#ulfric stormcloak’s a BITCH

[aadroiit]

ulfric stormcloak be like

racism

[yorkshirereaper]

I’m so normal about him

[livdpear]

hottest Dragonborn that ever lived.

sexiest Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild.

cuntiest Harbinger of the Companions.

cutest Listener of the Dark Brotherhood.

prettiest Imperial who killed Ulfric and his rebellion.

baddest Dawnguard who killed Lord Harkon.

and a better fucking Dragonborn than Miraak.

[whiterunguard]

happy breaking 1k notes to my Magnum Opus

[wispstalk]

the Stormcloaks and money

ulfric stormcloak is savvy, he's probably got a hoard of Cyrodiilic gold to use for certain purposes, but being a RETVRN guy he would push to revert to pre-imperial modes of trade. actual vikings did use bullion currency, so i say windhelm has a mint. and because i love a little touch of irony, it's just like, re-punching the empire's coins that come through the city. with talos imagery. Therefore by 4E 201 there is still a good bit of business being conducted with the Empire's currency, but if you go flashing around coins that have THEIR shit stamped on it instead of OUR shit, you are going to experience previously-unknown levels of stinkeye. despite the fact that the city is reliant on it.

with all this in mind Markarth, and therefore unfettered access to its silver mines, would be a pretty big get for Ulfric. so Jarl Igmund is the biggest obstacle to uprooting the empire's economic control, which is already a bitch of a task. despite the diminished state of the empire, it still enjoys a solid grip on trade. i would also assume the empire put embargoes on stormcloak territories. ulfric has three ports (because winterhold has one in my mind-palace) but they're not as well-positioned for importing and exporting. long, expensive, risky voyages required to reach the nations willing to let his trading ships in. Windhelm's markets would be in dire shape if not for the Khajiit caravans and Dunmer merchants in the grey quarter. so Ulfric knows damn well he cannot achieve his ethnonationalist wet dreams until Markarth is in his hands, and the Empire knows damn well they'd better hold onto it. Markarth is, of course, Ulfric's first demand during the negotiations at High Hrothgar. he could never really be a player until the Dragonborn entered the game. even if he bitches at you for being biased in the negotiations i bet he skips with glee all the way down the 7,000 steps. i'm still thinking through the possible consequences but i imagine the ripple effects would be significant.

[moodcrab]

Fixing Skyrim's Main Quest

Part One, Setting

Obviously it's set in Skyrim, but let's tweak it a bit.

Time

First of all, if there's one thing we can all agree on from Skyrim and Fallout 4 it's that Bethesda doesn't know how long 200 years is.

It's a very long time.

For reference, two hundred years back from the time of writing this Mad King George was king of England, it wasn't even the Victorian Era yet. The American Civil War was decades away from starting. The entire industrial AND technological revolutions as well as BOTH World Wars and the collapse of the British AND Ottoman Empires happened in that time, with plenty of room to spare.

It's a VERY long time!

Placing a two hundred year gap between Oblivion and Skyrim was a bad decision considering how very little actually happened. Tamriel should be drastically different, like they should have cars by now.

The major events that did happen, the Rise of the Medes, the Rise of the Thalmor, The Red Year, The Infernal City, The Void Nights, The Great War and White Gold Concordat could easily happen within one lifetime, so we're going to say the events of Skyrim take place in 4E64.

From a writing point of view, this small change makes it a lot easier to keep track of things that were a bit of a mess in vanilla, like the life of Ulfric, or the backstory of Gaius, Karliah and Mercer, which were all over the place if you were actually paying attention. It also means you can talk to people who actually remember these things happening, who were children during the Oblivion Crisis. You could even change Esbern's name to one of the younger Blades members you meet in Oblivion seeing as Esbern has the role of lore depository.

Religion and Culture

The next setting change is to remember this is Skyrim, not Cyrodiil. The Nords don't worship the Nine/Eight. In fact, the only reason the Nine/Eight exists as a pantheon at all because of the Nords stubbornness around the worship of foreign gods.

The Temple of Kynareth is now The Temple of Kyn, and Gildergleam Sanctuary is the home of Kyn's Holy Order. The College of Winterhold is no longer Hogwarts but the Chantry of Jhunal (a 'college' is a place of study, research and academia, not just a school). You might meet The Vigilant of Stuhn on the road, who don't live in a hut but a temple. Instead of a priest of Arkay in the Halls of the Dead we have priests of Orkey. Tsun, a god we actually meet in vanilla but has no shrines or altars, will replace Zenithar. And, most interesting to our story, a cult of both Alduin and Herma Mora - our two villains - gods to be placated rather than worshipped.

This said, the Imperial Cult will definitely have a strong presence in Skyrim and Talos, being an Ysmir, is particularly venerated (as is Ysgramor and Wulfharth). Yes, over the centuries the Imperial Cult and will obviously have spread into Skyrim, we can lean into this with the Civil War, putting a much bigger emphasis on the more "Imperialised" Holds siding with the Empire and the old school Atmoran Holds siding with the Stormcloaks. It never made much sense to me that the "true Nords" were more upset than the Imperials over the whole Talos situation, this change makes it so that while both sides are pissed off, one reacts with frustrating diplomacy and patience while the over reacts with stubborn honour and impulse, a more cultural divide rather than a pro/anti Talos one.

The Imperial position would be to play along with the Thalmor in the open, but to secretly fund and organise cults to other men-turned-gods and Imperial/Nordic hero gods such as Pelinal, Wulfharth, Ysgramor, Reman, Alessia and Martin, as well as the concept of Ysmir (which would actually include Tiber Septim and The Last Dragonborn). They would not openly support nor allow any arrests or persecutions of these cults by Justiciars. The Stormcloak position will remain "Fuck that bitch this is Skyrim."

Geography

This might sound crazy, but Skyrim was too hot.

