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The Old-Fashioned Way 6/?
Date: 2013-08-01 11:30 pm (UTC)Summary: Ulfric has a broken leg and a cranky, temperamental Housecarl. And Ralof is also there.
Part 6
*-*-*
Galmar was kneeling before the shrine that Rozenn kept in the Manor's cellar, praying to Talos (and any other Divines that might have been listening) for a way to talk with Ulfric about his sudden burst of temper. Skeever bodies were piled in a corner, having made the ultimate sacrifice to placate Galmar's sudden fury. He snorted, wryly amused that Ulfric's flimsy excuse had had some truth to it.
As he breathed in the calming straw-and-sawdust scents of the room and meditated before the altar, Galmar missed the telltale creak of the trapdoor opening. He didn't, however, miss the sound of heavy booted feet upon the ladder.
"Can't a man have some privacy in which to pray?" Galmar bellowed.
"My apologies, General Galmar, but, well, you try saying "no" to the High King," Ralof replied, reaching up overhead.
"I do. Often and vocally. You'll learn, soon enough or - oh no," Galmar muttered, then halted, struck by a sudden, horrific thought. He turned and shook his head vehemently, pointing back upwards as he strode to the ladder. "No. No, no, no, no! Ulfric, no! Your leg's not even remotely set right! Get back in bed! At once!"
Ulfric Stormcloak looked down through the trapdoor at his long-time friend, and glared at him. "I will do no such thing, Galmar. It is high time we spoke of that which troubles you."
"You trouble me, Ulfric!" Galmar hissed. "You'll be lame the rest of your days if you are not careful! Do you want that?"
"Do you want that?" Ulfric countered.
Galmar shoved his way up the ladder, past Ralof, to stand tall in the small sitting area, glaring ferociously at Ulfric, who was braced on the shoulders of two of the young Stormcloak soldiers.
"You know, for a man famed for his rhetoric, your rejoinders are severely lacking in wit," Galmar said, shoving the two soldiers aside, and taking Ulfric's weight himself. The High King sagged slightly against him, testament to the pain he was hiding from his subordinates. "Idiot."
"Galmar," Ulfric began, but trailed off, uncertain for once how to talk to his friend.
"We'll talk in private, in the bedroom. Once your damned leg is elevated again and you've taken something to dull the pain," Galmar ordered, turning them both and walking back to the bedrooms.
"I often wonder, Galmar, if you know which of us is in charge," Ulfric murmured, although a jolt to his leg, crossing the threshold to the bedroom, left him gasping for breath.
"I know precisely who is in charge, Ulfric, and it's not some snotty, spoiled Jarl's son," Galmar said, in perfect imitation of himself at age fourteen. Ulfric managed a weak smile at Galmar's poking fun.
It took a little while for Galmar to get Ulfric settled comfortably, and then to have Greta bring in a small dose of some manner of poppy juice to dull the throbbing pain in Ulfric's leg.
"Now, you may tell me," Ulfric said.
"Oh, may I, indeed?" Galmar responded in an arch tone of voice.
"I could order you to tell me," Ulfric pointed out, without any real heat in the threat.
Galmar stiffened perceptibly. "You wouldn't, though, would you?" he asked warily.
"No. It would not be well done of me to force you. But I wish you would confide in me," Ulfric replied tiredly.
"Fine. It's all Thongvar Silver-Blood's fault. Him and the barkeep in that damned tavern of his," Galmar replied, sitting down in a comfortable armchair.
"What? Markarth? What has the ale from this afternoon got to do with Markarth?"
"Will you let me tell the story, please, Ulfric?" Galmar asked pointedly.
Re: The Old-Fashioned Way 6/?
Date: 2013-08-02 04:27 am (UTC)I am so, SO glad to see more of this, and now I'm really interested to hear this story and how it ties in to the Silver-Blood Inn. Also, I laughed at the dead skeevers. At least they're good for soothing Galmar's temper. :)
Re: The Old-Fashioned Way 6/?
Date: 2013-08-04 08:46 pm (UTC)The ending is in sight (although considering it took this long to get this far, that's not saying much)
I'm glad you're still reading!
