For all you Skyrim Fans!
This is a series of one-shots. Ya know? Love stories, mini stories, random ideas...
I take suggestions/requests! Just send me a comment or message. Tell me:
•Name of Skyrim character
•Name of OC and gender (or if it is betwe...
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This is that symbol btw....
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He is striking, not only in the sense that he is as skilled as a trained professional, maybe even more so, but Ulfric noted that the Dragonborn is unique in every sense of the word. He is sharp, intense, and very much attractive. There is only one problem.
Zetheer is a Wood Elf.
Ulfric knows that he fights for a good and just cause, and anyone, if they have sense, would be smart to fight alongside him. The leader of the Stormcloak Army may be an arrogant, racist, jerk, but he is also a kind and caring man. If a Wood Elf is going to fight for him, so be it.
But, by the Nine, is Ulfric more than okay having Zetheer in his company. If he wasn't the dragonborn, strong and indestructible, Ulfric would have let him in only to watch as the Elf moved through the training field like a dancer on a stage. The way his swords cut the air faster than some arrows could fly, the way his lithe body moved to escape danger at the tip of another's sword... It only made Ulfric hunger for the man to be pinned between him and a sturdy wall, his lips worrying a spot on the elf's neck until Zetheer begs for mercy.
Zetheer is absolutely and indefinitely striking in every possible way, and Ulfric was going to secure him in his arms by any means possible.
Ulfric can imagine curling his fingers around those unique horns curving out of Zetheer's head and giving them a firm tug to bring the elf closer. Zetheer would be silent as always, like he is indifferent to the situation, but his piercing eyes would tell a completely different story. Neither of them will move, both of them content on being close to one another, but then the moment will break and Zetheer will fall into Ulfric's arms. And so, when their lips finally meet, it wouldn't be meaningless. It would feel like the winning of the war, exciting and exhilarating, or maybe it would feel like home, familiar and comforting.
Nothing had ever felt more real than what he felt for Zetheer. Ulfric had never felt such an ache in his heart, nor had he ever shared a true moment of bliss with another. It had always been a scam, a Thalmor plot to break him, or just a way to relieve some tension. He may be racist, but the people who hurt him made him this way. This was the only reason Ulfric didn't jump the poor man as soon as he came strolling through the Palace of the Kings. No Elf in his right mind would touch Ulfric with a ten-foot pole. Especially Zetheer with his cold and calculating stare.
"Ulfric, would you stop daydreaming? We are in the middle of an important discussion."
It was a blizzarding, winter day when Ulfric called for a meeting at his war table. Galmar, Zetheer and himself were all eyeing the map of Skyrim with thoughtful looks. If they played their cards right, they could win this war.
"Now, are we all on the same page? Good. I say we pull our troops to Whiterun. With my skills and an army, there's no chance the Imperials can overpower us. Not after the loss of Helgen." Ulfric felt himself nodding his head.
