Fate's Games
(A/N: Second up Today. As shown through this character's inner dialogue, needless to say that though I adore the characters of both Ulfric and Tullius, I also despise them and almost wish there was an option to have them kill each other off. Or at least align with each other against a bigger threat. They'd make one heck of a team if they could get over their issues. Of course the enemy they'd align against, if that option were available, would probably most likely be the Thalmor. Unfortunate because I like and hate the Thalmor as much as, if not more than, I like and hate the Stormcloaks and Imperials. I certainly love to write them more. As to the timeline of the signing of the White Gold Concordant, I'm not sure how many years prior to Skyrim that was supposed to be, so I make it ambiguous as to whether the High King was physically there or his predecessor was.)
The High King
She had never met the man she was to marry, not once. It had been an arranged marriage, an alliance between their families. As she was being adorned for her wedding, terror gripped her very soul. Would he be an old man, fat, a pig? Would he be a drunk? Would he be abusive? Would he be hideous? She was only a girl, at the time of their wedding, hardly sixteen. She began to weep unexpectedly, and there was nothing any of the handmaidens could do to stay her tears. She was doomed to a loveless marriage… It had been a destiny she'd never believed she'd have, a nightmare she had suffered many times before. The life she was supposed to lead was supposed to be one of happiness, a fairy tale. She would meet a man with whom she would fall madly in love. He would court and woo her for a time and then propose to her under the starry skies. This… This wasn't supposed to happen. This couldn't be happening. She wanted to flee. She wanted so badly to run… But even if by some miracle she escaped this place, she would never escape the city; and even if she escaped the city, where could she possibly go? They would just find her again.
ES
He was young, a mere boy; only eighteen. Marriage was an institution he was nowhere near ready for. The bride was a woman he had never met in his life. It was his duty, though, to wed the maiden, regardless of what she was. What was she? Was she vile and rude? Was she a shrew and a harlot? Was she a monster of a woman, grotesque in both appearance and personality? Questions and uncertainties and fears filled his mind, and he hardly knew how to keep his thoughts in order. Perhaps he could pretend to have gone mad. The marriage would be off, then; of course he would also lose his claims to the throne. The throne, though, was meaningless if his life itself was doomed to be a living Oblivion. He had no more time to think, though, the bells were ringing, signalling the start of his wedding. He closed his eyes tightly and swallowed fearfully.
ES
She was scared as they led her towards the aisle down which she would walk into the arms of the man she was to marry. Tonight she would lose everything; tonight her innocence would be taken as she shared her bed with a complete stranger. Their marriage would be consummated in only a matter of hours and that which she so valued would be taken and given to a man she could very well despise.
He gazed down at the ground listlessly. There was no desire within him, no enthusiasm and no excitement. He felt trapped. He felt as if he were locked in some deep and dark prison from which there was no escape… Then he looked up and down the hall, and his eyes fell upon the most beautiful girl he had ever seen! His breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening. "By the Divines," he breathed in awe. Was this… was this her?
She was halfway down the aisle before she found the courage to look up. When she did she froze in place, catching her breath and paling. The man waiting for her was hardly more than a boy…! And he was certainly no hideous monster. He was well built and healthy, dashing and youthful. Her heart skipped a beat and she could hardly move until the handmaidens behind her prodded her onward. She began walking once more and soon stood next to him. She gazed into his face, her expression scared and shy. He blushed, glancing quickly and awkwardly away. The momentary intrigue vanished from them both, giving way to fear and uncertainty, and neither wanted to go through with this.
ES
It had been seven years since their wedding day. She hardly could believe she had been so reluctant and afraid. She hardly believed she had ever considered this marriage, this life, to be anything other than a dream, a fairy tale. From that very night, the marriage evening, he had shown to her what sort of man he was. She had been afraid; she had been weeping and holding her exposed body close. She had been shivering and near to panic… He had done nothing… He had stood against the far wall, not meeting her eyes, not making a motion to as much as undress. Finally, when her sobs had subsided and she had calmed herself down, he had approached and handed her over a nightgown. He had declared he would spend the night in another room. She had been too shocked to respond and he had left without a word more.
