Next to Delphine, both Brynjolf and Esbern had drawn closer.
“I hope to the Eight you know what you're doing, Del,” Brynjolf muttered, still glaring at Cicero. “The man's not just a murderer, he's an unpredictable sociopath. Who knows what he might do?”
“I know,” said Delphine, still watching Cicero fondly. “But he's useful. He's our key to getting the Brotherhood off Elisif's back, and who knows, he might be able to help with the Thalmor too. He'd definitely make a good dragonslayer, did you see the way he went for that one?” She did look up at Brynjolf then, looking a bit sheepish. “Is it wrong for me to be a bit fond of him despite everything?”
“Yes,” said Brynjolf firmly. “Delphine, the man's insane. Please. Please tell me you don't fancy him.”
Delphine laughed, shaking her head, amused. “He's a sweetheart, but I have the feeling he'd be a bit high-maintenance.” She glanced up, sly smile on her face as she caught Brynjolf's eye. “Jealous, are we?”
“What, of him?” Brynjolf snorted. “Hardly.” A pause, during which Delphine's grin never wavered, and more than a hint of anxiety crept into Brynjolf's expression.
“Del, you wouldn't. Would you?” Brynjolf asked nervously. Delphine shook her head, laughing to herself as she looked away.
“Del?” Brynjolf asked, starting to look genuinely concerned that she might actually take up with Cicero. “Del, please. Promise you won't. If you're going to turn me down, please don't let it be for him.”
Delphine reached out and squeezed Brynjolf's hand, smiling as they made their way along the road to Karthspire. No, Cicero wasn't really her type when all was said and done. But still, he had his uses. Delphine took her oath as a Blade seriously, and if her Dragonborn was threatened by the Dark Brotherhood, she'd do whatever it took to bring said Dark Brotherhood to its knees. If that meant recruiting a homicidal lunatic with an extremely eccentric dress sense, then so be it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the other side of Skyrim, in Windhelm's Palace of the Kings, Ulfric was receiving the official report of the Battle of Whiterun. Needless to say, he was not pleased.
“What do you mean, you failed?” Ulfric snapped. “We needed that city, Ralof!”
Ralof only flinched slightly at Ulfric's wrath.
“The Legion were there in force, my King,” said Ralof, standing rigidly to attention. Always best to never let Ulfric know quite how much he got to him, no matter how angry the Jarl of Windhelm got. “And... and the Dragonborn was there. Jarl Elisif. She was on the frontlines, fighting. We couldn't get close, but her Shouts felled many of us.”
Ulfric hissed. This was not good news. For Elisif to be able to do that meant the Greybeards had taught her all three words of Unrelenting Force. Which meant her Thu'um now matched his. Not that he intended to tell Ralof that.
“She cannot Shout constantly,” Ulfric growled. “Shouting leaves you weary, you cannot keep doing it. Why is it none of you got close enough to injure her? Are the Stormcloaks incapable of shooting straight now? Is there no one capable of carving a path to her? While I'd have liked her alive, I will tolerate her death. The gods can call another Dragonborn. The Empire will have difficulty finding another puppet ruler.”
“She had protection, my lord,” said Ralof softly, his voice shaking a little as he prepared himself to deliver the next blow. “The Companions of Ysgramor took the field against us – three of them at any rate, including Aela the Huntress. They didn't stray far from her side, and they cut down anyone who came near her.”
Ulfric did straighten up at that, brow furrowing. “So. Kodlak Whitemane has taken a side. I'm disappointed. I thought him a true Nord. I also thought him committed to Ysgramor's legacy and keeping the Companions out of politics. It seems I was wrong. No matter. We will retreat and gather our forces and when we attack Whiterun again, we'll take the city and then we will see where the Harbinger's true loyalties lie. Dismissed, Ralof.”
Ralof nodded and took his leave, leaving Ulfric alone with Galmar Stone-Fist.
Re: The Wolf Queen Awakens 10.14
“I hope to the Eight you know what you're doing, Del,” Brynjolf muttered, still glaring at Cicero. “The man's not just a murderer, he's an unpredictable sociopath. Who knows what he might do?”
“I know,” said Delphine, still watching Cicero fondly. “But he's useful. He's our key to getting the Brotherhood off Elisif's back, and who knows, he might be able to help with the Thalmor too. He'd definitely make a good dragonslayer, did you see the way he went for that one?” She did look up at Brynjolf then, looking a bit sheepish. “Is it wrong for me to be a bit fond of him despite everything?”
“Yes,” said Brynjolf firmly. “Delphine, the man's insane. Please. Please tell me you don't fancy him.”
Delphine laughed, shaking her head, amused. “He's a sweetheart, but I have the feeling he'd be a bit high-maintenance.” She glanced up, sly smile on her face as she caught Brynjolf's eye. “Jealous, are we?”
“What, of him?” Brynjolf snorted. “Hardly.” A pause, during which Delphine's grin never wavered, and more than a hint of anxiety crept into Brynjolf's expression.
“Del, you wouldn't. Would you?” Brynjolf asked nervously. Delphine shook her head, laughing to herself as she looked away.
“Del?” Brynjolf asked, starting to look genuinely concerned that she might actually take up with Cicero. “Del, please. Promise you won't. If you're going to turn me down, please don't let it be for him.”
Delphine reached out and squeezed Brynjolf's hand, smiling as they made their way along the road to Karthspire. No, Cicero wasn't really her type when all was said and done. But still, he had his uses. Delphine took her oath as a Blade seriously, and if her Dragonborn was threatened by the Dark Brotherhood, she'd do whatever it took to bring said Dark Brotherhood to its knees. If that meant recruiting a homicidal lunatic with an extremely eccentric dress sense, then so be it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the other side of Skyrim, in Windhelm's Palace of the Kings, Ulfric was receiving the official report of the Battle of Whiterun. Needless to say, he was not pleased.
“What do you mean, you failed?” Ulfric snapped. “We needed that city, Ralof!”
Ralof only flinched slightly at Ulfric's wrath.
“The Legion were there in force, my King,” said Ralof, standing rigidly to attention. Always best to never let Ulfric know quite how much he got to him, no matter how angry the Jarl of Windhelm got. “And... and the Dragonborn was there. Jarl Elisif. She was on the frontlines, fighting. We couldn't get close, but her Shouts felled many of us.”
Ulfric hissed. This was not good news. For Elisif to be able to do that meant the Greybeards had taught her all three words of Unrelenting Force. Which meant her Thu'um now matched his. Not that he intended to tell Ralof that.
“She cannot Shout constantly,” Ulfric growled. “Shouting leaves you weary, you cannot keep doing it. Why is it none of you got close enough to injure her? Are the Stormcloaks incapable of shooting straight now? Is there no one capable of carving a path to her? While I'd have liked her alive, I will tolerate her death. The gods can call another Dragonborn. The Empire will have difficulty finding another puppet ruler.”
“She had protection, my lord,” said Ralof softly, his voice shaking a little as he prepared himself to deliver the next blow. “The Companions of Ysgramor took the field against us – three of them at any rate, including Aela the Huntress. They didn't stray far from her side, and they cut down anyone who came near her.”
Ulfric did straighten up at that, brow furrowing. “So. Kodlak Whitemane has taken a side. I'm disappointed. I thought him a true Nord. I also thought him committed to Ysgramor's legacy and keeping the Companions out of politics. It seems I was wrong. No matter. We will retreat and gather our forces and when we attack Whiterun again, we'll take the city and then we will see where the Harbinger's true loyalties lie. Dismissed, Ralof.”
Ralof nodded and took his leave, leaving Ulfric alone with Galmar Stone-Fist.