No I'm kidding, I'm not so in love with the lore that I think a game of endless snow would be anything but boring. But there are some things that were cut out of the land that left Skyrim wanting. For instance there are hardly any settlements. Amber Guard, Granitehall, Nimalten City, Reich Corigate, Lainalten, Oakwood, Pargran Village, Laintar Dale, Dunpar Wall, Dragon Wood, and North Keep are all Skyrim cities that are missing from the game. Like not even abandoned ruins, they're just not there.

I totally understand there are size limitations but this is meant to be a country. It has five town sized cities and three village sized cities. And some villages. And they mostly look like Riverwood. Seriously, what exactly is the difference between Karthwasten, Falkreath, Shor's Stone, Winterhold and Riverwood, all towns from different Holds? It's like if shopping malls were made of wood.

The other thing about the vanilla settlements I didn't like was Bethesda seems to be stuck in Fallout style post apocalyptic design. Solitude has been there for thousands of years but no one has ever thought to shift these boulders from out of the middle of the street? There are ruins in better shape than Windhelm and Markarth? You can sum it up with Whiterun's Western Watchtower, which looks exactly the same after a dragon destroys it. Surely the ravages of civil war and the dragon crisis would have a bigger impact if things weren't already destroyed.

In fact, let's address the Imperial Fort situation. At the start of the game only 3 forts were occupied by actual soldiers, two of which were destroyed in the early game (Helgan and the Western Watchtower). Literally ALL other forts are in ruins and occupied by bandits or other undesirables. Consider that Skyrim is a country that recently took part in the Great War, but is currently dealing with a Civil War. Forts are not easy to build, and are insanely useful for medieval warfare. It truly beggars belief that practically none of them are maintained and fortified until the Player Character decides to get involved. To strain credulity further, many of the war camps you encounter in the wilds are literally in the shadows of major fortifications that have been left to rot. There is even a side quest to reclaim a Nord's fort from bandits, which is also a ruin. Is the implication that the man lives in a ruin? Or is it that in the short time the bandits have been there they've done a century or two of damage? Why would they do that?

Skyrim has a lot of dungeons, and a lot of quests that are basically "clear dungeon", we can't sacrifice some of this boring content for some more towns or forts, with characters, and things to do?

[matri4rch]

Miralkron/Atmora concept bc I can't decide which of the 20~ versions would go well w Ulfric. + I just wanted to draw more women hehehe

Concept: Ulfric likes giant feral witches.

Based on:

Ahhh get your f*cking dog bitch

It don't bite

Yes it do

Created at 3 in the morning and expanded into a feral witch with @omnitrash , this 6'5 beast was a dragon priestess and the second unnamed wife of Ysgramor, known only by a few Windhelm historians as the Death Jarl or the Daughter of Dragons.

Babygirl was brought back to life by imperial aligned necromancers and used as a weapon to capture Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.

After a minor disagreement that ended up with Tullius gaining a new horrible face scar and Atmora in multiple chains and a muzzle, she decides that Ulfric and his Stormcloaks might have a better living situation.

[smalllonelyegg]

me: i wonder what the elder scrolls Fandom is up to :)

The elder scrolls fandom:

me: I'm beginning to think these aren't good fandoms...

me: I wonder what the fallout fandom is up to :)

the fallout fandom: FREESIDE IS FULL OF WORTHLESS BUMS WHO DESERVE TO GET SHOT IF THEY TRY TO LEAVE! IF THEY WANT A BETTER LIFE THEY SHOULD JUST GET A JOB

me: that’s enough of the fallout fandom :)

[the-drunken-huntsman]

Hello my beloved friend :3 u should answer all the Skyrim asks for an OC of your choice :3

Stars thank you for this because as soon as I started answering it my flight got ungrounded lmao I was supposed to be home 7hrs ago

Ivarstead - How do you feel about the Greybeards and Paarthurnax?

I like Paarthurnax, I get what they were trying to do with his whole "redeemed warlord" character even though it isn't really written very well. The whole game isn't written well and the way I fill in the gaps makes me think he's pretty chill. He reminds me of the Air Nomads from atla :) the Greybeards are pretty cool. I mostly like Arngeir because he's voiced by Christopher Plumber and also because of his Lorax line hehe

Solitude - Who's your favorite Jarl? Who's your least favorite? Why these?

Idgrod Ravencrone, duh. She's the goat. Elisif is a very close second because I am very gay.

Riften - What's your favorite guild? How do you feel about their questline?

I'll be honest, I don't really like any of the guilds. The dbh is long and tedious. The thieves guild takes all the fun out of it by almost all of it just being stealing from the poor to benefit the rich. The College is so poorly written it's not even funny anymore. The Civil War is stupid on its own but it's not helped by the fact that the questline is the most buggy shit I've experienced in this whole game. The Companions are racist af and don't even have the guts to just say it point blank like the stormcloaks. The Bards College is a fucking scam. However, despite all of this, I do still have fun playing most of these questlines. If I had to pick a favorite it would be the Dawnguard because even though it's the longest of all of these, I have the most fun playing it and it's the most well written. Sorry this turned into a wall of text of me just bitching lol

Throat of the World - How do you feel about "Season Unending"?

I don't hate it as much as other people seem to but because I love just siding with tullius for everything and pissing ulfric off lmao

Skuldafn - How do you feel about dragon priests?

┐(ﾟ～ﾟ)┌ I don't get the hype for them

Sovngarde - How would your Last Dragonborn celebrate after the battle with Alduin, or would they celebrate at all?

Ooh boy, Aneis has to be literally carried down off the Throat of the World by Teldryn and Murza, the battle did such a number on her. They rent out the Vilymir Inn for a week and she just sleeps the entire time, Tel, Murza, and Endurys taking turns watching over her. When she finally wakes up she has a bit of a breakdown over fulfilling the prophecy and having achieved her destiny and not knowing what to do now. But she finally decides on pursuing her one dream she thought she could never fulfill, settling down and starting a family. So team dragonborn goes off and builds Lakeview Manor :)

[galadrieljones]

Royal! Twilight! Rocking chair!!

