You could still remember the moment the Jarl had offered you the current position you held after nearly a month of quiet talks as the sun rose, expecting you to full-heartedly decline the role as War-Council Advisor.
It had been the day that changed your life for the better. In the morn, after you'd agreed, he had introduced you to Galmar, Jorleif, Wuunferth, and some of the citizen nobles. All hold generals were automatically on his council, though because they were scattered throughout all of Skyrim, you'd never catch them all 9 in one place.
Yrsarald was always training recruits as the Eastmarch commander, and he accepted you fairly easily, though then again for the first few meetings he had glared you down something fierce.
However, Ulfric's own housecarl, Galmar, was much more persistent and hissy than the hold general, so by the first few council meetings you were in, you had gotten a taste how generals acted.
You savored in the fact that these people did have honor, something you had dearly missed while running in the guild. If something threatened that honor, that dignity, they weren't about to let it pass lightly.
Often times, that threat was you, but at least they were loyal beasts, and they didn't mark off orders from their leader. Ever.
That being said, you had a knack for picking fights, and Ulfric's word of protection couldn't stop you from yourself. It took a week before you went ballistic on Galmar, his snide and immature barks under his breath finally crossing the line, and as the guards on duty that day told it, the fight was barely a duel.
Least to say, the housecarl was walking around with a purple face and two teeth shifted in the completely opposite direction they once were after the whole ordeal. That- squaring off with a man much stronger than you and still winning, much less it being Galmar Stone-Fist himself, earned you a lot of respect in the eyes of any man or woman in the Stormcloak rebellion, high or low.
The following months after that went smoothly, you were cruising through paperwork, easing a good portion of the Jarl's burden, and kept the main men of the rebellion in good mental health. Not only that, you'd poke the holes in their plans and were a little brat when you had to be, annoying them to no end as they came up with a busted plan after busted plan.
Relations between you and Ulfric were strictly friendly, though there were murmurings of more intimaticy between you two from the soldiers (untrue rumors at that, you'd both merely roll your eyes at what Yrsarald would say in his reports). You and Galmar were finally clicking, more insulting and hardy than that of your bond with the Jarl, but Galmar knew more about you than Ulfric due to one too many drinks on bad nights.
Some days, it felt as if it had never happened, and others, you couldn't bear to drag yourself out of bed before Galmar came, yelling and shrieking like the Talos worshipper in Whiterun that everyone partially dispised, while also appreciating.
On the bad days, you got the most paperwork done, just to try to distract yourself.
But now, 5 months after your joining, the war had been won.
And now... well, now, you had festivities to attend.
With a grin, you rolled out of your bed, slim feet landing on the cold stone floor as the sun peaked through the small window in your room. You sifted through your wardrobe, finding clothing that would suit the events to come, and humming a quiet tune as you left your den and headed for the barrack showers.
Galmar, who always woke at the ass-crack of dawn, was already up as usual as you passed by the war room, absent-mindedly dodging him.
"Ulfric's in the showers too- a warning," was the grey-bearded man's statement as he gave you a narrowed glance.
You chuckled, meeting his eyes as you passed with dark attire and a towel draped over your arm. "I'm not going to rape him, Galmar."
"I don't fucking trust you about that, ____," he affirmed, "you're prone to harassing people."
You snorted, "If I did, you'd know."
"What in the hell does-"
The door swung shut behind you, cutting the man off before he finished his sentence. You started to jog across the main hall, in cotton trousers too large and a lightweight brown tunic. You had slipped on some sandals that a female soldier had gifted you on one of your many visits to the training range and were forever grateful to her for the present.
Alas, you reached the showers in no time, being they were just off the main mess hall for the barracks. True to Galmar's word, a single pipe was running.
Quietly, you entered one of the closed off (curtains acted as walls) showers and stripped of your clothing, placing it on a bench that you really, really hoped was clean being it also held your change of clothing. Another cloth curtain was placed in front of the bench so nothing would get wet, and you drew that one in also before heaving down the lever that would get water pumping to the pipes.
The pipes got water from a boiler room that kept water stored for the showers. The whole pipeline operation was surprisingly old, though it kept working well even after some 30 years after they were made.
First, cold water came dripping out, then a spur of even colder water followed, and you yelped at the change, a curse leaving your mouth. It was loud, and to your embarrassment, echoing.
Then, moments later, warm water followed, a frustrated huff leaving your mouth.
The other pipe shut off.
After a mere minute, yours did as well, a hard slam with your palm needed to get the lever to actually turn and shut off the water.
"Fuck this," you muttered, quickly drying off with a towel and throwing your undergarments on in a hurry. You wriggled on your tight, black-dyed leather trousers with some difficulty, though your tunic was a whole other ordeal.
It had a bodice sewn attached to it, so it laced up in the back, and you in no way were going to be able to accomplish that.
With a bit of your lip, you flicked the water off your shoes with your foot.
There was a draw of curtains, and you sucked in a breath, popping your head out from your own and meeting eyes with Ulfric Stormcloak himself, dressed casually in a way that you'd never seen before.
Attempting to play your shock off, you let out a sheepish smile. "Hey, uh, Ulfric, you know how to lace a bodice?"
He blinked, surprised. "I believe I do."
Your face reddened, being you couldn't button the tunic without the corset being laced so your chest was barely covered, but tried to ignore it. "Could you help me out?"
The tall man nodded, "Of course."
You drew open the sheet of cloth and faced the only actual wall, flushed a deep red.
Ulfric approached and closed the curtains behind him, your stomach twisting itself in unfamiliar knots as he grabbed the hanging string.
Judging by how the bodice tightened considerably as the seconds wore on, he was doing it right.
"There," he stated. "Turn around."
Hesitantly, you turned around, and he was right there, starting to button your shirt before a word was said. You flustered in response, looking anywhere but at him.
There was a silent pause, where he had just stood back and trailed his eyes before he spoke.
"You look stunning."
You failed to find words, expecting him to say something dim or somewhat negative rather than something so bold.
You looked to him, embarrassment all over your features. "Thank you," you were barely able to murmur.
Then, before you knew it, he was taking you up in a kiss that sparked a flame in your spine.
When he drew back, there was a quiet gasp from the doorway of the showers, and you both whipped out loud curses, panicking.
Gossip was ripe for weeks in the Palace of Kings, from Galmar to the guards.
~~~~~~~~~
Oh lord I love these two shots so, so much.
Part 3?!?!
I can do it!
Any other requests?
Otherwise, it's cold lol.
Dani out,
Adieu!