The mood in Hjerim Manor had undergone a seachange by the time the lanterns were lit against nightfall.
For the first time since Rolff's visit, there had been conversation at dinner. Little enough of it to be sure - neither Ashildr nor Galmar would ever be great conversationalists - but it was a start. Ashildr made an effort to be companionable and was humbled to see how easily Galmar reciprocated in kind. But, her wary suspicion and bafflement still hovered at the edges of her mind and slowly crept back in over the course of the meal. The unexpected gift of the cloak and Galmar's admission of his choice in the marriage matter had flushed her out of her silence, but there was still too little information. There was still too much left unknown.
It was one thing to be press-ganged into a marriage with someone who was just as miserable with the situation as she was. It was a completely different thing to be married to someone who wanted to be there. What had Galmar meant exactly? If he had been given a choice in the matter, why hadn't she? Why would he saddle himself with the likes of her if he knew she was unwilling? Did he fancy himself in love with her and if so, why had he never given her even the slightest hint that he felt that way? If it was a matter of the heart rather than politics, why had they spent so much effort to force the issue? Or was it both - a man seeing an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone?
The more she thought about it, the more questions sprang to mind and Ashildr was at a loss. She wanted to ask him and just get it over with, but she also didn't want to upset the delicate truce that they had only just struck that afternoon. That kind of conversation could go in too many unpleasant directions. Still, she needed to know what had gone on behind her back - to really know instead of just painting an image from the available clues - if this was going to go any further. Before she could face Ulfric again and decide what was to be done, she needed to hear the whole truth from Galmar.
Weary from the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day, Ashildr dismissed Calder for the evening and took herself up to her bedchamber, leaving Galmar to some bits of routine repair work in the armory. She had washed off the dust and sweat of the day earlier, but she still felt less than clean. There was no time to warm enough water for a proper bath and so she made do with the basin, scrubbing with the astringent lye soap until her skin was pink and scoured. Her hay-colored rope of a braid was unkempt as she raked out the knots and scrubbed it clean, too. At last, sitting on the edge of the big bed, clad only in a fresh tunic, Ashildr attempted to worry a horn comb through her damp hair and stared at the ghostly reflection of herself in the dark obsidian surface of the windowpane.
She noted the hard contours of her face and paused to trace the familiar curved, silvery scar down the crooked bridge of her nose and across her left cheek. A shield bash had once bent the nasal plate of her iron helm, breaking her nose and leaving a deep gash that had healed into an ugly souvenir of the battle. It had faded and smoothed with time, but she would wear it for the rest of her life along with all of the other kisses of war that marred and puckered her flesh.
Why me? Ashildr thought skeptically, trying to see herself as Galmar might see her.
She had never been a beauty. Even before the scars, she'd been average in her looks as young women went. Her body was hardened from fighting and living on field rations for months at a time, not soft and supple in the way that men liked. Not that she'd ever had much trouble finding a willing partner to share her bedroll when the inclination arose, but then the men and the occasional woman that she had kept company with weren't that choosy. Her rough body and rougher manners had never factored into it. She had been nothing more to them than a brief reprieve from loneliness and want, just as they had been to her. That was how she had preferred it, until Ulfric had come along, anyway. But that, too, she knew now, had been only temporary.
Was it her title as the Dragonborn? People married for power and wealth as well as for love and sex. Ashildr had done well for herself in Skyrim. She owned property in each of the holds and there was enough gold in her coffers that she could live quite comfortably for a very long time without picking up a sword. Her influence, though she seldom wielded it, was undeniable. Was it social climbing? Even as she entertained the idea, she dismissed it. The Stone-Fists were an old Windhelm family, minor nobility themselves. They had roots here and wealth and influence enough that Galmar's rot-brained lout of a brother could make a public nuisance of himself day in and day out and never fear repercussion. Galmar's position was one of service, but he was also Ulfric's closest and oldest friend. He didn't need the prestige of Ashildr's name to accomplish anything and he had never shown the slightest regard for wealth.
Why, then? What was it that he hoped to gain?
She heard the door open and Galmar was there when Ashildr turned. Because of the gift, because he was trying to make this work, and because she felt guilty still, she tried to summon a smile but the gravity of her thoughts prevented all but the faintest one from escaping. This did not seem to bother him. As he moved over to the other side of the bed, she turned back to the window and awkwardly tried to concentrate on unmatting a particularly stubborn tangle. She felt that she should say something to break the silence - and there was no end to the questions that were roiling around inside of her like a swarm of hornets - but damned if she could find the words. For his part, Galmar sat down on the edge of the bed behind her with a grunt and began to remove his boots.
"We'll be marching to Solitude within a week or two," he remarked in a conversational tone.
Only a few months ago, they had been able to speak to each other without any difficulty at all. It felt like an eternity had passed since then. For the time being, maybe, if she thought of Galmar as a comrade in a difficult campaign rather than a husband in a difficult marriage it might make things easier. His comment only reminded her of other pains and problems, though. With her plans for immediate escape at a halt, Ashildr realized that she would have to be on hand for the Moot and the wedding after all. There was just no winning in this situation.
"I'd have thought Ulfric would want the Moot held here in Windhelm at the Palace," she replied, doing her best to help maintain the conversation.
