Ulfric sat on his throne in the Palace of the Kings, staring ahead apathetically. It had been a long day and as Jorleif debriefed him about the state of his city and the rest of Skyrim, he listened passively, answering neutrally whenever needed.
It had been two weeks since the final battle and sleep had finally made it back to him albeit restless sleep. He looked better and felt better, but his outward appearance was the ultimate farce for how troubled he felt inside. The mundane day to day responsibilities of being the Jarl of Windhelm was miniscule compared the broad scale of things and he found himself secretly wanting to pawn off the job to someone else.
The Empire was out of Skyrim, a cause he had fought for so long had finally come to fruition and opened up Skyrim to new threats. He knew deep down inside what he was doing by giving the Empire the final push out of the country but he had no clue how to proceed. Then again, that wouldn't even fall on him if he wasn't declared king by the moot, which was due to happen in a month or so.
That brought up a whole new realm of fears and matters that he didn't want to face right now. He shook his head ever so slightly as to erase the face of the woman who had beset his thoughts regularly now.
"My Jarl, are you feeling ill?"
Ulfric snapped out of his daze and surveyed the room. Jorleif, who had asked the question, was eyeing him with concern. Galmar had turned his attention to the exchange and they both looked to him expectantly.
Clearing his throat, he sat up in his chair, "I feel fine. I was lost in thought, forgive me. Please continue."
"I'm finished, sire." Jorleif resigned to the table and began eating with Galmar. Ulfric felt anxious, as he didn't want to provoke doubt, and stood from his throne to join them as they ate.
He pulled chicken and some bread on his plate, picking at it indecisively as his friends maintained conversation. His thoughts wandered to her as he ate his food.
Not a single word from her since the incident in the baths. He felt something stir deep within him as he recollected that day. The passion he had experienced at the expense of his ego had shaken him deeply. His body loved it and yearned for it and he hated that. He was Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, the future High King of Skyrim and yet he allowed that woman to… deceive him? Humiliate him? Seduce him? Blackmail him?
He conceded to himself that she had done all of those things with ease. It didn't make any sense and he didn't expect it to until she came forth to him and they discussed it, something he anticipated with fervor and dread. He finished his food and excused himself from the table, his two comrades watching him with uneasiness. His odd behavior had been noticed and debated many times in private between the two.
Galmar figured it was Rikke's death and the future responsibility that he faced that had caused Ulfric to detach from everything around him while Jorleif had his rightful theory of the Dragonborns involvement. Jorleif had spoken to the young woman many times and had answered questions about his Jarls bachelorhood. He supposed she was chasing him or he was chasing her but Galmar laughed it off.
"The Dragonborn? That young thing? Ulfric may be my blood brother but I don't see that happening."
Meanwhile, Ulfric walked to the barracks that evening and hailed three young men. They hurried toward him with enthusiasm and stood rigidly in front of him.
