Before anything, Thorunn went to the study to check on the dragon's egg. Nothing had changed since last she saw it, save for the glimmer around its shell being notably brighter. The Amulet of Mara Thorunn had used as a ward still sat in front of the hearth, radiating warmth and protection in the same way the flames danced around the egg. Thorunn left the study feeling significantly reassured.
After that, she took the longest bath she'd ever taken, then she'd retired to Ulfric. During their first round, he was less than graceful and eager to get between her legs, having gone weeks without relieve. She could feel the stiffness in his movement and the stress in the tightness of his muscles. Their second round was slower and sensual, and Ulfric whispered his love for her against her neck when he filled her.
The following two weeks were a waiting game. They could do nothing but sit ducks and occasionally lay a card as they waited for the Redguards to arrive. The Dominion progressed into Rorikstead and Karthwasten. Ulfric sent men to protect the smallfolk, but the attempts were futile. The elves took the villages with little to no opposition and there was nothing Ulfric and Thorunn could do about it.
They arranged a gift for Queen Ahleen, as was customary. Ulfric commisioned a Skyforge steel sword from Eorlund Gray-Mane, which arrived a week's time later. The hilt was tipped with the head of a lion that had rubies for eyes, and the remainder of the hilt was emblazoned with intricate designs and flawless amethysts. Queen Ahleen held a fondness for pretty swords and ugly battles. The lion was the heraldry of her rule.
Housing an army of fifteen-thousand men in one city was near impossible, so they pitched as many tents as they could in the outskirts and hoped it'd be enough. The tents would stretch to the edges of Haafingar Hold. Thorunn did wonder how the Redguards planned to get around the Reach, considering that was the chokepoint between Hammerfell and Skyrim, and where the Dominion was nesting.
On the fifth day, the scouts Ulfric sent returned. He estimated the Dominion had a near twenty-thousand men in Skyrim alone. Without a doubt, however many they lost would be sent in reinforcements. Skyrim's advantage? The Dominion could only easily enter through High Rock, and their numbers were limited within the Breton domain. Coming in through Cyrodiil would mean pushing the Empire into another war with Skyrim, which both Ulfric and Thorunn agreed in the notion that that was too abhorrent even for Imperials.
But they didn't rule out that opportunity. Nords would have taken it whether it meant ruffling the Empire's feathers or not, but Altmer were not Nords. They were more diplomatic than anything and cared too much for honeyed words and piety. The Empire would have no choice but to let the Dominion pass, lest they wanted to disobey their precious White-Gold Concordat. Thorunn's hope was that the Dominion simply wouldn't ask.
She spent the rest of those two weeks pining over Hammerfell's hidden intentions. Nothing was ever as simple as, "help me, I help you." Perhaps they wanted coin, or were expecting some incomprehensibly large sum of gold, or wanted to take Skyrim from her newly-won independence and declare homage. Thorunn feared for the future, but was relieved for the present.
All the while, Jorleif spent hours and hours preparing a mighty feast for the eve of Queen Ahleen's arrival. Thorunn told him he was trying too hard, and he told her she wasn't trying hard enough, that the arrival of a queen was never to be underestimated in its power. Morale would spike, he said, the men would adopt a battle fury so fierce that one man alone could stampede an army. "We can't spare enough expense for a queen!" Thorunn also knew that Velerys Dothri was trailing Jorleif's every expense, trying to make up for the costs of this feast.
The Bards College worked tirelessly as well, proclaiming that music was the most powerful way to express appreciation. Thorunn had glanced at the list of songs they were preparing for the night. There were playful ballads like Ragnar the Red, The Battle of the Ale, A Less Rude Song, and The Sultry Argonian Bard (Giraud Gemane had to fight for that one's approval; Jorleif had been appalled by the vulgarity of its content while Ulfric laughed and told the bard his ears yearned for it). More solemn ballads were prepared as well, including The Dragonborn Comes, The Age of Oppression, and The Whisperer's Song. Many songs were in Yoku, the ancestral language of the Redguards, that Thorunn had never heard of nor knew how to pronounce.
All the festivities rang hollow while an army of Stormcloak brothers and sisters were put to the torch, their final resting place being a battlefield. Thorunn's heart ached in longing for what trivia and knowledge Altair would have to offer about all this. He'd know how to please the Redguards and pronounce their words. She wondered how he was faring, if he fared at all. Two weeks had passed and Thongvor had not gone to Markarth's gates. All Thorunn could do was pray the elves had been bluffing. Given their history... she doubted it.