It felt strange to sit on a bed together - their bed - and talk. Usually, she waited for him to go to sleep before she slipped in herself. Ashildr remembered the weight of his hand on her shoulder and the feel of the kiss and it made her uncomfortably aware that she was less dressed at the moment than she would have liked. She dragged her thoughts back to the topic of the conversation to keep them from wandering down that dangerous path.
"Ulfric wants it done to the letter of the law so there's no challenge later. The Moot's always held in the capitol and the capitol can't be shifted back to Windhelm as in ancient times until he's High King," Galmar explained. He paused, a comment to himself before adding, "And he wants the wedding held before the reinstated shrine of Talos at the temple. People need to see that it's safe now."
Ulfric's wedding. Ashildr wondered how Elisif was coping with the news up in Solitude. As the Dragonborn, she had done a few jobs for the royal court before her contract with Ulfric and it had been obvious to Ashildr from the start that the once and future queen was in far over her head. Without General Tullius to prop her up - the poor dead bastard - Elisif would have lost her throne long before the siege of Solitude. Perversely, Ashildr wondered if Ulfric would be able to charm Elisif like he had charmed her, and felt her throat tighten in anger and revulsion.
Ulfric was not a subject that she wanted to discuss with Galmar. The housecarl was not responsible for her problems with his Jarl. Still, she wondered. Galmar knew there had been an attraction, at least. He had admitted as much. I'm not Ulfric, he had told her. Had they planned this together somehow? Had she become a point of contention between them? Had Ulfric decided to let Galmar have her in order to preserve their friendship and free himself up to pursue Elisif instead? That was exactly the sort of politick thing he would do, now that she thought on it. She couldn't fault the logic of it, though the idea that she could be passed from hand to hand so easily as just another barter token of state stoked her resentment higher.
"Seems like a waste of time to me. Everyone knows they're going to pick Ulfric already. Why bother?" Ashildr replied calmly, though her spine prickled with suspicion.
"If it was up to me, there wouldn't be any of this nonsense. Ulfric has been High King by right since the moment Dead-King Torygg drew his last breath," Galmar rumbled in agreement and then yawned deeply.
Ashildr found herself watching the housecarl's reflection in the window as he stood and pulled his tunic off over his head, stretching stiff muscles as he did. Her comb sat forgotten in her hand.
Despite all the things that she had to complain about, Ashildr had to admit that she could have ended up with much worse. She knew Galmar, at least. He was a warrior like her, someone she respected, and not some weakling court fop that she could snap in half as easily as killing a chicken. She hadn't really noticed before, but he wasn't bad to look at either, seen this way. His body was solid and strong - scarred, too, like hers. She noted the livid seams that striped his sides and arms. There was a sharp mind under all that muscle, as well. She had developed a considerable respect for his tactical ability early on in their work, and Galmar was no small part of why she had agreed to take Ulfric's contract in the beginning. Ulfric's Stormcloaks had the reputation of being an unruly mob of brutes, but Galmar was different. He was disciplined. Patient. He was every bit the general that Tullius was, but with more to lose and therefore more incentive to win. Ulfric inspired the men and accepted the credit, but it was Galmar, Ashildr knew, that had made victory possible on the ground.
She had always had an eye for those qualities - tough, capable, and smart. If things had gone differently, if she had not met Ulfric first, Ashildr wondered if it might have been Galmar that caught her attention in those early days instead.
He noticed her watching him then. In the mirror-face of the window, Ashildr caught his gaze for an instant and then saw him grin a little to himself, his scruffy beard framing white teeth as he twisted his torso the other way, grunting as a vertebrae popped. He was showing off for her benefit now, she realized guiltily and snapped her eyes away from the reflection in embarrassment.
"It will suit me just fine to be back out on the road," he told her as she returned to combing. "All of this laying up in the city makes a man fat and dulls his reflexes. I have a feeling it'll be years yet before we can hang up our weapons. Can't afford to lose the edge."
The "we" in his statement - what it would mean once the fighting was truly over and she was faced with being Ulfric's "sister" and Galmar's wife for the rest of her life - ripped her thoughts back into the uncomfortable present. That would not be resolved any time soon, though. Ashildr closed her eyes and began to gather handfuls of drying hair to re-braid for the night. It was a task that required concentration, even though muscle-memory guided her hands. She had done this every night of her life for as long as she could remember and the routine was soothing. Half-way through, however, she heard the heavy footsteps on the wooden floor beside her and a large, warm hand slid gently onto her shoulder. She could feel its heat through the linen tunic that separated her skin from the hand and she flinched involuntarily. Her eyes snapped open in alarm and she found herself looking up at Galmar standing beside her. There was a question mark in his eyes that made her body tense and her stomach flutter.
Ashildr had seen enough of lust on men's faces over the years to know what she was looking at now. This wasn't precisely the same thing, but close enough. She could not read Galmar as easily she had been able to read the intentions of the rowdy men of the mercenary camps, but she knew what he was hinting towards when his voice lowered.
"You coming to bed?"
It was a different question that he wanted the answer to. She felt the hand on her shoulder squeeze gently. The thumb traced a small, light circle at her collar bone, exciting the nerves there. It felt undeniably good and her body responded automatically, suffusing her belly with warmth and tension, reminding her of how long it had been. Not since she had signed on with the Stormcloaks, the war had kept her too busy and she had been holding out for Ulfric after a certain point. Not even Ulfric had touched her like this.
Why not? whispered a small, hungry voice in the back of her mind. What have you got to lose?
