Stallion of Whiterun (Skyrim Balgruuf SI) Chapter 25 (Patreon)

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There were moments in time where men ought to decide for themselves regardless of what the world demands of them. This was not out of arrogance for the ones who decide know that if they do nothing then fate marches on and bring ruin to them and the ones they love. Ulfric battled with these thoughts as he tossed and turned in his bed. He slept easily, the days events having sapped him of his energy. He slept for a time...until he was awoken in a cold sweat. 

He glanced around, expecting to find himself in a cold cell, thread-bare clothing on him and a sneering Elf standing before him, manacles in hand. 

But he found nothing. None of the sort. Only his fine clothes, his room and the fireplace basking him in warmth. He took a couple of breaths, calming exercises taught to him at High Hrothgar to instill peace in his mind. He chanted too, a mantra that kept him sane while he languished under the Dominion's tender mercies. 

"Sky Above, Voice Within," Ulfric said quietly to himself, contemplating the deeper meaning of the mantra. Master Angeir oft spoke of it to him in their lessons. At first, young Ulfric did not understand what he meant in his little reminders. It was only in his captivity where he had the free time to contemplate its meaning. The Sky was Mother Kyne, the Divine that breathed life into Mortals and thus, the focal point of worship and adoration. The Voice within, he realized, was the inner control of his soul. Something that couldn't be taken no matter what the world tried. The Elves could torture him, mutilate him, mistreat him in a manner that beasts would perish at but they could never take away his Voice. 

His Voice was Strong.

Perhaps that was the reason why he mastered the Force Unrelenting shout so quickly?

His musings were cut when he heard a knock at the door. Blinking, Ulfric glanced down at himself to see if he was decent and seeing that he was, nodded. "Enter,"

The door opened and in came Galmar, looking resplendent in his berserker armor. As his Housecarl walked in, Ulfric realized that he had never seen Galmar wearing other clothes other than his armor. 

"Have you no other clothes, Galmar?" he asked, amused. The Housecarl snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Better to be protected than comfortable," Galmar asserted. He then halted before Ulfric's bed. "It is five in the morning, my lord. The Jarl of Markarth is ready to leave, and the Whiterun Jarling too."

Ulfric nodded, understanding immediately. By his reckoning, he and Galmar had just arrived home to Skyrim and now, they were off on campaign again. But that was fine, Ulfric thought to himself. They do not choose the times where they live in but they could choose how to act. For Skyrim, he would fight. He quickly rose from bed. "Help me dress to my armor, my friend," Ulfric requested. 

Soon, Ulfric stood before a fine mirror, purchased by a ancestor a long time ago. Despite its age, the reflection was as clear as day. He waited patiently as Galmar draped chain-mail on him, tugging at the fittings as to tighten them on his body. They were going to travel and thus, Ulfric had opted for a lighter protective coat. While not his usual plate, the chain-mail would service him well enough and the coat also kept him warm as well. As Galmar silently helped him, Ulfric looked back again into the mirror. 

Divines, he was so young yet, he was already forming lines on his face. 

"Galmar, a question." Ulfric found his mouth moving. 

"Hrm?" asked his gruff housecarl. 

"Am I doing the right thing? Are we doing the right thing?" Ulfric asked. He knew that he was doing the correct thing to raise his arms and liberate Markarth but, he was defying his father. The Nord in Ulfric, the true and honest son of Skyrim inside of him understood his father's pain at losing Talos. He would want nothing more but legal worship restored. By Oblivion, he was seriously considering asking that as a boon from Jarl Hrolfdir but...

Lord Balgruuf was correct that now wasn't the time. If they opted for it then the Empire would have no choice and bear upon them with the Elves cheering in the background. This, Ulfric understood and prepared for. It however did not make the feeling of defying his father easier. 

Galmar contemplated his Lord's question. He paused, glancing at the conflict clear on Ulfric's face. He was there the entire time, quietly listening on as the Jarl of Windhelm prattled for Talos worship to be made legal. Galmar considered himself a good Nord. That's why he happily joined the Legion alongside his friend and Lord in the first place; to show the Elves that Ysgramor's blood flowed in them still. 

Yes, they were captured by the Elves but that wasn't the point. 

