Ashildr was careful to keep her face a composed mask as the gates of Riften approached. She rode in august company today and it would not do to cause a scene with Ulfric about, not when people hung on the Dragonborn's every word and action as a weathervane for the Jarl's cause. Manners were required. If she had had her rathers, though, she would have reined her horse right around and charged off screaming into the woods until this nightmare was far, far behind her.
There would be no escape for the Dragonborn this time, however.
How is it that I can save the world and yet I can't manage to save myself from this farce of a wedding? she stewed bitterly amid the column of celebrants and onlookers.
As they waited for the gate guards to grant them entrance, Ashildr caught the eye of the priest Erandur. The Dunmer was watching her in the inscrutable way that seemed natural to all of the Mer and she prickled under his red gaze. They knew each other well after months of traveling and fighting side by side and she could read the expectant question in his face without needing to hear the words.
I know, she wanted to hiss at him. I bloody well know, but it's not that easy this time.
Given little choice in the impending marriage itself, she had pressed her prerogative as the bride to insist that Erandur be the one to perform the ceremony for two reasons. First, it would constitute a delay while the Dunmer priest was fetched from his hermitage during which time she could continue to argue her case to Ulfric. Second, she had been absolutely certain that Erandur would refuse once he had observed the reality of the situation and that he would send word ahead to the Riften temple to decline as well. Although arranged marriages were common enough in both Cyrodiil and Skyrim, Mara's priests still dictated that it must be a free choice of the betrothed. Anything else was an insult to the goddess. In the end, though, Erandur had considered and then he had agreed to perform the service.
"You aren't helpless, Dragonborn," he had explained to her bluntly when she had approached him later, fuming. "This is a small thing compared to what I've seen you face down before. You're free to refuse. Save yourself if you feel it necessary."
But Ashildr could not save herself.
Ulfric and his advisors had sewn it all up too neatly while she was occupied with chasing the Legion from his borders. The marriage had been announced before she had even returned from the field. By the time she had gotten wind of it and ridden like a madwoman back to Windhelm to find out what in Oblivion was going on, all of Skyrim seemed to have heard the news and refusing outright would have caused a serious scandal in the court.
"It's for the best," Ulfric had placated benevolently as she paced his study like an angry sabre-cat. "I know you've been unhappy. After what you've been through, you deserve a good life with a home and a husband who can give you ties to the land and the people you protect. I've named you Stormcloak - a member of my own family. Hjerim Manor here in the city will be yours. Consider it a gift in honor of your faithful service."
A gift? she had wanted to shriek at him in incredulity, but she had held her tongue and bit back her ire until she could taste blood.
She had sworn to serve Ulfric. She had given her word and shed blood over it. He was the only person to whom she had ever bent a knee in her life. That meant something more than just the usual exchange of service for gold. If Ulfric was to become king, now was not the time to create division in his inner circle. The stability and future of Skyrim depended on him maintaining control during this most delicate of political climates and that required the Dragonborn to act in concert with his wishes. For now.
Still, it was a terrible presumption, and it had been all that Ashildr could do to prevent herself from bursting out with what she had been trying to say to Ulfric for months by then:
I would have married you if you had asked.
Because, to her shock and horror, it wasn't Ulfric himself that she was set to wed. It was Galmar Stone-fist.
Nothing had ever been agreed between her and Ulfric. He had never made her any promises. He had never whispered any sweet nothings or openly courted her. He had never even so much as kissed her for that matter, though once or twice the moment had come tantalizingly close. But, despite long-standing principle and better judgement, through a hundred small suggestions and lingering touches and veiled flirtations, she had gradually allowed Ulfric to gather up a fistful of her heartstrings and now Ashildr could feel herself dangling from them - a puppet cleverly wrangled into dancing to his tune.
She was not blind to the politics of it all. Ulfric's power needed to be concentrated as he ascended the throne. His first wife had died childless years ago and he would need an heir to succeed him as well as a queen that could help him bring the shattered country together. Ashildr could see now that she had been the obvious choice in the beginning. She was the Dragonborn. A legendary figure. In the end, however, the weight of her title and successes had been the very thing that made a match with Ulfric impossible. The Dragonborn had become too powerful in her own right. He couldn't afford to be eclipsed by a wife whose legend outstripped his own.
"The people need to be aware that Ulfric rules them, not his queen," his councilors told her when they had cornered her alone to finally get to the meat of the matter.
They were the teeth behind Ulfric's diplomatic smile and they had certainly done their due diligence. Not even the Dragonborn was immune to intrigue. There were secrets hidden in the messy process of saving the world and in her own past that could be whispered into the right ears to make life considerably more difficult for her and many others that had helped her. Though Ulfric had a sense of honor to him, there were members of his council that were far less scrupulous and far more practical about how to bring a potential rival to heel. Ashildr did not doubt for an instant that they would make good on their insinuated threats if they thought it was for the good of the country and their Jarl.
"The Jarl cannot spare you from the field to take up the softer arts of queencraft," they had explained. "And you have demonstrated certain . . . habits, Dragonborn. Perhaps you might look upon this marriage as a reminder of your oaths to ensure your loyalties do not stray further."
She couldn't fault them for that parting shot. As a mercenary, she had done the smart thing by playing both sides of the conflict in order to negotiate the best possible contract. What was simply good business for a mercenary, however, was undesirable in a sworn soldier.
As if anything you could do would keep me from leaving if I decided to go, Ashildr had thought at them poisonously all the same, feeling her back tense like the rising hackles of a wolf as she had watched the men leave and began to tick over her options.
