Things were moving along and time wasn't stopping for Altair's impending decision. Thorunn did plan to go down to the prisons and speak with him, but today was not the day to do that. Today was the day she'd been waiting for for a long time: The announcement of hers and Ulfric's engagement, celebrated with a feast and many of their old friends.
Thongvor had decided to remain in Solitude for the next three weeks to see if his son changed his mind or not. Back in Markarth, his Thane, Vikkesia Hrethgir, ruled as his regent and kept the peace while he was away. He showed no signs of having any memory of the conversation he'd had with Thorunn the night prior, but she remembered it quite vividly, the foremost being of him tripping over his chair. She vaguely remembered the burdens Ulfric had laid to her as well, but like Thongvor, he showed no signs of remembrance.
The feast was to be held in the courtyard, the same one Vittoria Vici's wedding had been held. The blood stains had been scrubbed meticulously off the walls, of course. Due to Dark Brotherhood assassins running amok, the feast was not a public event, and only those with invitations were allowed to attend. The last thing they needed was another nobody waltzing into their life.
Ulfric was wearing some of his best finery: A blue doublet embroidered with intricate silver designs along the buttons with puffy sleeves, charcoal grey trousers tucked neatly into boiled leather boots, and a silver cloak that clasped to his shoulders with brooches sporting the Bear of Eastmarch sigil. His golden locks were much more tidily groomed than usual, some thought put into the braids that held it from his face and the golden crown on his head not a single degree crooked. As per usual, his axes were sheathed into his belt.
Thorunn, too, wore her best: Gold lightly accented the silver and blue of her gown, tailored nimbly to suit her muscular figure perfectly and make her look almost slender. She represented two factions today, her cloak bearing the Stormcloak coat of arms but the brooch on her breast harboring the Companions mark. Despite the world making every effort to do so, she did not forget she was the Harbinger of the Companions, and today her three Circle members would be attending her engagement. From lack of cutting, her hair had grown to her mid-back, cascading over her shoulders while her bangs were held back with elaborate braids. A dagger was strapped to her thigh beneath her dress, naturally.
Prideful, she walked alongside Ulfric as they trekked down to the courtyard. Already, she could hear the low rumble of drums and the blowing of goat horns. She hoped the bards weren't too scarred over what happened at their last ceremony. She could smell the food cooking as well, horse meat and blood pies, if her senses were correct. The smell of the meat was much more appetizing than the pie, having grown an affinity for flesh after being blessed by Hircine.
Immediately, she could make out her fellow Companions amidst the small crowd forming in the courtyard. Aela had took off her warpaint and elected for a simple green gown that complimented her figure, while Vilkas and Farkas wore matching black doublets and silver cloaks. The twins were only discernible by their contrasting builds, Vilkas being the taller and slender of the two and Farkas being a meaty bulk of a man. All three were armed. Thorunn felt a proud smile rise to her lips.
"I never would have thought," said Aela as she approached Thorunn. She was beaming, a mixture of bemusement and apprehension in her expression. "When you first walked into Jorrvaskr, dressed in mismatched ragged armor and a blade that could barely cut butter, I thought you wouldn't last a week. Now look at you. The Harbinger of the Companions and on your fast way to becoming the High Queen."
Ulfric had left her side to banter with one of his Jarls. Thorunn couldn't place a name to the man he was speaking to. She smiled ambitiously back at Aela, and noted that even stern Vilkas had a faint smile on his lips. "I do love to prove people wrong," she stated.
"That you do," Aela responded, nodding in agreement. She looked past Thorunn's shoulder, watching Farkas wolf down a pie and shaking her head. "I must say, you do have a fine taste in men. Ulfric has no shortage of good looks and an even less shortage of things for you to kill."
Thorunn laughed. "You aren't wrong."
Vilkas stepped forward, and Thorunn could tell by the look in his eye that he was about to bring up something dismal. "Harbinger, we've been hearing dark things of what's going on here in Solitude. Dark Brotherhood assassins and talk of treason? Are you certain it's wise to do this right now, so soon after Vittoria Vici's wedding?"
Her smile faded. "Wise? Certainly not, but if it were," a smirk crossed her lips, "what kind of party would that be?"
Vilkas sighed, knowing that whatever he said, it'd be for naught. "A bloodbath."
"That's always the best kind." She winked.
She felt a large hand on her shoulder and turned to see Farkas grinning, mouth filled with pie. "Hey, boss," he greeted cheerily. "Loving the feast you've got here."
Oh, how she missed these people.
"We can tell," deadpanned Aela. She took Farkas by the arm. "But we should let you mingle with your other guests. I'll find you again later." With that, she disappeared into the crowd alongside the twins, Farkas roaring with laughter about some joke he told Vilkas and Vilkas staring at his brother with distaste.
