A/N - A belated, special thank you to NukaColaQueen for being an extra set of needed eyes and for being generally awesome. Her reviews serve as reminders to get cranking out additional chapters. So, here we are. Inspiration for this chapter was granted by the awesome song, "Peace" by O.A.R
Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim or any of its components, characters, etc. All of that belongs to Bethesda.
"So, tell me, when and how did you find him?"
"In Solitude...I knew that if he had survived the caravan ambush, it would have been his ultimate destination. It took me about a week and a half to make it to Skyrim's border, and then four days to make it to the capital. I rested more on that trip that any I had taken before, as morning sickness had its way with me, and I chose to travel on the roads. I was too afraid to go off the beaten path, as the thought of battle had put a real fear into me. I was in no shape to defend myself."
Lokir's hand ceased moving, and she took it as her cue to continue. "I rested overnight in Bruma before crossing into Skyrim, and it was there, from the mouth of a traveling merchant, that I heard the first real evidence that he was alive. Before that, it had been nothing but contradicting rumor and innuendo."
"What made you believe the merchant?"
"I knew of the man from my time spent living in Bruma, and he had the reputation of being honest."
The scholar's eyebrow rose at the mention of her stay in the Cyrodiil city, but she shook her head, dismissing it, "That's a whole other story, Lokir. Let's finish this one, shall we?"
The younger woman sighed in unison with the etching sound that her writing made as it flowed onto the paper. "Fine. I'll have to remember to come back to that. How did your reunion with Ulfric go?"
"Well enough. As you know, my coronation was on the first of Rain's Hand, which was just two weeks after arriving home."
The scratching ceased, and she watched Lokir place her pen down on the parchment, staring at her with a look of mixed contempt and playfulness. "Is something wrong?"
"I thought we had come to some sort of understanding on one another," the girl offered, her body language radiating agitation.
"We did."
"Then why do you think that you can just brush over the question that I asked."
"I answered you."
"'Well enough' is barely an answer."
"It's better than nothing."
"So, you're making the decisions on the story now? Well, since you think yourself the scholar, there is no need for me or my input."
The staring match began, and she honestly lost track of time, so she had no idea how long they sat each trying to unhinge the other. Lokir really did remind her of her headstrong self in a lot of ways, and right now, she could see the flaw in her own tenacity, her younger-Nord version meeting her stubbornness pound for pound. But, age really did bring wisdom, and she knew when she was beaten, fair and square. "Fine, Lokir. I didn't give the details you asked for because I was hoping to avoid doing so."
"Why?"
"They are personal memories…"
"And the rest you have told were not?"
Tears brimmed in her eyes, "No, they have all been personal, and it's been very difficult to relive them and think of him, even after the weeks that have passed. But, of all the moments that I remember between me and my husband, these are the ones that I most cherish. Call me greedy, but I wanted to keep them to myself."
Lokir's frown softened, and she tilted her head to the side. "You did tell me I could ask any questions I wanted…"
"I did, and I will honor my word."
Shaking her head, the scholar spoke, "No. You don't have to tell me, if you choose not to—tales that are forced are hollow. But, you did tell me that you wanted the truth of your love known...and I believe these are important details."
Meeting the scholar's gaze, she stared her straight in the eye, "You only wish to know for the story's sake?"
"No, I want to know because I am curious. Any scholar or author worth their salt is involved deeply in their work, and I am definitely invested. That's why I fought you on this. I am simply doing my job, but Talos help me, you could make a whore feel badly for taking a man's money."
She smiled at her companion, some of the weight in her heart lifted at the knowledge that she could trust Lokir with her memories. "Pick up your pen, Lokir, and try to keep up…"
ᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃ
She followed the Guard Captain of Solitude in silence, ignoring the inquisitive stares of the handful of servants they passed in the hallways. None questioned them, which is the very reason why she had asked for Emund when announcing her presence at the gate. The green watchmen at the Blue Palace's entrance had not recognized her, but their leader had, and the young Nords had looked like they were going to vomit from anxiety. They hadn't believed her claim, probably assuming that she was a drunken, rambling bum; but, she really didn't blame them—she probably looked a hundred times the hell she felt.
"Would you care to rest before seeing the King, Stormblade? I can have water and food taken to your room."
She smiled, the thought of her "room" in the castle a mere nod to proper appearances, as she had never spent a single night in its bed. "No. The news I have for the King cannot wait."