But before her brain could follow that train of thought any further, a second instinctive reaction took hold and Ashildr felt her breath catch and her body jerk away as if his fingertips were points of red hot iron.
She'd been pawed at by more men than she could count over the years. Those touches, brief grappling in taverns and inns and roadside camps, she could tolerate when she felt amenable or remove - either the man or the hand - if she didn't. This wasn't the same. What Galmar was hinting at was deeper, something that she couldn't extricate herself from as easily. Though she had no reason to fear the housecarl, the touch sparked an painful instinct for self-preservation that made her pull away.
"Not yet." As she watched him cock his head in surprise at her reaction, she shook her head, collecting herself. "Wouldn't be right."
The corner of Galmar's mouth quirked upward in humor, though she noted that he didn't move to close the distance between them. That eased her a little. Her back was already nearly to the wall.
"We are married. Doesn't get more right than that from everything I ever heard," the housecarl joked as he attempted to ease the sudden turn of the conversation. An uncomfortable thought seemed to pass over Galmar's features. He continued carefully, as if feeling out the words before committing to them, "You're young, but you're not –- you must have-"
"I've done my share of carousing, let's just leave it there," Ashildr interjected quickly, saving them both the embarrassment of finishing that question. She looked up at him seriously then. "You're not asking me for a quick tumble to ease the nerves before a battle. It's different when we can't just walk away the next morning."
Galmar considered this for a moment and then he blew out a sigh of reluctant agreement, taking a further step back.
"Guess you have a point there. I hadn't thought of that."
Emboldened, Ashildr studied the man who was supposed to be her husband. Trying to discern what was on Galmar's mind was normally like trying to see what was on the other side of a mountain range, but he was as open now as she had ever seen him. He had never seemed unreasonable in all the time they'd worked together. She could seize the opportunity, lay her cards on the table, and try to get some answers and closure on all of this. It might go wrong. It might make him angry and put them right back at the beginning, but she was tired of all this cat-footing around each other. Maybe it was time to risk it.
"You said earlier that you chose this," she began, prompting him. "What does that mean?"
"I said what I meant," Galmar countered, a slightly defensive note rising in his voice. A subject he wanted to avoid, but Ashildr had come this far. She wasn't about to back down now.
"But why?" she pressed and felt the old frustration flooded back onto her too quickly. She shook her head. "If you had a choice, why didn't I? Was this your idea? Ulfric's? Why was I the last person to find out about it?"
She spat a curse under her breath, pressing her fingers to her temples as she felt the delicate balance of things begin to go awry again.
"Ysmir's beard, Galmar, what am I supposed to make of all this? I've been blind-sided and backed into a corner and I don't even know why. Tell me, so at least I know who it is I'm fighting, if not you."
More than she had wanted to say had spilled out of her mouth before she could stop it and it seemed to have struck a nerve. Galmar's expression was tight, as if he were taking care to control his temper.
Good, we can both be angry then, the petty part of her thought, but this was unfair. He had tried to make peace with her today. She hadn't meant to get angry with him again. She owed him at least the opportunity for a truce. Embarrassed at the outburst, Ashildr looked away, but she wasn't about to apologize again today. Not until someone explained all of this.
The housecarl's expression remained stern, the general in him on the surface now.
"You know as well as I do how it works for people like us," he answered her. "Orders come down - we don't always know why. We just do it and try not to get killed while we're at it. This is one of those times where you might not get to know. All I can say of it is that, when the decisions were made, I stepped forward to be the one here with you. Whatever you think of that, it's done now. We can make the best of it."
Ashildr's vision clouded briefly with fury.
After everything - everything I went through up on that sodding mountain, all the killing I've done and blood I've shed on Ulfric's account - I don't get to know?
In that moment, it was only by great effort that she prevented herself from lashing out at the man in front of her. Maybe it wasn't Galmar's fault, but he had had a part in it, clearly, and he had no intention of telling her what it was. Why? She was being stonewalled at every turn and her patience was now at its thinnest after the emotional storm of the day. The ache of a Thu'um gathered in her throat, as it did sometimes in moments of emotional duress, the Dragon Voice in her asserting its nature. Whereas Ulfric was only rumored to have Shouted men to death, Ashildr had actually done it. Her Voice could kill as cleanly as her sword. She bit it off, turning quickly and clamping her mouth shut against the boiling rage.
Not here. Not him. Galmar might deserve some of her anger, but he did not deserve violence. Not yet. She was better than that, if she wanted to be. Erandur had shown her that she could be better than that.
The temptation, though, was fierce.
When the danger had settled again, Ashildr opened her eyes. Galmar was watching her calmly. His smile was grim, as if he understood exactly what she had been holding back.
"I've got your attention now. Good. Go on, Dragonborn, if that's what you want here. We can make this work or tear each other to pieces. It's up to you. Either way gives me a fighting chance to prove to you whatever it is that needs proving. If that's what it takes, I'll go to bed bloody tonight. Lay on."
A deathly silence followed.
I owe these people nothing anymore, Ashildr thought, her fists clenching and unclenching unconsciously as she imagined slamming one into Galmar's bearded face with great satisfaction - except that the thought brought her no satisfaction as she glared up into the face of the man opposite her. I don't need this. I should leave tonight and let the whole lot of them be damned.
Would Galmar stand aside and let her go? Maybe. Her eyes flicked to her sword resting beside the bed. Even if he did let her go without a fight, she didn't believe for an instant that she wouldn't have half a regiment on her trail before the hour was out.