The Old-Fashioned Way 7/?
Date: 2013-08-04 09:50 pm (UTC)*-*-*
"Do you remember the day the Thalmor took you?" Galmar asked.
Ulfric froze and gave a chilling stare. "Do you think I do not?"
"That's not what I meant, Ulfric, and well you know it."
"I'm sorry, Galmar. But you know I try to think of that time as little as possible," Ulfric replied.
"Do you remember there being much warning that the elves were coming for you? Sounds of a fight outside your door, perhaps?" Galmar asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, and addressing his knee.
Ulfric frowned as he thought back. "No," he said slowly. "I was taken by surprise. I only had time to Shout one of them into the wall before they swarmed and overwhelmed me. I - I confess, and I am sorry for it, but it did not occur to me that I heard nothing from you."
"I wondered if you had realised or not. I was too much of a coward to ask you, though. And then there was the business with Rikke, distracting me," Galmar said, flushing dark in shame.
"Galmar you are avoiding the point. My patience is not unlimited," Ulfric said crossly.
"Fine!" Galmar barked unhappily. "You want to know why the damned witch-elves took you so easily? Fine! I'll tell you!"
Ulfric blinked and took a deep breath, hesitating to remind Galmar that he had, in fact, asked about something completely unrelated to that event.
Galmar stood, too agitated to remain seated, and began pacing, crossing half the room before doubling back on himself.
Ulfric allowed the Housecarl to remain pacing in silence for a long minute, then lifted a hand to call him over to the bedside.
"Galmar. You are my most loyal... my oldest... You are my friend, my trusted friend, in a life where true friends are few and far between. You may speak candidly with me," Ulfric said quietly, meeting Galmar's reluctant gaze steadily.
"You'll change your tune," Galmar muttered.
"Do you think so little of me?" Ulfric asked softly.
"No. That's why I am so certain," Galmar muttered, turning away from Ulfric, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the hem of his tunic. "I failed you, Ulfric, in the most fundamental way a Housecarl can fail his charge. They tricked me, fucking Silver-Bloods, and the Thalmor got you in their hands."
Ulfric shifted himself so he sat higher in the bed. "Galmar. Tell me all."
Galmar glared at Ulfric, although Ulfric suspected the irate look was intended for the Thalmor. The Housecarl sighed. "Fine. I'll tell you. That night - the night they took you - we were in the Inn. There was a big crowd, many new faces. All of them merrily buying rounds and cheering for the Legion. There was a lovely tavern wench there that I hadn't seen before, and for once she was more interested in me than you. Now I know why," Galmar said, shaking his head and sighing.
"A lovely little thing she was. Blonde. Buxom. Nice... assets, if you know what I mean, and had a lovely smile that suggested good things for later on. I was merry but not in my cups by the time the crowd dispersed, and she came to me with one last bottle, and a saucy wink."
Galmar paused, clearly fighting himself, but Ulfric suspected he knew what was coming.
The Old-Fashioned Way 8/?
Date: 2013-08-04 10:06 pm (UTC)Galmar gave a bark of unamused laughter. "Am I so transparent? Alright. It was a Paralysis Poison, probably the strongest I have ever come across, before or since. I downed half the bottle in a single swallow, and suddenly couldn't move. My legs and arms went stiff and straight. I couldn't blink my damned eyes!
I fell right out of my damned chair to the floor, just as the thrice-damned witch-elf bastards came in. That - that viper Elenwen came over to me and kindly closed my eyes so they wouldn't dry out and leave me blind. I couldn't move or I'd have ended her days right then and there.
I could hear them dragging you out - I assume they gagged you - and telling each other how well they'd managed it. Nobody suspected a thing, except Silver-Blood, who orchestrated the whole thing. I wager he gave them Legion positions that time we were looking for a mole, but I have no proof of that. He wanted us away from his precious mines, and he managed it.