Her companion nodded, continuing their progress through the castle, and the absolute truth of her statement and the hilarity of her situation made her chuckle behind him. She really didn't need the chaperone, but she was grateful; the Guard Captain's presence was more than ample to quell any suspicion on the part of the guards, most of whom she did not remember or recognize after her time away.
He brought her to the ornate door at the end of the passage and motioned toward the two guards on post outside, "Sigfuss, Eadgar. Stand down."
She nodded at the two men, and addressed the officer, "Thank you, Captain."
"My pleasure, Stormblade. And welcome home."
She stepped through the door, and as it slowly closed, she could hear Emund command, "The King is not to be disturbed tonight, by anyone."
Talos love the man, because he had thought of the one thing she hadn't asked for—privacy. Luckily for her, Emund had been in Ulfric's service for quite some time, and probably knew enough and suspected much more of her relationship with the High King. She would happily take any moments she could get with her precious husband, but she would prefer these first to be theirs and theirs alone.
Moving along the small entry hallway, she rounded the corner and stepped through an archway that led into the bedroom proper. Eerie, all was quiet, and she was surprised to find that his chamber was empty. The bed was still made as neatly as the maid had left it that morning, but the desk was a different story. Its condition was proof that her lovable but messy husband was nearby—the writing surface was covered haphazardly in parchments and maps of all sorts, some rolled and some not. Upon closer inspection, she found a quill sitting in its ink jar and copious notes scratched in a familiar scrawl. Some of the letters toward the end still looked damp, so she knew he had been here recently.
She started toward the patio doors, knowing his penchant for the night air, when the faint and distant sound of splashing water caught her ear. It had traveled from further down the hallway, originating from the bath house. "My King has the most perfect timing", she muttered out loud to herself as she sauntered down the hall, dropping pieces of her riding gear carelessly as she went. The connecting walk was short, but it gave her the opportunity to strip to her underclothes. Down a small flight of stairs, the doorway grew into an arch that led into a large open room with vaulted ceilings. In the center, a large stone bath was dug into the ground, huge gray rectangular slabs of granite forming its walls and bottom. No matter how many times she saw the amazing concentric blocks, they still called to the perfectionist in her. Braziers softly lit the room from its corners, the popping and hissing of burning wood a distraction, until her eyes found him. All else was forgotten and deemed unimportant as she gaped at the specimen in the pool. The strong, rugged shoulders of her soul mate rose out of the water, his sun-kissed hair sticking wetly to the back of his neck as he broke the surface. Before she could speak, her tongue struck slow by the demonstration of his beauty, his voice boomed, "This had better be important, Ormar."
The corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk, and she watched tiny tracks of liquid slide down his spine before she finally spoke, "It is, but I am not your steward."
He spun to face her in the pool, ripples of waves forming in circles around his midsection. His eyes were wide, like a great mirror, and she could see terror and disbelief reflected in the crystal blue orbs. Awestruck, he whispered, "Feren?"
Of all the ways their reunion had played out in her mind during the arduous journey back to Skyrim, she had never thought of a fearful reaction—something was horribly wrong. Hands at her sides, she stepped toward him slowly, lifting each foot carefully, afraid that he would bolt like a cornered animal. The ramp into the pool was steep, and her toes gripped into its grooves as she felt the warm water lap first at her ankles, and then her calves. Pausing, she grabbed the hem of her underdress and pulled it up over her head, tossing it behind her.
She watched him carefully for a reaction, and when he didn't move, she dared further down the ramp, her knees and thigh muscles singing in glory of the liquid surrounding them. His eyes never left her, and she could see his irises tracking the sway of her hips as she approached him. She stopped when she stood flat on the bottom, the water level brushing the underside of her breasts. He could be no more than two feet from her, and yet he took no action.
His unresponsiveness was unsettling, and she began to crack, worry clawing up from her stomach into her throat. Her arm moved through the water, and it broke the surface with a delicate splash. Tiny droplets dribbled from her fingers as the tips reached desperately for his face, "Ulfric…"
She barely got his name out before he grabbed her wrist, pulling her flush against him in a watery bear hug. Instinctually, her arms went around his neck and her legs went around his waist, locking behind him at the ankles, their bodies fitting together like a key turns in its lock. He held her tightly, his face buried in the crook of her neck and shoulder, as the sobs he released echoed off the rock around them. Stuttering between tears, he managed, "You...you are here. I thought madness had finally taken me, that I could hallucinate and see my beautiful wife…"
Her fingers massaged his scalp as she whispered softly in his ear, her own tears rolling down her cheeks, "I am real and I am home, my love. I will never again leave your side."