When another second or two ticked by and no other solution came to mind, Ashildr straightened to her full height. She closed her angry blue eyes and counted her heartbeats. A year earlier, she would have thrown herself into the fight without a second's hesitation. Now, she breathed.
I'm not that woman anymore, she told herself, swallowing her anger as best she could. I won't be that woman again.
"What do you want from me?" she asked finally.
Her voice sounded colder to her ears than she had ever heard it before. She could feel her anger crystallizing and deadening inside of her. Something she could purge later, like a nacreous pearl.
Galmar's shoulders relaxed just the tiniest amount and Ashildr realized that he actually had been expecting her to strike him.
Even if I wasn't better than that, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"For you to treat me like a partner in this, at least, instead of some unwanted house guest," he replied and scowled. "No ring can make you mine, whatever the priests or the law says. You don't have to fawn over me. You don't have pretend you're happy with all of this. Just don't sidestep around me like one of those damned Thalmor with their word-games and their tricks. I'm not your enemy. If you'd stop running away from me, you'd see that."
The jab at her courage struck deep and Ashildr felt her temper surge again, finding herself taking an aggressive step towards him before she could stop herself as she snarled.
"I am not afraid of you."
As much as she had learned to control her temper, there were limits and she was reaching them quickly. What would Ulfric think when they walked in with bruises tomorrow?
Sod what Ulfric thinks.
"Prove it, then," Galmar shot back with equal intensity and there was a note of triumph in his voice.
Ashildr realized her misstep too late as the housecarl scoffed back at her.
"You killed the World-Eater, so dealing with me should be nothing, Dragonborn. You're not afraid of me? Then give me a month. An honest month. Eat at the same table. Sleep in the same bed. You don't go out of your way avoid me. You talk to me when you have something on your mind. Each night before we sleep, a kiss. No more than that, on my oath to Talos. There are things I can't tell you, oaths I've made that I can't break, but give me a month to show you what I'm about here. If a month passes and you still can't stand me, you can ride out those gates without all this sneaking around. I'll give you a good day's head start before I break the news to Ulfric and take the fall myself."
Ashildr blinked at him, feeling a skittering, prickling sense of dread run across her scalp.
"You've known I was planning to leave."
"I wasn't born yesterday. Just because you pretend I don't exist, doesn't mean I don't pay attention to you," he retorted sharply and then he relented. His voice was tired, but his gaze remained trained on her with a dragon's intensity. He meant this. "A month, Dragonborn. Ashildr. If you're not afraid."
Glaring at him so hotly that she was surprised he didn't burst into flame, Ashildr ground her teeth and considered the offer. It was a cheap trick that he was baiting her with and she knew it. She didn't believe for an instant that he would just let her go so easily without Ulfric's sanction. He was crafty and he didn't care how he won as long as he won. She couldn't blame him for that, having worked off of the same philosophy for most of her life, but she didn't like being on the other side of the equation. After everything that had been said tonight, she didn't want to back down in front of Galmar either. This way, at least, Galmar would have to take some of the blame when she disappeared.
"A month, then," Ashildr agreed grudgingly. "But I'm gone whether you or Ulfric like it or not. I'm done being Ulfric's pet Dragonborn. If they meant you to be a leash, you're not a strong enough one to keep me here, at any rate."
"We'll see about that," he replied, satisfied with the victory and then he took a step towards her.
She jerked backwards, forgetting that she was right up against a wall, still primed for a fight. Galmar only grinned at her.
"You promised me a kiss, Dragonborn. Backing out already?"
"You've had yours and more than that for the day."
"We hadn't struck the deal yet."
He was right, technically. Ashildr's lip curled, annoyed, but in the end it would be more trouble than it was worth to refuse. It was just a kiss. She'd put up with worse.
With disdain, she straightened and stepped back towards him, coldly turning her cheek as if expecting to be slapped rather than kissed. Instead, Galmar ran his fingers into the hair on either side of her face, his rough palms on her cheeks, and laid a surprisingly gentle kiss on her forehead at the hairline. Ashildr bristled back at him anyway. She jerked back the moment he released her, drawing a chuckle from the big housecarl as he moved back around to his own side of the bed.
"Good night."
Flustered and denied any other avenue in which to vent her emotions, Ashildr shook her hair angrily out of the half-braid she had gotten started before the argument and blew out the candles. In the dark, she sat down on her side of the bed and waited, hearing Galmar settle into his side. She did not want to sleep next to him. She wanted nothing more than go down to the Candlehearth for the night so she would not have to look at him or hear him. But it was late and she had promised this much. She would not go back on her word.
One month, beginning today.
Finally, when Galmar was settled, Ashildr lay down and moved as close to the edge of the bed and away from him as she could. One month of pretending and then she could leave without having to sneak away.
One month and I'm done with this, and the Daedra take me if I ever trust a client again.
~~0~~
Her initial suspicion that Galmar was going to press his advantage as far as possible did not materialize as Ashildr expected the following morning. She awoke, startled from a restless sleep by the bed shifting as he rose. In the half-light of dawn, she stared up at him bleary-eyed and blinking as her brain tried to claw itself back into unwilling consciousness. Her dreams had been confused and painful, full of violence, rage, and loss. With Galmar standing there looking at her, his face bathed in the thin bluish light that filtered in from the windows, she momentarily forgot why she was angry with him.