Thank you for the prompt ❤️ The thing I felt most like writing about for this prompt was my Skyrim oc, Osk Frostborn. This is a ship I have not written before but have wanted to write for a long time.

Skyrim | Dragonborn x Ulfric Stormcloak | Mature

Winter in the Marrow: I

Have you ever opened up a book and seen words, but not known what to do with them?

Osk sat in a hard wooden chair, staring past the fire in the Nightgate Inn. Outside, the snow had been like spikes, in her eyes and in her hair. 

The bard here was loquacious.

"Those is heavy weapons," said the bard with her hands folded around her lute. "Ebony weapons? You must be rich then."

"I'm a good smith," said Osk. 

"Well, it's your hair then. Your hair gives you away." The bard had a slight lisp. She had an accent straight from the lowlands of the Rift. She wore bright red make-up on her cheeks, a rouge made from snowberries, which felt on trend to Osk, considering what she’d seen the women wearing in Solitude in those days. She had round hips, but she couldn't have been much older. Maybe in her late twenties. "Plus you had to learn smithing somewhere," the bard went on. "From someone, right? Ebony. That's expensive juice."

"What are you talking about?" said Osk.

"I mean, your hair," said the bard. She sat down in the rocking chair beside the fire, right next to Osk. "It's long and very blond. Like, white. Looks like you were born from fear."

Osk laughed at this. "That's an old wive's tale."

"Well, maybe," said the Bard. Her hair was very red. "But you were born in the Pale, weren't you?"

Osk did not answer.

"Maybe Winterhold, I suppose. Nords up in Winterhold look nigh on as elves, I'd say. They're so old in the marrow. Lots of them come ‘round here. They farm winter crops, or they're mages. But you are not a mage I reckon. I've never seen you before."

Osk took a drink from her flagon. It was punishing and strong. Some sort of mulled wine. Or maybe not. She'd already forgotten what the innkeeper had offered. "I haven't lived in Skyrim since I was a baby."

"Where'd you go?"

"Somewhere else."

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"A lot of bards have said the same exact thing, but they don't work for themselves."

"You aren't being too kind," said the bard. She seemed sad now. She looked down at her freckled hands. "I ain't no spy. I know the bad rap we got, us bards. But I ain't no spy. I swear. I'm from Falkreath. Helgen."

"Helgen?" said Osk. She had been wrong, and she felt bad. "Do you know what happened to your town?"

The bard nodded sadly, looking down at her lute. "Mother sent home about it. She's in a bad way now, I believe. Moved to Whiterun where she lives in the inn."

"I'm sorry," said Osk. "I really am." She wasn’t trying to be a bitch. She took a deep breath instead. "I don't tell people where I'm from, okay? It's not personal. It's just like...operational security."

"What's operational security?" said the bard. "Never learned nothing like that from Talos."

"It just means, I don't know you, so no matter what you say, I can't trust you. No offense."

"Guess you must be important then, eh?" This seemed to perk her up immediately. "You like, royalty?"

Osk had come across girls like her before. Rural kinds. They took on the very disposition of their crop. Hers would have been radishes. She seemed nice.

"Not really," said Osk.

"You ain't here with the Imperial Legion, are you?"

"No," said Osk. The bard recoiled. Perhaps she'd said it more forcefully than she meant. "Sorry. Just, no."

"You a Stormcloak then?"

Osk didn't answer.

"I said, are you a Stormcloak then?" said the bard, louder. She seemed to think that Osk couldn't hear properly. She glanced around, like it was a secret. But there weren't too many others at the inn that night. Some old man orc, down in the cellar. Liked her music. The innkeeper himself had dozed off behind the counter, and there were just a handful of off-duty guards from Dawnstar, piss drunk, trading bad jokes on the other side of the room. "If you are a Stormcloak," the bard continued, "that would make sense, being in the Pale and all, so close to Eastmarch. You look real tired, ma'am. You look real beat."

They both heard a loud noise then and looked toward the door. A big man had entered, bringing with him the cold, purple bite of the twilight air. Everybody got quiet, including the drunken guards. One of them dropped his flagon, and it spilled all over the floor.

The man in the doorway shook the snow out of his enormous, expensive furs. It was Ulfric Stormcloak. He wore a heavy fur cap, the face carved right off a bear.

"By Talos," said the Bard.

Osk looked away and closed her eyes against the heat from the fire. She was embarrassed. She squeezed her hands tightly into fists as a habit. She took off her heavy leather gloves, which she had not even realized she was still wearing, until now. She didn't know what to do, or how he'd managed to track her. She had been very careful.

"Osk," he said. The relief, how he regarded her. It was confusing, like the loud clanking of his chainmail against the quiet crackling of the fire. "Osk. Thank Talos."

The whole room was staring at her, including the bard. She looked at Osk with huge eyes. She’d guessed royalty. She could not have guessed this. In any case, she got up right away to ask him if he needed something, what he would like to drink. He ordered a mead and one whole apple pie with a kindly voice that Osk had rarely heard him use with his own servants, in his Palace of the Kings. 

He came and sat in the rocking chair where the sweet bard and her radish disposition had been sitting just moments before. It was strange to consider him in a rocking chair. Seemed a place for a grandmother, or a curious bard. And yet, he came to possess it. He leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees. He said it again, more forcefully now: "Osk."

It was almost pathetic, she thought. The way he spoke to her. So she looked at him. His pale hair was matted down where his hat had been. He had the saddest eyes of any man she'd ever met, frozen solid with grief. "Hello, Ulfric," she said. "How did you find me?"

