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“Don’t Shoot the Messenger” F!DB/Ulfric, Part 1b

[(Anonymous)]

It was spiteful and petty, yes. But Jaenna was sick of being ordered around like a common soldier, sent on ridiculous tasks such as this one. Let the Imperial Legion understand her absence as a warning to defend Whiterun. That was all the help they were going to get from Jaenna until they proved they valued having the dragonborn on their side. She would take a timely rescue from Windhelm’s dungeons as an apology.

Jaenna tossed aside her sword. It slid along the stone floor, throwing up sparks. The soldiers around her shifted uneasily, inching closer, but the dragonborn only had attention for the Jarl. “I will not harm your delusional warriors,” she said. “I, unlike some who are present in this hall, have a sense of honour.”

“I am counting on that.” Ulfric’s eyebrows lifted. The Jarl hesitated. “When you fight a war for freedom,” he said, “childish traditions like the deliverance of that war axe mean little.”

“And if you cannot even honour such a simple tradition,” Jaenna snapped, “I shudder to imagine you as high king.” She threw back her head and laughed. “You fight for freedom, yet you forsake honour to take me prisoner? A fine and just king you would make, Ulfric Stormcloak.”

There were gasps and murmurs. Galmar drew his blade at the insult, his lips twisting into a snarl.

But Jaenna was not done yet. “You are nothing more than a coward,” she mocked. “You are an opportunist and a hypocrite.” She looked around herself, spreading her arms and smiling grimly. “Fine qualities in a man who wants to lead Skyrim to its supposed freedom, don’t you agree?”

“Clap her in irons!” Galmar commanded.

One nervous soldier held out a set of shackles. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He approached the dragonborn as if she were a wild sabre cat.

Jaenna’s head whipped around. Her eyes pinned him to the floor like a lance. “If you touch me,” she said, “I will kill you.” It wouldn’t be the first time she’d ended the life of a Stormcloak soldiers with her bare hands.

The soldier froze. He sent Ulfric a pleading look. The Jarl gave a near-imperceptible shake of his head. “Lead her to the dungeons,” he ordered. “And do not touch her.”

The soldiers surrounded Jaenna. She let them direct her through a side door. The dank passage wound downward, past the barracks and into the cold dungeons. Four empty cells lined the right wall. She waltzed into the farthest one without any prompting.

“Lovely accommodations,” Jaenna said, her feet tramping on rotting hay. “Here, allow me.” She smiled and closed the cell door for the soldiers. One of them gave her a very uncomfortable look as he locked it. “The bars seem rather insubstantial, but it’s quite cozy,” she continued, one eyebrow arching. “At least the Imperial Legion will know where to look when they send their warriors to rescue me.”

The Jarl had followed his Stormcloaks into the dungeons. He gave her an unreadable look through the bars. “Swear that you will not attempt to escape,” Ulfric said.

Jaenna flashed a toothy grin at the soldiers standing by the Jarl’s side. “I will swear no such thing. It is only a matter of time before I grow bored and am on my way. No one will even notice me slip out, unless I’m feeling particularly dramatic that day.”

“Promise.”

“To you?” Jaenna said. “Never.”

Ulfric spun away and strode towards the exit. To the soldiers following him, he said, “I want three men guarding ever junction. Should the dragonborn leave her cell, do not move to let her pass. She will not break her vow and hurt you.”

Soon, they were all out of sight. Jaenna heard the distant grating of Galmar’s voice. “And if I find out some milk-drinker let her past, there will be pain to pay.”

The dungeon descended into silence. There was a steady drip drip of water sliding off the craggy ceiling. Jaenna expelled a deep sigh. The cold cell sucked the bravado out of her as easily as it leeched away the heat from her skin. She collapsed into a corner and drew up her knees. Her head rested in her hands.

She was a prisoner to her own honour. Maybe Ulfric Stormcloak had the right of it, being a disreputable bastard.

***