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Comments

DB/Ulfric Undercover Companion

[(Anonymous)]

What if the empire won without the help of the Dragonborn, and what if Ulfric escaped before they caught him?

I would love to see a fill that has Ulfric seeking out a neutral Dragonborn(could be any gender, but preferably man or mer) and asking for their help in regaing his throne and the Dragonborn telling him that the real enemy is the Aldmeri Dominion and that the time for running in guns blazing has passed, and the best way would be to assassinate the Thalmor. Of course that goes against Ulfric's nord sensibilities and the Dragonborn convinces him to travel with them to prove it.

Bonus Points if the Dragonborn is leader of everything but mostly the Dark Brotherhood, I think it would be hilarious to see Ulfric react to that.

Re: DB/Ulfric Undercover Companion

[(Anonymous)]

I really, really like this - I don't think I've ever seen this idea before!

Also, Ulfric's reaction to the DB being Listener of the Dark Brotherhood would be PRICELESS. His poor traditionalist Nord sensibilities might never recover. (Although the opportunity to plant his axe in Elenwen's head might improve his outlook.)

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 1a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Hello, hello! I'm new to the meme, so if I muck something up, I apologize! Anyway, this is just an introductory chapter, and hopefully it sparks some interest because this prompt really inspired me.


The air was thick with drizzle – that hazy, gray mist that Skyrim was prone to. Audric tended his fire, kept it alive in spite of the rain. He could hardly enjoy it, however, as huddling for warmth was futile and he had only a few measly potatoes in the way of food. With some perseverance, he could probably have reached Ivarstead by a little after midnight, but the weather and the road had beaten most of the perseverance out of him. Instead, he settled for a nook in the mountains and prayed he wouldn’t waken waterlogged – that was, if he slept at all.

The wind howled fiercely through the crags, shrill and unforgiving. His time in Skyrim, short as it was, hadn’t hardened his bones against the cold, so he shivered, falling not so much into sleep as into despondency. He tossed and turned on the lumpy ground, half-dreaming in fits and starts of a warm hearth and spiced mead, of a bed and a someone or two to share it with.

He did not wait for dawn to break before packing up and moving on.

The rain persisted, following him into the foothills of the Rift, a dark cloud chasing after him. Thunder rumbled from above outstretched fingers of birch trees and Audric cursed his dumb luck. Somewhere out there, he figured, Nocturnal was having herself a bloody good laugh.

The sky began to clear just as the little hamlet came into view. Typical.

Though it would bore him half to death, if ever he were forced to stay, Audric loved the villages that dotted the province. Ivarstead in particular was a frequent haunt of his, given the company he often kept. And sure enough, Lynly was there to serve him a hot meal and a few sweet words when he arrived, soaked, inside the Vilemyr.

“Well hello stranger,” she smiled, “long time, no see.”

Frowning, he scoffed, “Oh, it’s only been – what – a few days? A week, at the most.”

“Try almost a month,” she admonished, hand firmly on her hip.

“No.” He apologized then; Audric had a horrible knack for losing track of time. He often got swept up in the places he visited and the people he met there. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“I’m certain you will.” With a wink, she left to tend to the other patrons. As delightful as a roll with Lynly always was, he wasn’t sure he was up to it after his trek. He hoped she would give him a day or two to recover before demanding her recompense.





Ten hours of good, hard sleep in a soft bed under a roof saw Audric feeling infinitely more himself. Sleepily, he wandered out into the hall, barefoot. The day was late and dusk filtered in through the high windows, gentle and pale. Sitting at the bar, he cracked his back and plied Wilhelm for news. Of course, there was almost never any big news for Wilhelm to report, only small scraps of gossip or the local tragedies and victories alike – all small, all trivial. And that was precisely why Audric liked to ask. Since that fateful day at the chopping block, Audric’s life had been inundated with big news. Harsh realities and victories so bittersweet, they doubled back into tragedies. He liked small news. It settled his stomach.

Over a steaming bowl of tomato soup, he was handed a wedding invitation. “Oh, that was sweet of Fastred. I love weddings.”

Wilhelm nearly choked. “That’s...weddings don’t seem the type of ceremony that suit you,” he tried politely. “In fact, ceremony in general doesn’t really suit you, my friend.”

Audric chuckled, patiently stirring his soup, waiting for it to cool some. “Perhaps not, but I like a good party, as long as I’m only a guest.”

“Never the guest of honor, then, eh?” The innkeeper teased, though his hopeful glances in the direction of his barmaid-cum-minstrel made Audric nervous.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 1b/??

[(Anonymous)]

“No, not really, not in my line of work.” The little bud of guilt that had blossomed in his stomach now unfurled in full bloom; so often had his line of work led him back here, pinching idle coin purses off of unattended tables, lifting valuables from unsecured chests. He tried not to think about it, and purchased another bottle of mead, though he hadn’t even finished his first.

“Just as well; an adventurer like you doesn’t get home very often, I suppose. Oh, and you have yet another piece of mail.”

This did come as a shock. Fastred’s invitation was one thing, given that she was in the area. But the idea that someone was leaving mail for Audric in Ivarstead was alarming on several counts, none the least of which was that it meant he was obviously spending entirely too much time here. The parchment was thin and cheap, the message written in charcoal, but the penmanship could only be described as exquisite.


Audric Bellamy,

I will keep this letter short. I am a man in grave need of your services, however I request that we meet in private. As I am in no position to entertain, I must humbly ask that you meet me in Kynesgrove, preferably at your earliest convenience. Please send word to the Braidwood Inn a day in advance; address your reply simply to ‘Cub.’ They will know to whom it must be delivered. I would appreciate your prompt and discreet cooperation.

Sincerely,
A Hopeful, Interested Party



“Awfully vague, that,” Audric observed, turning the letter over. For one thing, which of his services did this ‘hopeful, interested party’ desire? He was a versatile man, and could perform any number of tasks, menial or otherwise. He drew the line at assassination, but even that rule was subject to exemption, on the rarest occasions. But really, the thing that bothered him was the careful, expressive script; the articulate, elegant way in which this man strung his words together.

Well-educated, and well-spoken, if not entirely diplomatic.





A day went by. And then another. And when Audric misplaced a belonging, only to realize he had put it away, that startled him into movement. He packed his modest satchel and bid Lynly and Wilhelm goodbye. He would have liked to have visited Klimmek, but given the circumstances, he wasn’t sure that was a good idea, just yet.

The road was unbroken, mostly. He ran into a pack of wolves, but those proved little challenge, and he left with a few filled soul gems to show for his trouble. He dithered, stooping to pick flowers and steal an eggs from some unfortunate ground birds. It wasn’t long before a signpost rose out of the horizon, though, and Audric had a choice to make. Right, or straight ahead. He wasn’t ready to make it.

Deciding to take the scenic route, he kept on.

A fox chased his heels, friendly; birds crowed in the trees, unseen, specters of daytime. The sun beat down on his skin and he scolded himself for not bringing a hood; he hoped his hair would keep his neck from burning. When the day reached its peak, he sat down to some cheese and bread he’d pilfered from the inn. Hanging his legs over the edge of a high ridge, he tried to enjoy his meal, take in the scenery. The plains of Eastmarch lay before him, boiling and bubbling, steam rising from the earth in fine clouds. There was no dragon circling about, and Audric sort of missed the sound of air surrendering beneath wings; he wondered if it was against some ancient draconic protocol to take up residence in another’s lair.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 2a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks to the encouraging anons, that was lovely!





The night was clear, the air crisp; the smell of impending snowfall was on the wind. Audric grumbled under his breath as he opened the door to the inn. That there existed a place where the cold persisted even into the height of summer seemed a kind of blasphemy to him – one of Skyrim’s many curses besides the dragons.

There was refuge inside, however, as always. The fire crackled jovially and the incessant babble wasn’t so bad, either. The savory scent of a pheasant roast wafted overhead and his mouth watered a little. Taking a seat at the bar, he tucked into some warm food and contemplated his next move. He had come unannounced, and only now that he’d arrived was he realizing the problems this presented him with. He ate and drank and turned a few different solutions over in his head.

His prospective client had referred to himself as Cub – a pseudonym, presumably. Well, he decided, usually the best way to get what you want is to ask.

“Excuse me,” he waved the innkeeper over, “I’m looking for a man who calls himself ‘Cub.’ Is he renting here, by chance?”

The woman’s face flashed in horror for a split second before she forced a warm smile that didn’t touch the lines of her eyes. “Ah yes, let me see if he’s up to company.” Before he could inform her that they were supposed to meet, she took off into one of the rooms – without even knocking! – as if fire trailed her heels. When she returned, she looked tense.

Audric’s intuition was screaming at him to leave, but he dismissed it as paranoia.

“He’ll see you. Come along.”

“He won’t come have a drink at the bar?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Audric couldn’t help but notice her eyes, darting frantically to a corner where some Imperial officers were having a good, hearty laugh over their tankards.

He followed her into the room, and was surprised to find it dark, empty. He was even more surprised upon being knocked to the ground, the ominous click of a lock registering in his ears amongst the sound of scuffling and rattling. Not for the first time, his wrists were in irons and he was being hauled up onto his feet in a hard grip.

“This is him,” the innkeeper whispered, hysterical, “the man who is looking for the Jarl!”

“Wait just a minute –!”

Two burly men in Stormcloak colors towered over him. “I don’t know how you got word of his location, but you’ll meet him alright. And he’s going to decide just what to do with you.”

