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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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Summary: During the Great War, Galmar is forced to be intermediary between Ulfric and Rikke, neither of whom know how to deal with the aftermath of Ulfric's torture.

Set in the Rozenn-the-Breton 'verse, although this is a standalone in which she does not appear. (It should also be a quicker one to write than OFW, but I won't swear to it^^)

A/N: So this is a sort-of sequel to The Old Fashioned Way (Part 4, Page 16). It's not necessary to have read it, although it might be a help (Nonny's fixing her lore!fail in this one). I'm including it in my Rozenn series, but Rozenn herself will not be making an appearance (well, not unless she bullies me).

Tags: Char: Galmar Stone-Fist, Legate Rikke, Ulfric Stormcloak, mentions of Elenwen; Kink/Genre: Angst, h/c; Relationships: het, friendship; Series: Rozenn-the-Breton.

*-*-*

Nobody paid much attention to the man galloping into the Legion's camp in the Colovian Highlands: couriers and sellswords often arrived unexpectedly to deliver news or bolster the ranks.
Quaestor Rikke stood up from the fire, following the path the sweating beast took towards the Legate's tent with interest, once she saw the unconscious man tied to the horse's hindquarters. She strode in the direction of the Healers' tents.

The Healers' tents were conveniently located to the rear of the Legate's Tent, and an unscrupulous person might sit in the shadows behind one of the Healers' tents and hear everything that was spoken in the Legate's tent. Rikke was not normally so unscrupulous, but the rider had the look of a friend of hers, and if the unconscious man slung behind him was who she suspected, then she needed to learn all she could about his condition.

"Auxialiary Galmar Stone-Fist and Quaestor Ulfric Stormcloak reporting for duty, sir," came Galmar's hoarse voice.

"Hmmph. Your charge is unfit for duty, Stone-Fist," came the Legate's snide tones.

"My charge begs to differ, Legate," Galmar rumbled angrily. "Would you so dishonour him after all he's been through to get back to you?"

"Your charge, Auxiliary, is not even conscious. I see no dishonour in refusing the services of one unable to give them. Take him to the Healers. Get their report on his wellbeing and I might consider permitting his return to duty. Dismissed."

Rikke stayed in the shadows, listening to Galmar's furious growling litany of complaints as he dragged the unconscious Jarl's son to the First Healer. Why is Ulfric here, and not back in Windhelm, if he is so damaged? she wondered.

About to walk around she paused, hearing Galmar instructing the First Healer.

"No-one is to use Healing magic on Ulfric. You hear me? No-one. You may consider that an order from the Jarl of Windhelm for his son's treatment!"

This raised still more questions about Ulfric, and Rikke needed answers. There was only two men with any answers for her, and one was unconscious. She just hoped Galmar would be in a talkative mood.

*-*-*

*-*-*

"Galmar," Rikke called, raising one hand in greeting. "Welcome back."

"Back? Last I saw you were still in th' Reach. When did the call to move south come in? It took me weeks longer to get here," Galmar complained, glaring at Rikke as though it was her fault.

"You were gone about a day when the call to Muster came through, Galmar. He was not best pleased to find you'd vanished after Ulfric, either. Here," Rikke replied, handing over a small loaf of bread and some venison.

Galmar wolfed the food down, and she handed him a bottle of Nord mead to wash it down with. "Looks like he forgave me that, seeing as I brought Ulfric back from the dead," he muttered sourly.

Rikke paled, and her knees went weak. "What?"

"Not literally, woman," Galmar sighed, exasperated, even as he kicked a small stool over to her so she could sit. "Although, if you saw what they did to him, you might wonder whether it would have been kinder to finish him. I should have taken him back to Skyrim. Maybe I will, depending on the Healers. But..."

"But he wanted to be with m - us," Rikke supplied, changing one word at the last second.

Galmar eyed here, aware of what she had almost said. "That he did. And it's hard to say no to him, considering it is my duty to see to his happiness. But nobody likes being helpless. This might even be good for him. You might be good for him."

"I hope so," Rikke replied.

