“Get out of that tub, Eireann,” growled Ulfric, blue eyes fixed on the woman lying in the tub before the fireplace. Behind him stood a startled Calder, the front door of the house standing wide open after the Jarl had barged past her housecarl. Turning, he glared at Calder. “And you—get out.”
Eireann groaned and lifted her head from the lip of the tub, opening one eye to glare at the High King who stood in the doorway of her kitchen. “Ulfric, don’t scare my housecarl,” she warned tiredly. She laid back again against the wall of the tub, dark curls floating like strings of seaweed atop the bathwater. “Calder, ignore Ulfric and get more hot water, please.”
Ulfric turned to glare at the housecarl—stopping him from moving towards the water boiling on the hearth. Calder raised his hands and began to back away, much as one would a wild animal. Satisfied that Calder would not interfere, Ulfric turned his attention back to Eireann. “Get out of that tub and put on some clothes. You’re coming home with me.”
Eireann sighed, cracking open her other eye to glare at the future High King. “No. I’m going to sit in this tub until my skin becomes wrinkled and pruned and then I’m going to get out and we can have a proper argument.” She smirked at the angry expression blooming on Ulfric’s face. “That was your purpose in barging in here, correct? To shout at me until I obey you without question?”
Ulfric’s eyes narrowed as he advanced on Eireann, the dumbstruck Calder forgotten. “Shouting was part of my plan. But you should obey me because I will be your High King. And I am your Jarl.”
Eireann glanced at Calder, her own eyes narrowing as she nodded towards the door. “Go, Calder. This might get messy,” she warned, an edge to her voice. An edge Calder recognized from battle. She waited until Calder scampered out of her house, the front door pulled shut with a heavy bang, before she gripped the edges of the tub and rose. Goosebumps skittered across her skin as her flesh cooled in the kitchen air. Stepping out of the tub, she pulled a bathsheet around herself, her back presented to Ulfric. “Ulfric, I suggest you go back to your palace. I will come to you once I’m ready.” Wet hair streaming down her back, she turned towards Ulfric, holding the bathsheet around her body, bare feet peeking out from the bottom edge of the cloth.
Ulfric frowned, glaring at the Dragonborn. He itched to rip the sheet from around her, to make sure that she had come through her adventures unscathed. “Now. We talk now.” He stepped closer, his broad hands falling on her shoulder, fingers gripping her through the bathsheet.
Eireann sighed. “Fine. I suppose it’s too much to wait until we’ve defeated Tullius to have this conversation,” she muttered to herself as she trudged upstairs to her bedroom, the heavy footfalls of Ulfric trailing after her. Her gown was laid out on the bedspread and she crossed the room to the bed, dropping the slightly damp bath sheet to the floor. Pulling the gown over her head, she turned to face the Jarl of Windhelm. “Talk.”
Ulfric stood, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed as he glared down at the younger woman. “Was it worth it? Disobeying me?”
Eireann sighed, settling on the edge of the bed, one hand raking through her dark curls. The braid was missing—lopped off by a stray spell from the Thalmor. She’d have to go back to Riverwood and have Gerdur put it back in, she thought distractedly. “Honestly?” She looked up, meeting his gaze, allowing him to see the exhaustion behind her blue eyes. “No. It wasn’t.”
Ulfric frowned, taking a step closer to the Dragonborn. He’d never seen her so…defeated. Part of him ached to take her in his arms but he stayed the impulse, instead standing just outside of range of her. “What happened?”
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Protective ulfric "A Bear's Roar: Epilogue " F!DB/Ulfric 1/2
Date: 2014-04-05 10:07 am (UTC)Eireann groaned and lifted her head from the lip of the tub, opening one eye to glare at the High King who stood in the doorway of her kitchen. “Ulfric, don’t scare my housecarl,” she warned tiredly. She laid back again against the wall of the tub, dark curls floating like strings of seaweed atop the bathwater. “Calder, ignore Ulfric and get more hot water, please.”
Ulfric turned to glare at the housecarl—stopping him from moving towards the water boiling on the hearth. Calder raised his hands and began to back away, much as one would a wild animal. Satisfied that Calder would not interfere, Ulfric turned his attention back to Eireann. “Get out of that tub and put on some clothes. You’re coming home with me.”
Eireann sighed, cracking open her other eye to glare at the future High King. “No. I’m going to sit in this tub until my skin becomes wrinkled and pruned and then I’m going to get out and we can have a proper argument.” She smirked at the angry expression blooming on Ulfric’s face. “That was your purpose in barging in here, correct? To shout at me until I obey you without question?”
Ulfric’s eyes narrowed as he advanced on Eireann, the dumbstruck Calder forgotten. “Shouting was part of my plan. But you should obey me because I will be your High King. And I am your Jarl.”
Eireann glanced at Calder, her own eyes narrowing as she nodded towards the door. “Go, Calder. This might get messy,” she warned, an edge to her voice. An edge Calder recognized from battle. She waited until Calder scampered out of her house, the front door pulled shut with a heavy bang, before she gripped the edges of the tub and rose. Goosebumps skittered across her skin as her flesh cooled in the kitchen air. Stepping out of the tub, she pulled a bathsheet around herself, her back presented to Ulfric. “Ulfric, I suggest you go back to your palace. I will come to you once I’m ready.” Wet hair streaming down her back, she turned towards Ulfric, holding the bathsheet around her body, bare feet peeking out from the bottom edge of the cloth.
Ulfric frowned, glaring at the Dragonborn. He itched to rip the sheet from around her, to make sure that she had come through her adventures unscathed. “Now. We talk now.” He stepped closer, his broad hands falling on her shoulder, fingers gripping her through the bathsheet.
Eireann sighed. “Fine. I suppose it’s too much to wait until we’ve defeated Tullius to have this conversation,” she muttered to herself as she trudged upstairs to her bedroom, the heavy footfalls of Ulfric trailing after her. Her gown was laid out on the bedspread and she crossed the room to the bed, dropping the slightly damp bath sheet to the floor. Pulling the gown over her head, she turned to face the Jarl of Windhelm. “Talk.”
Ulfric stood, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed as he glared down at the younger woman. “Was it worth it? Disobeying me?”
Eireann sighed, settling on the edge of the bed, one hand raking through her dark curls. The braid was missing—lopped off by a stray spell from the Thalmor. She’d have to go back to Riverwood and have Gerdur put it back in, she thought distractedly. “Honestly?” She looked up, meeting his gaze, allowing him to see the exhaustion behind her blue eyes. “No. It wasn’t.”
Ulfric frowned, taking a step closer to the Dragonborn. He’d never seen her so…defeated. Part of him ached to take her in his arms but he stayed the impulse, instead standing just outside of range of her. “What happened?”