He hummed and pondered his Lord's question. Then, he answered. "Sometimes, we men have to make choices that are unpopular but right. Jarl Hrolfdir has the right of it to forbid you, my lord, in helping that fool Hrolfdir. But if you do nothing, Windhelm gains nothing while Whiterun benefits. It will not look good for the next Jarl of Windhelm to miss an opportunity for action." He then continued on his drill of fitting Ulfric in his armor. The chest straps were done. Now, he was going to affix his Lord's belt. "Even then, we're being true Nords here; liberating our kin from rebels. That is a good thing and I think even your father understands that." 

Ulfric listened quietly. The right thing to do, eh? Another question formed in his mind. "Then by rights and as a noble of this city, you must follow the commands of the Jarl and stop me from leaving. You may be my Housecarl but I am not Jarl yet, my father is." 

Galmar replied with a snort. "With respect, my lord, stick it up your ass. I follow you because I am not just your housecarl but because you too are my friend. I would be a poor friend if I do not help you." 

Ulfric remained quiet. Then he smiled, sincerely. "You humble me, Galmar." 

Another snort left his housecarl's lips. "Someone has to."

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The farewell was a quiet ceremony. Before the Palace of Kings, his father and sister stood by, guards flanking them. On the far entrance, Jarl Hrolfdir and his men stood ready to leave, packs on their backs. Lord Balgruuf too and his boys, astride their mighty warhorses. But Ulfric was not looking at them but his father, clad in black fur and his crown affixed his head. 

"I have told you, Lord Ulfric, that if you continue this foolishness, you will be barred entry into Windhelm. My word is the law and you defy me?" Jarl Hoag asked, his face impassive and stoic. 

Behind him, Galmar stood watch, his faithful guardian. Ulfric glanced up, meeting his father's gaze. "Then it is a exile I wear willingly. I am your son, my Jarl, but I am a son of Skyrim too. Her children, our brothers and sisters, are ruled by rebels. I would be a poor kinsman to them if I do not lift my hand to help them." 

"Is this your final decision, Lord Ulfric?" Jarl Hoag asked again, striding forward to meet his son. His father's shadow loomed over him but Ulfric was not deterred.  

"Yes," he said simply. From the back, his sister watched with open concern. She had worried that she might have pushed this a bit too far but...it was for the best. 

"Then you are exiled, never to return until I have given my consent," Jarl Hoag declared. His gaze was hard, striking and lordly. But Ulfric remained stoic still. "You remain my heir, my son, but I cannot let you do this without punishment." 

"I understand," Ulfric said, never breaking eye contact. Something shifted in his father's hard eyes. He then turned on his heels, his back facing Ulfric. The younger Stormcloak thought his father would walk off then and there but no, his ears perked as he heard his father speak. 

"...Do not die," he said simply. "This is a father's plea,"

Even while being a hard-ass, his father still cared. Ulfric nodded. "Yes, father." 

And with that, Jarl Hoag walked off into his Palace, his guards following him. His sister strode forward, grasping him by the hand and looking up at him. "What did he say?" she asked quietly. 

"Not to die," Ulfric revealed. A small smile came upon her face. "That is my request too, brother. It will be very inconvenient if you will." 

"And I thought you would enjoy my exile," Ulfric mused. Without him, she could take the reigns as the second-born and be made heir with a few whispers to their father. Freyja quickly grasped what her brother was getting at and frowned. Frankly, she felt offended. 

"I am a Nord, I will beat you in honest combat, not whisper like a Breton tart." she asserted. "I wear skirts, brother, but that won't stop me." And thus, the second-born Stormcloak pulled back her sleeves and flexed, hard muscle glistened on cream-white skin. In the light, Freyja was exercised and fit. Verily so. "Behold, the arms that will secure my place at the throne," Freyja grinned. 

Ulfric laughed. "I will have to come back in one piece for that to happen, then." 

Freyja pushed her sleeves back. "I will send you support, as much as I can. Consider it my contributions to this adventure."

"Thank you, sister," Ulfric smiled. 

Freyja smiled back.

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A/N: Aw, wholesome innit. 

So, health update. I am feeling better than last week. Breathing is still a bitch but I am improving. Expect updates to come smoother now too. Thank you for standing by me, my friends. Your support means a lot to me at this time.