“Probably Shout him to bits; put him in the ground.”

"He can't Shout here, you idiot, the whole place would come down around us!"

The men dragged him towards a tall wardrobe, and for a moment, Audric was terrified that they were going to stuff him in it and just wait for him to suffocate, but the back of it slid to one side, revealing a steep, concealed stairwell. They proceeded to march him down the steps, into the dim light below.

The room was spacious, bathed in lantern light. Audric could see his breath.

“And what do we have here?” asked a terribly familiar voice. He’d only heard it a handful of times, but it would be impossible to forget.

“This is the scout, my Jarl,” said one of the guards, shoving him forward as if for inspection.

Eyes lit with amusement, Ulfric Stormcloak looked as if he were trying to bite back a grin. “This is no scout, Imperial or otherwise, I assure you.” Addressing Audric specifically, he added, “I told you to send advanced notice.”

“It was a last-minute decision to even show up,” he countered. His wrists were beginning to ache. “Had I known this was your convention for receiving company, I’d have thought better of it.”

Waving off Audric’s snide comments, he had the guards release him and instructed them to return to their posts. The men seemed reluctant to leave their beloved leader alone with a strange man in what constituted a basement larder, but loyal to a fault, they followed orders.

Re: "Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 2b/??

[(Anonymous)]

Audric stood, massaging his wrists and complaining about the cold. “So,” he began, “why all the mystery?”

“I couldn’t write you in earnest,” Ulfric pointed out as though it were obvious. “What if the courier were intercepted?”

Audric raised an eyebrow. “I don’t imagine you’d trust that note with a mere courier. A guard in disguise, perhaps.”

“True, but there are all sorts of eyes that might have seen it who shouldn’t.”

Oddly, Audric felt compelled to defend Wilhelm from the hypothetical slander of being a snoop. “Regardless, I’m here. Now, what do you want?” If he was snappish, he hardly thought he was out of turn.

“As stated, I am requesting your services, Dragonborn.”

Audric groaned. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard my proposal –”

“As if I don’t already have more on my plate than I can handle. Besides, the war is over.”

“With no help from you, I’d note,” he observed, resentfully.

“It was never my war. I’m not of Skyrim and I’d much rather see the Dominion turned on its head than this dwindling excuse of an Empire.” His voice was rising, and he knew he had to try and reign himself in, lest this meeting of minds devolve into a meeting of Thu’um. “Listen, I’m about as thrilled as you are about the whole situation, but did you really expect me to get behind your cause?”

“Why not?” Ulfric asked, as if it were some question of philosophy and not phylogeny.

“I think you know why not.”

“I could excuse your blood, if your heart were in the right place.”

Speaking of Audric’s blood, it was starting to boil. “That you honestly believe there is nothing wrong with that sentence is exactly why I couldn’t. I’m not Mer,” he snarled. “Moreover, I’d need more hands than I’ve been given to count how many elves I’ve encountered who, if not for your arrant disregard for them as a whole, would have gladly taken up arms for your cause.” After a moment of irritable silence, he accused, “You took up arms against the wrong faction.”

“Do not” Ulfric growled, “pretend to possess either the wisdom or the experience to pass judgment on my decisions as a leader.”

“I wasn’t,” he scoffed. “I was passing judgment on your decisions as a man.” Ulfric got to his feet, hand going to the hilt of his sword, but Audric was faster. “Wait. Before you decide to engage me out of spite, let’s review.” His casual tone gave Ulfric pause. “You incapacitated Torygg with a Shout before running him through with your sword, correct?”

“Make your point, quickly.”

Looking into steely eyes, Audric chose his words carefully. “I won’t need the sword.”

Somewhat startled, reminded of whom he stood before, Ulfric sat back down.

“The time for great war has passed, if ever such a time existed. You and I both know the Empire is little more than a crippled bird, eating from Thalmor hands.”

“You do have a way with words,” Ulfric complemented. “You’d have made quite the politician.”

Audric shrugged. “I don’t have the stomach for it. At any rate, if you’re open to discussion, my services might be of some use to you, yet.”

“And by ‘discussion,’ you mean ‘negotiation.’”

“It’s all the same to me.”

Ulfric had him fetch some food and drink from upstairs while he thought it over. Audric took his sweet time and ordered the cheapest available dish. The innkeeper – Iddra, that was her name – shot him sour, suspicious glances the entire time. While he waited, he wondered what he was still doing here. Procrastinating was as likely an answer as any; he couldn’t say he was chomping at the bit to get into the Embassy, and this entire business of dragons was nothing but an ulcer, as far as he was concerned. He had entered Skyrim with every intention pointed toward Riften, before being promptly redirected.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 3a/?? (Correct Post)

[(Anonymous)]

Hello again! Thank you for the encouragement; it does help. And greetings, OP, I'm glad to see you've joined us. And thanks for the clarification! *Also, pardon my silly posting mistake; I've alerted the mods.





Ulfric had refused to leave behind his horse and Audric refused to shill out the coin for one, so the pair traveled in lopsided tandem, with Audric trotting beside beast and man under the hot sun. Sweat trickled down his back in creeks beneath his armor and his breath was coming in winded little puffs, but the only thing he could imagine worse than buying a steed was climbing up behind Ulfric on his.

“I admit, something has been nagging at me all this time.”

“Oh, let’s hear it.”

Unwilling to dignify sarcasm, he explained, “Several months ago, you paid your last visit to the Palace of the Kings.”

Chuckling, genuinely amused by his own daring escape – which had involved a crossbow that never worked quite right again – he wondered which of his bones the man would attempt to pick. “Indeed. I have to say, the only thing more impressive than your welcoming committee at the inn was the farewell party that saw me off through the window.”

Clearly, Ulfric’s memory of the incident wasn’t as fond. “You took something from me that night.”

Silently counting on his fingers, Audric tried to take stock of the valuables he’d made off with. “I took a lot of things from you that night,” he concluded. He didn’t much care for the look Ulfric shot him, but he was an asset to this wanted man. He took comfort in that his value exceeded his cheek.

“It was a necklace. Silver, set with sapphires.”

“I’ve stolen several of those; you’ll have to give me more to go on.”

“There are no stones in all of Skyrim cut like these sapphires,” Ulfric mused, and Audric feared he was straying into the poetic. “There was also an ivory inlay.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.”

Frowning, Ulfric asked, “I don’t suppose this item is still in your possession?” The accusation was clear, even if it was implicit. You sold my heirloom, didn’t you, dirty thief! It was an accusation he’d heard time and again, and more often than not, it was true.

“As it happens, I do still have it. I couldn’t bear to part with it – I have a weakness for sapphires,” he grinned. “Although, if you still want it back, you should know I made a few...er...alterations.”

“Such as?”

Before Ulfric had a chance to lose his temper, the air around them shook with a horrible, ear-splitting sound, like the fabric of the sky was being torn in two. Audric drew his sword, strengthening his resolve.

The dragon sailed low overhead, its shadow engulfing the entire clearing.

Audric ran headlong for the immense creature as it flapped and clambered over itself. It had landed badly and in cramped quarters, thankfully creating some leeway for him to work. Compounding a Shout inside his throat, he held it, releasing only once they were nearly nose-to-nose. The heat as it ignited between them was searing and he had to turn away to avoid the very fate he intended to inflict upon the dragon. Sure enough, it reared backward and tottered dangerously on the steep incline, as Audric’s fire had blinded it.

Out of nowhere, Ulfric came colliding in from the other side, driving his own blade into the tender, exposed flesh where wing met torso. This was hardly a decisive blow, however, only goading the dragon into a fury. It reeled around, bellowing itself hoarse, its tail crashing into the earth like a rudder crunching against rock.

“Fall back!” Audric hollered. “Get out of here!” Too often, he rose victorious, only to discover the remains of those foolish enough to try and assist him. He could do this alone, and he did not want the blood of Ulfric Stormcloak on his hands. No answer came, though, and he had no time to waste trying to persuade a stubborn Nord. In a fit of foolish tenacity – likely spurred by fear – he propelled himself forward and up, vaulting the dragon’s spindly hindquarters and jabbing his sword through its skull. Stupidly, he hadn’t considered a plan of escape and went hurtling through the air when the poor creature went careening, writhing in pain.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 3b/??

[(Anonymous)]

After that, it got patchy. His vision blurred and sounds stopped making sense. Time slowed. There was a splitting pain in his shoulder and a dull throb in his back. He was conscious enough to feel the excruciating intrusiveness and unwelcome warmth of the dragon’s soul as it seeped in from the outside. It was always too many things at once: several mortal lifetimes of knowledge, of experiences he could not reconcile. But more than that, private moments, upsets and conquests and small hours treasured for centuries. These were memories that did not belong to him, yet he swallowed them down, unable to reject any of it. He let this uninvited lifeblood of another into his very self and endured, waiting for consciousness to grip him more firmly.

When it did, he was muttering to himself.

Spots swam in his vision. The sun was in relatively the same place, so he’d probably only been out for a few minutes. The pain in his shoulder was sharp and demanded attention, but he couldn’t get himself situated to respond. He cried out to Ulfric several times, but the only answer was his own voice echoing off the surrounding cliff faces, dissipating in the pine needles.

For a time, he struggled to free himself from his armor so he could tend to the wound underneath, but unable to move his injured arm, he worked in vain. Eventually, when pain and sweat blinded him, he gave up and groaned loudly, hopeless.