At the end of the day, the strategist in her knew that it was a gambit well-played and that the outcome - separating her from Ulfric - may have been unavoidable anyway. "Queen" was a job title rather than a relationship and, objectively, Ashildr could not see herself bearing heirs and overseeing all the pomp and politics of a royal court. Before the Dragonblood had surged up in her, she had been as common as dirt - the bastard daughter of a sellsword raised alongside her father's company until she was big enough to wield a sword herself. She had been born and bred far beneath the halls of power that Ulfric inhabited. The "softer arts", as they said, had always eluded her. The Dragonborn title could cover a multitude of flaws, but it could not make her a competent royal consort. What Ulfric might want himself mattered little in the face of what the country needed to find peace.
That knowledge did little to salve her wounds, though. It didn't make being pandered off to another man any less outrageous. Even - and maybe especially - to Galmar.
Ulfric's housecarl, for his own part, had avoided her almost entirely since she had returned to Windhelm. No doubt, Ashildr thought, he was little pleased with the arrangement himself. They had never had any quarrel with each other before this, either professionally or personally. He was an excellent commander - better than most she had worked with over the years - and he had never found fault with her work. She had grown up around men like him. Gruffness was just what you had to expect from someone who had spent a good three-fourths of his life fighting wars and the bear-helmed general had a wit underneath his growling, bloody-minded nature that she had come to appreciate during the cold winter of the war. However, while she found Galmar amenable enough on the field and in the war-room, the idea of him in her home and in her bed - and, Nine Gods above, the "wifely duties" that went along with that bed - made Ashildr's guts twist in revulsion and panic.
The royal parade processed into Riften, citizens lining up along the road to gawp at their future High King and the Dragonborn as they passed by on their way to the Temple of Mara. Ashildr snuck a glance at the man riding next to her. Galmar was arrayed in his usual steel and bear hide armor, though it had all obviously been meticulously scrubbed and shined for the occasion. His expression was unreadable and stoic. He kept his eyes trained resolutely ahead of him without a glance in her direction.
You could stop this, she thought at him, vainly hoping that some small particle of those words might pass through the air into his mind. They won't listen to me, but Ulfric would listen to you.
It was a false hope and she knew it, even if he could have read her thoughts. Galmar was completely, unfailingly loyal to Ulfric. He would have charged headlong into Oblivion on Ulfric's orders without hesitation and no doubt the betrothal had been put to him as just such a request. If Ulfric wanted this wedding to go on, there was little chance that Galmar would back out. They were stuck.
A priest met them at the gates of the Temple of Mara and spoke a few words with Ulfric and Erandur, before approaching Ashildr while the others were led into the hall. The Redguard smiled beneficently.
"Dragonborn, let me offer my most hearty congratulations. It is good to see love blooming even in this difficult time."
You're a fool and an utterly blind one at that if you see anything to do with love in this, Ashildr boiled angrily in her mind, but forced a stiff nod.
"Do you require anything before we begin the ceremony? If you need a place to change into your wedding attire . . ." the priest ventured, with a glance at the freshly polished surface of her dragon-plate armor and maille.
"No. I'm dressed."
Ulfric's steward had offered several times to have a dress commission for her, but Ashildr had refused. She couldn't remember the last time that she had worn a dress, they were neither practical nor comfortable to her manner of living, and a she wasn't about to suffer the indignity of being tarted up like some giddy, useless noblewoman on top of everything else.
Talos' balls, if I'm going to be bartered off like a wheel of cheese, he can take me as I am - armored, armed, and all, she had snarled eventually and that had ended the talk of dresses.
As a concession, she had allowed one of the accompanying servants to plait her mane of hair, as blonde as ripe wheat now that it was thoroughly washed and dried, into an intricate crown of knot work on top of her head. The braids pulled at her scalp like tiny needles.
"Excellent. If you'll come with me," the priest replied, nonplussed by her curtness.
Gritting her teeth, her heart pounding as if she were about to charge an enemy line, Ashildr ascended the stairs to the door of the Temple. After a few long moments, the light music of the flutes and gitterns filtered out from within and the priest opened the door for her.
The wedding was nothing if not well-attended she noted as she stepped into the candle-lit hall. Ulfric and his steward were in the front row of the left bank of pews, of course, as well as the Jarl of Riften and her family. Ashildr could see her friend Ralof grinning at from her further back. The scruffy blonde Stormcloak soldier had saved her neck on that first foul day in Skyrim. He had talked her into considering Ulfric's contract to begin with. They had fought next to each other through most of the war and it was rare that she turned down an invitation to drink with him when they were both in the city. But Galmar, second only to Ulfric, was Ralof's idol. He had enthusiastically congratulated her on her engagement when they had last seen each other, and so he was of no help to her now.
There's no dragging me off of the block this time, Ashildr thought dejectedly. If only someone could.
Glancing back at the crowd once she reached the altar, she was surprised to see the Companions represented by Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela. Farkas, Divine's bless his simple heart, was clearly enjoying himself while Aela and Vilkas seemed less pleased with the situation. Vilkas had openly pursued her before she had become embroiled in the war and no doubt he was disappointed to have been beaten to the punch. Aela's expression betrayed a certain skepticism as she sized up Galmar. The huntress was sharply observant. If anyone would notice something odd about the ostensibly happy couple, she would. Behind the Companions were a few of the Blades completing the professional coterie, though Delphine was expectedly and conspicuously absent. Other familiar faces from her travels filled the last rows, though she frowned a little when she spotted Brynjolf and Delvin hanging towards the very back, smirking at her.
I'm done with that life. Let it go, she thought at Brynjolf holding his gaze with a sharply annoyed glare for an instant. You're part of the reason I had to agree to this.
Brynjolf just smiled at her, as if to reply: you'll be back.
Galmar was the only one who wasn't looking at her as she took her place beside him. His eyes were fixed on the space in front of him as if he were standing at full attention for an inspection. Ashildr's gaze found Erandur, standing there before the shrine and regarding her with a knowing expectancy.
You can still stop this at any time, he seemed to say.
Ashildr clenched her jaw and looked away.