"Your horse is very recognizable," said Ulfric. "Bred by the Black-Briars. You should sully her coat if you'd like to remain hidden, Osk. Especially in the Pale."

"How do you know the Black-Briars?"

He smiled.

Osk finished her mead. It made her feel dizzy. His smell and presence were all-encompassing, and they filled up the whole room, all around her. He had this habit in the mornings, of dabbing his wrists with this kind of apple essence, made for him by an alchemist in Solstheim. It smelled of bark, and tart juices. Apples were a relic from her childhood, where she had lived, hidden with her mother on a botanical berry farm near the Gold Coast of eastern Cyrodill. He liked apples. It was one of the first things they'd shared. 

"You shouldn't be seen in the Pale," she said.

"Neither should you."

"Why are you here?"

"You said not to follow," said Ulfric, removing his gloves, as he intended to stay a while. The bard stood by with his mead and his apple pie, set it down on the table between them. Ulfric thanked her and picked up his fork and knife.

"So why didn't you listen?" said Osk.

"I never listen," he said, tucking in. “I assumed you’d know this by now, Dragonborn.”

(to be continued)

Send a prompt! - Ask Box

[quicksilverdrabbles]

Isadora: *An Imperial princess, granddaughter of Emperor Titus Mede II, sitting atop a cream horse in Helgen* ... Remind me why we have to watch this execution. It's so.. depressing.

Ramarra: *A High Elven knight, sworn to guard Isadora, seated next to her on a large Clydesdale* Because, princess, your grandfather allowed you to come here on the condition you would carry out his duties here.

Isadora: *sighs* Because he has no time for them himself. He won't even visit for his cousin's wedding.

Ramarra: I must remind you that this is better than the alternative.

Isadora: Ugh. Please don't remind me. I think at this point I would actually rather die than marry that scoundrel.

Ramarra: Point proven. Instead of you dying, you get to watch other people die in order to keep your freedom. Be glad for this opportunity.

Isadora: *watches as Lokir breaks away from the prisoners in an attempt to escape, getting shot in the back and falling to the ground* ... I'm practically ecstatic.

Ramarra: Sarcasm is not a good look on you, my lady.

Isadora: Be glad it's not my only look.

Ramarra: For that, indeed, I am elated.

Isadora: Would it kill you to ever smile to prove it?

Ramarra: It is in poor taste to smile during an execution, princess... Something Lady Elenwen clearly has not taken note of.

Isadora: Hmph. Stuck up bitch.

Ramarra: Language, my lady.

Isadora: She didn't even come to greet me when we crossed the border to Cyrodiil, and I don't think she knows we're even here. *stops, blinking in surprise* Did you just tell me to watch my language?

Ramarra: We are in the company of several Imperial generals and captains. By all means, this is a formal affair.

Isadora: *huffs, watching a captain shove a Stormcloak Soldier's head onto the chopping block* Oh yes, so formal. I love watching people be brutally murdered for the crime of defending their country.

Ramarra: Mm. Half of these people don't even know what they're really fighting for.

Isadora: That's even worse, isn't it?

*a faint roar sounds in the distance, echoing through the town square*

Ramarra: ... That sound again. *looks around, unsettled by how easily the townspeople brush it off. She raises a hand and places it on her sword hilt readily*

Isadora: What do you think it is? Doesn't sound like a regular animal.

Ramarra: I'm not too sure. *her eyes flick towards the sky instinctively* ... It isn't anything good, though. Keep on guard.

Isadora: I thought that was your job.

Ramarra: I can hardly hold your hand through every tragedy, princess.

Isadora: Hmph. And why couldn't the Penitus Oculatus accompany us? They are supposed to safeguard the royal family.

Ramarra: They are supposed to safeguard the Emperor. They could care less about you.

Isadora: Rude. *Frowns, watching as the captain escorts Ulfric to the block* That's him, huh?

Ramarra: Yes. Ulfric Stormcloak. The cause of all this. *glances at Isadora* You can thank him for such a depressing event.

Isadora: What was his motive for killing the High King, again?

Ramarra: He claims the White-Gold Concordat was unfair. I think it was a power claim.

Isadora: Hardly anything in politics is 'fair'. Just goes to show how much he actually knows.

Ramarra: Yes, well.. this is another valuable lesson for you, if you are to overtake your grandfather one day.

Isadora: Bitches get stitches?

Ramarra: Arrogant power-hungry bastards get beheaded, more like.

Isadora: Now look who has language.

Ramarra: I am not a princess.

Isadora: You would be if you'd agreed to marry me so I could avoid engagement.

Ramarra: I think I would rather die, thank you.

Isadora: Honestly you are such a-

Ramarra: Wait. *watches as the headsman raises its axe, about to behead Ulfric. A large black creature flies out from behind the mountain, swooping among the clouds before landing on the watchtower* Oh no.

Isadora: Ramarra?? What is that thing?

Stormcloak Soldier: Dragon!

Ramarra: Shit. Isadora-!

Dragon: YOL- *balls of fire rain from the sky at the dragon's cry, knocking the headsman off his feet and startling the Imperial soliders*

Isadora: AH! *her horse rears, knocking her to the ground and bolting off*

Ramarra: Isadora! *her horse stays calm, whinnying nervously at the sight of the winged lizard. She dismounts*

Isadora: Oh no, oh gods- *the dragon lands in front of her, smoke billowing from its maw dangerously* Ra-Ramarra-

Ramarra: Leave her alone! *draws her sword and swings at the dragon, ripping a gash in its wing*

Dragon: *roars, turning and snapping at Ramarra before taking flight to avoid her sword, dipping and flying erratically with its now injured wing*

Ramarra: Gods. *turns and starts walking towards the princess* Get up. We need to get out of here.

Ulfric: Not so fast. *grabs Isadora, his binds and gag gone, holding the headsman's axe to her throat* You take another step and your little princess will meet the same fate my brothers did.

