As the Stormcloaks relish in their Victory over the Empire and prepare for the oncoming Thalmor, the Dragonborn confronts Jarl Ulfric with an unconventional and slightly indecent demand.
Darkness fell over Solitude after the Stormcloak's victory, and yet the lights a noises emitting from the city didn't falter. Ulfric sat on Elisif's throne lazily while nursing a large goblet of mead that he had barely made progress on. This was a major turning point for himself, for Skyrim, and regrettably the Thalmor as well. They would turn their full attention to Skyrim now that their puppets have been expended and his worries grew by the moment as the celebration grew rowdier.
He was pulled from his concerns when a loud shattering sound resonated through the crowded Palace. Hefty laugher followed soon after, including the distinct cackle of the Dragonborn. He cringed at the sound – she was drunk as everyone else around him, no doubt. He did not recall seeing her after his speech, during which she stood like a stone statue, her face emotionless and her eyes empty.
Galmar hadn't been lying when he confessed to Ulfric the Dragonborn's unmistakable talent on the battlefield. Ulfric hadn't doubted her aptitude per se, though he was not expecting the smooth talking woman to unleash a bout of unbridled fury against Solitude.
It wasn't just the passion in which she fought that impressed him, but her technique. A lifetime in military service had exposed him to a plethora of methods in which to take down an enemy. She was excruciatingly systematic when dealing with a target as he had saw with his own eyes that afternoon. How she scaled along the walls ahead of her comrades and took down every single Imperial that she laid eyes on had been more than a pleasant surprise to him.
He glanced into the drunken, bumbling crowd of soldiers that filled the upstairs of the palace and saw her making her way through the mob, her smiling face flushed and bottle of ale dangling from her fingers. Captain Tobias – one of his most outstanding soldiers – and obviously drunk, trailed after her like a starved pup, his hand occasionally moving down to her midriff when the opportunity arose. Ulfric fought the grimace that was forming on his face. That poor lad clearly had no clue what he was getting into. He had heard tales of her sordid affairs and scheming ways but chose to ignore them. She was, after all, the Dragonborn, and the secret weapon that had won him the war; what happened in her personal life held no relevance to the tumultuous yet professional relationship they held. Though, on many occasions he felt nearly sick when he would catch glimpses of her luring both men and women into her web.
"Ulfric, what's the matter?" Galmar broke the man from his daze and rested a firm hand on his shoulder. The Jarl felt peculiarly hot then and with a quick, dismissive wave of his hand, Galmar backed off. Ulfric stood from the throne, set his goblet down on the nearby table, and made a quiet exit to the balcony of the Blue Palace. The battle and his lack of sleep had finally caught up with him, he guessed.
The rush of the cool air against his face was refreshing compared to the stuffy state of the inside of the palace. Ulfric closed the door behind him and took a seat on one of the small benches littered across the perimeter of the terrace. He sat alone in the darkness for quite some time, devising his potential strategy against the Thalmor. It was a brewing storm that plagued his every thought since the war took a turn in his favor. The victory should have been relieving to him but instead opened new doors of impending threats.
"I was trying to work out where you disappeared to," the Dragonborn slurred from over his shoulder, her proximity and the volume of her voice making him jerk out of surprise, "…came here after giving up and look what I found." She smiled and pointed stupidly at him.