Eventually though, Ulfric turned up. He was leading his horse back to the road, carefully guiding the frightened thing. The two men played a pathetic game of call and seek, like desperate children, until one finally stumbled upon the other. Ulfric appeared no worse for wear, Audric noticed with envy.

“That was a valiant performance, back there.” Stooping in the shade, Ulfric inspected the damage to his companion.

“And I’m afraid,” he bit out, “there won’t be an encore with the shape I’m in. Please...” he paused, for breath and because it humiliated him to ask, “please, can you help me out of this?” With his good arm, he gestured at his armored shirt.

Quietly, he worked to find the catches; it was difficult, as Audric had darkened them to prevent any residual gleam that might give him away in the shadows. When all the straps had been loosened and the leather was peeled away, even battle-scarred Ulfric averted his eyes.

“Does it feel as bad as it looks?” he asked the ground.

“Worse, I’d wager.” Clenching his teeth, Audric tried to summon the energy to heal himself, but came up short. He’d been careless to leap in without any contingencies and now he would pay for his mistake, unless he could shirk just a bit more of his pride. “My rucksack...it should still be up the road a ways.”

Without hesitation, Ulfric retrieved it. He took instruction well, lending his aid efficiently and without qualm, despite Audric’s pained agitation. If he lorded it over him later, so be it; for the moment, Audric’s largest concern was mending himself before his window of opportunity closed. He guzzled a few nasty-tasting potions to give himself a boost, and wretched half of it back up with the toll it took on his body to heal. The sickening sound of bone growing over itself and the smell of burning flesh did little to help the situation.

Ulfric, for his part, remained oddly absent throughout the entire ordeal.

Unwilling to expend the energy, Audric didn’t bother with the bruising, satisfied with the fact that his bones were – mostly – back where they belonged. He could deal with the petty lacerations later, after he’d had a hot meal and some good sleep. Clinging to the last vestiges of his ego, he chose a nearby tree branch to help him back onto his feet, rather than the hesitantly outstretched hand.

They argued the whole way up the hill about who should ride the horse. Grudgingly, Audric eventually submitted when he couldn’t even find the breath to put his armor back on and let Ulfric lead them. He sagged forward and fell in and out of sleep; the horse didn’t seem to mind.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 4a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Audric woke to the sound of his front door being pounded down. His ears were ringing and there was a nasty pang in his shoulder to greet him, and he remembered the day before in flashes. Groaning, he hauled himself out of bed and pulled on some dirty clothes before slinking across the way. Jerking the door open, he squinted into the bright sunshine, trying to make out who the burly silhouette in front of him was. “Yeah?”

That laugh. “I’ve finally caught you at home, then.”

“You’ve got some nerve, calling on a man at this hour.”

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Brynjolf's face came into focus, grinning. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed Audric aside and let himself in; they were long past that brand of decorum.

Suddenly, Audric was conscious of the fact that he was harboring the most wanted fugitive in all of Skyrim in his basement – a fugitive, no less, wanted by the very faction the Guild was tied to, however indirectly. If Maven got wind of this, Ulfric and Audric would likely end up right back where they had started.

Totally oblivious, Brynjolf made himself at home, dumping a leather-bound register on the table. “You’ve got these to look over,” he gestured at the book, “and, at some point, Delvin would like a word with you.”

“But I only just got back!” Audric protested, slumping forward.

“Aye, but I never know when you’ll run out the door again,” Brynjolf sighed. “Could be a week from now, could be two – could be tonight. You’re a difficult man to catch, Bellamy,” he smirked. “But, I figured you could crunch the numbers later. We have catching up to do.”

“Right. I, uh...” Audric stalled, but he was still half-asleep and couldn’t form a coherent excuse.

“Unless perhaps you’d like to break off the arrangement?”

“No. I just –”

“Ah, well like you said, you just got home.” But he was standing, looking disappointed, even.

“Bryn, no, I want...to catch up. I really, really want to, just...not here.” He squirmed, unable to drum up an explanation without letting the cat out of the bag. He was trying to find a way around it without lying.

Laughing, he cocked his head. “Not here? Why not? Has my invitation been rescinded?”

Audric wanted badly to lay down on the floor and sob with frustration. He could not lie to Brynjolf, and neither could he tell him the truth, and more maddening was that the limits where business ended and friendship began were too blurred for comfort. They were Nightingales; they were Guildmaster and Right Hand; they were friends.

“You’re welcome here, always,” Audric sighed. “It’s only, right now, indefinitely, I...I’m helping a –” What, a friend? No. “I’m helping someone. He’s gotten himself into some trouble, and I’m letting him stay with me.”

“Indefinitely?” Brynjolf’s eyebrows shot up. “Who is this man?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t know,” he tried gently. Brynjolf nodded, sympathetic. “Look, let me just, sort out some things, take a bath. I’ll meet you in an hour or two at the manor and we can catch up there.”

Brynjolf groused and turned away. “You know how I hate using that place.”

“You’ve never told me why, only that you won’t –”

“Can’t,” he contended. “Don’t pry into my business and I won’t pry into yours.”

After a moment of silence, Audric said, “Well then.”

“Sorry. But you remember, what happened the last time...”

“Alright, how about a compromise; rent a room at the inn and I’ll meet you in an hour or so?” It was the only viable option left, as there was no chance either of them would take this to the Cistern. Not that it was any kind of secret, but that was hardly the point.

“If I say no, will you pull rank on me?” he grinned.

“I’ll pull something, and you’ve got three guesses what.”

The two of them had a good laugh and agreed: at the Bee and Barb, over a drink and then later, in private, the two men would, in a phrase, catch up.

After Brynjolf departed, Audric waited a while and then locked the door. He scribbled a note for Ulfric, that he would be back, help himself, keep the fire down, et cetera, and left it in plain sight. He then grabbed his satchel and stuffed it with a towel, clean clothes, and his soap tin, and headed out the back door.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 4b/??

[(Anonymous)]

* * *


Arriving home in the dead of night, Audric was on the last leg of inebriation, and quite satisfied. He felt warm, content. Brynjolf had given him the third degree once he’d seen the enormous bruise that had blossomed over his shoulder, and then teased him for being a reckless youth. After, he’d been aggravatingly gentle, although in retrospect, that was probably for the best.

The register had been moved out of the way, but not investigated; the fire was dead, only a few embers smoldering amongst the shifted ash. A pile of dishes lay in the bucket; they were apparently clean.

Ulfric Stormcloak had done his dishes.

Audric was overcome with laughter, bent double and clutching his sides until he was sore. He stayed like that, hunched over, while he regained his breath.

It was late, but he decided to check on his guest anyway, perhaps thank him for the menial labor. The spare room doors were closed. He knocked – once, twice. Three times, sharply, in quick succession. He opened the doors, and the warm contentedness fell out the bottom of his stomach, giving way to cold panic.

The bed was empty.

Senselessly, Audric paced around the basement, then around the upstairs, hysterical, imagining every terrible scenario. What if he kept the fire too bright? What if he hadn’t drawn the curtains? What if some passing guard had seen through a window? What if Iona had come home and discovered him? Would she report him or...? One question after the other bombarded him until he felt nauseated. He needed air, and badly.

Throwing open the back door, he collapsed over the railing and was nearly sick.

“Good evening.”

Audric wheeled around, startled. He half expected Ulfric to be in irons, bracketed by guards there to interrogate him. But as it happened, he was sitting at the table with an open book and a bottle of wine.

“Gods above,” he growled, “I thought – I thought –!”

“I wouldn’t be so careless,” he scolded. And indeed, he hadn’t forsaken caution, even on the sheltered porch; a dark, hooded cloak shaded his face almost entirely from view, the light casting his features in hard contrast. “I’m a veteran refugee, remember?” When Audric did not answer, stock still and white as a sheet, Ulfric beckoned him to the table. “Come. I can’t possibly finish this wine by myself.”

Audric sagged into the seat across from him and grabbed the wine, pulling straight from the bottle. Ulfric looked on in mild disgust, but made no mention of it. Rather, he returned to his book – no doubt taken from Audric’s own library.

The night wore on, as did the wine. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked and the sound of boats creaking against the docks swaddled them both. A bird fluttered overhead, crying out. Over the water, Audric could see thousands of tiny lights where torchbugs gathered.

“You can’t be bothered to ask me about my evening, then,” he observed icily.

Ulfric peered at him over the top of the book. “Your personal affairs are none of my business.” His hand hovered at the neck of the bottle, indecisive; ultimately, he poured himself another cup.

“I met a friend for a drink; it was grand.”

Ulfric set the book down in his lap. “A drink,” he said, skeptically, “for six hours.”

Beaming and flushed, Audric asked, “Were you counting?”

“Hm.” Returning to the book, he hid beneath the shadow of his hood, but it wasn’t enough to conceal his shrewd smirk. “Like I said,” he turned the page, “it’s none of my business.”

Audric sighed and laid his head on his arms. “I suppose you eavesdropped on my discussion this afternoon, then?”

The man looked genuinely hurt at the accusation. “It was difficult not to. Your companion has quite the voice on him.” Now, he was just being antagonistic.

“He’s not my...” Audric paused, rethinking his words. “He’s a colleague; a friend.”

Finally, Ulfric closed the book and put it aside. He gazed at Audric over the table as if puzzled, as if a riddle sat before him instead of a man. His mouth twitched; shaking his head, he murmured, “None of my business,” before standing up and collecting the book, leaving Audric with the wine and dwindling lantern light.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 5a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Gosh, I need to apologize for not updating in over a month. I got a new job and the hours, as great as they are, have been kicking my butt. Hopefully I'll be acclimated soon and get back to writing on a regular basis. So without further ado...







