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“Don’t Shoot the Messenger” F!DB/Ulfric, Part 8d

[(Anonymous)]

The Imperial Legion soldiers formed a loose semi-circle around smaller number of Stormcloaks, their faces betraying triumph at their near victory. Others warriors warily circled behind Jaenna, as if they could hope to cut her off from the exit. Among the soldiers was Legate Rikke. She stepped towards Jaenna and inclined her head.

How polite, Jaenna thought. Foolish woman. Doesn’t she realize I’ll rip her heart out for this?

“Dragonborn,” Legate Rikke said, giving a small bow of respect. “I am pleased to see you are now free of your imprisonment from the dishonourable Ulfric Stormcloak.” She cast a look at Ulfric, her lips curled with disgust. Ulfric glared back.

“Don’t play coy, Rikke,” Jaenna snarled. “I’m in no mood for games.”

Rikke spread her arms out and looked around. “This isn’t a game, dragonborn. This is war, and it is long past the time we should finally end it.”

Around her, everyone tensed. Imperial Legion soldiers crept closer to the Stormcloaks, outnumbering them two to one. The Stormcloaks huddled closer together. Galmar was among them, covered in so much blood Jaenna barely recognized him. By the way he held the axe, low as if he found the weapon heavy, a good deal of the blood was his.

“Didn’t you get the memo from Solitude?” Jaenna asked. She straightened from her feral crouch, kicking a plate off the table and out of her way. “General Tullius is dead. You should be hurrying back to Jarl Elisif like all the other good little soldiers.”

Legate Rikke lifted her head and smirked. “You’re bluffing.”

“Want to bet your life on it?” Jaenna asked, her voice becoming low and ugly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rikke said. “The city is nearly ours. This is over.”

“This is not over, you damned heathen,” the dragonborn spat. “Nothing is over until I say it is.”

Rikke didn’t reply. Instead, she nodded to someone behind Jaenna.

There was a loud twang. Jaenna’s heard Ulfric’s sharp inhalation.

Jaenna didn’t even think. “Tiid klo ul!” she said. Her stomach lurched as time jerked to a halt around her, making her nauseous. The sound of her breathing roared in her ears. People stood unnaturally still, frozen in time around her. She turned.

An arrow flew through the air towards Jaenna. She walked forward and grabbed it, wrenching it out of the air with all her force. The shaft resisted, but eventually broke free under her influence. Jaenna looked past it and saw the archer.

A terrible anger made her fists clench. Her jaw popped as she ground her teeth. She leapt off the table and strode towards the archer. Jaenna saw the imperceptible widening of his gaze, moving in agonizingly slow motion. Then she rammed the arrow into his left eye.

She could feel her stomach lurching again. Time was beginning to catch up with her. Jaenna leapt back onto the table, strode down its length to pass by all the soldiers, and then stood at the opposite end to loom over the legate.

Time snapped back into its normal flow. For a second, things seemed to move too fast for Jaenna’s brain to comprehend. The man behind her began howling, a terrible scream of agony. Other soldiers gasped and cried out in horror. Even Galmar looked sick. Ulfric was pale and didn’t move.

“Surrender,” Jaenna ordered, staring at Rikke.

“Not when we’re this close,” the legate replied coolly. As if her words were a command, the Imperial Legion soldiers surged forward.