Isadora: N-No, wait please!

Ramarra: You bastard- *points her sword at the Nord* Unhand her!

Ulfric: I don't think I will. *scoops up Isadora and tosses her over his shoulder, turning and running through and opening in the wall followed by several Stormcloak Soldiers*

Isadora: RAMARRA!

Ramarra: No! *tries to follow but is blocked by the wall collapsing* Dammit! Where's another way out??

Hadvar: Hey, High Elf! That dragon's burning this whole place down, we need to get to the keep!

Ramarra: Don't you fucking- *the dragon swoops down, missing her and instead making a grab for an Imperial Soldier nearby, hauling him into the air with a scream* ... Do not order me around, Imperial. I need to look for my princess.

Hadvar: As far as you know, Ulfric killed your princess the second he left Helgen! We need to either find a way out or wait out the hellfire until the dragon leaves, and then you can go on a manhunt for him.

Ramarra: ... Fine. Get inside the keep, then.

[morihaus]

man i feel like people are more likely to be grossly misogynistic and say vile things to delphine before elenwen. i feel like the only person who's ever said anything about elenwen in general good or bad is ulfric "character in the game" stormcloak who uses the M rating to call her a bitch. what is worse being an agent of a fantastical supremacist group or saying you should kill a dragon

[offense-is-the-best-defence]

There should be I skyrim mod where you can stick up 'Ulfric Stormcloak is a thalmor bitch' posters

[cogbreath]

also with ulfric something that always rlly bothered me was just the way he presented himself. like okay i KNOW this is the default jarl sitting animation/pose but it really just adds to his demeanor.

the whole time hes talking to you it feels like he just cant really be bothered to make a case for his actions and his goals. the whole time ur hearing from the stormcloaks how hes so great and such a hero and u meet the guy and he talks to you from his little bitch throne the same way ur shitty uncle talks to you from his recliner. he talks to u like hes mansplaining almost. if that makes sense. like the way they act annoyed at having to explain all this to someone like you but will also at the same time drone on and on and on never really givinng anyrhing useful just talking to hear themselves talk.

[advestager]

speedrunning the civil war questline in two and a half hours bc ulfric FUCKING stormcloak was a little bitch at the negotiating table when i tried to focus on the dragons and nothing will kick me out of neutrality faster than petty vengeance

[princessnerdslayer]

The High Queen- a Skyrim Fanfic. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The City of Kings

“You come here where you’re not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!”

Rhiannon looked around, trying to see where the angry voice was coming from. They had just walked through the gates of Windhelm, having left the horses at the stables on the other side of the bridge. She could hear the man’s raised voice before they were even through the gates.

“But we haven’t taken a side because it’s not our fight!” a female’s voice argued back. She sounded like she had a slight accent- perhaps a Dunmer?

“Hey, maybe the reason these gray-skins don’t help in the war is because they’re Imperial spies” a second male voice slurred.

At the vile slur, Rhiannon turned and started running towards the source of the voice, Breytla right on her heels. Ulfric yelled for her to come back, cursing the people blocking his way, but she didn’t listen. She turned a corner, and found the source of the argument. Two Nord men, who both looked to barely be able to stand, were leering down at a Dunmer woman, moving forward to back her against a stone wall.

“Imperial spies? You can’t be serious!” the woman cried, looking around for someone to intervene. Everyone else seemed to be studiously ignoring her, gazing anywhere but at the helpless Elf.

“Maybe we’ll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are” the first man leered, his face only an inch from the woman’s.

“Get away from her!” Rhiannon commanded loudly, pushing herself between the men and the woman. “How dare you accost a woman in the street like this? Have you no honor?”

The two Nords looked at Rhiannon, then began laughing. “She’s just a dark elf, a good for nothing bitch like the rest of them” the first man jeered, looking Rhiannon up and down. “And who are you to barge in, demanding I do anything? You’re a pretty thing, but I don’t get told what to do by no woman.”

“Obviously not” Rhiannon said with derision, wrinkling her nose. “I can’t imagine any woman since your mother has been able to tolerate you long enough to give you orders. I am certain they would start with an order to bathe.”

The men stopped laughing, instantly becoming enraged. The second man, who seemed slightly more in his cups, took a step towards her, raising his hand. “You’re probably a spy just like this one- an Imperial whore!” he raged, bringing his hand down. It was caught mid-air by Breytla, who twisted his arm quickly behind his back, popping his shoulder out of the socket. The man began wailing, and his friend became even angrier, snarling at Rhiannon as he tried to get around his friend to her. Breytla’s arm shot out, grabbing the man’s throat with one hand and cutting off his breathing, forcing him to his knees.

“Hold!” Ulfric’s deep voice roared, silencing the gathered crowd instantly. The only sounds left were the drunk’s pitiful wails, as Breytla let go of both men.

“Jarl, that bitch insulted us, and was protecting that grey-skin spy!” the first man said, pointing dramatically at Rhiannon. “And that she-ogre broke Angrenor’s arm, and was trying to strangle me!”

“It’s only out of the socket” Galmar said, running up beside Ulfric. “We’ll get it popped back in, and he’ll be on his way. Go home now Rolff, and sleep off the ale.”

“Did the Imperials cut your balls off brother?” the drunk, who Rhiannon now knew as Rolff, demanded of Galmar. “I’m not leaving until that bitch pays for what she did!”

“Call her that again, and you will be spending the week in a cell Rolff” Ulfric said, in a quiet tone that Rhiannon knew meant he was furious. “You will address her as ‘Princess’ or ‘My Lady’, and you will apologize to her for your insults. Now.”

Rolff jaw dropped, and her stared. He’d obviously realized who she was, but didn’t want to lose face in front of the people who were now avidly watching the scene. He finally mumbled what sounded vaguely like an apology, then grabbed his whimpering friend, and pushed his way through the crowd.