Ulfric watched, quiet, from the doorway. Audric was right where he’d been over an hour ago: inert and hunched over the register on his kitchen table. It looked as though he hadn’t moved at all, not even to relieve an itch. He murmured to himself from behind his curtain of hair, scratching with a quill at scrap parchment before making marks in the book.

“It’s awfully late,” Ulfric spoke softly, so as not to startle him.

“Mm.” He barely responded, immersed in his numbers.

Audric was young and striking, and charming, when need be. More than any of those things, he was competent. So it seemed to Ulfric a terrible and ironic misfortune that instead of working a living, he was cooped up near to midnight tallying numbers for what hardly qualified as a business. Men his age should be celebrating the ends of apprenticeships, he lamented, or out courting – not leading scoundrels and slaying dragons. Of course, when Ulfric had been that age, he had been in the middle of a bloody, hopeless war. But he tended to regard his own circumstances as uncommon.

“You really ought to sleep,” he insisted.

Audric’s smile was feeble, but sincere. “Are you endeavoring to get me into bed?”

Ulfric was tired. He was tired and there was a part of him – a part that didn’t see much daylight – that wanted desperately to humor the predictable punchline, counter it with one of his own, even. But that was not his place.

“You have a long day ahead of you, tomorrow,” he ignored the bait. “And the last thing I’d want, Dragonborn, is for you to be caught off guard – particularly in Solitude, of all places.” When no smart remark was forthcoming, he added, “And still, you refuse to enlighten me as to the nature of this trip.” He wanted to show his irritation, but years upon years of social convention still bound him in proverbial chains.

Audric tipped his head back and sighed. His usual cheer fell away like an old, tattered rag and he looked older. Not so old as Ulfric, but, more weary man than audacious youth. “I need to cut my hair,” he announced to the ceiling. “Before I leave in the morning, I need to cut my hair, and check and recheck my pack. And I need to make sure I get these figures back to Bryn.” Rubbing his cheek, he went on, “You and I cannot move forward until this errand is carried out. And because of the location, I must go alone.”

“I’d gathered that much for myself.”

Sniffing, Audric folded his arms behind his head. “Please, be patient with me. You are hardly the only person in all of Skyrim nipping at my heels. Moreover – and this may come as a shock – you are hardly the most important. This civil war I’d stumbled upon? Small fish in a much, much larger pond.”

“You refer to the dragons.”

“Yes.” Sitting upright again, he imparted Ulfric with a hard stare. His eyes were the color of spruce needles. “I want very little to do with either the dragons or the politics, but the dragons might be the end of this world.”

“One could argue the same for politics,” Ulfric smirked. It was...nice, to be afforded a keen exchange of words. He was so used to words being practical; with Audric, he could take some pleasure in them.

Audric looked away, like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. “I hate when you do that,” he smiled grimly. “When you’re clever. I didn’t expect you to be clever.”

Ulfric crossed his arms. “I only orchestrated an entire rebellion –”

“A failed rebellion, remember?” Audric reminded him, mostly in jest. “But anyway, that isn’t what I meant, about being clever. I knew you were smart – had to be, given the nature of things. It’s only that sometimes...” and now he was dithering, like a criminal on the verge of confession. “Sometimes, you’re human,” he shrugged, “and it catches me by surprise.”

Jokingly, Ulfric asked, “If you cut us, do we not bleed...?”

“Oh,” he scoffed, “that’s rich, coming from you.”

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 6a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Ah look, I managed to grind out an update. I get the feeling my pace is going to be consistently slow and for that I apologize profusely. I do hope it's worth the wait.








“You look...” Ralof hesitated, staring at the scraggly Breton on his doorstep, “worse for wear.”

“Yes, I’ve just returned from a Thalmor garden party. Care to hear all about it?” Audric was clinging to the wooden lamp post, splinters be damned, grinning from ear to ear.

Gently, Ralof guided him inside, careful not to incite any reactions. “You’ve been on the road too long, again; you’re weary.” He steered the wind-blown, sunburnt man onto his own bed, posed him like a life-sized doll and began helping him out of his armor. He’d seen Audric worse, and Audric had seen him worse; there were no secrets here.

“Is that your nice way of saying I’m mad?” Audric inquired faintly. His skin was feverish beneath his clothes, so Ralof pulled those off of him, too.

Chuckling, he responded, “I think you’ve always been a bit mad.” He noticed the color draining from Audric’s face and pulled a bucket before him just in time. “You’re not mad, you’re ill from the heat.” He took clumps of dirty, russet hair in each hand, keeping it out of harm’s way. Once Audric had spat up the last thin strings of vomit, Ralof wiped his tired face with a wet cloth, cleaned him up, tucked him in.

“Do you remember,” Audric coughed, “the first time we met?”

“How could I forget?” he laughed.

“No, the first time we really met.” His eyes were closed, and in the light, Ralof could see that they were bruised. “Not, not scrambling through Helgen. Later. You know.”

“Shh.” He felt Audric’s forehead, smelled his breath; this was only a touch of sun-sickness, nothing more.

“I was sick then, too,” he yawned.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying.”

That much is obvious, he thought, but kept quiet. Not that Audric would remember this in a few hours, anyway.

Yes, he remembered meeting Audric, vividly. And indeed, the boy had been sick then, too. Before Helgen, the boy had never killed another man, and once his actions had caught up with him, his knees had buckled and he’d nearly fainted into his own puddle of sick. That had been almost a year ago. Since then, Audric had stopped in on him to and from his many adventures, supplying Ralof with excellent tales. Though now, it would be some time before he could show his face in Riverwood – in any town – without fear of arrest; Audric’s legacy would have to wait.

In part, it was difficult to live in hiding. Things that had once been a simple matter of a stroll to the general store now took hours of his time. He’d plotted a decent vegetable garden, but man could not survive on greens alone. Alternatively, there was a definitive peacefulness to being so far removed from society, to answering only to himself. He wondered, glancing at his sleeping friend, if this was something of what it must be like to be him.



It was with startling frequency that Audric awoke to strange ceilings, so he did not panic. Instead, he let his memory and his breath come back to him. He was naked, he realized, his clothing folded neatly on the table beside him, armor nowhere to be seen. Nudity was hardly unusual for him either, though from what he remembered, the context was disappointingly platonic. He sat up slowly, but his head still spun so he tucked himself in half and waited for it to stop.

“Finally awake,” came a familiar voice. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” Audric answered from between his knees, “and like I got caught on the business end of a mammoth’s tusk.”

“Well the sun is nearly down. Why don’t you go outside and have yourself a bath. Do us both a favor,” he smiled.

“Ha.” Audric stood, stretching, spots swimming in his vision.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 7a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Hello again! Thank you everyone for your kind words and your immense patience. I do hope you all enjoy this installment.





The wind scoured the stone walls, whistling through cracks in the mortar, stinging Audric’s fingertips. Still, it was not enough to impede him, even as he moved deftly up, fingers and feet finding purchase in old crevices; the cold was unpleasant and unexpected, though it seemed too obvious a thing to overlook, in retrospect.

The windows were all built into the wall – a common yet decisive design flaw – and it was a simple matter of leverage for Audric to perch on the ledge. It was only a minute, if that, before he had worked the carefully-crafted screws out of their hinges.

It was dark and even musty inside. The torches were set just a bit too far apart, the flames not quite big or bright enough to wholly light the way. Audric didn’t have time to get too comfortable with his odds, though; almost as soon as he’d closed the window, footsteps were echoing from above, getting nearer. He shimmied up a beam and into the stone scaffolding just in time; below, a brace of soldiers stopped to idle. Audric rolled his eyes, quite literally eavesdropping on the dull conversation: it was the usual carp and grouse show that could be found in any barracks. He tried to regulate his breathing, to still the itching in his impatient fingers as he listened to the soldiers grumble about the weather, about the food, about the families they had elected to leave behind.

In the interest of time and convenience, he resigned himself to the rafters, crawling and crouching and fitting himself through impossible spaces. At last, he arrived in the main foyer, where there were guards posted at every door. There was a crawlspace exactly above the room he needed to be in, but to get to it would be hardship enough, never mind the task of dismantling the vent inside. Roosting in the shadows, he considered his options. He was decent at throwing his voice, although he didn’t know if decent was enough to keep him from botching it, as there were angles and pockets of space unaccounted for. There was a vial of venom at his disposal, collected en route, that he had hoped to brew into astringent. But the shattering of glass and the smell of acid dissolving lime would certainly draw attention, enough for him to creep across the way without being noticed.

As fortune would have it, there was a great boom from beneath, and even the stone beams shook. Audric’s feet hit the floor just as the last soldier’s back disappeared around the corner towards the dungeons. He murmured a quiet benediction to Nocturnal for her handiwork. The lock on the great doors might have been ornate, but it was still just a lock, and with the right attention and careful regard, it yielded like an old friend.

Inside the familiar room, it was now dim, empty, and uncomfortably warm. Outside, there was the sound of the patrol returning to their posts – or replacements, come to resume while the others were preoccupied. Regardless, there was a heavy cover on just the other side of a wooden door, and here he was in the very heart of Castle Dour.

Tullius was seated in a modest, wooden chair. The fire that rumbled in the immense grate cast him in its hellish light, though only from one side. He appeared to be immersed in paperwork, fingers scratching absently at his graying hair. While he had very little respect for the man, Audric resented what he was about to do.

