A/N: Not particularly happy with this chapter. Probably stems from my crippling inability to write romance scenes, but here's what I got lol.
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Solitude hadn't seen a more festive day since Thorunn and Ulfric's engagement ceremony. Evidently, Redguards were equal parts warmongering and eccentric. Thorunn found it easy to respect that.
Altair was of a different mind. His smile was uneasy, and with his already grizzled appearance, his pensive frown made him look almost intimidating, even with the cane. Nordic women liked the rugged brooding look, so they flocked around him anyway. Altair was annoyed but nothing less than a gentleman. He politely declined their offers to dance and returned their empty compliments half-heartedly.
He sat beside Thorunn at the high table. Ulfric sat on her left, and to his left was Galmar. Eriswe delivered their trays of food and seemed to be making friends among the other servants, judging by how she exchanged smiles and laughs with them. Thorunn was glad to see they were treating her well.
The hall erupted into cheers, laughter and cat calls when the bards began a boisterous display of The Sultry Argonian Bard. Pantea Ateia was portraying the noblewoman Ellya Erdain, while Viarmo wore a fake lizard's tail and feigned the mighty Croon-Tail.
"My lady, I could never perform your request!" he exclaimed dramatically.
"Oh? Is it too fast for you?" 'Ellya Erdain' responded haughtily.
"I fear that it may damage my instrument!"
"Ah, but you seem to handle your instrument so well, my darling."
"You flatter me, my lady." Croon-Tail took his fake leather tail and pulled it between his legs, hanging his head. Thorunn looked over at Queen Ahleen, who was grinning and whispering things to her second. What Thorunn would have gave to know what she was saying...
"Yes, well it is such a large and magnificent piece. May I hold it?" Ellya was saying.
"Goodness no! The queen of Hammerfell would never approve of such a public display."
"Oh, you must get to know me," the queen herself called, grinning. The crowd laughed, some banging their mugs against the table.
Recovering from her own bout of laughter, Ellya continued, trailing a seductive hand along Croon-Tail's chest. Oooo, chided the crowd suggestively. "Then, may I suggest a private performance? Perhaps, away from the noise of this palace where we both may enjoy your tremendous talent..."
Croon-Tail made an impressive display of bashfulness. "Surely you don't mean for me to accompany you to your room?"
"Indeed I do, my sweet. Indeed I do." Her hand trailed to Croon-Tail's and she grasped it before walking a ways from the stage as a pool of cat calls and hooting sounded from their audience. After a couple steps, they turned back, bowed, and took their seats grinning.
Thorunn clapped along with the rest. Laid out before her on the table was a mirage of delicacies: Boiled ham, raspberry tarts, samon seasoned with lavender, exotic vegetables Thorunn had never even seen before, lobster, bread with blackberry jam spread across its surface, among many other dishes Thorunn knew she wouldn't get to, not even with the second life she was fending for.
Her gowns were beginning to stretch tight over her growing stomach. She made no effort to hide it any more than Ulfric did. She wasn't deaf to the whispers carrying throughout the hall, either. Some made jokes about her getting fat and comfortable, others solemnly foretold the mighty strength of a child between the High King and the Dragonborn. None said anything to her directly, though. Rather pregnant or fat, Thorunn was still as intimidating as the deepest bowls of Oblivion.
The bards took up another song after their display and the hall returned to their amiable chatter. Many presented offerings to the Queen of Hammerfell, including swords, trinkets, gems, gowns, and crowns. They were squabbling for a queen's favor, thirsting for free advertisement of their wares or sums of coin. Thorunn thought they ought to be trying to win their own king's favor.
Dra'hana and Mulnak were getting along quite well, Thorunn noted. They were engaged in a carefree waltz that looked awkward with their conflicting sizes and structures. They didn't seem to notice, though, and the grins on their faces evoked a faint one of Thorunn's own. Isha and Vunthar seemed to be irregular talkative to each other this night, as well. They'd been like that ever since Vunthar carried her comatose body all the way to Whiterun.
Ulfric sighed next to her, bored. "Let's dance," he said suddenly, standing up and extending a hand for her.
Arching an amused brow, she took it and allowed him to lead her from the dais to the floor. Many heads turned their way, though they were too consumed with their own adventures to spare more than a lingering glance. Slow dancing wasn't the style of Ulfric and Thorunn, being robust warriors with less than graceful ways of dancing, so luckily the song the bards sang was nothing of the sort.
Instead, it was a rather playful ballad from Hammerfell about a love-scorned sword-singer in the days of the Ra Gada. Ulfric and Thorunn placed the flat of their palms together and danced to their heart's content, laughing and teasing each other's poor dancing while the music loomed.
In old Ra Gada days
When Forebears came ashore
Among them were sword-singers
According to the lore
At fore were Yaghoub's Thirteen
Noble Ansei all
One there was named Navid
This song is of his fall
Navid loved Sayeedeh
Sayeedeh loved him not
Her heart was pledged to Ihlqub
The Thirteen's finest shot
Ulfric's footwork was sloppy, but so were Thorunn's, and neither of them cared. Queen Ahleen took inspiration from their display and joined them, using her second as a partner in a graceful gyrate. At some point, they traded partners and back again, none really paying attention to what they were doing.