It's not that simple anymore.
The ceremony was short, but Erandur did it full justice as he spoke solemnly about the "bonds of love" and the "union of two souls in eternal companionship". He knew that this was no marriage of love, but the Dark Elf did not read the service as an accusation. Given his own history, she knew, he was the last mer in the world to reproach anyone for faithlessness to their vows. Even so, Ashildr felt the disapproving glare of the statue of Mara behind him as if the goddess were staring right through her, waiting to inscribe the word "liar" in letters of fire on her forehead the moment that she spoke her vows.
"Do you, Galmar Stone-Fist, agree to be bound together in love now and forever?" Erandur asked finally, turning to the big housecarl next to her.
Say no, say no, say no, Ashildr prayed without much hope.
"I do. Now and forever," Galmar replied in clipped, but clear tones so there could be no question.
It sounded like a prison sentence. She felt her heart suddenly jump into her throat as Erandur turned next to her.
This is a bad dream. This isn't happening. I'm not really going to do this. Am I?
All eyes in the congregation turned to her and she felt every single gaze boring into her back, but most especially Ulfric's. In the deepest part of her heart, Ashildr suddenly realized that she had been certain that he would relent. She had held out hope that, when all else failed, the sight of her there with Galmar would stir whatever feelings that he had once had for her and the Jarl would stop the ceremony himself and bring this travesty to an end.
Like the flirtation, it had been a foolish day dream, Ashildr knew, bitterness welling up within her. She was on her own. Just as she always had been.
"Do you, Ashildr Stormcloak," Erandur began and she could not keep herself from flinching at the new name that been given to her after her victory at Solitude. When Ulfric had first bestowed it, she had thought it a symbol of what was to come. Disastrously, she supposed she had been right in the end - sister, rather than wife. "- agree to be bound together in love now and forever?"
A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck and she glanced aside to see that Galmar was staring at her now, too.
Are you hoping that I'll be the one to cry and run for it? she wondered as she gazed back at him, searching his grey eyes for anything that would tell her his thoughts on the matter. Galmar's expression remained impenetrable, waiting for her assent.
Ashildr could hear the first uneasy shifts in the crowd behind her as the silence dragged on. A whisper. A glimpse of Ulfric out of the very corner of her eye, watching her with steady intensity.
To hell with what he wants, she thought suddenly, feeling her anger surge. To hell with all of them.
"I . . ."
The word hung in the air. Sweat dripped down the channel of her spine as her heart pounded and her throat went dry.
She thought about Brynjolf and Delvin there in the back of the room. She thought about the deposed Jarls Idgrod and Balgruuf and their respective families, still captives up in Solitude. She thought about Hadvar, the young Imperial soldier that had tried to speak up for her when she was in danger of execution, still languishing among the war captives. The Dark Elves of Windhelm floated through her mind as did Erandur himself, perhaps her closest friend in the world. There was no doubt in her mind that Ulfric's advisors would make good on their threats. She stared back at the red-eyed priest and imagined what he would look like after a rowdy band of drunken Stormcloaks with a grudge against "greyskins" happened to get their hands on him.
When did I start caring about the collateral damage?
"I do," Ashildr admitted, defeated, her eyes closing to block out the awfulness of the words. "Now and forever.
It was going to bloody well feel like forever, she thought, but what other choice was there? Better to get it over with now and find a way out later.
She stood despondently still as Galmar stepped in towards her to deposit the obligatory kiss, but reflexively Ashildr turned her face slightly so that it landed on her cheek instead of her lips. The hand on her shoulder was tense and Galmar stepped back from her more quickly than was proper for a loving husband.
Husband.
She was glad to have refused breakfast that morning. Otherwise, Ashildr knew from the boiling, leaden knot building in her stomach, she might have retched it onto the floor right then and there.
~~0~~
The Black-Briar family had agreed to host the reception, which carried on for hours until Ashildr thought she really would scream from all of the congratulations, well-wishing, and merriment that she could not share. She sat next to Galmar during the meal and could barely bring herself to look at him. He seemed to be having the same difficulty. They shared a mead cup as was the charming old custom at weddings, but it remained untouched. As much as she wanted to drink the remainder of the day into oblivion and forget what lay ahead of her that night when they were finally shoved off into a room alone together, Ashildr could not bring herself to raise the cup to her lips.
Married. Gods above.
Finally, when there was dusk outside the windows and she could stand it no longer, Ashildr murmured about a headache and slipped away from the celebration. She snatched a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve from a sideboard for comfort as she left and trudged across the canal bridges towards Riften's finest inn. She eyed the gates at the end of the high street and briefly considered making a break for freedom, but discounted the idea. Where would she go at night with only the clothes on her back and the sword at her waist?
The Bee and Barb Inn had been booked more than full for all of the wedding travelers and a few local patrons drinking in the common room raised a cheer when they saw Ashildr enter. The Argonian innkeeper Keerava beamed in a truly horrifying fashion, displaying sharp teeth to Ashildr as she entered.
"Well, if it isn't the blushing bride. Come with me and I'll show you to your room."
It was, she observed, the best room in the inn. Ulfric had been generous in the arrangements. The proprietors had done their best to make everything cozy, placing fresh flowers and candles around for the newlyweds. There was bread, cheese, and mead laid out. The big bed was already invitingly turned down and Ashildr could not suppress a shudder at the images it brought to mind.
"Just let us know if you need anything," Keerava told her with a wink and then left her alone.
The cork would not come out of the bottle of mead quickly enough. Ashildr took a long draught, tipping the bottle up and then gasping as she set it down on the dresser. She started to paw at the straps of her armor, turning her back on the big bed as she disarmed and raked her hair out of its ornamented knots. Married or not, consummating the wedding night was too much to ask. Galmar was going to be disappointed if he was expecting to bed her as part of this farce.