Ulfric turned to Rhiannon, his face like a thundercloud. Realizing she was about to be forced away, she quickly turned to the Dunmer woman. “Are you alright?” she asked, assessing her for injuries.

“I am fine” she said, staring at Rhiannon strangely. “Are you….Princess Rhiannon?”

“I am” Rhiannon said. “What’s your name?”

“Suvaris Atheron. You have my deepest thanks. I never would have expected such kindness from a Nord, much less a Princess.”

Rhiannon frowned. “Are Nords here so unfriendly to those of other races?”

“That was not the worst that has happened” Suvaris said, shaking her head. “But I will not take up more of your time. May Azura protect you my lady”. The woman bowed deeply, as Rhiannon felt Ulfric come take her arm, sweeping her away.

“What in Talos’s name were you thinking?” Ulfric thundered to Rhiannon, pacing back and forth. “Why did you get involved?”

Rhiannon frowned. She was standing in a small room off the main throne room in the Palace of Kings, one that was obviously being used for planning military manoeuvres. It had a map of Skyrim, with small flags representing Imperial & Stormcloak forces scattered across it. They had just arrived, and the Steward Jorleif had taken one look at Ulfric’s face before ushering him and Rhiannon into this room. Apparently, he was used to his master’s temper.

“I was standing up for one of your citizens- and I should not have been the only one doing so!” Rhiannon challenged Ulfric, refusing to be cowed. “Just because she is a Dunmer does not give Nords the right to treat her like filth!”

“Those thrice-damned elves should just be grateful I allow them in this city at all!” Ulfric bellowed back, coming to stand directly in front of Rhiannon. “I fought in the Great War, and I’ve seen how back-stabbing they are.”

“That was the Thalmor, not the Dark Elves! And you should not hate every person of a race just because you’ve had a bad experience with some” Rhiannon said back hotly.

By all the gods, she was a thing to behold when she was angered Ulfric thought. Her teal eyes were flashing, and she had her hands on her hips, standing an inch away from his chest. Ulfric could already feel his body responding to her nearness, and cursed himself for it. He struggled to remember why he was so furious with her, instead thinking about how easy it would be to pick her up, put her on the table and taste her.

Rhiannon gasped, watching Ulfric’s eyes darken. She had realized the blue deepened from royal to sapphire when he watched her, and she had begun to believe it was caused by desire. Though it had shocked her at first, now she found her heart racing when she saw the change, and felt an answering warmth between her thighs. She could admit to herself now that she desired Ulfric, but the thought of giving in and marrying him made her feel like a traitor to her father’s memory. And she could never tolerate this cruelty to anyone who was not a Nord.

Rhiannon realized they were staring at each other, and was trying to think of something else to say, when there was a banging at the door.

“By all the gods, what does a man have to do to get some peace?” Ulfric growled, storming over to the door and yanking it open. “What?” he barked at the man.

“Forgive me, but I have urgent news for you Jarl” he said, glancing nervously between Ulfric & Rhiannon, holding out a note.

“Please, don’t let me keep you” Rhiannon said, sweeping past Ulfric & the messenger to find Jorleif. She wanted to find her room, and hopefully a bath. She also needed time away from Ulfric to calm her pounding heart and her shameful thoughts. Because for a moment there, she had begun to wonder if giving in to these heady feelings she was having would really be such a terrible thing.

“He’s gone?” Rhiannon asked, not quite believing it.

“Do not worry princess, the Jarl will be back soon” Jorleif reassured her, mistaking her shock for worry. “Just a small border skirmish requiring his attention, nothing to concern yourself over. He left instructions that you should be allowed to go out into the city- with guards of course.”

Rhiannon was stunned- they had just arrived, and Ulfric was already gone again? She felt a flare of disappointment, both that he had left, and that he hadn’t said goodbye. Perhaps she’d mistaken what he was feeling- if he cared for her at all, surely he’d at least have stopped to say goodbye.

She wouldn’t sit around waiting for him though. She could hear Kodlak’s voice in her head, telling her to assess her surroundings to overcome her enemy. She was still a prisoner, no matter how her traitorous heart was being swayed.   

“Jorleif, can you please arrange a guard for Breytla and I?” Rhiannon asked sweetly. “I would very much like to see the city”.

“I grew up poor” Breytla said quietly to Rhiannon, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a slum quite this bad”.

Rhiannon was inclined to agree. Solitude had no slums, as the capital, it would reflect poorly on the Empire. But she had visited Markarth and Riften, and seen the poorer areas there. The Gray Quarter made those look like the Blue Palace.

Everything was tattered and weather worn. She saw multiple broken windows and doors as she passed, and it looked like the trash of the entire city had been tossed into the street. People were wary of her and her escort as she passed, and she couldn’t blame them. If this was how Ulfric let these people to be treated simply because of their race, she could not imagine how deep their resentment towards Nords must be.

It was even worse when she visited the Argonians on the docks. They worked & lived there because they were not allowed inside the city. While it wasn’t an uncommon practice in Skyrim, it still made Rhiannon’s blood boil.

“Mara help these poor souls” Breytla murmured, looking around at the gaunt faces staring at them, leeched of hope by starvation and hatred.

Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t put much faith in the gods to intervene. But she was here, and she was Skyrim’s princess. It was her duty to care for them as her subjects- and so she would.

“How much will you give me for this?” Rhiannon asked, slapping an amulet down on the wooden table of a Dunmer woman’s stall in the market.

“Hmmm, let me see” the woman said inquisitively, picking it up. She turned it around in her hand, gasping at its opulence.

Rhiannon hated the thing. It was the amulet of Mara Cidius had given her when she was 12, to secure their betrothal. It was heavy with diamonds and emeralds, the whole thing set into gold. Rhiannon had always thought it was dreadfully garish, as well as painfully heavy to wear. She only put it on when her parents had forced her to.

