Here I am, OP!Anon, sorry for keeping you waiting, I decided to replay some of Galmar's parts to get his voice right (and then I forgot to stop... ooops) so hopefully this'll be a fun fill for you. This is my first time doing a fill for this meme, please let me know if I need to alter my tags.
Rozenn stood in the presence of greatness, and it made her nervous. The first time she had met Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak had been inauspicious at best, and his Housecarl was glaring at her like she had personally offended him.
"Why's Breton want to fight for Skyrim, anyway?" Galmar Stone-Fist asked suspiciously.
Rozenn blinked. That was not a question she had expected; from what she had heard the Stromcloaks needed every able body they could get their hands on.
"Well?" Galmar added impatiently. Ulfric looked at her with raised brows - they both wanted to know. It had to be a test.
"I have no love for the Empire - especially after Helgen," Rozenn said, truthfully.
Glamar looked to his Jarl; Ulfric nodded and smiled grimly. Galmar rolled his eyes and shook his head. Rozenn saw, and glared fiercely at the Nord, letting Sparks appear in her palms. Galmar snorted. "Bretons," she heard him mutter, "as bad as the elves, in their way."
*-*-*
Galmar sent her to dispatch the Ice-Wraith, a task she accepted without question or complaint; Galmar was happy enough to see that: she would make a good soldier if she continued to take her orders so well.
He watched as she turned to leave the War Room, her race were of such small stature that he wondered how she would be able to fight the creature alone.
"Wait, Breton," he ordered.
The raven-haired Breton stopped and turned back to him, brows raised in enquiry.
"Take these," he instructed, thrusting three bottles of Ice-Wraith's Bane at her. "It's the only help you'll get, mind."
Rozenn nodded, her hazel eyes bright against her olive war-paint.
Fill: As Bad As Any Elf 1 of ?
This is my first time doing a fill for this meme, please let me know if I need to alter my tags.
Tags= char: galmar, genre: fluff, genre: humour, race: nord, race: breton, es: skyrim
*-*-*
Rozenn stood in the presence of greatness, and it made her nervous. The first time she had met Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak had been inauspicious at best, and his Housecarl was glaring at her like she had personally offended him.
"Why's Breton want to fight for Skyrim, anyway?" Galmar Stone-Fist asked suspiciously.
Rozenn blinked. That was not a question she had expected; from what she had heard the Stromcloaks needed every able body they could get their hands on.
"Well?" Galmar added impatiently. Ulfric looked at her with raised brows - they both wanted to know. It had to be a test.
"I have no love for the Empire - especially after Helgen," Rozenn said, truthfully.
Glamar looked to his Jarl; Ulfric nodded and smiled grimly. Galmar rolled his eyes and shook his head. Rozenn saw, and glared fiercely at the Nord, letting Sparks appear in her palms. Galmar snorted. "Bretons," she heard him mutter, "as bad as the elves, in their way."
*-*-*
Galmar sent her to dispatch the Ice-Wraith, a task she accepted without question or complaint; Galmar was happy enough to see that: she would make a good soldier if she continued to take her orders so well.
He watched as she turned to leave the War Room, her race were of such small stature that he wondered how she would be able to fight the creature alone.
"Wait, Breton," he ordered.
The raven-haired Breton stopped and turned back to him, brows raised in enquiry.
"Take these," he instructed, thrusting three bottles of Ice-Wraith's Bane at her. "It's the only help you'll get, mind."
Rozenn nodded, her hazel eyes bright against her olive war-paint.
*-*-*