"He was always a quiet boy. A listener, not a talker, like his mother." Thongvor was saying.
They were in the throne room, hours past evening while the castle slept. Thorunn, the Jarl sitting across from her at the table, and a snoozing Galmar were the only three things that breathed within the dimly lit room. To ease the pain in Thongvor's heart, Ulfric had given him the key to the wine cellar and his condolences. For a while, Ulfric had stayed up to drink with him, alongside his betrothed and Galmar. They exchanged war tales, roared with laughter, bickered, even brawled, as true Nords did when the twilight was grey.
Ulfric had gone to bed an hour ago, stumbling and drunk. Galmar had passed out right there on the table, snoring loudly and as unconscious as a bear in hibernation. The last two standing were Thorunn and Thongvor, both dreary from the alcohol but not quite ready to pass out. The whole night, Thongvor had managed not to say a single thing in regards to his son or wife, until now that the boisterous air had left them to their thoughts. The only thing to light the room was a few dim candles, but Thorunn could see the grief leaking from Thongvor's expression.
She said nothing as she waited for him to continue. The silence dragged on long enough for her to suspect he'd fallen asleep, but he spoke in due time. "He had this look in his eye, like he was listening to someone even though nobody was talking. I think the boy's cursed, myself. Had a little too much of his mother in him. He heard things, I know he did, voices and whispers from whatever evil is beyond the realm of the living. Can you imagine that? Walking in on your five-year-old boy talking to someone that wasn't there?"
He heaved a sigh and massaged his temples. "By Talos, that damnable woman was my demise. Beautiful girl with long golden locks and a dimpled smile- ah, she was always smiling. So damned happy. She was my first, you know. My first girl I had in bed. By morning I was in love with her and within the same week I married her. Father told me, 'now don't you go messing with these girls all willy-nilly,'" He roared with laughter so abruptly that Thorunn jumped. "You know what I told him? Told him, 'pa, this woman's the one I wanna grow old with. Not you or anyone can tell me I won't.'"
He went quiet, looking down at the table grimly. "Well, I was wrong. He was right. That's why boys should always listen to their fathers, but mine never did. Just looked up at me with those big blue eyes. Aye, he never cried, neither. Not once. Always those eyes that just stared up at me, not knowing what he did wrong to the world. If there was ever a thing that made me weaker than my Rikith, it was those eyes. S'pose I should be glad he didn't get mine." He laughed again, pointing to the one eye of his that was nothing but a white pit of blindness.
"Ah, blast it. You're not interested in the burdens of an old man, are you? No, you're young, doting on that bear Ulfric and not wanting to hear of blackness. Would you listen to me if I told you not to mess with these boys all willy-nilly?" He grinned toothily.
"Not likely," said Thorunn.
"Nah, I didn't think so. He used to be quite a hit among the ladies, you know. Still is, with those rugged good looks and kingly glare. Gotta watch out for the lookers, learned so myself." He picked up his bottle of ale, taking a large swig then tipping it knowledgeably in Thorunn's direction.
She had long since discarded her steel mail, now clad in a loose cream-colored tunic and brown trousers. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and her hair disheveled from brawling. Throngvor looked no better, sporting a black eye delivered by Ulfric and a swollen lip from Galmar. Thorunn had bruises of her own, festering on her shoulders and neck and one on her cheekbone. The alcohol numbed the pain nicely, but she knew she'd feel it in the morning.
"Yep," Throngvor said after the silence became unbearable, sighing as he tapped his thumb against the bottle in his hand. "But he'll be faithful, he will. Most honorable man I know, and don't let no red-faced Imperial tell you otherwise."
He stood up, just a tad too quickly and stumbled over his own chair, falling to the ground with a clatter and a thud. "Argh!" he exclaimed, then climbed unsteadily back to his feet, his hand skimming across the table in search of purchase. He let loose a heavy sigh. "And that's all she wrote," he said, grinning lopsidedly. At that, he stumbled out of the room, leaving Thorunn as the last man standing.
But that was not the last of the burdens she would witness for the night. When she went to Ulfric's quarters, he was sitting up on the edge of the bed, leaning with his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard the door open, offering a small smile to Thorunn when he laid eyes on her. He ushered for her to join him and she did, sitting down on the bed next to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, staring at the floor below them.
Time passed in companionable silence, both working up the energy to say something. The edges of Thorunn's vision were fuzzy from intoxication and her head swam alongside it, making it difficult to form the words that came to her mouth. "Can we really punish that man for his faith?" she said finally, each word an effort to say. "After starting a war over our own faith being punished?"
"He won't see reason," said Ulfric, his voice husky and his words slightly slurred. "You seem to have taken to the man. Perhaps you can convince him where I can't."
She said nothing, quietly tampering with her thoughts and trying to push past the intoxicating alcohol to make sense of things.
"Are you certain you wish to marry me?" voiced Ulfric. The question was so sudden that Thorunn was thrown off-guard, stunned into a couple more moments of agonizing silence.
"Yes, of course. Why would you ask such a thing?"
"Thorunn, do you not see what this crown is doing to me? Politics are a damning thing. Soldiers like us see politicians as the weeds of the world, and truly, they are, but the burdens a king and queen carry are heavier than stones. Every man that fights in a war is a puppeteer of life. Every man he defeats, he must choose whether that man lives or dies, whether to deliver the killing blow or keep walking. It's a natural thing. But when someone asks you as a man in rags kneels before you, 'is this man sentenced to death or not?' you must think about it. You must carry that weight with you until the axe is brought down on his neck and then you must live with that decision. I can't go a single day without questioning my decisions. Do you understand how hard it is to live like that? So full of doubt that you begin questioning every step you take?"
"Marrying me would mean sharing those burdens and adopting your own. There is no black and white in this world, only grey, and the lines between right and wrong, between life and death, between good and evil- they blur so thickly that I can't see a greener side. You have lived your life acting first and thinking later. You are headstrong, you are reckless and action-oriented. Those are the reasons I love you among many more. I fear becoming a queen may dim your fire."
Thorunn lifted her head, regarding him sternly. It was easy to defeat the alcohol now. "I am a dragon," she said, each word deliberate and firm. Always, she had referred to herself as having the dragon within her. Now, she never felt so sure in the fact that she was one and the same with the prideful, winged beast. "Not even a king can make a dragon bend its knee. No crown, no marriage, no sword, will ever break me. I will marry you because I love you and I will become the High Queen because I love my country. Remember that."
He watched her, brows slightly creased and a thoughtful frown on his lips. Then he nodded softly. "Yes," he said. "Yes. Of course."
As they laid to rest, Thorunn did not know if she would recall their conversation come morning. But what she did know is that its effect would remain, and that no matter how deep the memories were tucked away, her heart would remember her words.