"Ulfric will want you up at the Palace this morning," he reminded her, as the particulars of last night's argument returned sourly to her thoughts. "Might as well go together and start the planning over breakfast."
He was the last person that Ashildr wanted to be near, but - irritatingly - there was nothing in his suggestion to find fault with. Besides, she had a bone to pick with Ulfric once business was out of the way. Now that the cat was halfway out of the bag, perhaps she could coax Ulfric into finally telling her the whole story since Galmar would not. Feeling on edge about it already, she rose and began to prepare herself for a long day.
The walk to the Palace was mercifully a quiet one. Ashildr had expected Galmar to try and goad her into talking, but her acquiescence to simply walking by his side seemed to satisfy him. When they arrived, they found the Palace in a state of furious cleaning. Repairs of all kind appeared to be underway and every inch of the great hall had been scoured spotless. Preparations for Ulfric's inevitable coronation, no doubt, Ashildr thought. The long table was already set for the morning meal and they had only a few minutes to wait before Ulfric appeared. He seemed in good spirits today and pleased to see both of them there together. As they took their seats at table, Galmar at Ulfric's right-hand and Ashildr at his left across from the housecarl, she felt the bitter bile of disappointment rise in her throat again.
I should never have taken that oath of loyalty, she scolded herself, unable to stomach anything more than a bite or two of bread. I should have kept my own council and left the minute the job was done.
She could forgive Ulfric for leading her on. He had been embroiled in a difficult war and had needed her help. It would hardly be the first time a wartime romance had unceremoniously deflated after the treaties were signed anyway. Truth be told, it was the ideological seduction rather than the romantic one that she resented the most. Never in her life had she allowed herself to come to believe in a client's cause before this. It was both unprofessional and dangerous. Take their gold and don't get involved in the politics, that was the rule. But, fool that she was, she had let Ulfric's conviction and his vision – and, no doubt, the handsome cut of his features – get to her. Before she knew it, she had been fighting for Ulfric himself rather than just for his coin. Tullius had tried to tempt her with a sweeter deal to switch her allegiances there when the tide started to turn, but she had decided to remain loyal. And this was where loyalty had gotten her.
I should have taken the Imperial offer, Ashildr told herself, grumpily. There wouldn't have been any of this bullshit with Tullius. I could have retired a rich woman and let the world pass me right on by.
Except that Ulfric would be dead now if she had. And, likely, so would Galmar, Ralof, and dozens of other Stormcloaks that she had gotten to know. The Thalmor inquisitors would still be running around torturing and executing Talos worshipers and the Empire would still be a crumbling shell of its former glory, raping its provinces for all they were worth in a doomed attempt to rebuild itself. And she knew already what the quiet, slow little death of a rich retirement felt like.
"You've been quiet this morning, Dragonborn," the Jarl remarked, snapping Ashildr suddenly out of her dire thoughts.
She looked up to find Ulfric's gaze resting on her. His expression was mild, but she could tell that he was scrutinizing her, trying to determine what she was thinking and why and whether it was something to be concerned about. Her eyes flicked to Galmar, but he didn't look up from his plate.
I wonder what you'd say if I just blurted the whole sorry mess out right here and now, she thought, but that would help no one. Angry as she still was, Galmar hadn't earned that.
"When you've a moment, there's something I want to talk with you about," she replied to Ulfric. Galmar looked up at that, but Ashildr refused to acknowledge his gaze. If he had something to hide, let him sweat about it. "Privately."
The Jarl glanced between his two chief officers for a moment, his pleasant expression falling slightly, before cautiously nodding.
"Of course, Dragonborn. Once we have the plans for the Moot out of the way."
The rest of the morning was spent going over the reports from the field, deciding on a route that would not take them near any of the trouble areas where remnants of Imperial forces were thought to be hiding, and putting together a sufficient force to ensure that Ulfric would be protected on the road and arrive in Solitude in suitable military splendor while leaving none of the vulnerable posts undefended. There was not a single Jarl now who would stand against him at the Moot, but the people needed to see Ulfric as a High King. A display of force was warranted, especially with Solitude still under marshall law to quell the chance of an uprising by Imperial loyalists and Elisif's supporters. The wedding would follow the Moot quickly, and provisions would also have to be made for a much slower and less defensible return journey as they would be laden down with civilians. In addition to the Jarls, who would be making the trip to Windhelm for the coronation, Elisif and her servants and baggage would be travelling with them as well.
At least I have some hope of escaping this mess, Ashildr told herself with cold comfort as she listened to Ulfric's plans for the wedding and coronation. Elisif doesn't even have that much of a chance.
Finally, but not before Ashildr had developed a pounding headache, Ulfric stood from where he was hunched over the map of Skyrim and stretched.
"That should be good enough for today. Galmar, send the orders out to the appropriate commanders to get their men ready. Have Jorlief begin working out the supplies and the porters for the journey with the garrison quartermasters." He turned to Ashildr. "And you had something you wanted to discuss with me, I believe."
Ashildr nodded, glancing at Galmar as he moved past her towards the door. Their eyes met for a moment and she noted the solemn look on his face. He gave no indication that he was angry at her for what they both knew she was about to do. It was more an expression of sufferance, as if he knew it would fall to him to pick up the pieces once it was all over with. Or perhaps that was just her sleep-deprived paranoia playing tricks on her. Either way, she waited until he was out of the room and then shut the door behind him.