“My lady, I don’t have enough gold to buy this” the woman said. “But”, she smiled slyly, “I think I know someone who does”.

“Welcome my Lady” the man said, presumably Calixto from the shop’s name of Calixto’s House of Curiosities. He ushered in Rhiannon, Breytla, and the woman who had introduced herself as Niranye, waving them to a set of delicately carved chairs. He had refused the guard entry, telling him he could guard the front door if he wished. The soldier was unhappy, but didn’t want to push past the old man- some said he was a wizard. Since he didn’t want to wind up a toad or some such, the soldier grumbled but waited outside.

Niranye got straight to the point with Calixto. “The princess brought something rather exquisite to me for sale, but I fear my humble enterprise isn’t equipped to handle such a…large transaction” Niranye said with an ingratiating smile. “I thought of you immediately, as it is quite the prize for your collection. An amulet of Mara, given from the nephew of the emperor to the princess of Skyrim. And of course, I know you pay a finder’s fee for help securing such rare items.”

Rhiannon now knew why Niranye was being so helpful in helping her sell the amulet- she’d likely make more money off the finder’s fee from an eccentric collector than she could reselling the amulet. Still, Rhiannon didn’t care- Niranye deserved some reward if she could help her with her plans for Windhelm.

Calixto’s eyebrows were raised, and he practically vibrated with excitement. “That would be an exceptional addition to my collection!” he exclaimed, his eyes turning shrewd as he looked towards Rhiannon. “And I am sure we can come to an agreeable price for such a unique piece”.

“So, you’ve kidnapped a princess, nearly been executed, and then almost burnt to a crisp by a dragon” Galmar said, looking wryly at Ulfric. “It’s been a busy month for you.”

Ulfric scowled. He had received a summons from one of his commanders, telling him he was urgently needed at the border with Cyrodiil, south of Helgen. When he arrived, he had walked straight into an ambush, along with a couple of his men. Thank the gods that Galmar’s horse had thrown a shoe, so he was not with them when they were taken. When he realized what had happened, he had ridden immediately for the Stormcloak camp in nearby Falkreath for aid.

Ulfric and his few soldiers had been imprisoned and taken to Helgen by Imperial soldiers to be executed. There was a horse thief from Rorikstead also caught in the ambush, as well as a quiet Breton that Ulfric hadn’t heard the name of. He had been brave though- unlike the horse thief. The thief was a sniveling coward, trying to run away from his fate, and getting an arrow in the back for his efforts. The Breton had faced his death with courage, but as the executioner had raised his axe, a dragon had landed on the tower behind him! Dragons hadn’t been seen in the land in an age, and most weren’t even sure they were ever real. Now, one had completely destroyed the town of Helgen. It had made for a wonderful distraction, allowing the Stormcloaks to slip away unnoticed. As Ulfric and his men had left Helgen, they ran straight into Galmar bringing reinforcements. They had taken a few spare horses and ridden hard for Eastmarch, and now were only about an hour’s ride from Windhelm.

“Did Tullius have anything to say about the princess?” Galmar asked.

“Oh yes,” Ulfric said curtly. Tullius’s words had been infuriating, making him out to be a black-hearted villain.

“Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne”.

Ulfric has struggled against his gag then, to tell him Toryyg most certainly would have used the power of The Voice if he had ever bothered to train in it. That it was a skill Ulfric had learned, no different than learning how to wield a sword. And Ulfric had not usurped Toryyg’s throne- he wasn’t styling himself High King. The Moot would need to declare him High King before he ever used the title.

“And if that wasn’t traitorous enough, you’ve kidnapped the Princess of Skyrim” Tullius declared with disgust. “Tell us where Princess Rhiannon is, and we can make sure your execution goes smoothly. If not…maybe we’ll let the recruits use you for some archery practice.”

If Ulfric could have, he would’ve bared his teeth at Tullius. Pain did not frighten him; he had suffered too much in his life to be scared by torture. But he did experience a pang in his chest at hearing Rhiannon’s name. He felt deep sadness that he would not get to see her again. Never again watch as her clever mind devised schemes to run circles around those who underestimated her. Never again hear her laugh or see her smile. Never take her to his bed and learn how to please her. As he thought of his entire life, this was the only thing he truly regretted- that he would not have the future with her that in such a brief time he had begun to dream of as more than just a political alliance.

He hadn’t even said goodbye, not sure that he would find the strength to leave her again so soon if he had. He’d left instructions for her to be treated well in his city, and that if anything happened to him, for her to be returned home safely. Without him alive to wed her, there was no point in keeping her in Windhelm. He refused to use her as a bargaining chip, like she was an object to be traded. He could only hope Galmar would honor that final wish.

“I’ll be…happy to see her again” Ulfric said, trying to find the right word to describe how he felt, and failing. He wanted to hold her, bury his face in her golden hair, and kiss her till her knees went weak.

Galmar chuckled. “Aye, and I’ll be happy to see Breytla again. Hurry up and get the princess to marry you, so she’s less protective of the chit and agrees to marry me!”

Ulfric blinked. “The Blackshield? You want to marry the Blackshield?”

“Aye” Galmar said, with a dreamy look Ulfric had never seen before. “Did you see how she took down Angrenor and Rolff by herself? I’ve never seen a woman move like that before. I can’t wait to put Vanquisher back in her hands and see what she can really do.”

Ulfric couldn’t help laughing. “You are mooning over a woman because you want to spar with her?”

“You keep your delicate princess” Galmar said, grinning. “I like a strong woman. Can you imagine the warrior sons and daughters we’ll have?”

Ulfric shook his head ruefully. “Then by all means, let’s not dawdle” he said, urging his horse into a canter. “I still have to win over the princess, so you can woo her protector and have those little warriors.”