"Just..." Galmar held up a hand as though to stop her.

"Just what?"

"Just... Take it slowly with Ulfric. Those thrice-cursed witch-elves did unspeakable things to him. He's still Ulfric, but it will take some time before he's our Ulfric again."

Rikke nodded, not really sure she understood.

"FUS RO DAH!" The tent behind them collapsed. Several soldiers ran to raise it up and take the patients and healers out from underneath the wreckage.

Galmar covered his eyes with his palm. "Why does nobody listen to me? Ulfric? Ulfric!"

*-*-*

*-*-*

*-*-*

"Good thing a Jarl's son still get some privileged treatment in the Legion, eh?" Galmar asked Ulfric as he unpacked their few belongings in Ulfric's private tent. "Better than a flimsy Healer's Tent, anyway."

Ulfric pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can only apologise to the poor Healer so many times before it sounds insincere."

Galmar snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Not your fault, Ulfric, I told them no healing magic, but there's always one who thinks he knows better than me."

"You mean the First Healer thought he knew more about Restoration than you do? I'm shocked," Ulfric chuckled wryly. He sobered quickly, however. "How soon will it be before I am up and fighting again, Galmar? Did he say?"

Galmar shrugged. "He wasn't sure. I doubt you'll be bedridden for long, though. You're too annoying when you're like that. But you need to eat to build up your strength again, first. I can still see your ribs through your clothes. Speaking of which, do you want me to help you to change out of that shirt now? It needs washing. Or maybe burning."

Ulfric went very still. He thought for a long minute. "No, thank you, Galmar," he said eventually.

"I've seen what they did to you already, Ulfric. When I dressed and undressed you while we made our way south, and then again while you were unconscious," Galmar pointed out. "It's not as though you can shock me with your scars."

"I'd still prefer to continue using this shirt for now, my friend," Ulfric said, unaware that a pleading tone had crept into his voice.

Galmar wrestled to keep pity from his voice and eyes. "Fine. But tomorrow I'm bathing you - no arguments! You'll never heal if you don't keep clean. Take your sleeping draught."

"You realise that as my Housecarl I should be giving you orders?" Ulfric asked ascerbically.

"Just drink the damn thing so you don't keep me up the whole night," Galmar snapped.

"I'm sorry, Galmar, I did not realise..."

Galmar sighed, "no, no, Ulfric, I'm sorry. I was out of line. I just ... I hate seeing you taking so little care of yourself. And dammit I need to sleep if I'm going to do it right. And when you don't sleep, neither do I."

Ulfric drank the potion, making a face at the acrid taste, lay back and shut his eyes. He was asleep three heartbeats later.

*-*-*

*-*-*

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.

*-*-*

*-*-*

Once Ulfric had armour that fitted him properly, the Legate permitted him to take a small party of scouts or hunters every second day, so that the Quaestor could familiarise himself with the terrain. None of the men and women Ulfric picked were mer, and none of them were Rikke.

Rikke tried not to feel insulted or neglected - after all, it would be highly irregular for a Quaestor to take someone of the same rank on a scouting trip but given their relationship, and the fact that before his abduction they had been inseparable except by duty, one might think he would relish the opportunity to fight back-to-back with her again.

"Well, he hasn't spoken his mind to me, Quaestor Rikke," the Legate replied irritably, when Rikke wondered aloud why Ulfric was avoiding her. "The only one he talks to is that damned Housecarl of his."

*-*

Galmar opened the tent flap and glared at her. "No. He won't see you tonight. Stop chasing him."

"It's not him I'm after, tonight. Walk with me, Galmar," Rikke replied in steely tones.

Galmar ducked back inside briefly, presumably telling Ulfric where he was going, and joined her outside again. "Make this quick. He needs me," he said bluntly.

"And not me? By the Nine, Galmar, does he think I ratted him out to the elves?"

Galmar sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He looked a decade older than he had just a few scant weeks before, prior to Ulfric's abduction. "Of course not, woman. But a man has to have some pride. He needs to get back on his feet before he can ask for a hand up. You know you cannot force a Nord to accept help he hasn't asked for.