"That serious, then, is it?" Ulfric chuckled. A joke, but an uneasy one.
What is it you think I'm about to say? she wondered as she turned around to face him, taking a moment to reassess the man she had risked her life to make king.
Ulfric was still handsome. His blue eyes were still intense, his smile still rakish. Once upon a time, she had been infatuated with those things, but everything was different now. From the way he held himself, she could tell that he saw her differently now, too.
Are you worried that this is some sad eleventh hour romantic gesture? Are you worried that I've finally worked it all out and I'm here to revenge myself? Is it a kiss or a knife in the back that you're expecting?
"I've been thinking," Ashildr said, galvanizing her voice into action with some difficulty.
It had been a long while now since she had actually been alone with Ulfric and she was suddenly reminded of that. She was angry at him. She felt betrayed by him. However, in a way that was practically unique to Ulfric, it was the hurt of it more than her natural inclination towards anger that rose to the surface now.
"There are some things I need to know before we leave for Solitude."
To his credit, Ulfric's expression did not change, but Ashildr was familiar enough with him to see the wheels turning in his head, thinking three steps ahead of everything she said to find the best response.
Just tell me the truth, she thought at him, tired of the game. That's all I want to hear. Haven't I earned that much?
"If I'm able to, I'll be happy to put your mind at ease," he replied, diplomatically.
O r you'll spin a good enough story to do the trick.
That might have been unfair. As far as she knew, Ulfric had never explicitly lied to her. She had no reason, aside from his political machinations, to disbelieve what he said. Already, Ashildr regretted being here. If Ulfric had, in fact, had some sinister purpose in all of this, then he would be just as capable of lying about it. Even if he told her the truth, what could he say that would not just make it worse?
Give me what I need to leave this place angry enough to be free from you, at least.
"I want to know what happened leading up to the betrothal with Galmar," she said and continued, clarifying, before he could respond. "You told me it was a gift. Your advisors told me that it was a political necessity. Galmar won't tell me anything at all, except that he volunteered for it. He seems to think that it's a state secret or something. I just want to know why – when it seems like everyone else under the sun knew about this – no one asked me what I thought about it."
"You were in the field at the time," Ulfric began apologetically and Ashildr shook her head to interrupt him before he continued on all too predictably.
"If that was it, Ulfric, you would have waited. I'm not as smart as you, but I'm not that simple," she replied, invoking the familiarity of his untitled first name.
He didn't exactly recoil from it, but Ashildr could sense the Jarl's discomfort rise. She had moved the discussion from mere business to the personal realm and that was dangerous territory for them right now. She shook her head, unwilling to let him off the hook.
"I'm not the politician that you are, but I do know when I've been set up. I'd have understood if - well, I understand why some things just aren't possible, I'll say that. Fair enough. But why the marriage? Why Galmar? Why all the secrecy? What was so urgent that you couldn't warn me ahead of time?"
She could hear the rawness creeping into her tone and looked away, embarrassed. This was already not how she had envisioned the conversation going and she fought the urge just to tell him to forget it, that she was tired and not herself, and walk away. Judging by Ulfric's expression, there was no walking away from this now, though.
He contemplated her for too long of a moment and then he sighed as if choosing not to take offense.
"I can't really blame you for seeing a conspiracy here," he acknowledged sympathetically. "You have a tactical mind. Naturally, you look for connections. It could have been handled better, I agree. I forget your background sometimes. I should have prepared you for the possibility that once - well, you're nobility now, you know. Royalty, when the coronation is out of the way, even if it's an adoptive title. That carries certain responsibilities and obligations. I'm not exempt from them either. I have to marry Elisif, you see."
He smiled weakly at her with more than a little regret evident.
So, you're not looking forward to your wedding either, Ashildr thought, but willed herself not to feel sorry for him. It was his own fault and she had already put too many of her own feelings on the table. Manipulating feelings was Ulfric's specialty.
"My advisors told you half-truths. Appearances have to be considered. I can't have any rivals for my position and neither can Elisif if this peace deal is to work. It's better if there are no loose ends for my enemies to take hold of. There are some concerns. Elisif is younger than I am and will likely outlive me. If we have no children – always a possibility – then you and she will be my closest heirs. The adoptive tie is as strong as I can make it under law. You have all the rights of precedence as if you'd been my natural sister. I have no other living family to contest the crown aside from you if the worst should happen. Even if I leave an heir, I'm not a young man anymore and there's a fair chance that a child of mine could come to the throne very young. Someone needs to be on hand to keep Elisif in check. To be the High King that Skyrim deserves, I have to think about what's best for my people, even beyond my death."
"And marrying me off to Galmar? How does that help Skyrim?" Ashildr challenged, though she already knew with a sinking feeling that she was going to lose this argument just as she had lost to Galmar.
She hadn't come here to listen to a reasonable explanation. She wanted to be angry at him, to fight about it, to have something to reinforce her intention to leave. Not this.
"I trust Galmar with my life and with all that I have. If something should happen to me, he's the best man to help you keep Elisif off of the throne and make sure that all the blood that was spilt driving out the Imperials was not in vain. He's the man most likely to benefit you and least likely to fight with you for power if you one day take the throne in my place. I have no doubt Elisif will try to use certain facts to her advantage, and this is the best way to protect both of us from allegations of scandal," Ulfric explained sensibly and his expression creased with wry humor. "It could be worse, Ashildr, you know? Skald had made some inquiries and most of my advisors thought that he would be the ideal choice. He's fanatically loyal. You would have been off to Dawnstar instead of here in the court causing a ruckus."