She gazed at her husband, seated on the throne now, deep in thought. "Torygg, what are you thinking of?" she questioned.
He started, shaken from his thoughts, and looked blankly over at her. He blinked, but soon enough his expression softened, a smile gracing his lips. "It doesn't matter," he replied. It was a lie, and they both knew it. The turmoil and chaos Skyrim had fallen into since the signing of the White Gold Concordant was apparent to all; and to him more than anyone else, now that he was seated upon the throne. He felt like a traitor to Skyrim; he always had.
"What happened that day is not on your head," she said.
"Elisif, if only you could understand the falsity of that statement," he replied, gently taking her chin and nuzzling her nose with his. She leaned in, taking his lips gently. Adoringly he cupped her cheek with a hand, deepening their embrace. Finally pulling away, he whispered, "I love you."
"And I you," she replied. "Why does your tone sound so helpless? Why do I feel as if this is a goodbye?"
"Because one day it will be," he answered. "Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebellion gain more and more power with each passing day. The Imperials and Thalmor become more and more controlling with every passing minute… And I tell you now that I will die; if not at the hands of the Rebel, then at the hands of the General or the Thalmor. Tullius sees me as weak, a boy King, useless, expendable. He scoffs at my very presence, and because I do not let him influence me, he despises me. Because this throne forsook Talos, Ulfric detests the very idea of a king other than him seated upon it."
"Torygg…"Elisif began.
He chuckled wryly and cut her off, dryly joking, "I would hardly be surprised if the two of them fought over my life like a pair of dogs battling for the same bone."
"You will not die," Elisif firmly and protectively declared, tears burning her eyes. The very thought that her husband could be killed… She could hardly bear the thought. "At whose hand would you rather die?" she asked finally.
"Neither, preferably. To leave you alone, to leave you a widow… I can hardly stand the thought of it," he answered.
"You give me no answer," she said.
After a long moment he looked over at her. Finally he replied, "I would proudly die at the hand of either of them with only one regret… that you would be left alone, weeping and despondent."
"That fate will not be yours," she vowed. He smiled softly at her and held her close.
ES
She wished with all her heart that her words had been true. If they had been, though, she wouldn't be here now, screaming and shrieking and struggling against her Thane, Erikur's, grasp, as Ulfric Stormcloak fought sword to sword with her husband. It had taken all of two seconds to see that the High King stood no chance against the experienced warrior. So it had been Ulfric who had beaten Tullius to the figurative bone. She supposed for that reason alone she would hate him, she would never forgive him. She supposed that for that reason alone she would do what her husband had never been compliant or willing enough to; allow Tullius to control her like some puppet.
She was screaming her husband's name, begging Ulfric not to finish him. Not that anyone could hear her shrieks. In the rush of battle, one became deafened to all else… But Torygg heard, and he glanced over to her only once, misery and regret in his eyes. He would fall any second. Sure enough the blade met its mark and he fell to the ground with a cry of pain, clutching the wound that had left him helpless. Without a moment's hesitation Ulfric shouted at her lover, delivering the finishing blows of this already won battle with his voice over and over until the young King stopped moving. In seconds it was done, and her husband's body lay upon the ground, bloodied and broken. Ulfric looked up at her only once, and for a moment she saw something akin to apology in his eyes, but as swiftly as it had come if vanished, and the man fled the palace, the guards pursuing him desperately.
She pulled free of Erikur and raced to her dead lover, falling upon his body and weeping helplessly, screaming his name over and over and over until she was pulled back by her Steward and her Housecarl. She hadn't stopped weeping since. Perhaps she never would. She wanted to die; oh how she wanted to die. She lay in her bed, a bed that now seemed so cold and lonely without him next to her, and closed her eyes tightly. She hoped and prayed with all her heart that he would die. 'He,' though, did not mean Ulfric Stormcloak. 'He' in this sense applied to them both. She was grateful to Tullius, in a sense, but she still wished with her whole heart that the General and the Rebel would die at each other's hands, because without them none of this would have happened. Or perhaps she was only kidding herself. Even if Ulfric and Tullius both fell, the Thalmor would still live. She hardly cared anymore. No matter which way this war went, she had lost already. She had lost everything, and there was nothing that would give her, her heart back…