Child (Book 2)

Chapter 12

"So it seems I owe Galmar a drink this time." Jarl Ulfric says quietly as I place the crown on the table and take my helmet off. "Was it hard to retrieve?" I shrug.
"The draugr would've been one thing, but the Legion was there. They must've intercepted your messages, my Jarl." I explain. He nods thoughtfully.
"You're right, Unblooded. We'll have to be more careful in the future. Sofie is in the kitchen, if you'd like to see her, or you may go rest. I'll call you back here when we have new orders for you." He says, writing something on a sheet of paper. I nod and begin to back out of the room, but stop in the door.
"There is something else, Jarl Ulfric." I tell him quietly.
"What is it?" He asks. I look back into the throne room, watched by Stormcloak guards. He'll be expecting the Stormblade back any minute.
"I'm sorry, but is there anywhere we could speak privately? This information is... sensitive." He nods, his eyes darting to the throne room as well.
"Follow me, we'll go to my private quarters." He says, starting for the door to the residential wing of the Palace. 
"Why is Sofie in the kitchen?" I ask as we pass her bedroom door. If they're putting her to work like a servant, I'll have someone's head.
"She likes to help the cook." He explains. Sounds like her.
We walk to the end of the hall and up another set of stairs into a spacious bedroom with a large bed at the center. He shuts and locks the door behind us and motions for me to sit down at his table. I sigh as I sit down, glad to take the load off of my tired legs; it was not a quick trip, but I wanted to get the crown here before nightfall.
"My Jarl—" I begin.
"I wouldn't be insulted if you called me Ulfric, Novariana." He says quietly. I could certainly never call Jarl Balgruuf by his name.
"You're my Jarl, my King—"
"I would hope you'd consider me a friend before any of that." He says, pouring us both a mug of mead. I scoff, rolling my eyes.
"Don't let the Stormblade hear you saying that." I chuckle, taking a sip of the mead. "If I'm a friend, then you must call me Nova." I tell him. For the first time, I see him smile; just slightly before he  looks down at his lap. It almost makes me laugh; is this the Jarl leading a bloody revolution or a boy?
"Right. As you were saying?" He coughs, rubbing the smile away from his face. I sigh, wondering where I should begin.
"A few weeks ago, a second dragon attacked a watchtower outside Whiterun. I presume you heard about it?" I ask him; he chuckles.
"I heard that, and many things. Loudest of all, the Greybeards calling for a Dragonborn on the mountain, a Dovahkiin. I also heard that the Companions enlisted themselves to help fight the beast, and I had wondered if you were with them. Of course, I thought it could be just a rumor." He explains, idly swishing his mead in his cup.
"It was not a rumor; I was there." Ulfric's eyebrows rise in shock at my claim.
"What luck you have, to be present at not one Dragon attack, but two." He chuckles. "And did you see the Dragonborn with your own eyes?" He asks.
"I did." I confirm; I realize that even if he considers us friends, he has no reason to believe me. I have no proof to offer, other than my word.
"I've heard many stories now; an old Nord, a young Imperial, even an elf, if you can believe it. What is the truth as you know it, Nova?" He asks. I take another drink of the mead, finishing it in one gulp. Ulfric raises an eyebrow at that, but keeps silent.
"It was me," I finally say. "I am the Dragonborn." Ulfric sets down his drink slowly, his eyes never leaving me; I want to look away from the intensity of his gaze, but I can't; not if I need him to believe me. He shifts in his seat, then finally speaks.
"How did this come to be?" He asks, his voice low and serious.
"I don't know. Nothing like this has ever happened to me, nothing that would make me think that I was strange or different or—"
"A dragon?" He interrupts, his face verging on skeptical. I nod, and he sighs, rubbing his beard. "I do believe you. I've known since the time I first saw you in Helgen, and every day since, that there was something very different about you." He confirms, nodding. Some small part of me that still believes all of this must be a mistake is relieved at his words; if he could tell something strange lurked in my bones, maybe it's not all that unbelievable. "Did you answer the Greybeard's summons?" He asks.
"No, not yet. I have other things to take care of." At that, he laughs loudly, clutching his stomach.
"I suppose the Greybeards are not unaccustomed to waiting, after six-hundred years." He sighs, returning to his drink. "I trained with them for a time, as aboy. I'm sure they're chomping at the bit for your arrival, but instead you came to me first; what irony."
"You trained with them?"
"Yes; they chose me when I was just a lad." He corrects. "It was a great honor, of course, and I was to become a Greybeard myself. I spent almost ten years at High Hrothgar, learning the Way of the Voice. Then the Great War came... I couldn't stand missing it. I often think about High Hrothgar. It's very... disconnected from the troubles way down here. But that's why I couldn't stay, and why I couldn't go back. I suppose the Greybeards care about Skyrim's troubles, in their way, but I needed to do something about it. I'm sure Arngeir would call it one of my failings." He explains, smiling sadly.
"Arngeir is one of them, then?"
"The oldest and most powerful, although he may not seem so. I doubt he's forgiven me for leaving, and for, well... What he'd consider blasphemy. Using Shouts for anything but worship of Kynareth." The Jarl explains, laughing a bit.
"I had heard you knew how to Shout. I suppose I thought it was a rumor."
"Yes, although I rarely use my training. The Greybeards believe the Voice should be used only for worship of Kynareth. I have... fallen from their strict teaching, but I still don't feel it should be used lightly. Not all of Arngeir's lecturing was wasted, it seems." He tells me with a sigh, a tinge of regret in his voice. "I shouldn't trouble you with all that. You should go to them regardless, you'll need their instruction; of course when you're ready, oh mighty Dragonborn." He teases as he stands and gives me a hand up as well, ever the gentleman. "In the meantime, this information could be used greatly to our advantage. The people of Skyrim would gladly support any cause the Dragonborn did. However, I would be concerned for your safety; once the Thalmor know your identity, they'll hunt you down."
"I understood that when I decided to tell you, Ulfric. I can take care of myself, and I want to help. If anyone out there cares what I think, they should know I support your cause." I argue.
"You don't know what it means to hear you say that; it makes me feel like I'm doing something right, like I've found my gods-given destiny. I'd like to discuss it with Galmar when he returns, with your permission."
"If he promises not to get all sanctimonious about it." I say, rolling my eyes. The Jarl laughs again, loud and echoing through the empty halls.
"I can assure you he's the last person that would take up worshipping you. Now go; Sofie will want to see you. Galmar and I will speak to you when we've discussed it."