"Skald?" Ashildr exclaimed incredulously, the immediate and visceral disgust she felt at the thought of Dawnstar's elderly prune-faced, sour-tempered Jarl as a husband overriding her other objections.
Ulfric laughed at her revulsion.
"You see why I wasn't keen on telling you until something had been decided. I like you too much to subject you to that horror, but Skald's of a certain temperament himself. I wanted to put him off gently. The last thing I needed was for you to offend my staunchest supporter in a fit of pique, no matter how well deserved," he replied and then shrugged. "Besides, Galmar saved me the trouble of finding an excuse by asking for the privilege himself."
"I bet he did," she replied, peevishly, but the energy to remain angry was fading fast and she settled for one last acidic jab. "How much wergild did you pay him for that?"
"Is it really so hard for you to believe that the old bear might just like you? You two are more alike than you think," Ulfric observed, amused.
He smiled at her- his real, affectionate smile not the tight-lipped, composed expression of a Jarl. Ashildr frowned, annoyed that he knew how to wrangle her so easily. He shook his head.
"At any rate, you shouldn't blame Galmar. The decision was mine in the end. I won't say I'm not envious of him. If things had gone differently - well, at least someone got what they wanted out of this arrangement. If I had to give you up, then at least I could give you to a man who cares for you and was looking out for your interests in this. There's no conspiracy here, Dragonborn, just the necessities of rulership whether we like them or not. I can't tell you all of what happened, but believe that I've spared you from the worst of it. If you ever need to know the rest, you'll find out. Pray to the Nine that day never comes for my sake."
Ashildr did not know what to make of that last, ominous statement, but it was clear to her that the discussion was over. She nodded and excused herself, walking back out into the main hall feeling drained and exhausted. Galmar was talking to Jorleif nearby and she saw him look up, immediately searching her expression for clues as to what had passed between her and Ulfric. Promise or no promise, she had done all the talking she could stand to do for the day. She left the hall without comment and walked home, feeling as if her body was weighted down with lead. How long had she actually slept last night? Two hours? Three? She hadn't had a good night's sleep since the wedding and there was no pressing business today. Some rest would do her good. Maybe then she could make some sense out of the quagmire that had become her life over the last few months.
as soon as she reached Hjerim, Ashildr went up to her room. The bed was still rumpled from where she had forgotten to make it and, after disarming and kicking her boots off, she curled up in the mess of blankets. A deep sigh bled out of her and disturbed the dust motes dancing in the narrow strip of light from the windows.
Her bed smelled like Galmar, even when he was not there. He was in her life for good or ill now.
Ulfric was set to marry Elisif, which neither of them wanted but which was necessary to keep the peace. She had married Galmar, which Galmar had apparently wanted even if she hadn't. And somehow, if Ulfric was to be believed, this was the best case scenario for all of them. Against her better judgment – whether he deserved her trust or not – Ashildr found that she did believe him. At least, she believed his intentions.
What a milk-drinker I've turned into, she thought, closing her eyes, to be convinced by a little sentimental talk and a good story.
But she was too tired even for self-ridicule. A deep sense of sadness overtook her a moment before sleep did.
I suppose I did get a better end of the bargain than you, though, Ulfric. At least my ball and chain wouldn't rather see me dead.
~~0~~
The hour was late and the moons high outside the windows by the time Galmar came home. Though Ashildr's duties were more flexible, he was Ulfric's housecarl and required to be on hand at any time of day. Now that he was no longer living at the Palace, his daily schedule had gotten more complicated.
Ashildr was sitting at the table in the main room when he arrived, making use of the greater light in the main hall while working loose a few stubborn rivets on one of her greaves so that she could replace a strap. There was no way she could pretend that she had not seen him, a reflexive thought by now even though she had agreed not to avoid him anymore.
Truth be told, Ashildr was tired of hiding anyway. Galmar was right. There was no point in prolonging the misery. The conversation with Ulfric earlier had taken all of the fight out of her. Now, she just wanted it to be over. She wanted to decide to leave or not leave, but to know which it was going to be and get on with it.
"You're back late," she observed and glanced up in acknowledgement, fulfilling their bargain, as he closed the door behind him.
Galmar moved further into the hall and removed his helm, smoothing back his greying blond hair. With a clear view of his expression now, she could see that he looked tired. The lines on his face seemed deeper and more prominent. It was easy to forget that Galmar was quite a bit older than she was. No one would guess his age from the way he tore across a battlefield, but the weight of years caught up with everyone after a long day.
Sympathy for a comrade softened her. Ashildr understood that feeling of utter mental exhaustion all too well.
"There's food prepared in the kitchen," she offered. "I'll warm a plate for you if you're hungry."
"There was a dispute that went on longer in the court than it should have. I ate up at the Palace," he explained, but there was a note of gratitude in it.
He knew that she was trying to ease his burden and welcomed the change.
Galmar laid his helm down on the table and slipped the baldric that held his axe in place over his head to lean it against a chair. He was regarding her with a curious expression and, not knowing how to respond, Ashildr nodded and went back to worrying at the rivet. The house carl settled onto the chair across from her with a grunt and she could feel him watching her from underneath his bushy brow. A longer moment passed.
"Did you get your questions answered this morning?" he asked finally.