It took an hour more for that damn poison to wear off enough to move even the slightest bit. Another hour later it wore off fully and you were well gone, along with any tracks or trails that I might have followed. And by the time I finally found you, you were so traumatised by their torturers that you couldn't tell the difference between a Healer and an enemy - and you still can't. Now. If you will kindly excuse me, my Jarl, I feel the need for some fresh air."
Ulfric nodded and Galmar stepped out the patio doors. Ulfric sagged back into his bed: he had been given plenty to think about. Almost immediately he sat upright again. "Ralof," he called.
"My Jarl?" Ralof stuck his head in the door.
"Send for General Stormblade, would you? Her services will be needed shortly."
"Right away, my Jarl," Ralof saluted.
*-*-*
The Old-Fashioned Way 9/?
Date: 2013-08-04 10:31 pm (UTC)*-*-*
"Damn you mages, get off my property!" Galmar bellowed, charging the Necromancers using the table by the lakeside.
The fight was quick, bloody, and decidedly one-sided. Galmar soon had total privacy in which to listen to the lake water lapping, and watching the slaughterfish snapping at the dartwings, and otherwise draw the peace of Lake Ilinalta into his heart.
He wished Rozenn was with him: even if they didn't talk or hold each other, there was something comforting about knowing she was around. He'd see her soon enough, once Ulfric decided what his punishment was to be. If the man asked, he'd recommend Ralof for the position of Housecarl, and Ysarald for the position he had held in the army. He wondered if Rozenn would mind not living in Windhelm anymore; he couldn't hope to remain sane if he lived there and wasn't Ulfric's Housecarl and General, and this manor house had a nice view. Or he'd try his hand at fishing and live in Riften - he could probably ignore the Thieves' Guild if she asked it of him.
He sighed. He was going to hate having nothing to do and nobody to look after. Maybe he'd get a dog.
*-*
Rozenn strolled up to the house, scarcely an hour after Ralof had sent the messenger for her.
"I was in Falkreath hold visiting an old friend," she said dismissively. "Did Ulfric say why he wished to see me?"
"No, he didn't Rozenn. I suspect it has something to do with Galmar," Ralof replied. Rozenn raised her brows in an unspoken query, and he continued. "Your husband has been ... pricklier than usual, the last few days. And today he tried to kill a skeever with a bottle of mead."
Rozenn nodded in understanding, although in truth she understood little. She headed into the bedroom.
*-*
"General Galmar!" Greta called as she jogged to the lake shore.
Galmar shook himself out of his reverie. "What is it? Is Ulfric well?"
Greta nodded. "The High King wishes you to join him in his bedchamber - uh, I mean..." Greta blushed at her double entendre, but Galmar hadn't even heard it, he was already sprinting back uphill.
Ulfric was not alone when Galmar burst through the patio doors, out of breath from his mad dash up to the house. He stood stock still, arrested by the sight before him. Ulfric lay back on the bed, held down by Ralof on the left and another of the young Stormcloaks on the right (he really should have learned the fellow's name) while Rozenn stood before him, clad in Master Mage Robes from the school of Restoration with golden magic glowing in her palms.
"What in Talos' name is going on here?"
The Old-Fashioned Way 10/11
Date: 2013-08-04 11:11 pm (UTC)*-*-*
"Galmar! I missed you!" Rozenn turned to face him, her smile lighting up the room better than a Magelight spell. She sheathed her ready spells and jumped on her husband, hugging and kissing him warmly.
Galmar's arms tightened instinctively around her, and he inhaled the scent of her deeply, but kept a wary eye on Ulfric and the young Stormcloaks. "Not that I am not pleased to have you here, wife, but what are you doing to the High King?"
Ulfric gazed at Galmar and offered a small, wry smile to his longtime friend. "You made a very good point, today, Galmar. I lost the ability to tell healer from foe in the hands of the Thalmor. And in allowing my remembered pain to control my reaction to healers, I allowed the Thalmor to win, many times over. Today, I chose to take that victory back from them. Rozenn is going to heal my broken leg."
Rozenn, still clutching Galmar as though she might never let him go, nodded into his shoulder. "Ulfric said it might be best to have a healer with a strong Thu'um to help him - if he fought someone like Greta he might hurt her, but I can use Ice Form to still him and calm him if he needs it. Will you help hold him steady, love?"
