“And drink these,” he said, softening his voice a little. “They'll help with your head.”
Elisif nodded and drank the potions he gave her, staggering unsteadily to her feet.
“I should go,” she said, sounding very uncertain.
“Yes, you should,” Madanach said, relieved to hear it because if Elisif ever did end up in his bed, he'd like for her to be sober when it happened. “Go on, go get some sleep. Your tent's the one on the left when you leave, with the dragon skull on it.”
“Right,” Elisif said, still looking a bit vacant. “Right, I'll do that. Goodnight, Mad'nach.”
“Goodnight,” Madanach said quietly, watching her go and mentally kicking himself for the conscience he seemed to be developing lately. She'd been right there for the taking, even starting to initiate things... and he'd sent her away.
Never mind. It was something. And wasn't he quite capable of playing the long game?
She wouldn't grieve forever. She'd win this coming battle and be stronger because of it, and when she finally realised that the one she'd asked to rein her in was best placed to do that from beside her... he'd be there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Late night in Windhelm and Ulfric Stormcloak was sitting in one of the upper rooms in the Palace of the Kings, mead in hand, staring out of the window, into the night, at Windhelm's streets and beyond the walls, the darkness that was the Aalto plain. The night sky blazed with aurora light and starlight and moonlight, but the ground was all darkness. There was a metaphor in that, he was sure.
“Not going to bed yet, Ulfric?”
Galmar. Fussing over him like a mother hen. As always. As it had been since he went off to fight in the Great War. After escaping the Thalmor. During the conquest of Markarth, his attempt to prove he was a mighty warrior despite the humiliation of being captured, his attempt to prove he was better than those witch-elves. Throughout his Jarldom. Galmar had been there throughout, the older brother Ulfric had never had.
“Not yet,” Ulfric said quietly. “I'm watching the Aalto.”
“There's nothing out there, Ulfric,” Galmar sighed. “It's pitch black out there. Go to bed, you'll strain your eyes.”
“In a moment,” Ulfric said, still frowning. “Galmar. The report from those scouts. That the dragons predating on travellers have gone.”
“Aye,” Galmar said quietly. “The one at Kynesgrove stayed dead for over a week, and that other one that was roosting near the Dwemer ruins was seen lying dead near Mistwatch for the same amount of time. No sign of that one near Bonestrewn Crest either.”
A good sign, that the dragons had stopped rising from the dead. But that they'd died in the first place... his men hadn't killed them. Not that he'd heard of, and killing a dragon was the sort of thing that men (and women) bragged of in barrack rooms and taverns for days after.
“Yes, but this latest report, Galmar. That the corpses have vanished entirely, but the dragons aren't flying anywhere. What do you make of it?”
Galmar just shrugged. “What of it, Ulfric. They're gone and they're not slaughtering our people and burning our Hold. We've got Imperials to fight, who cares about a few missing dragon corpses.”
“Dragons don't just vanish,” Ulfric said, brooding. No one was moving one of those creatures in a hurry, nor could anyone carve it to pieces easily. It was a puzzle, and Ulfric had never been fond of those.
He wondered if Elisif would know the answer. A Dragonborn could take a dragon's soul. Why not move the body too? Even if it did sound perilously close to necromancy.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: The Wolf Queen Awakens 29.12
Date: 2014-05-02 11:15 pm (UTC)Elisif nodded and drank the potions he gave her, staggering unsteadily to her feet.
“I should go,” she said, sounding very uncertain.
“Yes, you should,” Madanach said, relieved to hear it because if Elisif ever did end up in his bed, he'd like for her to be sober when it happened. “Go on, go get some sleep. Your tent's the one on the left when you leave, with the dragon skull on it.”
“Right,” Elisif said, still looking a bit vacant. “Right, I'll do that. Goodnight, Mad'nach.”
“Goodnight,” Madanach said quietly, watching her go and mentally kicking himself for the conscience he seemed to be developing lately. She'd been right there for the taking, even starting to initiate things... and he'd sent her away.
Never mind. It was something. And wasn't he quite capable of playing the long game?
She wouldn't grieve forever. She'd win this coming battle and be stronger because of it, and when she finally realised that the one she'd asked to rein her in was best placed to do that from beside her... he'd be there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Late night in Windhelm and Ulfric Stormcloak was sitting in one of the upper rooms in the Palace of the Kings, mead in hand, staring out of the window, into the night, at Windhelm's streets and beyond the walls, the darkness that was the Aalto plain. The night sky blazed with aurora light and starlight and moonlight, but the ground was all darkness. There was a metaphor in that, he was sure.
“Not going to bed yet, Ulfric?”
Galmar. Fussing over him like a mother hen. As always. As it had been since he went off to fight in the Great War. After escaping the Thalmor. During the conquest of Markarth, his attempt to prove he was a mighty warrior despite the humiliation of being captured, his attempt to prove he was better than those witch-elves. Throughout his Jarldom. Galmar had been there throughout, the older brother Ulfric had never had.
“Not yet,” Ulfric said quietly. “I'm watching the Aalto.”
“There's nothing out there, Ulfric,” Galmar sighed. “It's pitch black out there. Go to bed, you'll strain your eyes.”
“In a moment,” Ulfric said, still frowning. “Galmar. The report from those scouts. That the dragons predating on travellers have gone.”
“Aye,” Galmar said quietly. “The one at Kynesgrove stayed dead for over a week, and that other one that was roosting near the Dwemer ruins was seen lying dead near Mistwatch for the same amount of time. No sign of that one near Bonestrewn Crest either.”
A good sign, that the dragons had stopped rising from the dead. But that they'd died in the first place... his men hadn't killed them. Not that he'd heard of, and killing a dragon was the sort of thing that men (and women) bragged of in barrack rooms and taverns for days after.
“Yes, but this latest report, Galmar. That the corpses have vanished entirely, but the dragons aren't flying anywhere. What do you make of it?”
Galmar just shrugged. “What of it, Ulfric. They're gone and they're not slaughtering our people and burning our Hold. We've got Imperials to fight, who cares about a few missing dragon corpses.”
“Dragons don't just vanish,” Ulfric said, brooding. No one was moving one of those creatures in a hurry, nor could anyone carve it to pieces easily. It was a puzzle, and Ulfric had never been fond of those.
He wondered if Elisif would know the answer. A Dragonborn could take a dragon's soul. Why not move the body too? Even if it did sound perilously close to necromancy.