From behind, he locked Tullius’ face in the crook of his arm and squeezed, choking any sounds of alarm. With his other hand, he unsheathed Tullius’ own blade and held it to his throat. Leaning in as though they were familiar and not acquainted by way of a botched execution, he said cooly, “Good evening, General.”

Tullius made an outraged noise into Audric’s armor.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 8a/??

[(Anonymous)]

With Windhelm growing farther and farther behind him, shrinking into the snowflurries, Audric half expected to hear a sorrowful cry from the Palace of the Kings. As it was, it would be some time before Brunwulf Free-Winter realized he had been betrayed. Interestingly, Audric felt worse about this polite manipulation than his threats of violence against Tullius. It was not the deed he felt bad about, but the men whom he was slighting; Tullius was shrewd and demanding, while Free-Winter was nothing but kind.

In fact, once their visit was under way, he had confided in Audric his frustration and concern about the letter from Tullius, announcing the Legion’s intentions to confront the Embassy as an antecedent to a strike on the Dominion – Audric had noticed that, cleverly, Tullus had left out the part where he had yet to run this little scheme by the requisite higher-ups.

And Audric had played his part, just as promised. He hummed and nodded sympathetically, in all the right places; he offered careful suggestion and played to Brunwulf’s pacifist sensibilities. When pressed for an acceptable form of nonviolent protest, Audric had furrowed his brow and said that he could always step down. And when asked who would ever take up the throne – the throne that Brunwulf never wanted – Audric had put a hand on the man’s broad shoulder and intoned that he shouldn’t worry, that Tullius would come up with somebody. And after that, he had kindly reminded him that it was only an idea, something to turn over before sleep.

Audric felt physically ill and wobbled in his saddle.

Still, he had a lot on his plate and little time to think about the particulars. Not that his mind would focus on any of those particulars for more than a moment anyway; instead, it insisted on tormenting itself, consumed with petty, irrelevant details. Namely, he found himself thinking of Ulfric, more often than not: he had no reason to fret, no reason to suspect that he’d find trouble when up to this point, he’d found none at all. There was also the matter of their imminent departure. Soon – very soon, if circumstance allowed – Ulfric would be back in Windhelm, likely with very little to do with Audric, save for occasional brushes at political meetings, which, hopefully, he could avoid for the better part of the whole ordeal. He hoped his end of the bargain would entail as little involvement as possible. He had enough to worry about between High Hrothgar and Delphine.

At the house, he got out of his armor and into some comfortable clothes. He was exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t wind down for the night. Balefully, he glanced at his bedside table, where he’d hidden a modest cache of moon sugar. But he knew that if Ulfric caught on, it would probably ruin all his hard work.

He sat at the table, but didn’t eat anything. He supposed he could pull out a book, but that didn’t interest him either – a sure sign that something was amiss. Tucking his head in the crook of his folded arms, he sighed and closed his eyes. If sleep took him on his kitchen table, so be it.

Why did I agree to this? he wondered. What have I gotten myself into?

What it boiled down to was that he was procrastinating. He knew he oughtn’t to, knew he should be at High Hrothgar this very evening, interrogating Arngeir. But he did not want to interrogate Arngeir and he didn’t want to deal with the debate he knew would follow.

I’m not meant for this, he thought, his throat choking up. I’m a coward, and a thief, not a defender, not a liberator. “Why me?” he croaked aloud, his eyes welling.

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

Audric nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around, staring wildly at Ulfric, unable to decide if he should wipe his eyes or pretend he wasn’t crying. “I figured you’d gone for one of your walks.”

Ulfric shook his head. “Not tonight.” His hand went to his pocket, and he produced a plain kerchief. He watched Audric accept it reluctantly, watched him try to dry his eyes as if nothing was amiss. “There is no shame in frustration; we are all faced with difficult, seemingly impossible tasks.”

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 9a/??

[(Anonymous)]

The door opened and a gust of wind surged off the lake and into the house; the first whisper of autumn.

“My Thane, the carriage –”

Audric held up his hand, rather rudely, as he flopped into the nearest chair. “Iona,” he drawled, voice thick with sleep, for the sun had not yet risen. “Please. Please. For the love of all that's holy, stop calling me that. It’s so…” he wrinkled his nose, “Impersonal.”

Exasperated by this man who broke rules with his bread, she sighed. “Then what am I to call you, liege?”

“I don’t know, but not that, either. If you must address me formally, try using my name.”

She had woken an hour before him, and a cup of strong tea had seen her awake as day. Smiling fondly at him, she tried again. “The carriage is nearly ready, Master Bellamy.”

Critically, he squinted, but did not protest. “No, the driver is nearly ready, not necessarily the carriage.” Looking around at his beloved home, Audric realized that his floors were in terrible need of sweeping. Dust creatures roamed unchecked, without the usual clutter to inhibit their progress from under-bed to hearth. It had been a scramble, but in less than a week, he’d managed to collect his belongings – or, the important ones, at least – and pack them into a tidy set of crates.

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Iona leaned in the archway, “I think it is you, not the carriage, that isn’t ready.”

“I do mind,” he said quietly.

“Your pardon then, for speaking frankly.”

She was irritated with him, he knew, and not her usual affectionate agitation, either. And could he blame her? He had – however politely – dismissed her service, indefinitely, had made secrets between them, and now he was uprooting her. Though that last responsibility, in his opinion, did not belong to him.

Then, as luck would have it, one last diversion appeared.

“I have to take this,” he said, grabbing the register off his bed stand. “Before we depart, I have to take this to Plankside.”

“To the Ratway,” she accused.

“It’s your guess; do with it what you will.” Dumping his heavy cloak in her arms, he told her to wait for him with the driver; he’d only be a few moments.

Riften’s streets were still dark, the lanterns burning low. Audric pulled his coat closer about him, a vain effort to ward off the chill. Along the canals, mist rose from the water, more and more rolling in from the lake. It would surprise him if, in Windhelm, the river had not yet frozen over.

He did not want to go. And he was only going because he’d been strong-armed into it – under his own presiding, comically enough. Really, it was the result of Tullius’ last power grab, a testament to the fact that he was still the head of this operation. Which of course was ridiculous, but it was Audric’s personal belief that a man was entitled to whatever helped him sleep at night. Besides, Tullius couldn’t take all of the credit; Brunwulf, concerned for the delicate state of his city, had motioned for Audric to be positioned there as collateral. If Ulfric so much as stepped one toe beyond the bounds of the agreement, it would be Audric who would report to Tullius, and the whole tower of dominos would come crashing down. In exchange, he would be given pardon, his home back, not to mention political autonomy in the coming months of contention.

And Audric had agreed to this. He’d agreed to it because he cared about a handful of Windhelm’s citizens; because he was ridden with guilt for betraying a friend; because he had worked too hard to get Ulfric reinstated to foil it all now. He would still be free to go about his business – given that his business was Alduin – but every two weeks, like clockwork, he would be expected to write his observations. Tullius knew him better than he cared to acknowledge, exploiting his nature.

And apart from all of this, a strange mix of emotion was churning in his gut. He was outraged to be on a leash, no matter how loose, and Riften was his home, and being taken away from that infuriated him...yet, he could not muster quite enough anger to draw a line in the sand. Somehow, he couldn’t be bothered to put up enough of a fuss to remove himself from the mire of politics, neither to focus on his destiny nor his desires.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 10a/??

[(Anonymous)]

An attempt was made at formally welcoming Audric Bellamy into Windhelm. Ulfric had arranged for a fine dinner to be prepared, and had even decided to dress for the occasion. Upon his arrival, Galmar did not bother to disguise his laughter.

“Subtlety might be becoming on you, if only you could fit into it,” Ulfric smiled.

“Not as becoming as you in all this finery,” he gibed. “Is all this for the Breton?”

“That Breton is the reason I’m standing before you at all,” he replied. “The reason you’re not still rotting in a cell.”

The sun had fallen, its bloody light bursting past the tips of bare branches. As the world descended into evening, the curtains were opened, allowing the last decaying light of day to flood the palace rooms. When Audric appeared at last, his housecarl at his side, he seemed a shadow of himself. Throughout dinner, he kept quiet, answering questions with stock answers, making little in the way of conversation. He lacked his usual charm, his enthusiasm; he neither quipped nor laughed nor hardly drew more than slight breath. Rather, he was somber, subdued.

Ulfric did not make him sit through dessert.

“You must be tired.”

Audric shrugged, nodded.

“Is there anything you need, apart from a warm bed?”

At last, his lips pulled into a wispy smile. “A hot bath and some fine wine might do it.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

As Audric was shown to the apartments reserved for him, Ulfric looked on, concerned. To anyone else, he might have seemed puzzled or simply occupied, but he was plain as day to his old friend.

“You’re worried about him,” Galmar observed gruffly.

“He was not himself, this evening.”

“It’s a long ride from Riften. Though I’m sure he’s a delight.”

Ulfric snorted. “He can be quite disarming, when he feels up to it.”

“Disarming, eh?” Galmar ribbed him in the side. “I don’t suppose you mean that in the classical sense.”

Miffed, Ulfric’s jaw tightened. “The ‘classical sense?’ Galmar, I think your time with the Imperials has done things for you.” A pause ensued wherein Ulfric wondered if he'd gone too far.

But Galmar did not disappoint. “No more than your time with the Breton has done for you.”