Galmar stayed as he was for a long time, eyes on Ulfric. Eventually he nodded. "And the rest of our conversation?"
"Remains confidential between us, Galmar," Ulfric said firmly.
"Very well. What would you have me do, Breton?"
"Would that you would speak to me so deferentially," Ulfric muttered with a small smile.
"What? And let you think you're in charge? Pfffft!" Galmar took over from the young Stormcloak, who went off to the kitchen.
Rozenn spoke to Ulfric, "This will be uncomfortable, but hopefully not painful. Any pain or discomfort you might feel is a positive thing: a healing pain. Try to remain still." To Ralof and Galmar she added, "keep him steady and as calm as possible."
"You'll be fine, Ulfric," Galmar said under his breath as the High King's muscles tensed beneath his hands.
Rozenn's hands glowed golden and then the magic flowed into Ulfric, centring on his leg. Ulfric shut his eyes and pushed his head back into the pillow, a grimace of horror on his features. Ralof looked worriedly at Galmar. Galmar smiled grimly. "He can do this. He might pass out, like a milk drinker-" this comment aimed at Ulfric "- but he'll do it, and be a better High King for it."
*-*-*
The Old-Fashioned Way 11/11
Date: 2013-08-04 11:12 pm (UTC)"Ulfric?" Rozenn was calling his name, and likely had done so several times. "Ulfric, can you speak?"
Ulfric let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and croaked out what might have been a yes.
Galmar pushed him upright into a sitting position and held a tankard to his lips. Sweet mead filled his mouth. Ulfric swallowed, feeling an immediate improvement. Something about the sweetness made him feel better... Or... "Was this mead dosed with a healing potion?"
Galmar chuckled and Rozenn laughed. "Maybe. Maybe not. Does your leg feel better?" Galmar asked.
Ulfric tested it on the bed. It felt considerably better. He nodded.
"Want to try putting your weight on it?" Galmar asked, while pushing Ulfric to the edge of the bed.
"What if I say "No"?" Ulfric asked.
Galmar shoved him. "Tough."
Ulfric stood, glaring at his Housecarl. "An improvement. Thank you, Thane Rozenn."
"What happened to General Stormblade? Not that I like the name, mind," Rozenn asked, coming to lean happily against Galmar.
"You don't look it. In that get-up you look like a mage or scholar or a Thane," Galmar answered before Ulfric could even examine his reasoning.
"And the leg, High King? Better?" Rozenn asked again.
"Much. I think perhaps it will be a long time before I ask for another healing, but I would ask that you be the one to perform them," Ulfric replied.
"Of course, Ulfric. Unless I can teach the Thu'um for Ice Form to every healer in Skyrim, nobody else would be brave enough to try healing you!"
"You and Galmar - you will always keep me humble," Ulfric muttered.
"Someone has to," they chorused. Ralof snorted.
Ulfric glared at the young Nord. "See that all our things are packed. We need to get back to Windhelm as soon as may be."
"Yes, High King!"
"Now, High King Ulfric, if you don't mind..." Rozenn said as she went to a dresser and opened a drawer.
"What?" Ulfric asked even as Galmar said out of the side of his mouth "Don't ask."
"You can change our sheets. I don't want to bed my husband and catch your scent, do I?"
"Don't you have a steward for that?"
"The Steward didn't use my bed."
"Now I remember why I liked Ralof's suggestion of going to Riverwood. Nobody there would dream of speaking to me like you two do."
*-*-*
A/N: And that's it. There is more in this 'verse, depending on which prompts catch my eye and imagination. Thank you to any and all who read and followed and cheered for me and Galmar and Ulfric.
*-*-*
Author's Note: *facepalm*
Date: 2013-08-07 12:20 pm (UTC)*clears throat*
Yeah. My bad. I *do* have a retcon plot!fix for this, but it will not be in this fic (mostly because there be no editing while Anon'd) so it'll be in my next one, on Page 5.
Aside from my slight lore!fail any feedback would be appreciated.