Minutes passed before the sounds he made quieted, and she felt the rising of his chest become steady, but his grip on her never loosened. His voice, usually so strong and full, broke and shattered like fragile glass. "News out of Valenwood was scarce, and little of it good. All we knew was that Eralos' army had struck and won, but with very heavy casualties. Days upon days ticked by with no word from you, and I…"
She brought her hands down to rest on top of his shoulders, using what meager leverage she had to put a little space between them. Dipping her head, she met his bloodshot gaze as he stared at her with such reverence she almost started crying again. "I'm alive, Ulfric...so very much alive…"
Talos help her, she could not resist her carnal desire to prove to him just how much she felt right now. Weightless, giddy with freedom, she felt nothing upon her shoulders, no sense of obligation or lives depending upon her decisions. After years of duty, the levity in her heart was strange but so very welcome. Her nails raked gently along his cheekbones, tilting his face up towards hers, and she playfully kissed his nose. "And so are you..." she teased.
Groaning, he warned her, "I've never taken a woman in the water, Feren, but I will tonight..."
Before she could respond with a smartass remark, his left hand came up between them, bringing hers with it as he stared at it inquisitively. "What happened?"
She had no wish to dwell on those details, but she owed him an explanation. She kept it brief, "One of the Thalmor booby-trapped himself. Some sort of fire-explosion spell…"
His fingers traced the outline of the mostly-healed burns on her hands and forearms, and she managed, "It was quite the lesson on charging mages in hand-to-hand combat…"
His eyebrows furrowed together, "You charged him?"
"He was lame...down to one arm."
"A mage is never to be underestimated, unless you have rendered him mute."
She nodded in agreement, and he asked, "How bad was it?"
"That doesn't really matter…"
He was having none of her dismissal, as his voice boomed and reverberated through the cavernous room, "How bad was it!?"
"I was out for fifteen days. The Eldess was nearby, and she tended to me almost immediately."
Ulfric's skin was ashen, his fingers trembling against her flesh, "I dreamed of you, and when I woke, my every conscious thought was devoted to getting well and getting back to Skyrim and you."
He brought her hands to his lips, gently brushing them against each and every scar. "You are never leaving my sight again."
"Agreed, but the pain and our sacrifice was all worth it, Ulfric. There is freedom in Valenwood, and hope for its people. I would change not a single decision to achieve this outcome."
A smile, his cheeks dimpled, "The words of a born leader...of a queen, even."
Pursing her lips, she rolled her eyes at him in mock annoyance, "I haven't forgotten my end of our arrangement. But, there is more you need to hear... "
Ulfric looked at her, eyebrow raised in curiosity. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, before she began, "My time in Valenwood gave me the first opportunity that I have ever really had to be surrounded by others of my own kind. I learned things about myself, that I don't know that I would have here in Skyrim."
Apprehensive and a little put off, she could see the emotion written plain in the set of his jaw. "Go on…"
"Elves can live hundreds of years, Ulfric, and Nords just a hundred at the most..."
His rich laughter caused her to pause, and she peered at him with annoyance as she playfully smacked him in the chest. He managed, "If you're going to give me a biology lesson, I can think of better subjects."
"I am trying to explain to you…"
He put a fingertip over her lips, and it took every ounce of resolve she possessed to not slip it into her mouth. "I am well aware of the fact that you will outlive me by hundreds of years, Feren."
Her husband was no fool, and she had known that, but she could not help her instinctual response. "But we have never spoke of it."
"Would talking about it change anything? I have told you before, and I decided long ago, that I will gladly take whatever precious years you would give me."
"Forty, at the most, Ulfric. That is all that we can hope to have."
He shook his head, and for the first time in all her days, she feared that she may have disappointed him. "Forty glorious years, Feren. Ask me if I would trade one day with you for a millennium without you."
She shook her head, and he chided, "You will not ask me, because you know my answer. You are a cunning strategist when it comes to battle, but you plot too far ahead in life, Feren. No day is promised past today to anyone, be they Nord or Mer."
