Jarl Balgruuf’s war axe weighed heavily in Jaenna’s hands. The Nord woman stood in the courtyard outside the Palace of Kings, staring up at the tall double doors waiting before her. Her eyes darted to the blue-clad soldiers guarding the entrance. They watched her just as warily.
They knew she was the dragonborn, but they had no idea why she was here.
Grip tightening on the handle of the axe, Jaenna lifted her chin and strode forwards. She shoved her way through the doors and into the Palace of the Kings. The woman blinked snowflakes out of her eyelashes and squinted into the relative dimness of the long hall. The place was well guarded, soldiers lining the walls of the interior. Heads swivelled in her direction as she glided down the corridor.
Ulfric Stormcloak sat on his throne. His gaze followed her approach. “Well, well,” he said. “What is it? I am a busy man.” His eyes narrowed, warning the dragonborn that he already knew exactly why she was here - warning her to turn back now.
Jaenna stopped at the base of the throne. “You know what this is,” she replied. Locking eyes with the man, she held out the axe. “Jarl Balgruuf sends his regards.”
Nearby, Galmar Stone-Fist growled. Armour rattled as Stormcloak soldiers edged closer, hands on their swords.
Jaenna watched the emotions play over Ulfric’s normally composed face. The Jarl inhaled deeply and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “You are quite brave to carry such a message,” the man murmured. The corner of his lips twitched. “It is a pity you chose the wrong side.”
The dragonborn snorted. “My arm is getting sore,” she said. “Will you take the axe or not?”
At a nod from the Jarl, the dozen nearby soldiers drew their swords. The ring of steel shivered through the air.
“I think… not,” Ulfric said. He stood, looming over Jaenna from his position on the dais.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jaenna demanded. She threw down the axe and drew her own sword, shifting into a crouch.
“You think I will just let you walk out of here?” Ulfric said, spreading his arms. “The odds are already in the favour of the Imperial Legion. I will not serve them further by announcing my plan to attack Whiterun like desert on a silver platter.”
Jaenna rotated slowly, taking into account each man and woman surrounding her. Twelve to one? The odds were in her favour. “Before they sent me on this mission,” she said, “I promised I would harm no one. That I would do no dishonour.” She eyed the soldiers. “When they forced my oath, I daresay they were not expecting… this sort of reception.” Her glare returned to the broad-shouldered Jarl. “If you do not order your men to stand down, I’ll put them down.”
Ulfric studied her. “Will you?” he challenged.
The dragonborn’s fist clenched around the hilt of her sword. It would be so easy – almost… enjoyable to cleave through the wretched Stormcloaks. Her voice could throw the soldiers across the room, stunning them. They wouldn’t even have a chance to deflect her sword before she executed them one by one.
But why stop there? Jaenna’s predatory eyes flicked back to Ulfric Stormcloak. If she were to go on a homicidal rampage through the Stormcloak ranks, she might as well shove her blade through the gut of the most wanted man in Skyrim.
But, damn it, Jaenna had given her word. She was not to harm any of them. The Imperial Legion had forced her to promise, and she was honourable. They knew what a bloody mess she could create if threatened. She cared little of politics and the impact of her actions on the people she represented. Both the Legion and Jaenna knew her oath was to prevent her from doing something stupid and sabotaging all they’d fought for.
Even though she could make the Legion’s troubles all go away, she wouldn’t.
It would serve them right for sending her on this suicide mission. They could’ve sent any soldier, but no, they’d ordered her, the dragonborn, to do this menial task.
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timeasmymeasure
“Don’t Shoot the Messenger” F!DB/Ulfric, Part 1a
Date: 2014-04-29 06:24 am (UTC)They knew she was the dragonborn, but they had no idea why she was here.
Grip tightening on the handle of the axe, Jaenna lifted her chin and strode forwards. She shoved her way through the doors and into the Palace of the Kings. The woman blinked snowflakes out of her eyelashes and squinted into the relative dimness of the long hall. The place was well guarded, soldiers lining the walls of the interior. Heads swivelled in her direction as she glided down the corridor.
Ulfric Stormcloak sat on his throne. His gaze followed her approach. “Well, well,” he said. “What is it? I am a busy man.” His eyes narrowed, warning the dragonborn that he already knew exactly why she was here - warning her to turn back now.
Jaenna stopped at the base of the throne. “You know what this is,” she replied. Locking eyes with the man, she held out the axe. “Jarl Balgruuf sends his regards.”
Nearby, Galmar Stone-Fist growled. Armour rattled as Stormcloak soldiers edged closer, hands on their swords.
Jaenna watched the emotions play over Ulfric’s normally composed face. The Jarl inhaled deeply and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “You are quite brave to carry such a message,” the man murmured. The corner of his lips twitched. “It is a pity you chose the wrong side.”
The dragonborn snorted. “My arm is getting sore,” she said. “Will you take the axe or not?”
At a nod from the Jarl, the dozen nearby soldiers drew their swords. The ring of steel shivered through the air.
“I think… not,” Ulfric said. He stood, looming over Jaenna from his position on the dais.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jaenna demanded. She threw down the axe and drew her own sword, shifting into a crouch.
“You think I will just let you walk out of here?” Ulfric said, spreading his arms. “The odds are already in the favour of the Imperial Legion. I will not serve them further by announcing my plan to attack Whiterun like desert on a silver platter.”
Jaenna rotated slowly, taking into account each man and woman surrounding her. Twelve to one? The odds were in her favour. “Before they sent me on this mission,” she said, “I promised I would harm no one. That I would do no dishonour.” She eyed the soldiers. “When they forced my oath, I daresay they were not expecting… this sort of reception.” Her glare returned to the broad-shouldered Jarl. “If you do not order your men to stand down, I’ll put them down.”
Ulfric studied her. “Will you?” he challenged.
The dragonborn’s fist clenched around the hilt of her sword. It would be so easy – almost… enjoyable to cleave through the wretched Stormcloaks. Her voice could throw the soldiers across the room, stunning them. They wouldn’t even have a chance to deflect her sword before she executed them one by one.
But why stop there? Jaenna’s predatory eyes flicked back to Ulfric Stormcloak. If she were to go on a homicidal rampage through the Stormcloak ranks, she might as well shove her blade through the gut of the most wanted man in Skyrim.
But, damn it, Jaenna had given her word. She was not to harm any of them. The Imperial Legion had forced her to promise, and she was honourable. They knew what a bloody mess she could create if threatened. She cared little of politics and the impact of her actions on the people she represented. Both the Legion and Jaenna knew her oath was to prevent her from doing something stupid and sabotaging all they’d fought for.
Even though she could make the Legion’s troubles all go away, she wouldn’t.
It would serve them right for sending her on this suicide mission. They could’ve sent any soldier, but no, they’d ordered her, the dragonborn, to do this menial task.