Rikke stood outside Ulfric's tent, scuffing her toes anxiously as she waited to see if Ulfric would want to see her. He had refused two days in a row last week, then she had ridden out with a hunting party and a patrol, which had taken five days altogether. Surely in a week, Ulfric would have recovered enough to want to see her?
Galmar opened the tent-flap, took one look at her, and said, "No."
Rikke shut her eyes, pain and humiliation darkening her complexion still further. "When?"
Galmar sighed, and glanced back in towards his charge. "When he feels less helpless, Rikke. I'll get you, if you want. You don't have to come to the door every day."
Rikke shook her head. "I need to try, so he knows that I'm here for him."
Galmar nodded in understanding. He might not have a lovers' bond with Ulfric, but he understood probably better than most what she needed to do for Ulfric: he was already doing most of it.
*-*
Because Ulfric had lost so much of his mass while under Thalmor control, Galmar had to draw spare armour from supplies, and cut it down to fit Ulfric's emaciated body.
"Galmar," Ulfric's growl was a warning in and of itself.
"It's just until you build your strength back up. You don't want to get attacked in just a shirt and braies, do you?"
"No, but Galmar, I do not want the Quartermaster to see me like this," Ulfric replied.
"Believe it or not, Ulfric, I can, in fact, make armour myself. Back in Windhelm I spent my childhood watching the War-Anvils making arms and armour, and between my lessons in my future duties, I got lessons with Oengul on how to join leather and iron and make daggers and axes and the like," Galmar replied smugly.
"Really? Your lessons in Housecarling didn't occupy you completely?" Ulfric asked, genuinely curious.
"Not all Jarl's sons live that long. Father and I figured it would be worthwhile to get a foothold in another trade - just in case. But what's wrong with Quartermaster?"
"He's an elf," Ulfric murmured darkly.
"Dunmer ain't Thalmor - not that I blame you for your aversion," Galmar replied.
"Close enough. I still don't know how they found us in the Reach."
"Probably the fact that a whole Century was garrisoned in Markarth while the War went on in Cyrodiil made it obvious there was someone the Legion wanted kept safe. Idiot Generals. I told them that special treatment would make you into a better target, but did they listen?"
"Noooo," chorused Ulfric, Galmar, and Rikke who had crept in unnoticed.
"Rikke! Out!" Ulfric bellowed, trying to hide his scarred torso with a bedsheet.
"Ulfric," Rikke pleaded, "I want to help you."
"OUT! Get out before I Shout you out!"
"Rikke, leave," Galmar warned. "I'll speak with you later."
"I won't let you hide away forever, Ulfric," Rikke warned as she backed out the tent flap.
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: It's Still Ulfric 4/?
Date: 2013-08-08 01:30 pm (UTC)Rikke stood outside Ulfric's tent, scuffing her toes anxiously as she waited to see if Ulfric would want to see her. He had refused two days in a row last week, then she had ridden out with a hunting party and a patrol, which had taken five days altogether. Surely in a week, Ulfric would have recovered enough to want to see her?
Galmar opened the tent-flap, took one look at her, and said, "No."
Rikke shut her eyes, pain and humiliation darkening her complexion still further. "When?"
Galmar sighed, and glanced back in towards his charge. "When he feels less helpless, Rikke. I'll get you, if you want. You don't have to come to the door every day."
Rikke shook her head. "I need to try, so he knows that I'm here for him."
Galmar nodded in understanding. He might not have a lovers' bond with Ulfric, but he understood probably better than most what she needed to do for Ulfric: he was already doing most of it.
*-*
Because Ulfric had lost so much of his mass while under Thalmor control, Galmar had to draw spare armour from supplies, and cut it down to fit Ulfric's emaciated body.
"Galmar," Ulfric's growl was a warning in and of itself.
"It's just until you build your strength back up. You don't want to get attacked in just a shirt and braies, do you?"
"No, but Galmar, I do not want the Quartermaster to see me like this," Ulfric replied.
"Believe it or not, Ulfric, I can, in fact, make armour myself. Back in Windhelm I spent my childhood watching the War-Anvils making arms and armour, and between my lessons in my future duties, I got lessons with Oengul on how to join leather and iron and make daggers and axes and the like," Galmar replied smugly.
"Really? Your lessons in Housecarling didn't occupy you completely?" Ulfric asked, genuinely curious.
"Not all Jarl's sons live that long. Father and I figured it would be worthwhile to get a foothold in another trade - just in case. But what's wrong with Quartermaster?"
"He's an elf," Ulfric murmured darkly.
"Dunmer ain't Thalmor - not that I blame you for your aversion," Galmar replied.
"Close enough. I still don't know how they found us in the Reach."
"Probably the fact that a whole Century was garrisoned in Markarth while the War went on in Cyrodiil made it obvious there was someone the Legion wanted kept safe. Idiot Generals. I told them that special treatment would make you into a better target, but did they listen?"
"Noooo," chorused Ulfric, Galmar, and Rikke who had crept in unnoticed.
"Rikke! Out!" Ulfric bellowed, trying to hide his scarred torso with a bedsheet.
"Ulfric," Rikke pleaded, "I want to help you."
"OUT! Get out before I Shout you out!"
"Rikke, leave," Galmar warned. "I'll speak with you later."
"I won't let you hide away forever, Ulfric," Rikke warned as she backed out the tent flap.
*-*-*