Ashildr paused in her work.
Do we have to do this again tonight? she wondered, but simultaneously she knew that neither of them had the energy for another near brawl. She sensed that Galmar wasn't trying to start an argument. It was almost as if he was waiting for something - some sign that would tell him how to move forward.
Ashildr laid down the chisel and pretended to inspect the underside of the piece of armor so she would not have to look at him.
"I guess I did," she admitted as calmly as she could. "Most of them. As many as I'm ever likely to."
From the corner of her eyes, she saw his bearded chin tilt, shrewdly.
"Still angry?"
Am I angry? Who is there to be angry at anymore? She sighed.
"No. I don't like it, but I understand better what was at stake. I understand that you just threw yourself into a breach that already needed to be filled, so I guess I can't hold it against you either. Ulfric should have told me -you should have told me yourself - but I can't blame you for keeping your oaths or sparing me a worse fate."
"Still planning on leaving?"
She would not look up at him. Not least because she heard the softer note in the statement and it hurt something inside of her that she knew had been sore and bleeding for a very long time.
If you care for me, just say it. If you don't want me to leave – for yourself and not just for Ulfric – tell me. If I'm breaking someone's heart, I should know.
Ashildr toyed with the ragged strap and frowned. She had promised to speak plainly with him, but if Galmar couldn't bring himself to say what was on his mind either how could she?
"I don't know."
That seemed to be enough of an answer for him. Galmar rose and circled the table. She didn't turn as he passed by her, even when he stopped next to her and laid a hand on her back. The warm weight of it seemed to weigh heavier tonight, but she didn't flinch him away this time. He laid a kiss on the crown of her head, lingering for a moment when she did not resist. She didn't want to fight tonight. It would solve nothing to continue this domestic war with him, bargain or no bargain.
Anyway, there was something in the touch tonight that soothed a little of the rawness of the day - like when Erandur had touched her hand in the Candlehearth - and she was in no position to refuse comfort whatever the source.
"Don't be up too late," Galmar told her and left it at that as he turned to climb the stairs.
Ashildr waited till he was gone and then leaned forward, pressing her face into her palms. It had been a very long time since she had cried- long enough that she couldn't even remember it. She would not cry now, though her eyes stung and threatened for reasons beyond her understanding.
I can't leave, she thought, remembering the look on Ulfric's face when he had told her it would be up to her to keep Skyrim free if he died. It can't all have been for nothing. And I can't stay either.
She could not stay for Ulfric without it being for Galmar now, too. Galmar deserved better than this mess, anyway. If Ulfric was to be believed, then all he had done was try to make the best of a bad situation and all she had done was thrash and struggle. Not without reason, but still. Somewhere along the way over the last year, she had lost the callous self-interest that would have allowed her to just to walk away from either of the men in her life with impunity now.
Is it really so hard for you to believe that the old bear might just like you? Ulfric said in her mind.
And if that was true? What other reason could there be?
Shivering slightly, Ashildr set her work aside, rose from the chair, and blew out the candles for the night. The fire was banked. The house was quiet. Somewhere up above, she could hear just the smallest of sounds as Calder turned on his mattress in his room. She crept up the stairs as silently as possible so as not to wake anyone with the noise.
Galmar was just settling into bed when she arrived in their bedchamber. He watched her as she prepared for bed, but he turned his gaze upward into the rafters as she lay down next to him. The bed creaked its protest and went still. Ashildr stared up into the too quiet darkness as well, listening to the man next to her breathe and think along with her.
"Galmar?" she asked, finally, knowing that she would be up the half the night again if she didn't at least try.
"Hm?" came the guttural reply.
In the dim moonlight from the window, Ashildr could see the gleam of an eye as the housecarl turned his head to look at her. The prickling outline of his bearded chin was visible in the anemic light, she could see the solid curve of his chest under the covers.
"If I stay and there was nothing between us beyond what there was back in the war camps – comrades, I mean. Friends, but sharing a bed and a table and a job. Would that be enough for you?"
"No," he rumbled in response without even having to think about it, and she cringed as she understood the underlying implication. He sighed. "But better that you stay, whatever the reason or terms, than to wander lost out there."
He rolled onto his side away from her and Ashildr closed her eyes, feeling the hollowness in her chest return.
Lost.
That was an adequate term for what she was feeling - what she had been feeling for a long while now. Maybe the realization had just taken twenty odd years to catch up to her.
Turning her head, she looked at Galmar's broad back, noting the way that the moonlight highlighted the contours of his body and glinted off of his coarse salt-blonde hair. She did not huddle at the edge of the bed tonight as she usually did. The warmth of his bare flesh was only an inch or so away from her own and Ashildr became acutely aware of it - of him - there so close to her that she could turn onto her side and reach out to him. She could wrap her arms around him if she wanted to and share his warmth. He would let her. He had told her that already in so many ways.
Would it be so hard to give him that much? she asked herself.
But the image that was conjured in her mind's eye of his skin against hers, his breath hot on her neck in the darkness as their limbs and bodies twinned together, made her shiver and heat at the same time. She had never been afraid of what a man could do to her - not in battle nor in bed - but thinking about Galmar in that way frightened her as no other such encounter ever had.
It's different when you can't walk away, she remembered telling him.
This was longest that she had ever slept next to any man, she realized. Let alone one who might have some sort of feelings for her.
Would it be so terrible, for once in her life, to let that be enough?