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“Don’t Shoot the Messenger” F!DB/Ulfric, Part 9a

[(Anonymous)]

Yes, today is Saturday!! :))))) Here is chapter 9, as promised. Sorry for that last chapter’s cliffhanger…! Thanks so much for your comments. C: I’m so happy you enjoyed the action in the last chapter!

Jaenna awoke, her mouth tasting foul. She blinked blearily, discovering she was in her old guest chamber at the Palace of the Kings. Amazed that she was still alive, Jaenna cursed softly. That was followed by a more vehement curse, as she realized she wasn’t sure how she was alive. After all, when making that healing potion for Ulfric, she hadn’t been thinking – she’d neglected to double the recipe for herself.

Jaenna shifted. Her shoulder throbbed, but the wound was closed. A miracle? Unlikely. Unless she’d be unconscious for weeks – not a chance – someone had given her a dose of healing potion, too.

Hrothar’s face came into view when she stirred. He wore that same blank, unbothered expression he always wore. As if the Imperial Legion hadn’t almost torn apart Windhelm or killed the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion. “Oh good, you’re awake,” he said.

Jaenna narrowed her eyes. She sat up with a grimace. “You don’t seem to be lost in a fit of tears. I gather that Ulfric is alive?”

At Hrothar’s nod, Jaenna sighed with relief. Thank Talos.

The dragonborn swung her legs out of bed and stood, staggering. “Divines, how am I even alive?” she asked. The cauldron had been two small to make enough to heal Ulfric and her thoroughly.

“Galmar kept track of the recipe,” Hrothar explained. “He did his best to duplicate the potion for you once he’d tended to Ulfric.”

He’d done a shabby job of it, then. At least she was alive and functional, and for that, Jaenna had to be thankful. She tried to move towards the door and stumbled, still trembling with the pain in her shoulder. Although it was a blow to her pride, she accepted Hrothar’s arm for support. “Alchemy station first,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

Jaenna was rather annoyed that no one had thought to bring her a healer or even a lesser healing potion. However, as soon as she left her chamber and entered the hall, she understood why. She could smell smoke. How long had it been since the fight? One hour? Two? She couldn’t have been lying down for that long. There would be those who needed healing potions more than her.

With Hrothar’s assistance, Jaenna set about making several batches of the potent healing brew. She ingested some herself, feeling her shoulder knit closed and her pain evaporate. The rest she bottled and gave to Hrothar. He would get the potions to those most in need. Many would have been injured in the battle that had raged through the city and into the Palace of the Kings.

Hrothar returned to the alchemy lab several times, bearing empty bottles. Jaenna would fill them, and he’d scurry off again while she started another batch. After a while, Hrothar stopped coming back. Jaenna took that as a good sign. She wiped her forehead with the back of one stained hand. Good thing no one else was dying – she was nearly out of ingredients.

The dragonborn left the alchemy room and headed back downstairs to the main hall. She still wore her bloody and dented armour, but where in Oblivion was her sword?

The rest of that day passed in a flurry of activity as people put the city back to rights. She saw Ulfric from time to time, commanding the chaos, looking all the world as if he’d never suffered an injury a day in his life. Occasionally their eyes would meet across the hall, or out in the streets. His blue gaze was shocking, cool yet smoldering with an unspoken question.