“She’s been busy” Galmar whistled through his teeth, as they walked through the gates.

Ulfric was speechless. Windhelm was buzzing with activity, and it seemed to be centered in the Gray Quarter. The smell of freshly cut lumber and the sound of hammering was abundant, spilling over into the main square. Everywhere he looked, he saw Dark Elf workers repairing homes, or building new ones where abandoned ruins had stood. The streets were clean, and broken windows and doors had been replaced.

“You think Rhiannon’s behind all of this?” Ulfric asked incredulously.

“Has anyone else arrived in Windhelm lately who objected to the treatment of the Dark Elves, and wouldn’t be afraid to go against your orders to do something about it?”

“But where on earth would she get the gold for all this?”

“Well, there she is” Galmar said, and Ulfric spun around. “Why don’t you go ask her?”

Rhiannon was well pleased as she walked through the Snow Quarter (she refused to call it the Gray Quarter). Work was coming along nicely, and already the difference in the residents was striking. Children were smiling and playing in streets that weren’t filthy. The people were laughing and joking, and even some of the Nords of the city seemed to be coming around to the improvements.

Dunmer bowed to her in the street as she passed, making her blush. She wished they wouldn’t, but it also warmed her heart that she had improved their lives enough they wanted to.

She turned to tell Breytla about an idea the chief engineer had for further repairs, when she noticed that everyone in the streets had gone quiet, and seemed to be staring at a spot past Rhiannon. Even the hammering seemed to slow and finally stop, the street falling deathly silent.

Rhiannon turned around, her heart already hammering. Only one thing could make everyone this silent, so she was not shocked to see Ulfric storming towards her, looking like he was trying to control his temper.

Not one to be cowed, Rhiannon stepped forward. “Welcome back Jarl Ulfric” she said with a bright smile. “You were gone longer than expected- I hope the skirmish wasn’t too trying?”

Ulfric looked startled at her breezy cheer, while Galmar looked to be holding in his laughter behind him. Rhiannon would have thought the moment comical, if it weren’t so tense.

“You’ve certainly kept yourself entertained in my absence” Ulfric said quietly. “Rebuilding my city”.

“Oh, not rebuilding” Rhiannon chirped. “Just repairing, repainting. Little things you know”.

Galmar couldn’t contain his laughter at that, cackling hysterically. Ulfric scowled at him, then took Rhiannon by the elbow.

“We need to talk. Now.” “Of course” Rhiannon said smoothly, jerking her elbow out of his grip. “I believe the war room is our preferred spot for these conversations?”

Ulfric raised his brows in surprise, then followed her as she strode to the palace. He ran a hand over his mouth, astonished to find he was grinning. He had to admit, although she could be infuriating, his little princess would never be boring.  

As he shut the door behind him, Ulfric didn’t look furious as Rhiannon had expected. He seemed resigned, and a bit- amused?

“Do I even want to know where you got the gold for all that construction?” Ulfric asked, sighing as he dropped into a chair and poured them both a goblet of wine.

Rhiannon was confused. She was ready for a fight between them, his calm was putting her on uneven footing.

“I sold something” Rhiannon said with a shrug, leaning back against the table. “Valuable, but worthless to me. Don’t worry, I didn’t spend any of your septims”.

Ulfric’s eyebrows rose. “Valuable, but worthless to you? What was it?”

“Nothing of importance”.

“Rhiannon” he said in warning, standing as he did.

“Fine! It was the amulet of Mara I got at my betrothal. Happy?” Rhiannon seethed. She looked at Ulfric expecting to see smug amusement at the idea of a princess pawning jewellery like a beggar. But he didn’t look smug or snide at all. In fact, he looked happier than she had ever seen him.

“Am I happy, hearing that the amulet your betrothed gave you held such little value to you that you sold it?” Ulfric murmured, coming close to her, catching a stray golden curl and looping it around his finger. “Yes, I am exceptionally happy about that.”

Rhiannon’s breath caught. She had seen Ulfric angry, and Ulfric in command, but she had never seen him truly happy before. A stray chuckle or rare smile, but never like this. It made him look…softer somehow. It made her heart skip a beat.

Ulfric leaned forward, and murmured in her ear, making her shiver. “Marry me Rhiannon.”

“To end the war?” she whispered, surprising herself by raising her hands to his chest, and looking up into his eyes.

“I think you know I want more from you than just an alliance now” he said, bringing his hand up to stroke Rhiannon’s cheek, making her heart leap. “Marry me.”

Rhiannon’s mouth opened, surprising herself by how badly she wanted to say yes. But something other than Cidius lay between them. “Ulfric, are you angry that I am improving the conditions for the Dunmer & Argonians here?”

Ulfric grimaced- he hadn’t expected her to bring that up now. “Why do you ask?”

“Answer the question Ulfric” Rhiannon said firmly, meeting his gaze. “Do you want me to stop improving the conditions for them?”

“I’m not angry, and I won’t stop you from doing this if you want to” he hedged. “But I want to be truthful with you. I won’t assist or encourage you with this.”

Rhiannon breathed deeply through her nose, and then pushed him gently back, skirting sideways towards the door. She put her hand on the handle, but then turned and gazed at him with disappointment written across her face. “You know Ulfric, you’ll never win this war if you don’t let go of your hatred.”

Ulfric stopped short- he hadn’t expected her to say that. “Why?”

“Tullius doesn’t like the Elves, or Khajit, or Argonians any more than you do” Rhiannon said sadly. “But he is clever enough to mostly keep that to himself. Even though Skyrim should be independent, he will always be able to find more soldiers- even people who don’t want the Empire will fight for him just to make sure you don’t ever become High King. Forgiveness must start somewhere Ulfric”.

He jaw dropped in surprise, as she quietly closed the door on him. Both that she had thrown his own words back at him, and that she apparently supported the cause of the Stormcloaks.