When she was stripped down to tunic and breeches, her heavy boots kicked into the corner, Ashildr collapsed onto the bed and took another pull from the bottle. Whatever Ulfric and his advisors had hoped to gain by shackling her to Galmar, they were going to learn better when the dust had settled. She would see to that. The strong arm tactics had been unnecessary. Even if her and Ulfric were an impossibility, if he had simply turned her away she would have understood. The rejection would have stung, but she would have taken it in stride. She would have stayed. Her word meant something and she hadn't given it to him lightly.
Ulfric had pulled at something beneath her cynicism over the course of this last year. There were things that were worth fighting for just on principle - or at least she had thought so at the time. Perhaps that had been a foolish self-deception as well. Now, the war was won and Ulfric didn't really need her anymore except as court decoration - a trained dragon at his feet to growl at his enemies and lend to his prestige. She could be off and away within the hour and let Ulfric get on with the business of being king without her. Ashildr had never had difficulty finding contracts and she was wealthier now than she had ever imagined being in her wildest dreams besides. Galmar would probably be satisfied with the reprieve. She didn't need either of them.
Did she?
Ashildr frowned as she studied the now mostly-empty bottle.
She had intended to retire after Alduin, but, in the end, fighting was all she knew. There was no place for her alongside either the nobles or the common folk in the cities and villages of Skyrim, she had already found that out for herself. But, she could wield a sword for anyone. She could start her own company with the gold that she had accrued and virtually name her own terms with the reputation that she had built. So, why hadn't she just spit Ulfric's betrothal back in his face and left Windhelm for good?
Because I can't. Not now. Because there are too many people bound up in this and my hands are bloody enough. Because the only thing I have to offer more valuable than my sword arm is my oath.
Because the idea of never seeing him again hurt too much.
"Talos give me strength," she muttered fiercely into the bottle as she upended and drained it. "When did I go this soft?"
She leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the dizzying warmth of the alcohol take effect and reflecting that she was going to need a lot more of it in order to cope with this mess. Galmar would soldier through this like he did everything else. The housecarl would play his role. He would expect her to play her role, too, and that was going to cause some problems unless they got a few things sorted out right up front. She might be married, but Ashildr was not going to be turned into a wife.
At a creak in the floorboards and the sound of heavy steps in the hall outside the door, Ashildr felt her heart seize. Quickly, she scrambled under the coverlet and turned on her side away from the door, trying to force her body to relax. She had intended to wait until Galmar arrived and then settle the details of this unnatural arrangement, but her courage failed her at the last moment. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to see the expression on his face when he finally looked at her here alone, sizing up the bride that he had never wanted and was now stuck with.
The door opened and then closed again. She heard the soft sounds of Galmar's breathing and the leathery creak of boots and armor as he approached the bed. He paused.
I'm asleep, Ashildr repeated in her mind, willing him to believe it. I'm asleep and you don't want to bother me.
After a moment, she heard him move away from her, undressing and then snuffing the candles. Her heartbeat raced as, finally, she felt the mattress shift and heard a grunt as Galmar sat down on the opposite side of the bed. Silence filled the room. At any moment, she expected a heavy hand to fall on her shoulder, rousing her so that they could finish the final duty of the whole sorry affair. After what felt like an eternity, though, she felt him lay down. He turned onto his side, leaving a generous space between their bodies in the big bed.
A tense few minutes passed. Ashildr listened. In the darkness, she could hear from Galmar's breathing that he, too, was awake and listening.
Union of two bloody souls indeed, she scoffed to herself and it was a long time before the claustrophobic silence settled into sleep.
~~0~~
The weather had started to turn by the time the wedding party rode back to Windhelm. The blustery breeze made conversation difficult, for which Ashildr was grateful. She had a throbbing headache, had slept poorly, and her mood had darkened progressively over the course of the day.
Not a word had passed between her and Galmar since their vows. She had woken early, slipped out of bed like a thief, and then hurried from the room to eat breakfast down stairs while she waited for him to come down so she could return alone for the rest of her belongings. Even though the housecarl rode at her side, he barely glanced at her and she gave him the same courtesy.
They would have to speak to each other eventually. They were Ulfric's chief officers and they had too much work to do to let the silence stretch on forever. Neither of them seemed able or willing to break the stalemate, though.
When they arrived back in the city, the party dispersed. Ulfric and his people returned to the Palace, the guards returned to their barracks, and that left Ashildr and Galmar to go to Hjerim Manor together alone. She looked for Erandur, who had accompanied them back to Windhelm, and all but begged him to come stay with them.
"It's a long ride back to Dawnstar," she entreated, desperately. "Stay over a few days with us. It'll do you some good to get out of that tower for awhile, like the old days."
The Dunmer smiled sympathetically. He knew what she was really asking.
"You'll have to sort this one out for yourself, Ashildr." He relented, "I will stay at the Candlehearth for a few days, though, in case you need, ah, 'spiritual guidance'. I suspect that this will turn out to be a blessing from Lady Mara, however much it seems like a punishment now."
Rebuffed, she turned to Galmar who was waiting for her nearby with a stiff expression. Of course. It was still her house and not his own to enter without her just yet.
"Go on ahead," she told him, embarrassed, as she fished the key off of the ring at her belt and handed it to him in case Calder was out.
He took it, but with a suspicious rise in his brow.
"Where will you be?"
"I . . ." she began, pausing because she had not really formed a plan. She just didn't want to be alone with him. Not in the cold and sober light of day. Not yet. Fumbling for an answer, Ashildr continued, "I forgot to tell the stable-master to have a look at my horse's back shoes. I think one is coming loose."
It was a flimsy excuse and they both knew it. She could easily have waited until later or at least sent her housecarl to see to it. Instead of arguing, however, Galmar simply nodded as if this was a sufficient explanation and turned towards the manor district to the west of the Palace without looking back. She watched him go, feeling conflicted. She knew that all of this was just as much of a chore for him as it was for her, but it wasn't exactly a comfort to know that they felt the same way about each other.
