the...fling, his conscience so wonderfully reminded him, was no longer necessary, that all that mattered was the people and bringing Skyrim back to the days of its former glory.
She didn't shed a tear- in the time Ulfric knew the woman now known to him as Inkeri Stormblade, never once did he see her cry from rage, from pain, from anything. Even when present to mourn for her fellow soldiers that fell in battle, she understood that they were in Sovngarde and in a supposedly better place. How Alduin ruined that hope for so many... She didn't cry, didn't scream, didn't yell or try to convince him otherwise. She didn't even use a shout on him- it was if she expected and accepted this fate. All the straw haired Nord did was give him a sad smile and said one sentence to him:
"Dii Zahrahmiik Fah Dii Muz."
And then she disappeared into the Windhelm night, out into the raging blizzard with nothing but what she wore the first day entering the palace and the gear she had acquired during her time with the Stormcloaks- her original Stormcloak cuirass, a simple Imperial officer's sword, a shield, armor for a Stormcloak officer, his own sword- the sword he used to kill Rikke and Inkeri herself to kill Tullius. Ulfric couldn't help but wonder if she kept any or all of it.
Coming back to the present, the High King looked again at the room and mutters "Offer what she desires most..." It was then he saw it- a slight glint of metal to the left of one of the sconces. As the man moves closer, emerald eyes fall on a chain. Could it really be that simple? A gauntlet covered wrist reaches forward, rough fingers wrapping around the cool iron. A pull, and the room dims, a sconce extinguishing. A sigh escapes him It is. Checking the sconce on the right reveals another chain, another tug, the room darkens and a hidden door sliding down and open.
Another room, this one with two exits. One had swinging axes the other was a locked gate. He pulls out the now worn parchment out and peers at the next hint. "Direct and yet indirect. The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish."
Unfortunately, the former Jarl of Windhelm had no memories of watching Inkeri tinker with locks, nor did he ever broach the subject with her- what Jarl would have need of learning how to do that? On the other hand, the man did not want to test his aging body against that hallway. Talos... Inkeri, what do I do? I came this far to find out where you are. I can't go forward, but I refuse to go back. Eyes darken as they look at the trapped path, the axes swinging back and forth, counting the time between each pass. The answer was clear. For her. He had never learned anything at High Hrothgar except for two shouts, Unrelenting Force and Disarm, for the lure of defending his home too great to keep learning. So taking it slow is the answer. Definitely not what I'm used to.
His mind counts the time in between passes, and eventually he steps between the first two axes, trying not to flinch as the blades swing dangerously close to his body in the tight space. Another count, another step- not quick enough, the axe nicking his right arm deep enough for decent blood flow and causing him to swear. Clear. Never again. I hope I don't have to return to the entrance the way I came in... The man opens the door before him and hits the ground just as a battering ram swings into where his head was moments ago. I swear, if I make it through this, if I find her, I will...politely beg her to at least give me some instruction in the art of lockpicking. I'm getting too old for this. Coming to a door to his west, he opens it, not really keen on wanting to explore more.
His booted feet eventually bring him to what seems like a bottomless pit, Ulfric's mind flashing back to the last hint on the list: The journey is complete, the Empress's embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion. "Not sure if eternal devotion is what will be given, but..." The armored man takes a deep breath and steps over the edge. It was if time slowed to a crawl during his descent, the shadows looming and growing darker, threatening to engulf and suck the life out of him. Things flashed in front of him- images of his past, events of now, things that might or might not be for the future, and for the first time since being held by the Thalmor, the Nord was not sure if he was making it out of this place alive.
A/N: Finally, I get this to a point where I'm relatively happy with how it looks. This isn't my original end point for it, but I figured the rest could be the next chapter.
A few things first. Regarding Inkeri's comment about the Officers and their preference for heavy armor- I know the Stormcloak Officer Armor is listed as Light Armor, but Ulfric and Galmar are both listed as being proficient in Heavy Armor. Ysarald has no armor preference, and I'm not sure of the other officers scattered around Skyrim. If anyone reading this story can point me towards what is correct, please do so that I can fix it. I do like getting as close to lore as possible... I do also think that the more important members of Ulfric's rebellion, for example Galmar, would be a bit more protected than say Ralof. Not that Ralof isn't important, just not as important.
Next. I seem to have inadvertently kept in the habit of once or twice having Ulfric and my character slipping into addressing the other in Dovahzul. I use it a lot in one story I'm still debating on throwing up here- it starts in it innocently but now it seems to have become a bad habit... Though, I will admit, the thought of the two of them having a fight in the main hall in the Palace of the Kings would be an interesting scene... It's a thought. But I will not abuse it here. Here's the translations though for the three times I use it here, taken from the dictionary and translator at :
Dii Vahdin: My Lady
Dii Bronjun: My Jarl
Dii Zahrahmiik Fah Dii Muz: My Sacrifice For My People
I'm looking forward to the next chapter and the challenge of what it's going to give me while it's being written. We all know what's coming, but Ulfric certainly does not- I wonder how he'll handle going toe to toe with a rather angry Daedric Prince? Lets see where my fingers and brain take us, shall we?