The Redguard emissary that had first delivered the proposition to Ulfric had been exact in his estimation. At noontide on the fourteenth day, a watchman reported that dark-skinned people were marching their way with jewels pierced in their skin and vibrantly colored garb. Ulfric and Thorunn gathered an entourage including Galmar, Jorleif, Freya, Velerys, and a small complement of guards, then made their way to the gates of Solitude to personally greet the army. Today, the bear of the Stormcloaks and the lion of Hammerfell joined as one.
A litter was at the head of the army, red beaded curtains draped over the windows and obscuring whoever sat within. It was carried by four men in ceremonial gilded armor and silk red tagelmusts. Their expressions were ritualistically stone as they approached. A firm knock sounded on the window and they halted, then out stepped the Queen of Hammerfell.
For a woman who revered battle, she was quite daintily built. A mane of black curls pooled around her face, held down and tamed by a crown placed on the top of her head. The crown was gold and blazing, crested with an emerald-eyed lion. She wore a red and gold silk toga that left one small breast bare, with all sorts of rubies and opals emblazoning its convoluted designs. Thorunn had never seen anyone look so extravagant and powerful at the same time. Perhaps that stemmed from the Nord's image of powerful being that of a robust armored figure covered in blood and a bloodthirsty snarl on their face.
Queen Ahleen's face was a pretty one. She had bowed lips and wide-set slanting brown eyes with winged coal on the lids. Her freckled cheeks lilted when she smiled. "High King Ulfric," she said with a graceful bow. She spoke with a heavy accent and a voice that reminded Thorunn of cinder blocks. "More beautiful a land I have never seen. I am honored to preserve it."
Ulfric took her hand and placed a feathery kiss on her knuckles. "Your presence is our saving grace," he said truthfully. He gestured to Thorunn. "This is the Dragonborn and Harbinger of the Companions. She is my betrothed and my top-ranking lieutenant, on top of that."
"Well, well, aren't you a busy woman?" chided the queen, not unkindly in her comely smile. She held her hand out for Thorunn to kiss, which she adhered to. "Dragonborn, it is. I hear your Voice wields a power unmatched by the sharpest blade in the world." There was a narrow to her eye and a twinge in her smile that unsettled Thorunn.
She knew then what Hammerfell wanted.
She forced passiveness. "A sword will kill me all the same," she responded testily.
"No doubt," said the queen, grinning in a way that flashed a set of perfectly straight white teeth. "Yet here you stand, beautiful as ever with all your scars."
"You're too kind." Literally.
Galmar stepped forward, holding the jeweled sword in his hands. The blade gleamed in the sunlight. "A gift for you, Majesty." He knelt and lifted it to her.
Her brown eyes widened with greed and her smile deepened with awe. Graciously, she took the sword from Galmar's hands. "What steel is this? I have never seen anything like it."
"Skyforge, Your Grace. There's none better."
"Truly," she agreed. She ran her index finger along the flat of the blade to the very tip. Thorunn saw that her nails were painted black and tipped with silver gems, like moons on a night sky. She passed the sword to one of her champions. "Careful with that, now." She turned, sweeping the ground with her dress. "I have a gift for you as well." She pushed aside the curtains of her litter and peered inside, saying something to someone in there.
When the person stepped out, Thorunn's eyes went wide. "How did you... how?"
The Redguards had gussied Altair up. His left eye had gone white and glossy, the tell-tale signs of blindness, and he used a cane to help him walk. A groomed, cropped beard covered his jaw. His blond curls had grown past his shoulders, though now he had it tied into a bun at the back of his head. He smiled when he saw Thorunn.
"We heard of his capturing as we were passing through the Reach," explained the queen. "We figured he was of value to you, being the son of a Jarl. I sent an infantry team through and a few hours later, they arrived with him. He is very charming." She smiled up at Altair.
"But how... how did you get into Markarth? The city's carved from the side of a mountain."
"You would be surprised of how many secret passageways there are in your cities. They were seemingly built for wars. Give the enemy an edge to keep the fighting interesting." There was that white grin again.
Altair hobbled over to Thorunn on his cane, wincing with every step. He reached out for her and she met him half-way, enveloping him in a gentle hug as soon as she reached him. He whispered into her ear, "Be wary of her," before pulling away. His expression gave way to nothing.
"Now then!" said the queen, clapping her slender ringed hands together. "I heard talk of a feast."