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Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 5a/?

[(Anonymous)]

His eyes opened to catch her intent stare. For a brief moment, his expression was no longer mocking. He was so close she could make out the many flecks of rust and amber that sparkled within the green of his eyes.

With no hate in his gaze to sustain her fury, he became simply a man.

A man pleasuring a woman.

The odd moment passed quickly, interrupted by a sharp and intrusive knock at the door.

In that quick of an instant, his feral, predatory grin returned, sending a shiver of foreboding down her now aching spine, chasing away the heat of her lust.

She shook her head violently, putting forceful denial in her narrowed eyes. Surely he wouldn’t. Was her private humiliation not enough?

He ignored her silent protest. His voice was rough and low, betraying his own waning passion. “It seems the great jarl has received my good news sooner than expected. What a happy coincidence.”

This was not a man to wait upon the vicissitudes of fate or happy chance. He forged his path with the unerring and unrelenting progress of the mountain tempest, leaving just as unforgiving a devastation in his wake.

There were no simple coincidences where he was concerned.

And she knew, with a certainty that chilled her, that she was not going to like what waited for her behind the door.

“Enter!”

She stiffened at the sound of his shouted command.

The door was to her left, based on her positioning against the bedpost, but her naked body would be easy to spot for anyone coming into the room, should her tormenter decide to move.

But he remained standing in front of her, his massive form blocking the majority of her body, though her bound hands and face could be clearly seen, and her nakedness easily presumed.

The door swung open and a figure came stumbling into view, as if rudely shoved inside. The commanding figure turned, and she instantly recognized Balgruuf.

He looked furious, his words an angry demand. “Where are my children? I did not think even you could sink this low, Ulfric. I demand to know what you have done with my....”

Balgruuf’s tirade sputtered to a screeching halt the moment his gaze collided with hers over Ulfric’s shoulder.

If she thought her shame complete before, it was nothing compared to the rush of anguished embarrassment she felt at her trusted friend and mentor finding her in such a humiliating state.

His eyes flickered up to her bindings, a swift moment of gathering information, and then they moved to remain carefully level with her face.

His furious expression briefly softened, shared sorrow in his gaze. In the aching misery of her defeat, such a reminder of past kindness and current loyalty only sent a rush of tears to prick the backs of her eyelids.

“Oh, lass. No.”

His soft whisper of protest was a far cry from his earlier outburst of anger.

She blinked rapidly, clenched her jaw, worked her throat to try to swallow the pitted lump of anguish lodged in her chest. She could handle anger. Pain. Torture. But kindness and sympathy, when she felt she deserved neither, unraveled her facade as nothing else could.

She had failed him. It had been her task, to ferret his children to safety from sword and threat of death when Whiterun had fallen to Stormcloak fury. She did not know how they had been found so easily, but she counted it yet another failure, to add to an ever growing list.

She clenched her hands, pressed the crescents of her nails tightly down until they broke the surface of her palm, and she took refuge at the fleeting sting.

She felt the weight of Ulfric’s gaze upon her, and she refused to show him yet another weakness. He was hardly interested in the angry jarl at his back, did not even bother to look at him, so intently did he study her face.

Fury returned to Balgruuf’s voice, but she heard the underlying thread of anguish it hid.

“You are a beast, Ulfric, an unfit Nord for the high thone! Have you not an inkling of shame? Making war upon your own people. Raping women. Killing children.”

Ulfric’s voice cut like a knife through the angry jarl’s condemning litany.

“Your children are not dead. Not yet.”

Not yet.

An icy chill settled in her aching limbs, as she realized his play.

“I will not keep you any longer, Balgruuf.”