His echo of her own statement to Eralos haunted her, and her voice barely registered, "The Thalmor mage offered to extend your life in bargain for his."
The words hung over them, and he closed his eyes, his lips moving slowly, "You refused him…"
Tears streamed down her face, her shame warming the tiny orbs as they trickled down her chin. Her chest heaved as he held her against his sternum, "We could have had hundreds of years, Ulfric! Hundreds! And I…"
"You did what had to be done, Feren. If you are looking for forgiveness, I cannot give it when there is nothing to atone for."
A howl of pure frustration came from deep within her, and she pounded her fists against his shoulders. All of her rage and disappointment came to the surface, the self-loathing bared for the choice she had made of her homeland over her husband. "Why?!" she screamed, "Why did I have to choose?"
There was no quarter in his tone, "Horribly difficult decisions are left to those who can stomach them. You made the right one."
She crumpled against him, the admission too much to hear. Her confession had started out of need for him to know about her betrayal, and in the end, he had refused her plea on the grounds that she had committed no sin. She did not agree with his assessment, but there was little that she could do to change his mind. "I never feared death. Not as a child, scrounging around in the filthy alleys of Solitude, nor in the battles that I have fought in two countries. But, I am petrified of yours."
"I've cheated death so many times, Feren, that I am simply thankful that I have made it this far in life. Skyrim is free, and I have made love to the woman who I intend to grow old with. For a Stormcloak, that is a fulfilled life, and at my very core, that's all that I am..."
Her lips landed on his before he could finish. Leave it to her brilliant husband to point out the detail that she had obviously been missing, that she should simply be grateful that he had found his way to her. She shivered as she realized how many times their lives could have gone down different paths, roads that would not have ended in their union. She would learn to live in the now, while being thankful for the past and hopeful for the future.
He broke away, smiling, "We all go on to Sovngarde at some point, my love. If I go first, know that I'll be waiting."
"Sovngarde is for the Nords," she grinned.
"Sovngarde is for the mightiest of warriors. Most just happen to be Nords…"
Despite it all, she laughed, the aloof grin he wore daring her not to chuckle. "I guess that means I get in…"
"Of that I have no doubt."
"If not, I'll just kick some dead Nord ass until they let me in."
Calloused fingers lifted her chin, until she was eye to eye with him. "Shor himself would surely welcome you. You are a warrior queen of Skyrim in spirit and in heart, and soon, in name."
Little did he know, but the biology lesson was not over yet. Hope, the little life inside of her was proof that such a thing existed, and she would spend not another minute wasting the gifts the Nine had seen fit to grant her. Leaning in, she rested her forehead against his, his beard tickling her lips, "But I'd be nothing without you. A queen, a wife, a mother...all impossible."
The four longest seconds of her life ticked past before he caught on. His hands found her shoulders, somewhat gently shaking her, as his voice hit an octave she did not think it could, "Mother?!"
She could hold back the giddy laughter, but her smile spread like wildfire. "Yes, Ulfric. I'm carrying our child."
She watched his face go from anxious curiosity to ecstatic glee, "You're pregnant?"
He said the words like a question, and she nodded as the silliest grin formed on his face. "How…"
She replied, rather flippantly, "Maybe you should ask the wagon driver…"
He roared in laughter, and she joined him. "Okay... " he corrected, "Not just how...rather how did you find out?"
"The Eldess knew when she healed me. She believed I survived for the baby, but it wasn't just for our child, Ulfric. I survived for you, and for me, and for peace. The peace we deserve after so many years of sacrifice and duty."
His hand cradled her cheek, "I know not what I did to please the gods so much that they brought you into my life, Feren."
"You are one lucky bastard."
Their laughter filled the bath, and she smiled at her husband. "So, you've never had sex in the water, huh?"
"Never had the opportunity. You?"
"Can't say that I have. But, it does seem like a waste of a perfectly private bath house."
He laughed, pulling her thighs around his waist tighter. "I do not normally like to be bothered while bathing, Feren."
"Funny, but I don't remember you being so particular. In fact, I can recall interrupting you a few times, especially coming back from Stormcloak missions…"
It hit her like the payload from a catapult, the realization that even that long ago, Ulfric had wanted her. "You dirty little shit..."
She fisted her hands into his hair, pulling them nose to nose, as his breath tickled her lips. He murmured, "You can't blame a man for trying…"
"No, I suppose not. But, it's definitely time to christen this bath house…"