All the rooms were dark, shrouded nests between slats of stone and wood. Audric sank in the great iron tub, hugging his knees to his chest. He dared tread the edge of sleep, even as the waterline tickled his chin. He retreated within himself, shrinking away from the world, not thinking about all that needed doing. He unfurled and breathed deeply. At last, he immersed himself, coming up for air only once his chest burned. Endeavoring to bathe after nine hours of being rocked and jostled, bumped and lacerated by his own worldly possessions, he gave himself a thorough scrub and soaked his hair not once, but twice. It was not his own soap, however, not his tonics, and he felt out of place.

It was only when the water turned cool and his skin began to rise that he finally got out, swathing himself in a warm, soft robe. And he realized, as he crept carefully into his room, that he was exhausted. He cocooned himself in bed and took to dreaming, safe and warm. His waking life fell, diminished, into the far corners of his mind, and where consciousness dropped off, imagination took up. He dreamed of strong shoulders, a pair of steadfast arms to hold him near; warm breath as it eddied between bodies, a low voice in his ear, like a summer storm.

Audric often dreamed of his lovers, past, present, and potential. He was born to it, after all, that most exquisite sign, more graceful than all others. He dreamed of wet kisses, and sweet touches; he dreamed of push-pull warfare waged in secret, and of covenants forged with skin in the meek light of morning.

Of all mundane pleasures, sex was Audric’s almost-favorite.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 11a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Audric stared blankly at the letter he’d written. It did not look like his handwriting – too neat, too careful – nor did it read like something he’d write. It was his first report, detailing the state of the city, the policy that remained intact – due in large part to apathy, he suspected. It was an impersonal letter. The only thing that had kept him on task was a glance at the other letter he ought to have written...ought to have written at least a week ago. The untouched parchment seemed to mock him from where it lay. It was his not knowing what to say to Brynjolf that had inspired his detached account for Tullius.

Outside, the world was still dark. It seemed that night consumed most of the hours, and Audric began counting the days until they grew lighter again. Abandoning his work, he folded up the letter and sealed it sloppily. He donned his coat and tucked the letter away in an inside pocket. Strapping his knives to his belt, he then hoisted his quiver over his shoulder, securing his bow. He had put this off for far too long.

The cobbled streets were icy and he slipped on every other step. Snow was heaped on either side of the avenue and he anticipated a fresh fall, if the taste on the air was any indication.

He was not a religious man, and yet his feet guided him to the temple in the center of town. Restoring it had been one of Ulfric’s first acts in power, and it stood mightier than it ever had. He hoped that should any Thalmor come by, they might be struck dead from angry shock.

The door was open.

A rich, inviting glow suffused the air, emanating from the shrine. Incense and candle smoke amassed in a wispy fog overhead. The hall was empty, but for a single parishioner, who sat still in the front pew. Audric hesitated, uncertain if he wanted to share this space with this man, or for that matter, if he would be welcome.

If Ulfric knew he was there, he said nothing.

The sound of Audric’s footsteps was swallowed up by the rug as he walked the aisle. Keeping a polite distance, he asked, “May I?”

“Please.”

The two of them sat, swathed in warm light. Ulfric looked tired, the sleeplessness in his eyes extending into the lines on his face. His shoulders hunched, as though strained by an unseen weight. Unseen, perhaps, but understood, between them.

“I did not expect to cross paths with you here,” Ulfric finally murmured.

With a shrug, Audric turned his face to the great stone effigy. “Sometimes, I have questions.”

“Don’t we all.” Ulfric remained, his head bowed in prayer and fatigue, both of which he bore in silence. In his hand, he clasped a familiar amulet, the diminutive blade of an axe rugged under his fingers.

Audric realized, belatedly, that he was staring.

Putting the cord back round his neck, Ulfric tucked the amulet out of sight. “What sort of questions?” he asked slowly. “What sort of questions could you have?”

Standing, Audric approached the altar. He suspended a hand in the warmth, inches from the statue. Looking up, he met gazes with unfaltering stone. Unfaltering, unseeing, unburdened… His hand balled into an angry fist, and he tucked it against his side.

“A blackly funny thing, isn’t it,” Ulfric said gently, “‘Why me?’ we ask ourselves, as the whole world wonders, why not them?” He kept his voice soft, and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. “It is a cruel predicament the Gods put us in.”

“Some more cruel than others,” Audric pointed out.

Nodding, he said, “Yes. The cruelty of war, in point of fact. I might suggest you take a drink with my soldiers sometime, before you go floundering in self-pity.” He readied himself to leave, though with no intention of returning to sleep. There were papers that needed writing and stratagem that needed planning.

“I’ve taken more than drink with your soldiers,” Audric hissed. “I know the horrors that haunt them – horrors they carried in your name.” He remembered then, that he was in a temple – a temple to the God of War, no less. “They have seen atrocities the likes of which none of us deserve. But do not deign to use their suffering to take away from the weight in my heart.”

“I did not mean...I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry for my hardship, but for that of your own people,” he spat, contemptuous.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 12a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Hello! So sorry for how long this took; old computer crashed, new computer had to be obtained, and Life™ got in the way, so I hope this was worth the wait!




The tips of Brynjolf’s callused fingers teased sensitive skin and Audric squirmed. For his efforts, he was held even tighter. Gently, playfully, he bit the arm that ensnared him. Brynjolf pulled him along as he rolled onto his back; he stroked Audric’s hair, wandering along his shoulders and neck.

“What’s gotten into you, tonight?” he asked.

Audric chuckled. “Somehow, Bryn, I think you know.”

Brynjolf held him closer and nuzzled his ear. “Tell me, who were you thinking of tonight?”

Affronted, he pulled away. “What?”

“I’m not insulted!” Brynjolf waved his hands defensively. “Merely curious; you fucked like you were in love.”

He turned very red and rolled onto his side, facing away.

Brynjolf snaked a leg over his hip and pinned him, kissing his face. “I bet she’s beautiful.”

Audric huffed.

“Ah, my apologies, that was presumptuous. I’m sure he’s very handsome.” He pinched Audric’s side and didn’t mind too much when he was kicked in retribution. “What’s he like?”

“Damn it, Bryn.”

“Please, it isn’t as if I’m asking you to tell me the details – unless...are there any details?”

Groaning, Audric threw his head beneath his pillow.

“There aren’t! Well that’s new. So are you actually playing hard to get for once, or do you suppose your charm has run its course?” he teased. “Oh, but then...he might walk the narrower side of the street, if you catch my meaning.”

Audric sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not pursuing him.”

“Why not?”

“It would get...messy.”

Brynjolf growled and flipped Audric onto his stomach, covering him, biting his shoulder. “Messy can be good. But, if you can’t have it, you can always imagine it. So, tell me,” he tried again, “what’s he like?” He kissed Audric’s cheek and grabbed his wrists. “Fair or dark?”

“Fair!” Audric responded well to restraint, and he thought it awfully mean of Brynjolf to use that against him.

“Hmm, you have a type,” he laughed. “Fair like me?”

“Not quite,” he murmured, “lighter.”

“Is he big?”

Audric rolled his eyes. “He’s a Nord.”

Keeping him pinioned, Brynjolf whispered against his neck, just beneath his ear, “So, imagine your big, fair, undoubtedly handsome Nord friend, right now, on top of you like I am.” He grinned while Audric whined. “I bet you’d want him to kiss you, huh?”

“Gods, yes.”

“Here?” Brynjolf kissed him lightly on the cheek. He was rewarded with a dissatisfied grumble. “Or perhaps here.” On the corner of his mouth, this time. Audric tried to nuzzle him back but he withdrew. “No, you’re not nearly romantic enough for that,” he declared, and whatever protest had been devised was swallowed as Brynjolf bit Audric’s shoulder. He continued along Audric’s back, zigzagging between shoulder blades, nipping playfully. Then he paused, laying his cheek on warm skin. “How about even lower?”

Audric whined and nodded his head. Shallowly, he panted into his pillow, could smell Brynjolf even on his own breath. He keened when he felt Brynjolf’s tongue on him, pressing too-gently, deliberately not-entering. “You’re cruel, Bryn,” he accused.

“Ah ah, not me. Pretend it’s your mystery beau,” he chortled. His breath was hot but Audric’s skin rose anyway.

For a moment, Audric stalled. He argued with himself, should he or shouldn’t he? He’d already indulged his imagination a number of times, to great success, but this was different. This was with another person. Not the person but, nonetheless…

Then Brynjolf fluttered his tongue and all his concerns were handwaved.

He gave over to sensation, to the feeling of a warm tongue teasing and testing him. He weakened under big hands and small kisses. He moaned and sighed and nearly tore his sheets to shreds trying not to say anything, because it was one thing to murmur a name out quietly in the dark and alone, but quite another to say it like this.

“I honestly don’t know how he could possibly refuse,” Bryn said, spreading him open, “you’re absolutely irresistible.”

“I told you – oh – I’m not pursuing him!”

Brynjolf bit him hard on the ass. “Mmm, more for me, then.”

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 13a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Ulfric afforded himself a chuckle at Audric’s expense while he watched the tiny Breton struggle into the saddle of an exceptionally tall horse. Of course, he’d seen him vault a dragon before, but this morning, Audric was succumbing to exhaustion and dehydration and general crankiness and was in no mood to be performing acrobatic feats. And even though the sunlight had barely breached the horizon, he kept his hood tugged low over his eyes. He rode not with Ulfric and his officers, but instead up front with the escort. He smiled and joked with those he knew, and he listened more than he spoke with those he didn’t.