She did walk out to the stables, however, simply to kill time. Then, she haunted the marketplace until the evening light began to go soft and she could see the merchants packing in their wares. She still didn't want to go home.
Look at me, Ashildr thought, disdainfully. I've fought dragons single-handed and now I'm reduced to this lily-livered squeamishness on account of a man.
Unfortunately, there were no dragons in need of killing at the moment and she could not delay going home any longer. She briefly entertained the idea of retiring to the Candlehearth to get stone drunk and sleep it off, but rejected it. She couldn't put the reckoning off forever and the longer it waited, the worse it would be. Reluctantly, Ashildr turned her feet towards the manor district just outside of the palace and stood staring at the warm glow of the the lanterns that lit the windows of her house, preparing herself to walk inside.
Calder was sitting at the table just inside the door and he greeted her with an apprehensive expression when she arrived. He had not been at the wedding, having remained to see to the house while she was gone. She recalled that, although he had heard her talk about the Stormcloak general, he had not actually met Galmar before today. She could see on the younger man's face exactly how that first meeting had gone.
"Your husband is upstairs, my Thane."
The tension in the word husband told her all she needed to know about it.
"Thank you," she told him apologetically and passed him a few coins from her belt pouch with a sympathetic twitch of her expression. "Go buy yourself a drink on me. I'll handle what's upstairs."
The housecarl needed no second bidding and Ashildr sighed as she steeled herself and trudged towards the stairs.
Much had been done to the large house while she was gone and she could not help but be impressed. Every room was furnished, well-lit, and hung with tapestries and other decorative touches. It looked like a proper home now instead of a barely-lived-in relic. A wedding gift from Ulfric, she recalled. The reminder galled her, but it was already done and she could not help but admit that the additions made for a nice change.
She found Galmar in the master bedroom just beginning to remove his armor. He glanced up at her in the doorway as he set his bear-skin and steel helm aside. Greying blond hair fell in sweaty locks around his shoulders and Ashildr paused in her tracks. Had she ever seen Galmar in anything but full armor? Perhaps once or twice during the thick of the war, but never in a setting like this. Never with time to think about it. It seemed indecent somehow. In her mind, he had always been a soldier - a commander or, in the rare moments between work, an agreeable enough comrade in arms. To see him here in her bedroom without that layer of distance between them heightened the wrongness of it all.
"That housecarl of yours needs a refresher course in discipline," he remarked with a humorous huff by way of opening the conversation. "Looks to me as if he's gotten soft up here in the city."
Ashildr felt her jaw tense to bite off a scathing retort to the criticism. She swallowed it instead, because she would have to at least make an attempt to living with him until she could figure out something else.
"I'll have a word," she replied, though she would do no such thing.
Calder was not the strongest or most apt with a sword of the little family of housecarls that she had collected during her time in Skyrim, but he made up for it by being clever and generally decent company. With her contract with Ulfric, she spent the most time with him and it was not as if she really needed the protection herself. She cleared her throat and then went for the breach.
"There are a few things we need to talk about, I think."
She could see his expression grow wary. Galmar did not want to have this conversation anymore than she did. Unfortunately, they couldn't escape it. She tried to soften the discomfort, fumbling her way through as best she could.
"We've fought side by side for months, but we don't know each other like . . . this."
The general paused, considering her suggestion, and then began to shuck off his vambraces.
"Fair enough. Talk."
He was going to make this difficult. Ashildr could already feel it coming. She didn't want to offend him if she could avoid it, he didn't really deserve her anger for being trapped in this situation with her. At the same time, she didn't want him to have any illusions about where she stood on things. Ashildr opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, unable to find words to say exactly what she wanted to say. Delicacy had never been her strong point.
I never wanted it to be you I was married to, but now that we're stuck with each other . . .
"I need to know what you expect from me," she settled on at last.
Galmar chuckled dryly with little humor as he started on the straps of his cuirass. He shrugged.
"Dangerous question for a man to hear from his wife. People have been marrying since the dawn of time. I don't guess it'll be that hard to figure out as we go."
"Fine," Ashildr snapped at last, her patience at an end. She sighed. "I'll tell you what I think, then. This isn't what I wanted and I'm sure it's not what you wanted either, but here we are. The way I see it, there's no reason we can't do this civil, like barracks-mates. You respect me, and I'll respect you. We'll keep up the show in public so no one's the wiser, but otherwise we stay out of each other's way. If you look for comfort elsewhere, that's none of my business, all I ask is that I don't have to hear about it. Sound reasonable?"
Galmar said nothing, but she noticed that he tossed his leathers aside a little harder than before. She waited for the retort.
"That all?" he asked, glancing up at her as he moved on to his thick, spiked greaves.
His expression was deadpan and inscrutable. Ashildr nodded silently, disturbed by the evenness in his tone and bracing for whatever it was he was about to say. Galmar straightened and tossed the greaves on top of his cuirass before walking past her towards the door as casually as if they had been discussing the weather.
"Good. I don't know about you, but I could eat a horse."
Ashildr watched him go incredulously, but he did not turn back. Of all the reactions she had expected, that was not one of them. She knew how to negotiate, how to cope with anger in a patron or a comrade, and how to protect herself if it came to violence. She could almost deal with this marriage business if she looked at it as just another contract. It would hardly have been the most foolish thing someone had asked her to do for her gold. But, how could she negotiate with someone who wouldn't even name his terms?
Eventually, Ashildr descended the stairs. Ulfric's steward had sent them a meal from the palace kitchens as a homecoming gift, correctly guessing that the newlyweds would not be set up to cook just yet. Despite the good food, they endured a dinner in dead silence.
