The dragonborn came to stand by the table. “So,” Jaenna said to the Jarl. “I suppose the fact you are letting me wander around is because you are now secure in your plans. You have taken Whiterun.” She glanced down at the map, noting the position of the red and blue flags.
The Jarl gave her an appraising look. “Whiterun is now in Stormcloak hands,” he confirmed.
“If the fools had sent you someone else with that stupid axe,” Jaenna growled, “you wouldn’t have had a chance.”
“Then they sealed their own fate, not using their resources wisely,” Ulfric said, a smile in his eyes.
“Oh? And what would you have done instead, O Dishonourable One?” Jaenna asked. “Would you have used me as your private assassin against the opposing leaders? Try to order me to kill them in their sleep, when they wouldn’t have a chance to defend themselves?”
Ulfric shot her a cool look. “No,” he said. “I would have treated you as an equal.”
“Oh, of course,” Jaenna said, unconvinced. “Forgive me to not recognizing how noble you are. I was too busy locked in a cell and dying or boredom to notice.”
“You are free now.”
“If freedom is where you can’t see the sky.” And a dragon needs the sky.
Ulfric turned away, the broad line of his shoulders unsympathetic. “Go look out a window.”
***
There was a knock on her door the following morning. The dragonborn sighed. She thought she’d done such a good job of scaring away all the servants. It pleased her to no end promoting terror in the Jarl’s household. If she continued long enough, maybe Ulfric would let her leave the Palace of the Kings out of sheer desperation.
Thud thud thud.
She didn’t respond to the knocking. For about half an hour, she tried to ignore it and sleep. However, the knocking continued in short bursts. Three knocks. A short pause. Another three knocks. Never rising in volume or tempo.
Thud thud thud.
Jaenna groaned and covered her head with a pillow.
Thud thud thud.
“Oblivion take you,” she muttered. Throwing away the pillow, Jaenna stumbled out of bed and changed from a thin night shift into regular trousers and a shirt, overlaid with a leather vest. They were the clothes from yesterday, but at least they were clean. She still had to clean the mess her armour had become.
Thud thud thud.
“Damn it, what do you want?” Jaenna called. Whoever it was probably had bloody knuckles. “You may enter.”
Thud thud thud.
Seething, the dragonborn went to the door and hauled away the extra bed that blocked it. Grabbing the door handle, she yanked it open.
The ugly-faced servant that had attended her in the dungeons stood waiting. He gave her a flat look. In his arms, he held a pile of clean clothing.
“Oh, you again?” Jaenna asked, nonplussed. She stood back and allowed him inside. He must be the only servant with any guts.
“Yup.” Hrothar entered the room and set the clean clothes on the edge of her bed.
“Do you like me or something?” the dragonborn asked, sending the man a lascivious wink.
The man did not smile, but his eyes crinkled. “Of course. The dragonborn is most beautiful.”
Jaenna smirked. “You and I,” she told the ugly-faced man, “are going to be great friends.”
The man bowed and turned back towards the door. Jaenna cleared her throat, stopping him. “Since you insist on not being frightened,” she said. “I might as well keep you busy.” She glanced pointedly towards the armour she’d set out on the floor in one corner of the room.
Hrothar looked at the pile of stained, reeking armour, and then back at her.
“I want you to clean it,” Jaenna said.
“You are not Jarl.”
“I am dragonborn.”
Hrothar’s nose crinkled. Without a word, he turned and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Don’t Shoot the Messenger” F!DB/Ulfric, Part 2b
The Jarl gave her an appraising look. “Whiterun is now in Stormcloak hands,” he confirmed.
“If the fools had sent you someone else with that stupid axe,” Jaenna growled, “you wouldn’t have had a chance.”
“Then they sealed their own fate, not using their resources wisely,” Ulfric said, a smile in his eyes.
“Oh? And what would you have done instead, O Dishonourable One?” Jaenna asked. “Would you have used me as your private assassin against the opposing leaders? Try to order me to kill them in their sleep, when they wouldn’t have a chance to defend themselves?”
Ulfric shot her a cool look. “No,” he said. “I would have treated you as an equal.”
“Oh, of course,” Jaenna said, unconvinced. “Forgive me to not recognizing how noble you are. I was too busy locked in a cell and dying or boredom to notice.”
“You are free now.”
“If freedom is where you can’t see the sky.” And a dragon needs the sky.
Ulfric turned away, the broad line of his shoulders unsympathetic. “Go look out a window.”
***
There was a knock on her door the following morning. The dragonborn sighed. She thought she’d done such a good job of scaring away all the servants. It pleased her to no end promoting terror in the Jarl’s household. If she continued long enough, maybe Ulfric would let her leave the Palace of the Kings out of sheer desperation.
Thud thud thud.
She didn’t respond to the knocking. For about half an hour, she tried to ignore it and sleep. However, the knocking continued in short bursts. Three knocks. A short pause. Another three knocks. Never rising in volume or tempo.
Thud thud thud.
Jaenna groaned and covered her head with a pillow.
Thud thud thud.
“Oblivion take you,” she muttered. Throwing away the pillow, Jaenna stumbled out of bed and changed from a thin night shift into regular trousers and a shirt, overlaid with a leather vest. They were the clothes from yesterday, but at least they were clean. She still had to clean the mess her armour had become.
Thud thud thud.
“Damn it, what do you want?” Jaenna called. Whoever it was probably had bloody knuckles. “You may enter.”
Thud thud thud.
Seething, the dragonborn went to the door and hauled away the extra bed that blocked it. Grabbing the door handle, she yanked it open.
The ugly-faced servant that had attended her in the dungeons stood waiting. He gave her a flat look. In his arms, he held a pile of clean clothing.
“Oh, you again?” Jaenna asked, nonplussed. She stood back and allowed him inside. He must be the only servant with any guts.
“Yup.” Hrothar entered the room and set the clean clothes on the edge of her bed.
“Do you like me or something?” the dragonborn asked, sending the man a lascivious wink.
The man did not smile, but his eyes crinkled. “Of course. The dragonborn is most beautiful.”
Jaenna smirked. “You and I,” she told the ugly-faced man, “are going to be great friends.”
The man bowed and turned back towards the door. Jaenna cleared her throat, stopping him. “Since you insist on not being frightened,” she said. “I might as well keep you busy.” She glanced pointedly towards the armour she’d set out on the floor in one corner of the room.
Hrothar looked at the pile of stained, reeking armour, and then back at her.
“I want you to clean it,” Jaenna said.
“You are not Jarl.”
“I am dragonborn.”
Hrothar’s nose crinkled. Without a word, he turned and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Well, it had been worth a try.