“Eyes on the road,” Galmar grumbled, “don’t want to be taken by surprise, if we can help it.”

Yrsarald snorted. “I think Jarl Ulfric’s already quite taken, and it is a surprise.”

The two of them snickered like young boys while Ulfric suffered in what he hoped was dignified silence. Still, it was difficult not to glance up every so often to see Audric slumped on his horse or nodding thoughtfully in conversation or making wild hand gestures while he spoke. ‘Taken’ was not the word for it. Fond, though…he had become fond of this man, Divines help him.

They did not stop to eat, only pulled food out of their bags and shared amongst themselves as they traveled. Predictably, Audric ran out of water before anyone else and had to leech off of his companions, but he was in no short supply of volunteers.

When he finally decided to hang back, Ulfric asked him, “How’s your morning treating you?”

Audric smirked. “Not nearly as well as last night, I’ll give you that.”

Well, he couldn’t begrudge him a good time, he supposed. “You’re in poor condition for meeting with Tullius. I hope he doesn’t see you and decide to put us both in irons.”

“That would be sort of a lost cause, don’t you think?” He waited, but got no answer, and foolishly kept talking. “You know something, I think you’re jealous.”

Ulfric’s skin went hot and he could practically feel other ears straining to pick up this conversation. “Oh?” was all he offered.

“And you do realize that you could probably have just about anyone you wanted, right?” he asked. Something in his voice was calculative, like he was testing Ulfric. “People look up to you, they idolize you. Bryher probably would have liked the chance to get in bed with her Jarl.”

Ah. So that’s what it was, then. “I’m castigated as often as I am idolized, and besides, it’s unwise to get into an inequitable bed.”

Audric grinned. “I want to talk about bed and you want to talk sense. I’m hardly surprised.” He took off, galloping ahead a bit. But Ulfric strongly suspected that was because he didn’t want the discussion to get too serious. For if equity was the question, who exactly was equal to a king?

“He’s a surprisingly fine rider,” Ulfric observed, watching Audric slow up by a sign post to wait.

There was a moment of tense silence before Galmar said, “And I’m sure at least half of the guard could confirm it.”

Mistwatch had been reclaimed some months ago by the Legion and was now abuzz with activity. The clang of hammer on anvil echoed for miles around and the smell of scorched steel wafted up over the hills. When the retinue from Windhelm came through the gates, they were met mostly with impassivity, though a few fists tightened around weapons and a few sets of eyes squinted in suspicion. They were greeted by a stocky man in rugged officer’s armor, who introduced himself as a commander. His name was Corin, and he shook hands with Ulfric with too much force to be entirely believed. Audric laughed himself into a fit of hiccups.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 14a/??

[(Anonymous)]

They could hear chairs scraping and the rumble of voices upstairs as the talks waged on. But Audric couldn’t make out which voice belonged to whom from under layer upon layer of stone and mortar, and he had no interest anyway, so he turned his face into Ralof’s bare chest and murmured nonsense.

“Do you think we’re missed?” Ralof asked, amused.

“I don’t know,” sighed Audric. “But I missed you; what took you so long?”

Frowning, he tightened his arm around Audric. “It isn’t as if you rushed to give me the news.”

“That’s true.”

Ralof had been in tow of Balgruuf’s entourage, having finally gotten wind of Ulfric’s return to power, out in the middle of his woods. Audric had made a show of welcoming him back into the world, and not entirely for his own benefit, either. Even as he lay beside his friend, basking in the heat of his body, his thoughts wandered upstairs.

There was a slow, rumbling trickle of footfalls above them, around them, as the meeting seemed to have exhausted itself. Ralof held him close, even as he fell into sleep, but Audric grew restless. Carefully, quietly, he removed himself from under his friend’s arm and tucked the linens over his chest. Without waking him, Audric placed a kiss goodnight on his forehead.

He found Ulfric loitering in a nearby corridor.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.

Ulfric looked perplexed for a moment. “Would you believe it was a coincidence?”

“I’d believe it was luck. In any case,” he did his best not to turn red, “I could use a scrub before sleep. It’s dark out, and I don’t trust my reflexes. Come with me?”

Ulfric’s age showed on his face, not so much in lines and wear as in careful calculation. He thought before he spoke, far too much. “Alright,” he agreed, “but only so long as you allow me to recap the meeting for you, since you were too busy to attend.”

“Is that a grudge I hear in there?”

“Not at all. I think…”

When the pause stretched into silence too long for Audric’s comfort, he said, “Go on, say it: you were better off for it.”

“Your opinions have a way of bringing a room to boil.”

Outside, the noises of night all around them, Secunda was high in the sky and Masser tried to keep up. “Have you considered that perhaps it isn’t my opinions, but Nord pride that really drives the nail into things?” Audric was out of his clothes, wading into the warm water; he could feel Ulfric’s eyes on him. “Or maybe you don’t appreciate me all that much,” he teased.

His eyes falling to where the waterline hovered around Audric’s naval, Ulfric said, “I appreciate you well enough.”

Audric had his bath and there was no interruption of man or beast. He and Ulfric talked politics a little, but mostly they talked nonsense. Audric asked what growing up in High Hrothgar had been like, and was pleasantly surprised to find out that Ulfric had been a bit of a troublemaker.

“You did not,” he laughed, hearing that Ulfric had concocted a rather vulgar Shout to graffiti the courtyard stone.

“It was only the once,” said Ulfric defensively, his cheeks pink. “Besides, it faded…eventually.”

The earth trembled suddenly, and the air rushed, knocking them both forward; Audric was dumped into the water and Ulfric landed on his hands and knees. Grabbing his axe, Ulfric looked on in awe and mounting fear as a humongous shadow tore through the night. The dragon, silhouetted against the ruddy moonlight, circled around once, twice, and then let out a tremendous roar before disappearing past the horizon.

Audric was standing again, squinting into the dark, his entire body tensed. There was a fire that glinted in his green eyes as he watched the dragon, and it burned so strongly that it didn’t matter that he was standing naked and wet in the dark; packed tightly into that lean frame of bone and sinew, there raged a beast.

Still, when Ulfric came to his senses, he averted his eyes.

Once he was wrapped up in a towel, Audric threw his things over his arm and began the walk back up to Mistwatch. The path was winding and narrow, and the dirt and rubble slid easily underfoot, making it treacherous. Several times, he had to count on Ulfric to keep him upright.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB 15a/??

[(Anonymous)]

Audric stood on the edge of the ice floe, the frigid wind whipping his hair and his clothes in all directions, biting at his skin. The sea went on forever, the horizon a faint, gray line in the inconceivable distance. Septimus Signus, as it turned out, was a lunatic, and an unhelpful one, at that. “‘It’s all nearby!’,” Audric mimicked to himself. “The old fool's probably sent me on a wild goose chase.” Digging through his pocket, he produced the strange, brassy cube; he was tempted to chuck the damned thing into the ocean. But better to have and not need, than to need and not have.

He trekked across the ocean, terrified with every crack of expanding ice, with every strong gust of wind. He hated open water, and now that his curiosity had been sated, it was increasingly difficult to ignore the chilly depths below. He hopped along the icecaps, a lonely figure in the vast, monotonous emptiness.

Back in town, the weather was milder; there was hardly a breeze, only the gentle fall of snow, quiet and insular. He left a farewell for Enthir at the inn, and took a hot meal before hitting the road. Winter persisted during his journey through the mountains: Septimus had sent him looking for Alftand, a Dwemeri ruin, geographically not so far from Winterhold. But, trying to drive a horse through snow that deep, and dealing with all manner of wildlife along the unpaved, winding paths...it wasn’t worth it. So Audric had resolved to travel around, and to take a mountain pass on the other end of the gorge.

It took him hours, but at last, he reached a fork in the road. From the top of the hill, Windhelm was visible, even through the frosty dusk. Smoke rose up in columns from the city, and the foggy glow of civilization tempted him. But then, it was out of the way.

It was soon dark, and Audric took his rest at the Nightgate Inn. He slept fitfully, dreaming of big hands and a warm bed.

The following morning was the coldest of the year thus far, and Audric couldn’t even bring himself to bathe, for the cold asked too much of him. He wrapped himself in his clothes and his armor, and an elegant black fur he’d liberated from a wardrobe. Even so, the icy sting of winter seeped in.

The sun rose just as he crested the pass. An old, decrepit shrine lay broken in the middle of it, and a few weapons were strewn about, but there was no sign of life. The tundra before him lay barren, and that was the way he liked it. Eventually though, the chipped, tin tops of towers rose from the white hills, the sunrise flashing gold and fiery on the cracked, alabaster stone. He tied the horse in a shed, and stooped to investigate the wreckage; there were corpses strewn about, and Audric kept his his guard up.

There were journals, but none of them helpful; all research, all notation. He flipped through page after page, looted pocket after pocket, and when he found a pittance of coins, he left one a piece to the dead, holding onto the rest.

Following the rickety plank bridges down, he delved deeper into the ruins until he found an entrance. Blood splattered the glacial walls, but he tried not to panic, unsheathing a dagger. The thrum of motors and pistons, the hiss of steam as it slithered out from between coils put his hair on end. He disliked Dwemeri ruins, and if what he knew from his history books was true, he disliked the long-since disappeared Dwemer, as well. Cruel, unrelenting creatures, he thought them, made savage by their implacable pursuit of knowledge.