This was, if possible, going to be worse than she had imagined.
~~0~~
Ulfric had granted them a few days leave from their duties and insisted that they take it. Otherwise, Ashildr would have been back to work immediately the following day - anything to keep from having to be alone with Galmar. The housecarl had ridden off with his pig of a brother to hunt in the hills to the west, which was a temporary relief, and so she occupied herself with organizing her belongings in the newly furnished rooms, stocking the larder, and going through her growing collection of arms and armor to clean and stow them in the new armory. Galmar's belongings were delivered from the Palace around noon and she walked around the satchels and bundles, trying to decide whether or not she should delve into the contents to unpack them. Eventually, Ashildr decided that he could sort them out himself later and had Calder help her move them into the armory and out of her way.
"I don't mean to pry, Thane," Calder said, grunting as he dumped the last of the load. "It's none of my business, of course, but I didn't think you cared much for Stone-Fist."
She had never said as much, but Calder was perceptive and it was clear that he had picked up on her feelings about the marriage.
"He's a decent man. I don't dislike him," she explained, before admitting with a sigh, "This is . . . convenient. For other people, if not really for me."
Calder nodded awkwardly and then scratched his dark brown growth of beard, embarrassed on her behalf.
"If there's anything I can do . . ."
"Just treat him as you would me, for now." Ashildr shrugged, but she was touched by her housecarl's concern all the same. "If he gives you too much trouble, let me know and I'll deal with it."
"I'm your housecarl, even so," Calder assured her, frowning. "Husband or not, if it goes wrong-"
"I know. And thank you. Let me handle it for now."
Galmar returned late in the day with Rolff in tow. They had been blessed with good hunting and he handed off the field dressed carcasses of an elk to Calder and gestured to a second one slung over his brother's shoulder.
"Make yourself useful," he rumbled to the housecarl. "Get those skinned and hung."
"Your day was productive, I see," Ashildr noted, making a guarded attempt at conversation. It couldn't hurt.
"Two elk and a bear," Galmor grunted, contented and seemingly in a good mood for once. "Not bad."
"Your things arrived from the Palace while you were gone. I'll see about putting some dinner together." She eyed Rolff. "I assume we'll have a guest?"
"If you'll have me at your table, missus. Or I suppose I should say 'sister' now," the ugly sot offered, grinning like the fool he was.
Not if you want to keep all your teeth intact, Ashildr wanted to growl in return, but instead she spun around and whisked into the kitchen before she could say something that she would have to answer to Galmar about later.
There were few people that she truly loathed, but Rolff Stone-Fist was one of them. The drunken lout seemed to have forgotten the beating that she had given him when they had first met and she guessed that he was just about due for a reminder.
And he's my brother-in-law now, Ashildr thought, scowling to herself as she perused her larder. The Divines have a dreadful sense of humor.
"She's a fiery one," she heard Rolff remark to his brother from the great hall as she rummaged around in the hod for kindling to stoke up the cookfire. "I bet that dragon blood makes for something special between the sheets at night, eh?"
Galmar replied in a low voice that she could not make it out. Ashildr slammed a couple of garlic cloves down on the table and chopped them unmercifully as she tried to keep her temper. Hold fast. Don't prejudice your position for the likes of Rolff.
After awhile, a simple supper of venison steaks, roasted potatoes, and grilled leaks was prepared. She sat in relative silence while her new idiot-in-law prattled about this and that and how things were going to change for the better now that Ulfric was to be High King.
"Now those elves will see which way the wind blows," he said, triumphantly, as if he had actually been involved in the war instead of just tanking himself up on mead and wandering around the Grey Quarter shouting at people and causing a public nuisance. "And they can take those greyskins over in the slums with them."
Galmar grunted as if barely listening, but Ashildr could feel the limit of her patience speeding towards her and rose sharply from the table.
"I think I'm in need of a walk."
She glance at Galmar as if he might try to stop her. He watched her, one heavy eyebrow raised, but did not interfere as she took her plate back into the kitchen and hurried out into the chilly air. As she stormed down to the Candlehearth, she groused under her breath, venting her frustrations to the night breeze.
"Show him which way the wind blows. Daedra-cursed, clod-brained, drunken fetcher. Should have knocked his stupid head clean off his shoulders the first time."
The inn was doing brisk trade that night. Ashildr ordered mead, told the serving maid to keep it coming, and found a secluded table to drink angrily at until a familiar face approached to settle down in the chair across from her.
"Something troubles you?" Erandur ventured sedately.
His dusky expression was placid, but she could detect the slight quirk of one corner of his mouth that told her he already had an idea of what was troubling her. In a stranger, it would have angered her further, but she could never manage to be angry with the priest. He knew her too well. She grimaced.
"My brother-in-law is a miserable cretin that should have had his neck wrung like a chicken long before now. My husband is . . ." she began and trailed off, making a strangled sound in her throat. "The man I wanted tossed me off like an old boot and I'm a damned fool myself for letting this all happen to me. Are you entertained yet?"
But the sarcastic question was unfair and she didn't mean it. Erandur had never been anything but a good companion to her during her struggle to defeat Alduin. He was one of the few people in Skyrim that she had come to trust implicitly, because he acknowledged his flaws and spent his life working to repair them. He refused to judge others for that same reason. The priest was too familiar with her temperament to be offended by the jab, though. He waited patiently as Ashildr sighed, relenting.
"I'm just - I don't know what to do."
"Have you spoken to him about it?" the Dunmer asked sensibly.
"I've tried. It's not like it was out in the war camps. It's harder. I don't know how to talk to that man."
Erandur chuckled and she glanced up warily as he settled back into his chair.
"Perhaps you should try listening instead, then."
He was teasing her, leavening her mood, but he meant it as well. Ashildr made a face, shrugged, and tossed back another cup of mead.
