Ulfric Stormcloak, High King of Skyrim, sat hunched over his desk, a clutter of papers and tomes in wobbly piles at his elbow. It was late, and the castle was quiet.
Or it should have been.
“Papa?”
He sat suddenly upright and looked towards the door, where the small form of his daughter, Mari, stood in bare feet and a nightshift. A mass of honeyed curls hung in disheveled tangles around her shoulders, eyes wide and huge and green and not looking at all sorry for being caught up so late.
“You are to be abed,” he said, in surprise but not unkindly. He took in her dirty feet and the fact that the door she had entered was the door to the main hall, not the door to their personal quarters, and knew that the little imp had been sneaking around the palace and budging her damned curious, precocious nose in every dusty corner.
It was then he noticed the other child. Small, with dark skin and red eyes that looked at him with wariness and unshed tears. He recognized the daughter of the new cook his wife had recently hired. He judged her to be of an age similar to his daughter’s six tender years.
Mari’s dulcet lisp reached his ears despite her attempt at whispering. “See, I told you he was as big as a dragon.”
And then, louder, “Papa, will you tell us a story?”
She ran to his side, without waiting for an answer, and climbed onto his lap, digging her knee in his groin and slamming her head against his chin in her exuberant ascent. He groaned and shifted his position, picking her up and settling her snugly against his chest on one of his legs before she could inflict any further damage.
“Papa this is Lindiri. But we call her Lin. She fell.” Her head was bowed and she sat very still, before saying in such a soft voice he head to lean forward to hear. “It was…it was my fault. I was running in the throne room.”
He thought it brave of his daughter to confess, and he gave her a gentle squeeze before turning to the other child, who still lurked in the shadows of the doorway. He now noticed the smudges of dirt on her face and the scrape of blood on her knee.
“Lin, was it?” He held out his hand in invitation, and watched as the small waif looked to his daughter for confirmation, before slowly making her way to his side.
“What story would you like to hear?” he asked.
“My favorite is the hero of Kvatch. Or Rislav the Righteous, or the Nerevarine, who is from Morrowind like you!” His daughter shouted this last one with a great deal of excitement, gesturing towards her friend with a flourish and jabbing his side with her sharp little elbow in the process.
He grunted, and pulled her arms down. She looked up at him with a soft smile. “Mayhap we should let Lin decide?”
He shifted his attention back towards the little Dunmer girl to find that she had moved so close she was nearly leaning against his thigh, her eyes now sparkling with unguarded excitement. Before he changed his mind, he scooped her up and settled her on his lap across from his daughter. The two girls dropped their heads together under his chin and whispered for a long moment, before coming to some sort of decision.
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timeasmymeasure
Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 13/14 EPILOGUE part 1
Date: 2014-11-13 08:25 pm (UTC)Or it should have been.
“Papa?”
He sat suddenly upright and looked towards the door, where the small form of his daughter, Mari, stood in bare feet and a nightshift. A mass of honeyed curls hung in disheveled tangles around her shoulders, eyes wide and huge and green and not looking at all sorry for being caught up so late.
“You are to be abed,” he said, in surprise but not unkindly. He took in her dirty feet and the fact that the door she had entered was the door to the main hall, not the door to their personal quarters, and knew that the little imp had been sneaking around the palace and budging her damned curious, precocious nose in every dusty corner.
It was then he noticed the other child. Small, with dark skin and red eyes that looked at him with wariness and unshed tears. He recognized the daughter of the new cook his wife had recently hired. He judged her to be of an age similar to his daughter’s six tender years.
Mari’s dulcet lisp reached his ears despite her attempt at whispering. “See, I told you he was as big as a dragon.”
And then, louder, “Papa, will you tell us a story?”
She ran to his side, without waiting for an answer, and climbed onto his lap, digging her knee in his groin and slamming her head against his chin in her exuberant ascent. He groaned and shifted his position, picking her up and settling her snugly against his chest on one of his legs before she could inflict any further damage.
“Papa this is Lindiri. But we call her Lin. She fell.” Her head was bowed and she sat very still, before saying in such a soft voice he head to lean forward to hear. “It was…it was my fault. I was running in the throne room.”
He thought it brave of his daughter to confess, and he gave her a gentle squeeze before turning to the other child, who still lurked in the shadows of the doorway. He now noticed the smudges of dirt on her face and the scrape of blood on her knee.
“Lin, was it?” He held out his hand in invitation, and watched as the small waif looked to his daughter for confirmation, before slowly making her way to his side.
“What story would you like to hear?” he asked.
“My favorite is the hero of Kvatch. Or Rislav the Righteous, or the Nerevarine, who is from Morrowind like you!” His daughter shouted this last one with a great deal of excitement, gesturing towards her friend with a flourish and jabbing his side with her sharp little elbow in the process.
He grunted, and pulled her arms down. She looked up at him with a soft smile. “Mayhap we should let Lin decide?”
He shifted his attention back towards the little Dunmer girl to find that she had moved so close she was nearly leaning against his thigh, her eyes now sparkling with unguarded excitement. Before he changed his mind, he scooped her up and settled her on his lap across from his daughter. The two girls dropped their heads together under his chin and whispered for a long moment, before coming to some sort of decision.
“We want to hear about the Dragonborn.”