As Ihlqub plied his bow
In practice on the beach
Navid approached with empty hands
Until he was in reach
While Ihlqub faced the target
Navid called up his shehai
Slew his love's love with sacred sword
And watched his rival die
Back to Yaghoub's beachhead
Went into his tent
Fell for shame on his own sword
Dishonor thus was spent
It was perhaps the most unprofessional they could have done, but Thorunn was so tired of expending herself through ugly war that she didn't care. Ulfric was on the same page as her; he smiled so much it was almost possible to imagine him with frown lines. He spun her around, taking her by the waist and pulling her body to his as she turned back to him.
The instruments quieted into a cease just as Ulfric placed a chaste kiss on her lips.
"You dance like warriors," Ahleen teased, pulling them from their moment. She only grew prettier with the energy of the night, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving with the breaths she took. "So ungainly, yet your smiles make up for it. My people weren't exaggerating when they spoke of your love." There was a sadness to her smile, as if she envied their marriage. Does she not harbor the same love for her husband?
"No," Ulfric agreed, a hand at the small of Thorunn's back.
Ahleen's eyes flitted to Thorunn's stomach. "You are showing," she said knowingly, inclining her head.
Thorunn's eyes flitted to Ahleen's stomach. "So are you."
They held stares for a long moment, shock skipping across Ahleen's expression before shifting into her signature cool etiquette. "You are observant as you are beautiful," she said. She sighed affectionately. "I am with child, yes. My fourth. I pray to Satakal for a son."
As for the gender of Thorunn's babe, she hadn't put much thought into it. She'd be happy with either, she supposed. "Your husband let you go to war while carrying his child?" she asked.
"Your husband let you go to war while carrying his child?" Ahleen reiterated.
"Fair point," she admitted. She wondered if Ahleen sought an arranged marriage on top of assistance and whatever she was trying to wrench from Thorunn being Dragonborn. How Ahleen knew Thorunn was pregnant was a mystery and near impossible, so she laid those suspicions to rest.
The feast wore on. They gambled, participated in drinking games, brawled, ate, and danced, all in honor of the queen, much to her delight. Thorunn caught up with Ralof in more detail over a bottle of Black-Briar mead and learned that he discovered a fondness for mosaics and puzzles during what little free time he was given throughout the war. She tried to get more details out of Altair, also, but he claimed he didn't want to ruin the night with talk of torture and war. She worried for him. He'd spent the better part of the night doing nothing but sitting up on the dais alone, nursing a mug of ale and pushing away anyone who tried to speak with him. He was being awfully observant. Thorunn wondered what for.
The feast was coming to a close when she got the answer to that question. She was sitting at the high table in her customary seat next to Altair, a queenly smile on her lips and a content gleam in her eye. The music was beautiful, the people were happy, and their bellies were all full of mead and joy.
"This song..." Altair said, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He leaned forward just slightly and poised his ears. It was one of his first times speaking through the entire ordeal.
"What about it?" questioned Thorunn. She listened, too, trying to make sense of his unease. A quick glance over to the bard's table revealed that no bard she recognized was playing the song.
Do you have five children, Mother?
I've heard that you do.
Five children? No, tonight I have four!
Four children, sweet and pure.
Four and no more!
It was a solemn and melodic hymn, like that of a mother's nursery rhyme.
"No," Altair said, suddenly alert. "No, you need to call this feast off now."
"Why?"
"Now, Thorunn."
Do you have four children, Mother?
I've heard that you do.
Four children? No, tonight I have three!
Three children abed late today.
Three and no more!
Confused but concerned, Thorunn turned her head to Ulfric. She opened her mouth to relay the order when a sudden scream of pain howled through the thick of all the merriment. Thorunn rose to her feet abruptly as the crowd began parting to see who the culprit was, come to reveal a seeping pool of blood at the foot of a dagger piercing the gut of noblewoman Bryling.
In the midst of chaos- the screaming, the panic, the piercing sound of someone unsheathing their blade -the singing prevailed. It was a disturbing scream now, the masculine voice a growling shout.
Do you have three children, Mother!
I've heard that you do!
Three children? No, tonight I have two!
Two children, quiet and shy!
Two and no more!
"Evacuate the palace!" Thorunn shouted to no avail. She fumbled at her belt for her sword. More noblemen and women were falling- how many of these people were assassins? Thorunn's eyes searched for the queen and found her being led from the hall shielded by her champions, slipping through the door. The men with the daggers didn't wear tagelmusts or have dark skin, so she doubted this was the Redguards' doing. Panic soared throughout the hall. What once was a place of laughter and cheering became a cacophony of death and screaming. This wasn't the Redguards' doing, no. This was the Dark Brotherhood. But who was their target?
Do you have two children, Mother!
I've heard that you do!
Two children? No, tonight I have one!
One child, singing a song!
One and no more!
Some men drew their swords but knew not where to direct them. The assassins were everywhere and no where all at once. "Thorunn, we have to get out of here," Altair was saying, but she could scarcely hear him over the chaos. Ulfric grabbed her arm and tugged, but she was already one step ahead of him, starting towards the door while Altair struggled to his feet and hobbled along with the help of Galmar. The exit was only a few.
DO YOU HAVE ONE CHILD, MOTHER?
I'VE HEARD THAT YOU DO!
ONE CHILD? PLEASE, I HAVE NONE!
THEY'RE WITH THEIR FATHER NOW,
AND LIVE HERE NO MORE!
Shadows bounced in an out of existence. They danced a deadly waltz to the music, their dark silhouettes prancing from wall to wall to man to woman to child. The gleam of steal caught the light in all different directions. A fireball lit the entire hall at once, followed by a hoarse maniacal laughter. Thorunn saw a little girl latch onto the neck of a grown man and gnaw his throat out. And throughout it all, that terrible, terrible music.