"At least we'll both be back in the field sooner or later. Maybe being apart for a while will make it easier."
They sat in silence for a few more moments as the priest studied her.
"Have you considered," Erandur began carefully, "that perhaps this is not the worst choice you could have made? That it might, in fact, be to your benefit?"
Ashildr glared at him, but she listened as he continued. The priest did often give good advice, even if it was not always what she wanted to hear.
"You spoke of your family once when we were traveling. You worried that you would end up like your father one day - disconnected from everyone and every place. Living for the next fight and the next bottle of ale. Well, you now have the chance to avoid that fate. You can make a different life for yourself - make those connections. It may not seem perfect now, but it's been my experience that perfection takes a long time to bear out. It hides in the strangest places and people."
"This wasn't my choice. I was forced into this," Ashildr began hotly, but the Dunmer's smile only broadened, his brow arching in humor.
"Were you, now? The Ashildr that I know would spit in the face of Akatosh Himself before letting someone else control her. You could be half way to Hammerfell at this moment if you chose. You could have struck out before the wedding. That ring on your finger didn't come with chains. I doubt Ulfric could stop you. Why are you still here?"
"Because," she spluttered angrily and then took a moment to compose herself, grasping the mead bottle in her hand too tightly. She breathed in deeply and lowered her voice just above a whisper. "Because they had me over a barrel, Erandur. It was this or risk even more people getting hurt. People I care about, Divines help me. Maybe Ulfric's councilors would have dropped it if I had done a runner, but maybe they would have done worse out of spite. Do you understand? Anyway, I gave Ulfric my oath. I finish what I start."
"You acknowledge that there is something more important than yourself," Erandur agreed, mildly. "You've let other people make a place in your heart, whether you like it or not."
The priest gave her a significant look and sighed.
"You're a hard woman, my friend. You've had to be in order to make it through your life. That I understand all too well, but let me tell you what it took me years to learn: love is a more persistent and irresistible force than you can imagine. You can't fight it. You can't negotiate with it. It seizes you and drags you down blind alleys and twisting paths. It empties you out until you feel that there is nothing left, only to put you back together exactly as you need to be. Love humbles the powerful and empowers the weakest of men. And, however many battles you fight, however much you harden yourself against it, you can't survive in this world without love. If there's a difference between you and your father in the end, that is what it will be. Take it from me."
He smiled gravely and placed a grey hand over her own. It was a rare gesture of comfort, something that she would never have tolerated from anyone else and only in her weakest moments even from him. He knew that.
"I have a feeling that there are forces at work here that will reveal themselves soon. Give it time. Meditate on what I've said. Trust in Mara's mercy, if nothing else."
I don't want to meditate on it, I just want it to go away, Ashildr thought wearily, but she said nothing. Erandur meant well enough and he might even be right, but he had never been married himself. His life had been dedicated first to magical study and then to Mara's service. He couldn't know what a torture this whole business was.
"I will be leaving for Dawnstar tomorrow," the priest continued gently. "If you need me, you know where I will be. You are always welcome at my sanctuary, for any reason."
She nodded, feeling helpless, painful dread creep into her gut once more. Life was moving on around her and she was still stuck.
By the time she dragged herself home, somewhat drunk still and irritable, the house was dark and quiet. Ashildr made her way up to the bedroom as quietly as she could, half-expecting Galmar to be waiting disapprovingly, but he looked to be asleep already. She undressed and slid into bed, pulling the covers up around her and staring into the rafters while she listened to the housecarl's deep, slow breathing until she was no longer sure if she was awake or dreaming.
This is my life now, she thought in the twilight before sleep finally took her.
If this was what Mara had in store for her, drinking herself into an early grave like her old man was sounding better all the time.
~~0~~
The news had to come eventually and Ashildr had tried to steel herself for it, but the announcement that Ulfric was set to wed Jarl Elisif the Fair of Solitude caught her like a punch in the gut anyway. It made sense. It was the easiest consolidation of power, though, Ashildr could not help but feel sorry for the poor girl being more or less compelled to marry the man who had killed her last husband. It made Ashildr's own prickly circumstances feel slightly less awful by comparison.
However, as plans went ahead and as the Moot approached, her restlessness grew worse. She could accept being spurned by Ulfric. There had never really been more between them than a passing flirtation anyway - the mildest of wartime dalliances - but it hurt more than she had anticipated to stand by and watch him marry someone else. It was salt rubbed into wounds that were still raw and festered from her own forced marriage.
Nothing had improved between her and Galmar. They barely spoke to each other despite eating at the same table and sleeping in the same bed. The only words that passed between them were what was necessary to complete their work. While he did not seem to be angry at her, Ashildr could feel that the housecarl was just as uncomfortable and frustrated with the situation as she was. She could not help but think that he would be as happy to be rid of her as she would be to be gone.
Finally, one afternoon as she made her way home after spending most of the day tracking down and dealing with a den of bandits that had set up a camp on one of the major trade roads, she made a decision. It was too much. She couldn't do this. She wasn't cut out for settled life, married or not. In that, too, she was her father's daughter. Erandur had been wrong with all his lofty talk about love.
Ulfric would be displeased if she left, but she had won his war for him. She had sworn to serve and she had served. He didn't need her anymore. If she left now, Galmar could get on with his life without the burden of his thorny and inconvenient bride. He could have the house and everything in it as far as Ashildr was concerned. She didn't yet know where she would go - somewhere out of Skyrim, obviously - but anywhere had to be better than the slow death of the spirit that she was experiencing here.
Calder was in the armory cleaning and sharpening his weapons when she arrived. He took one look at the expression on her face and frowned in concern.
"Something amiss, Thane?"
"No, it's fine," she told him and then added quickly, "Wait there."
