The Stormcloak Queen - A skyrim Fanfiction

[27] Taking care of business.

Ulfric

Hearthfire had turned to Frostfall, which in turn had turned to Sun's Dusk and then half of
Evening Star had passed since the Dragonborn had left to defeat Alduin and just as the night before, I sat at the large wooden bench in the hall, drinking.

She wasn't dead. She wasn't dead. Freya didn't just die.

She had survived the Great War and countless other atrocities. She wasn't going to die.

"Ulfric." Galmar sighed, lowering his self onto the bench next to me. "You need to let go, and mourn."
"No." I snapped, slamming my fist into the the thick, ornate wood and causing the mess of bottles to fall or shake.
"It's been three and a half gods damned months! I know you want her to come back but she's dead. She's in Sovengarde and you need to get yourself together and make the preparations for a funeral." Galmar, said raising his voice. "She was a fucking jarl! You can't just leave Whiterun in same state of bloody denial as you."

I hate when Galmar does this. When he makes me sit and acknowledge the pain I felt instead of glossing over it. As I ran my hands through my hair Freya had once done the same to and braced myself for tears that wouldn't come I realised that she was gone. Just like everyone else I'd ever cared for.

"I'll do it tomorrow."

It was snowing on the day of the funeral rite but I resisted pulling my furs around me as I knew I was under the gaze of the massive crowd gathered to say it's final goodbye to its Dovahkiin. Instead, I gripped the pommel of my axe so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Come to me, Arkay, for without you, there is neither breath nor beginning, nor can any man live, love, or learn without the spark of your spirit."

I focused my eyes on the funeral pyre. Empty save from one of the war-hammers Freya had left at the Palace of the Kings. Probably Galmar's doing as no one knows the final resting place of the Dragonborn.

"Now her hand is raised, a sword to pierce the sun, with iron shield she defends the faithful, let chaos be undone."

All empty words spoken by priests that hardly knew Freya. Formalities to be observed. Freya would have wanted tankards of mead in taverns raised to battles well fought at her side. She would have wanted songs sung on the eve of battle around campfires. She would have wanted stories told to children of how the fearsome Dragonborn faced down Alduin to save the world, not distant words spoken by healers and an empty pyre.

"Will you do the honours?" The priest asked, holding out a torch and I sombrely nodded, taking the torch and lighting the empty pyre.

"Don't tell me I'm late for my own Funeral?" She asked standing a little away from the congregation, hand on her hip, wind whipping her hair around her head and her war-hammer almost as tall as she was. "Ulfric Stormcloak, if you have just sent my war-hammer out to sea on a funeral pyre I'm not going to be very happy."

Damn the crowd. I run towards Freya and gather her in my arms.

"Don't you ever do that to me again." I breathe into her neck.
"I won't." She says, and suddenly is as if the sun has broken through the clouds and I feel just that little bit more whole again.

"I swear to the gods, you are the one person I know that would turn up alive at your own funeral." Galmar guffawed.
"What can I say? I like making an entrance."

"What was sovengarde like?" One of the men asked. Ralof I think.
"Bloody good. Fine food, strong mead and good fights all round." Freya laughed, the torch light bouncing off of her strong features. There were a few new scars that probably only looked worse in the dim lighting. "I highly recommend it if you don't mind a bit of death."
"So the world eater is vanquished?"
"He bloody better be."'

"You're leaving already?" It was morning and the scars looked just as bad in the light as the had the night before, but Freya was standing in front of me alive and as much as I worried I was thankful.
"Stop it! You get this sad dog look on your face and it makes me want to stay." Freya groaned.
"So why don't you?" I smirked and she laughed and tried to look serious.
"I have people to inform of my not death and a hold to get in order, I'll come back this time though." She laughed.
"You better or I swear I will kill you myself."

Freya

Riften stinks.

I try to avoid it where possible, the creaky wooden bridges, cracked dirty stone, and the mixed smell of sewage, fish and mead did not make the city a very inviting place. The only reason I stomached the city and overcame my fear of being robbed blind was my brother, who was likely to rob me blind.

Flicking a septim at one of the many beggars and jogging down the rotting steps, I ducked into the ratway -hopefully- unseen.

Two guards were quickly sent on to the void and I began the rather unpleasant task of navigating the sewers.

"What ever you have that tastes least of piss and rat droppings." I sighed, sitting on one of the stools.
"You don't belong here." The bartender, said narrowing his eyes and completely ignoring my request.
"Just taking care of business." I shrugged.
"I doubt you'll find it here."

"Good haul today?" The familiar voice questioned. "You might be just what this guild needs."
"It needs something." The short imperial woman snapped, walking along beside him. "Should of stayed in Cyrodill at this rate."
"I can't disagree." Brynjolf shrugged. "But I'm going to have to finish this conversation at a later date."
"You better." The small woman snapped.
"Okay, pipe down there daisy." I laughed at the woman. She was tiny and making threats at a nord double her size. Hilarious.
"Who are you calling daisy?"
"You obviously." I said, sliding off of my stool and standing my ground.
"Back off." The little woman snapped. Oh, I'm shaking.
"Oh, so scary." I mocked. "You're not the first imperial that's tried to take me and you won't be the last."
"How about we go for a walk Frey?" Brynjolf reasoned, placing his hand on my arm and leading me into the cistern.

"Some place you've got here." I murmured, looking around at the place, dripping walls and cracked floors. The usual fare for Riften.
"It's a shit hole." Brynjolf replied. "But it's my shit hole."
"That it is."
"So who knows you're alive?"
"Everyone in Windhelm. I don't know it's a gradual process. People shouldn't assume that just because I went to the after life I died." He's still glaring. "Well I'm letting you know now."
"If you die then I officially have no family that I like." He joked and pulled a chair around from one of the wooden tables and sat on it. He was right though, Balgaruff and his sword happy brother were prepared to bend themselves over a basin for the empire and my surviving Grandmother was living in a large house in Bruma and not giving a skeevers ass about how Bryn and I were. "So your protege?" I asked, changing the subject
"I see potential." He commented, shrugging. "So your war?"
"It winable." I laughed.

Now Whiterun was nothing like Riften. The water that ran through the streets wasn't murky or filthy, it was clean and made the city almost picturesque. The market place wasn't a place you had to hold on to your purse for dear life and most importantly wasn't home to a whore house, whoops sorry I meant bunkhouse. Made that mistake once and I'd rather not make it again. The weather in Whiterun was wet when I arrived, one of our few wet sleeps I supposed I had arrived in the middle of.

Running through the city caused gasps of shock and awe from the people. I suppose coming back from the dead wasn't a feat one completed everyday but I do try to impress. It's about the only thing I've got going for me if I was brutally honest. A war hammer wielding assassin with a thief for a brother and part of -according to the imperials- a heretical movement? That's bound to get me supporters among the nobility.

"Off of the throne." I called, jogging up the creaking wooden stairs of dragons reach.
"Talos... You're alive!?" Vignar called back in shock. "You died!"
"Nope, still alive. Now don't get too comfortable." I jibed, continuing my jog straight to my quarters.

"You little shit!" Lydia screeched, noticing me.
"Sorry?"
"This is why you don't leave me behind!" She screamed. "You fucking die when you leave me behind."
"If I promise never to leave your side again can I get a bath?"
"Yes."
"Well I promise to stick with you till the day one of us dies." I said, hand on my breastplate. "Now, bath!"