When Finn began down the steps again, she found herself watching Ulfric Stormcloak hopping around on one foot. She blinked, rubbing her eyes, and smiled broadly as their hatchlings nipped playfully at his other ankle. This was the Jarl of Windhelm, the possible High King of Skyrim, and here he was, jumping around like a child and actually smiling for once. Finn stayed put for a few moments, enchanted by the sight until the dragons caught sight of her and half-flew to her side, calling for her in their high, raspy voices.
“Drem yol lok!” she said cheerfully, crouching to scoop them up as Ulfric followed behind, straightening out his coat. “I knew you'd like them.”
“Hm,” he replied dismissively, his focus intently on the wall behind her. “What did the Greybeards have to say?”
“Exactly what I thought they would. We should get going, if we want to get off this mountain before sunset.” As she traipsed off through the snow again, she grinned over her shoulder. “I hope you have a bit of extra space in that palace of yours!” Ulfric sighed, following close behind and watching the hatchlings warily.
“What am I going to do with you...?”
Ulfric still couldn't believe that he had actually been convinced to set a room aside in his own palace for three fire-breathing dragons. Yet here he was, tossing a few old blankets from the stables over a pile of hay and trying to ignore Finn's distaste for it.
“The Jarl doesn't have anything better than that?” she complained, patting the blankets. “They're rough! I hear this place is full of furs.”
“Furs are expensive, Finn,” Ulfric shot back, laying a palm on the shorter girl's head. “If you want them to have furs, use the ones from your bed.” The Breton shrugged, taking a seat and pulling the nearest dragon up into her lap. Now that she had become an impromptu mother, she was planning on staying in Windhelm, which meant she would be making use of that warm guest room she liked so much. She hated to admit it, but he was right.
“We should name them,” she said, willing to change the subject. Ulfric allowed himself a small smile, holding out his hand to her instead.
“What we should do is sleep. You look especially exhausted,” he informed her, helping her to her feet. Finn nodded in agreement, reluctant all the same, and looked down at the three dragons.
“I just hope they don't get nervous during the night. Gods know what they'll do,” she sighed. “Pruzah vulon, dovahkirre.” Once they had locked the door, she looked almost worriedly up at her Jarl. “Well...good night.” Ulfric's lips tightened a bit at her response, and he laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping to silence her fears.
“It's going to be fine. You know that,” he said, surprisingly soothingly. Finn smiled weakly, nodding.
“I hope so.” On that note, she wriggled out from his grasp and breezed by, vanishing up the stairs and leaving the Stormcloak to think in her wake.
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timeasmymeasure
"Something Like Parents" 5/?
Date: 2012-08-24 12:36 am (UTC)When Finn began down the steps again, she found herself watching Ulfric Stormcloak hopping around on one foot. She blinked, rubbing her eyes, and smiled broadly as their hatchlings nipped playfully at his other ankle. This was the Jarl of Windhelm, the possible High King of Skyrim, and here he was, jumping around like a child and actually smiling for once. Finn stayed put for a few moments, enchanted by the sight until the dragons caught sight of her and half-flew to her side, calling for her in their high, raspy voices.
“Drem yol lok!” she said cheerfully, crouching to scoop them up as Ulfric followed behind, straightening out his coat. “I knew you'd like them.”
“Hm,” he replied dismissively, his focus intently on the wall behind her. “What did the Greybeards have to say?”
“Exactly what I thought they would. We should get going, if we want to get off this mountain before sunset.” As she traipsed off through the snow again, she grinned over her shoulder. “I hope you have a bit of extra space in that palace of yours!” Ulfric sighed, following close behind and watching the hatchlings warily.
“What am I going to do with you...?”
Ulfric still couldn't believe that he had actually been convinced to set a room aside in his own palace for three fire-breathing dragons. Yet here he was, tossing a few old blankets from the stables over a pile of hay and trying to ignore Finn's distaste for it.
“The Jarl doesn't have anything better than that?” she complained, patting the blankets. “They're rough! I hear this place is full of furs.”
“Furs are expensive, Finn,” Ulfric shot back, laying a palm on the shorter girl's head. “If you want them to have furs, use the ones from your bed.” The Breton shrugged, taking a seat and pulling the nearest dragon up into her lap. Now that she had become an impromptu mother, she was planning on staying in Windhelm, which meant she would be making use of that warm guest room she liked so much. She hated to admit it, but he was right.
“We should name them,” she said, willing to change the subject. Ulfric allowed himself a small smile, holding out his hand to her instead.
“What we should do is sleep. You look especially exhausted,” he informed her, helping her to her feet. Finn nodded in agreement, reluctant all the same, and looked down at the three dragons.
“I just hope they don't get nervous during the night. Gods know what they'll do,” she sighed. “Pruzah vulon, dovahkirre.” Once they had locked the door, she looked almost worriedly up at her Jarl. “Well...good night.” Ulfric's lips tightened a bit at her response, and he laid a hand on her shoulder, hoping to silence her fears.
“It's going to be fine. You know that,” he said, surprisingly soothingly. Finn smiled weakly, nodding.
“I hope so.” On that note, she wriggled out from his grasp and breezed by, vanishing up the stairs and leaving the Stormcloak to think in her wake.