Ashildr hurried up to her bedchamber and found her parchment and ink. The note she scribbled was short and to the point, outlining the barest reasons for why she had left and underscoring that they shouldn't waste their time looking for her. She didn't want to be found. She folded it twice, sealed it, and carried it back downstairs to her bemused housecarl.
"I'm leaving town for awhile this evening. Business. Short notice," she lied so that he would not ask questions and handed him the parchment. "Give this to Galmar after I've gone."
The housecarl stared at the sealed letter for a moment, tallying up the evidence at hand, and then his brow knit in concern.
"Thane-" he began to object, carefully, but she waved him off as she grabbed a travelling satchel and began shoving various supplies into it.
There was little time if she was going to slip away unnoticed and she needed to travel light. Only the essentials would be taken. Calder and Galmar could sort out the rest between them. Her housecarls in the other holds would manage on their own.
"Let me come with you," Calder was entreating as Ashildr rolled out a map and poised herself over it. "It's been awhile since I've seen some action. Road's always better with company."
"Believe me, you don't want to follow where I'm going," she rebuffed him, but as kindly as she could, as she considered what the best route out of the province would be that wouldn't put her in Imperial hands. She didn't want to go from the frying pan into the fire if she could help it.
The front door open and closed again out in the main hall and Ashildr cursed under her breath as her pulse skipped in surprise. Galmar. He was home early. Of all the damnable luck. She let the map roll shut and shoved the bag between two crates with her foot. It would have to wait until tomorrow now. She exchanged a series of silent, expressive glances with Calder, who nodded and quickly pocketed the note she had given him. Her secrets were safe with him.
Galmar arrived at the door of the armory moments later, looking for her. There was a peculiar expression on his face as his grey eyes found hers. Hesitation, she thought. A touch of self-consciousness? It was an emotion that she had never seen the confident Stormcloak general display before.
"There you are," he began, too cautiously for her liking.
Ashildr turned and faced him like a caught thief facing a guardsman. Calder's expression was blank and innocent. When in doubt, pretend you're just a stupid bastard that needs explaining to again, he'd told her once, much to her amusement. Galmar's look seemed to turn inward for a moment before he cleared his throat.
"I've got something for you. Come out here."
Frowning and wary, Ashildr followed him out into the hall. There was a burlap wrapped package laying on the table and she glanced up at Galmar quizzically. He nodded to it, confirming that it was for her, and then - to her surprise - he cracked the smallest of smiles.
Carefully, she stepped forward and pulled at the lacings that bound the package together, peeling back the rough sacking. Out tumbled folds of what appeared to be soft, thick tawny-brown animal fur. She looked up at the big housecarl again, even more confused now, and then picked the folded furs up and shook them out.
It was a thick bearskin cloak, the hide softened and worked until it was almost as flexible as fabric. The pelt had been cleverly cut to allow the enormous preserved paws and claws of the animal to drape down her chest, weighting the garment so that it hung about her shoulders comfortably. An interlocking clasp of elk antler carved into the shape of the Stormcloak bear heraldry had been added at the throat as a final touch.
"I know women usually like jewelry and fine clothes," Galmar explained hesitantly, "but I thought you might get more use out of this."
"It's . . ." Ashildr started, but her thoughts ground together in her head, trying to resolve this unexpected gift right when she had been about to walk out of Galmar's life forever. She sputtered and faltered. "It's beautiful."
He smiled again - a real, broad smile this time - which in itself was a spear-shaft to her conscience.
"It's the bear Rolff and I killed on our hunting trip a few weeks back. A big she-bear. It was almost a shame to bring her down, but she didn't give us much choice. You're not used to the winters this far north. A good cloak should serve you well this fall when the cold sets in."
Ashildr stared at him, her fingers tightening in the luxurious fur of the cloak, completely paralyzed by the generosity and suddenly feeling deeply, deeply churlish. She looked down at the gift for a long moment and then set it down on the table. She couldn't accept it. Not after these weeks of silence and pain. Not when her bag was still packed to leave.
"Galmar, I -"
He preempted, stepping towards her. She froze as his large hands fell on her shoulder, squeezing gently. Galmar was trying very hard to do this right. She could sense it. He was not exactly sure if he was succeeding, but he wouldn't back down from the attempt now.
"You didn't ask for this," he rumbled, looking her full in the eyes for the first time since before the marriage had been announced, "but I chose to be here. I'm not Ulfric. Maybe you can see fit to be happy with me anyway."
His hands trailed off of her shoulders as he headed for the stairs to remove his gear and clean up after a long day. Ashildr watched him go, thunderstruck. If he had slapped her, it would have shocked her less.
He chose this?
She thought back to the night that they had arrived back in the city. It dawned on her now how her hard words must have stung if this were not merely some unpleasant duty for Galmar. Why? Why her? Why had he never let on before now if that's how he felt? What in Nirn had happened here?
Perhaps you should try listening instead, Erandur's words echoed in the back of her mind.
Ashildr ran her fingers through the dense brown and blonde fur of the cloak - it really was a beautiful piece of work - and then briefly draped it around her shoulders. Maybe she had been too wrapped up inside her own thoughts, too focused on Ulfric and her outrage, to see what was in front of her face this whole time. She had never paused to give Galmar himself a chance to explain.
Laying the cloak down, she turned and climbed the stairs. Just as she had on their first day in the house, she entered the bedroom as Galmar was removing his armor. Instead of waiting by the door, she moved over to him and started to help him with the buckles on his cuirass. This seemed to surprise him, but he didn't object. He allowed her to help him. When he was down to his clothes, she sat the thick armor aside, and then she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. She had refused him that reciprocation at the wedding. It was a fair trade to make up for it now.
"Thank you," Ashildr told him, sincerely, as she looked up into his scarred face and steel-colored eyes, "And, I'm sorry. Shall we start again?"
He smiled then and nodded, and when his rough fingers brushed her cheek with a hint of affection, she didn't pull away.