"He tolerates me because I've always been there. You? You're new, you're different, and for you he needs to be strong and independent and worthy. That is going to take time. Lots of time. You are probably the second best thing that ever happened to him, after me, but you need to be patient with him. They stomped all over him - body and mind - with dirty great big torture boots. He's still Ulfric, but he's not your Ulfric - not yet.

"Wait, Rikke. Wait for Ulfric to come to you. If you push too hard he'll pull back completely, and that won't help anyone. Please," Galmar pleased with her.

"I - I need to think about this," Rikke stammered, wondering if that was a speech Ulfric had prepared for Galmar, or if Galmar really saw it that way.

"Take your time," Galmar said, gripping her shoulder as he passed her to return to Ulfric.

*-*-*

*-*-*

"Galmar," Ulfric addressed his Housecarl a few mornings later. "Have you heard about the action down near Anvil? I have requested to transfer there, to be in the thick of the fighting. My Thu'um will be of more use there against the Dominion than here against the Healers. Or in the Reach against petty rebels."

"And have you spoken to Rikke about this?" Galmar asked pointedly.

Ulfric seemed to deflate slightly at the mention of his lover. "Rikke. I - no, I have not spoken to her, Galmar. I - I would not ask her to tie herself to one as deformed as I. And - it - it is for the best if we end things now. Before - before it gets ... difficult."

"Difficult for whom? You haven't given her a chance since I brought you back to her," Galmar pointed out. "She pesters me morning, noon and night for word of you, your wounds, your recovery, your heart and your head. She will not take this well. Or did you intend for her to join us?"

Ulfric looked alarmed. "And place her at the heart of the danger? Never, Galmar!"

"Ulfric, may I be frank and honest with you?"

"As if you are ever anything else," Ulfric muttered, nodding.

"She loves you and you love her. Stop being an idiot and let her love you."

"I ... must think on what you have said to me," Ulfric murmured, and left the tent.

He didn't tell me where he'd be going, or for how long. He's getting better, Galmar thought, approvingly.

*-*-*

Galmar went about the business of preparing for travel, occasionally glancing uphill to the fallen tree where Ulfric and Rikke sat, conferring privately. He hoped Ulfric wouldsee sense and bring Rikke - or stay here with her - because it was so much easier to look after his Jarl's son if someone else helped him do it, someone else with Ulfric's best interests at heart.

Later, after he had eaten, Galmar was on his way back to the tent when Rikke stopped him. She was pale and shaking in livid rage. She drew back her arm and slapped Galmar as hard as she could, staggering the bigger man. She was drawing back to repeat the action, but Galmar was quicker, grabbing her and pinning her so she could hurt neither him nor herself.

"I let you do it once, but do not think to raise a hand in anger against me ever again, Rikke," he said through gritted teeth.

"He'll take you but not me? Are you a better fuck than I am?" Rikke spat.

Galmar tightened his grip, knowing he would leave bruises there in the morning. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only person who loves Ulfric - and do not make the mistake of thinking that my loyalty was won in bed. I've known him my whole life, you've known him barely a year. He needs time. Time to heal and time to remember who he was before the thrice-damned witch-elves took him. You did not even lift a finger to help bring him back!"

Rikke fought and squirmed, and finnaly got free from Galmar's grasp. "He and I are nothing to one another, save one Quaestor to another, now."

Galmar nodded sadly. "That's a shame. You were almost as good at looking after him as me."

"You leave tomorrow, I take it?" Rikke asked, all the fight going out of her.

"At daybreak, or so he tells me," Galmar nodded.

"Take care of him, for me, will you?"

"Only every minute. Rikke, maybe when this damned war is done, you and Ulfric might find some common ground again," Galmar said hopefully.

"I hope so, friend."

"So do I."

*-*-*

That made my heart hurt, anon. =(

It was a tough one to write, too. Poor Ulfric. The Thalmor really fucked him over.

Thank you for the comment :)

New headcanon accepted for this passerby-anon. Also omg the feeeeeels

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