The automatons were not much of a challenge, but they were terrifying to him in their mystery. He did not understand how they worked, how steam could bring cold metal to life. He picked them for loot, and for curiosity, but he made more gold than he did progress. The catacombs were dim and dank, made humid from the steam, water drip-dropping from the ceilings and pipes. The sounds of metalwork overtook his footsteps, and Audric worried he wouldn’t hear an approaching threat.

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 16a/???

[(Anonymous)]

Audric rode hard, his thighs cramping from exertion. He could feel the exhaustion in his horse’s gallop, but pressed on anyway. Windhelm was only another hour away, at this speed. Despite being on the road, though, his thoughts remained in his basement, tucked neatly in a hiding hole he had excavated in the stone. Nestled deep amongst must and mortar, in a damp corner of his modest home, there lay an Elder Scroll.

He also continued to revisit his contest with Alduin, reliving his mistakes and kicking himself at every opportunity. He imagined all of the ways it could have gone instead until he was tangled up in the coils of What-If, its venom poisoning his veins and souring his mood. The cold didn’t help, either. The weather was gray, the sky a sheet of dull metal, tarnished with dark stormclouds. The promise of snowfall tasted sharp in the air. He dismounted at the stables and left his horse in the reliable — if annoyingly cheerful — care of Ulundil.

The city proper felt barren. Shutters had been latched and the streets were devoid of any sign of life. The bare branches of trees appeared to scrape against the dismal sky. Loose crumbs of gravel and shards of ice broke and crunched beneath Audric’s boots, and it was so quiet that he winced upon entering the palace, for the doors let out such a groan as if in agony.

Jorleif, who was seated at the far corner of the dining table, glanced up and then his eyes turned wide, filled with something akin to awe. He regarded Audric like a spirit, looking pale, relieved, and horrified in turns. “By Ysmir, is it...is it really you?”

“It certainly isn’t Vivec,” he answered sarcastically.

“No, it’s only…” Jorleif stood, the rush of air behind him agitating the papers on the table. “Bellamy,” he said breathlessly, “we all saw it. We saw the storm on the mountain; you could watch from the city streets. And then, the noise like thunder. Was that —?”

“Yes, it was.” Audric cut him off, uncomfortable with the question before it was asked.

“But then we saw Alduin! Flying away, alive and....”

“We both survived, but only because the bastard turned tail. Where’s Ulfric?”

“Ah.” Jorleif looked supremely discomfited, and began fidgeting. “Like I said, we came to our own conclusions. There’s been mourning in the streets; we had to send guards down to the Gray Quarter, it was so clogged with…” Jorleif struggled to find the least offensive description.

“Oh, spit it out.”

“I’m sorry, I know how fond of them you are.”

“Jorleif. Nevermind your prejudices, where is Ulfric?”

The steward averted his eyes, looking displeased at being admonished. “He left with the rest of the war party, about a day ago.”

“They left without me?!” Audric yelled. His voice bounded off of the stone and got lost in the vaulted ceiling.

“We thought you were dead! And can you blame us?”

“Yes. Anyway, I suppose I’m off to Solitude. Goodbye, Jorleif, and try not to give anyone any trouble in my absence. If the weather gets you down, Ambarys Rendar sells a fine liquor at his Cornerclub. Warms up the insides quite nicely.”

He barely stayed long enough to savor the expression on Jorleif’s face.

Re: DB/Ulfric Undercover Companion

[(Anonymous)]

I love this fic so much! Audric is my favourite, and I love that it's so drawn out and it's not just smut, you really filled the prompt and gave us politics and tension and snark and all. The smut is also great, of course! ;] Thank you so much for putting so much effort into this, it's worth waiting for updates!

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 17a/18

[(Anonymous)]

In the following weeks, Ulfric haunted his own palace like a ghost. He stalked the halls, silent and sullen, keeping mostly to himself. In junctures between business, he would loiter outside the room where Audric was laid up, sometimes coming in to see him, but usually drifting just outside, listening. He remembered with terrible clarity the state he had been in after escaping Elenwen’s reach, and how far beyond the grasp of sinew and bone it went.

Audric, when he was conscious, could hardly be called even a shadow of himself: he was sober, weakened, and all the mirthful fire seemed crushed out of him. In place of the glorious, effervescent blaze he once had been, he now seemed a wisp of gray smoke.

“How is he looking?” Ulfric asked his healer.

He frowned, not at all encouraging. “He’s alive,” he said quietly. “That’s the most we can ask from him, now.”
And then one evening, Audric came knocking at the door to his study. The most remarkable thing about this person, Ulfric decided, was not his Dragon blood or his brazen personality or his quick wit — nor even his exquisite disregard for rules and decorum. No, the most remarkable thing about Audric Bellamy was his resilience. Ulfric watched him as he spoke, and though the light in his eyes had been doused, he still smiled with wounded lips.

Audric spoke idly; he darted between topics without course, sometimes doubling back and repeating himself. But Ulfric didn’t stop him. He only sat and watched, and listened. He nodded and hummed thoughtfully, filling in the empty spaces. It might have been tempting to console him, or to interrupt him, but Ulfric wanted to allow him the space to heal as he pleased.

And yet, Audric seemed unsatisfied. Despite his injured body and character, he did not disappoint: he challenged boundaries without regard for what they were or why they were in place. He agitated Ulfric in true form, but the Nord resolved to maintain his temper, and subsequently, his dignity.

“You have every allowance to be angry,” he said carefully, following the tail of a hot tirade.

“Whose allowance?” Audric demanded. “Yours?”

Patience and smile wearing thin, Ulfric leaned forward in his chair. “Not that you’d need it. You’re tired—”

“I’m exhausted.”

“And you’re hurt. Badly. You’ve had some time to heal, but it still isn’t enough, isn’t it.” He watched Audric waver with his retort. “Every time you move: to chew a meal, to wash yourself, to roll over in bed? Even the smallest movement causes strain, I know.” Silence descended upon the room and filled it like gauze, insular and suffocating. “You’re in pain — don’t look away from me — you’re in pain and I will be here, whether you lash out or not. But others may not understand so well.”

Audric’s smile diminished into a hollow, defeated smirk. He stood and left, and called over his shoulder, “I hate when you’re right.”

"Divide and Conquer" Ulfric Stormcloak/M!DB, 18a/18

[(Anonymous)]

It was strange to wake after sunup, but then, it was strange too, to wake up next to another. Ulfric shifted onto his side and blinked until Audric came clearly into view. He was curled into himself, the sheets twisted round his legs as if in a knot. His skin was bared, pinkish and delicate in the morning light. Ulfric kissed his shoulder and he whined in his sleep.

Audric was thoroughly a thief, but he had a warrior’s body. To be so young and to have suffered so much...a pit hardened in Ulfric’s gut. He eyed the scars and bruises, touched gently, idly.

It was still comfortably warm, and Ulfric realized that the fire was still going strong, crackling at a dull roar in the fireplace. A servant had been in to tend it, which of course meant that by breakfast the entirety of the palace would know he had bedded Audric. He sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable, deciding to bask in the warmth of their intimacy for as long as he still had left.

Outside, the wind howled and the windowpanes rattled and he wondered how Audric managed to sleep through it all. Ulfric hugged him close, enjoying the way they fit together; Audric’s lithe figure engulfed by his own immensity. His fingers brushed over the shadow of a scar, peculiar in shape, but entirely familiar to Ulfric. His heart was made lead and his stomach churned, for he remembered, and he resented. All these years after his own rendezvous with the Thalmor’s most prodigious interrogator, he had only hoped to avoid ever coming into contact with her again. But now, seeing and touching the evidence that she had tortured a man he had come to admire, he wanted little else than to wring her neck with his bare hands.

Resting his forehead against Audric’s bare shoulder, he tried very hard not to think about it.

Fingers combed through his hair and he hummed. “Did I wake you?”

“No; the wind.” Audric was probably lying, which was fine. He yawned, wide and loud, endearing. “You aren’t used to staying in bed, are you?” he asked after a time of tolerating Ulfric’s restless tics.

“We both need a bath,” was the only answer given.

“And shall we bathe together?” Audric suggested slyly, grinning.

Ulfric shrugged. “If it would please you.”

“You please me.”

Audric’s candor was discomfiting, and embarrassment took him the way it hadn’t since he was a lad. “Glad to be of service.” He stood, and scooped Audric out of the bed, pulling him into his robe. Together, they strolled down the hall to the baths, where steam greeted them, a warm and comfortable embrace.

“Do you think they were staring?” Audric mused, shedding his robe and slipping into the hot water.

“At us? Absolutely,” Ulfric chuckled. He fenced Audric in, hovering over him, then leaned in to kiss his neck. “Or perhaps they were just staring at you. You are very nice to look at.”

Audric huffed; he squirmed and whined but melted when Ulfric’s lips caught his. It was so quiet, he thought he could hear his own heartbeat. This wasn’t the playful nonchalance he was so accustomed to, that he had cultivated as his own. Honesty of this magnitude was foreign, and made him nervous.

“I don’t think I can fuck or anything today,” he spat out, glancing away. “I...overestimated myself last night.”

“I overestimated you,” Ulfric said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, stop.” If he weren’t physically constrained by a bathtub, he would have pushed away. “Stop being so sincere, I can’t take it.”

Ulfric’s brow furrowed. “Are you being facetious?”

“I’m not actually that bothered,” he admitted, folding himself into Ulfric’s arms. He fit quite nicely. “It’s just...strange.” With that, he sank beneath the water until his nose hovered just above it, and Ulfric held him until he had to be pulled out of the tub.