Ulfric had returned to Thorunn's side before she could get far. "Enjoying the festivities?" he said from behind her shoulder, leaning down to reach her ear. He was grinning when Thorunn turned her head to look at him.
"I would be enjoying something else more," she replied suggestively.
He chuckled. "Believe me, we will get to that. Come, we must greet our guests." He took her hand in his and they walked to the front of the courtyard. Ulfric held up a hand to silence the musicians, and while the crowd quieted the instruments went with them. He waited until attention was undivided before speaking.
"Today, the people of Skyrim are brought together to celebrate the importance of love. Despite the strife and war that plagued our country, my betrothed and I still found room to care for each other in a way I thought was impossible for our situation. With Talos as my witness, this woman will be the woman I spend my life and beyond with, as I would have it no other way. On the first of Morning Star, the first day of another year, this woman will become your Queen and my wife."
The first of Morning Star came in only a month, Thorunn noted. She looked out among the crowd as they cheered and clapped. Farkas shouted his approval particularly loudly, pumping his fist into the air with a goofy grin on his lips. The more dignified guests of their feast merely clapped politely with a smile on their lips, while others dressed in armor banged the hilts of their swords or axes against their shield. In thirty days, these people would kneel to her.
Ulfric waited for the cheering to subside once more. "Please, enjoy the feast we've prepared in our name. Dueling is permitted, but only if you allow us to spectate." He smirked. "Return to your mingling." He gestured to the bards and they resumed their Nordic music, singing songs in dovahzul backed by deer-hide framed drums and tagelharpes.
The festivities resumed. Several duels brightened the day, one between Farkas and Aela with Aela emerging as the victor and another between Jarl Thongvor and Galmar with Galmar standing victorious. Most of the faces were friends of Ulfric's, nobles and friends from the Great War Thorunn had never met. Thorunn had invited very few guests, only indulging the three Circle members and a select few others including the Altmer Nelacar from Winterhold and the Redguard Rayya from Falkreath.
The celebration went on until evening fell and then some. By the time the sun set, Thorunn's cheeks were sore from having to maintain a polite smile for hours on end. Her muscles ached from dueling to her heart's content and her stomach was full from eating so much, but she'd never been so content in her life. As night dawned, most of the guests remained, but enough left to make the courtyard look significantly more comfortable. Thorunn was grateful for the extra space to breath.
The night was to end with a duel between the two betrothed, of their own idea. During the civil war, they'd fought each other often, whether to settle differences, pass time, or to practice. Few could match Thorunn in battle like Ulfric did. They agreed that they would not use the Voice, not wanting to unsettle the savory guests or cause too big of a mess. Beforehand, Thorunn removed her dress so that she stood barefoot in a tunic and trousers, a dull longsword in her hand. Ulfric, too, had exchanged his honed axes for a blade that would do no harm upon contact.
It was not unusual for husband and wife to duel on the eve of their engagement. It was almost a tradition, in fact, one that two esteemed soldiers would not dream of forsaking. The man and woman exchanged a nod, smiling at each other before raising their respective weapons and charging. The bards played their instruments louder.
Thorunn's sword clacked against Ulfric's, audible and sharp. He parried her sword effortlessly then sidestepped to weave the blow he saw coming before she even swung her blade. She went out on a gallant whim and continued to pursue him, each of her swings timed with the clack of his locking with hers but giving him no time to strike a blow of his own. That was her general strategy: Exhaust the target, then strike.
And he knew what she was doing. He increased his vigilance, the grip he had on the hilt of his sword visibly tightening as he made a herculean effort to push her back. She kept on and they danced, his strategy of efficiency and swiftness battling hers of exhaustion. They'd fought with each other enough times to see every move before it was made, catch every swing before it was swung, see every step before it was stepped.
Though his appearance and strength showed nothing for it, Ulfric was a good five or six years older than her. Even with that small of a difference, it meant the world when it came to endurance. Alongside his age, Ulfric was a mere human. Thorunn had the endurance of the wolf. She could dance with him until the sun rose up again, if it came to that. Ulfric was losing his footing, eventually yielding when the tip of her longsword poked the center of his chest.
He dropped his sword, something odd in the look in his eye.
Thorunn withdrew her sword, handing it off to a nearby guard without turning away from Ulfric. The soles of her bare feet were covered in cuts and scratches from moving gaily against stone. The crowd was silent, waiting for the response.
Thorunn turned and took a bow. Silence erupted into cheering.
The smile she'd been expecting finally rose to Ulfric's lips when next she looked at him. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately on the lips with all the world and then some to look upon. They were next to leave the ceremony, though many guests remained to finish off the food and tie up any loose ends.
Ulfric was eager and lustful that night, pressing his body to hers like he couldn't get close enough to her.