It took Frina several days to make it to Windhelm.
She had dashed along the streets in Solitude, wanting to catch up to Ulfric and Galmar as they began their journey home but not feeling as though it was really her place to travel with them. The carriage driver had very wisely moved his business out of harm’s way when the fighting started, so there was no option available to take a quick ride to Windhelm. She watched the two men turn left, down toward the docks. That meant that they would be taking the ferry back to Windhelm, and she wouldn’t be able to do the same for probably another day.
She looked around at the still-smoldering piles of rubble. People were beginning to emerge from whatever safe spot they had found before the heavy fighting began. There were a few soldiers, looking a bit worse for wear, trudging back down the road toward Dragon Bridge.
I really don’t know what to do next. All this time I’ve had someone else telling me where I should go, and what I should do, and before that I had a goal. A purpose. I was going to Windhelm to fight for Ulfric in the Civil War, to finish the job that Briinda started and wasn’t able to complete. And now…
Maybe I should go back to the camp, where we were last night, and see what they need to have done next?
No. Galmar’s on his way to Windhelm. The whole of Skyrim is ours. They’re probably dismantling the camp by now. Or just patrolling the roads.
Well, this isn’t doing me any good, just standing and staring. I have to go that way now anyway, no matter what I decide to do next.
She started walking west, passing some of the slower-moving soldiers. They called her “Stormblade” and clapped her on the back, or said “good job out there! I’m glad you were with us,” and she tried to smile back, to thank them. But it was hard to put anything like a smile on her face. She managed to nod, and once or twice said a few words of encouragement, but it seemed as though a great void had opened in front of her.
I wonder if all soldiers feel like this at the end of a war, just waiting for someone to tell them what to do next.
She kept looking ahead, wondering whether there was any chance she might catch up with Roggi and Dardeh, and travel with them for a while. They were the closest thing to family she had left in Skyrim, after all. But she saw no broad back in gleaming ebony, no tall Nord with a dragonbone greatsword slung across his back, and as she continued walking she realized that they had been through as great a trial as anyone else and probably wanted some time to spend with each other, resting and simply being together.
She chuckled, thinking about that. I can’t believe it but I’m going to miss hearing Dardeh failing to be quiet at night. The two of them just love each other so much.
That thought made her think of Ulfric again, and she frowned. He had been so noble, so uplifting, so inspiring when he spoke to the troops both before and after the battle. He had fought like a man possessed, a seasoned warrior with the extra skills that came with the Voice; remembering those moments sent shivers of excitement rushing through her body. She would never forget the sight of him – eyes flashing, axe raised high, as he turned to grin at Dardeh and spur them all on to greater feats.
But there had been those other moments. As she thought of them, she began to debate herself, chewing on her lip as she went.
Why couldn’t he have accepted Tullius’ offer to surrender?
Because then the Imperials would have stopped at nothing to release him. You know that. There would have been no peace whatsoever in Solitude, and there’s little enough of it now.
And what about not accepting the mantle of High King, right then and there? That was what we worked for, all that time. Wasn’t it? And Roggi was so angry right then. I wonder why.
I don’t know. Maybe Galmar was right.
Amidst all the furor and confusion in the courtyard, after they had slain Tullius, Frina had seen Galmar approach Dardeh and put a hand on his shoulder. She probably would never forget what he had said.
“I know you grieve for those we have lost, Dragonborn. I see it in your eyes. But remember, the measure of a man is taken at the moment of his death. And know this for truth, the ghosts of many heroes walk among us.”
Dardeh had nodded, with tears standing in his eyes. “I know this for truth as well, Galmar: they are feasting in Sovngarde with Ysgramor and the Heroes even as we speak.”
Frina didn’t know exactly what made Dardeh so emotional about Sovngarde; he’d actually cried when Ulfric mentioned it. But it made her think. Maybe it wasn’t just putting Ulfric on the throne that mattered to all these men.
Maybe I’ll be able to sort it all out later.
She spent her first night out of Solitude at the Four Shields Tavern in Dragon Bridge. Faida recognized her from the night before she’d stolen the courier’s orders, but Frina was greatly relieved when it became obvious that she hadn’t seen that bit of thievery. She went to bed wondering whether or not she could even sleep and woke up some twelve hours later, exhaustion and injuries having taken their toll on her body.
She crossed the bridge and made her way east, along the shore, once more following the trail she’d made several times during the past weeks. She stopped at the Stormcloak camp east of Morthal, where a number of wounded soldiers still rested. They hadn’t heard the news yet, and when she told them of the great victory at Solitude they cheered. Some of them cried. They all vowed to survive, and heal, and be fit again in time to see Ulfric crowned High King. Frina just nodded at that, and told them that they had time, the Moot had to be convened, and that probably wouldn’t happen until things had settled a bit and the Jarls had cemented their power in each of the holds. She slept there in the camp that night, once again dropping into the sleep of great exhaustion; but when she woke the following morning Frina felt almost alive again.
She spent a few moments with the quartermaster. He was very happy when she purchased a set of scaled armor from him and had him make a few small adjustments to its fit. The leathers she’d worn since arriving in Skyrim were frankly disgusting at this point, covered with blood and full of the smell of smoke and death. Besides, she thought as she looked herself over, this armor actually flattered her figure, flat and wiry though it may be.
She set out to the east.
What is it that you want, Frina? She asked herself that question in her sister’s voice, wondering what Briinda would have advised or what she herself would have wanted to do following the end of the war. That was silly, though; Briinda would have been married to Roggi. She would have wanted children. She’d have been trying for that with every bit as much fire and enthusiasm as she had tried to help Ulfric win the war. It made Frina giggle to think how different Roggi’s life would have been if Briinda had lived. He would have been happy either way, she thought. Wouldn’t he?
And what is it that I do want?
I want… a place to live. I want something to do, something that’s important, that involves helping people. I want…
I want to know Ulfric better.
She frowned, thinking that. It had been a young girl’s silly dream, imagining herself with a great war hero. She had seen him at what might have been his finest. But she had also seen him be cruel, and sarcastic. That was hardly the hero and the happy ending she had imagined during the long trip from High Rock to Windhelm, before she had actually joined the Stormcloaks.
And yet…
She walked slowly, taking her time, and darkness was falling on a third night when she approached the Nightgate Inn. The road had been surprisingly quiet. She’d needed to slay a pair of frostbite spiders, but that had been all. She’d also had to work her way around the remnants of several battles; only the cold kept the sites from collecting flies, and she hoped the bodies would be removed and cared for soon, before the animals created too much chaos. Before summer came at the very least.
The sun was blazing in a clear, cold sky when at last she crossed the river and saw the gates of Windhelm before her. She smiled. Windhelm had been their home when she was very young. It made sense for her to go to Windhelm before deciding what to do with the rest of her life, surely. There was at least some semblance of familiarity there, for her. That’s what she’d told herself for the entire last day of her trek. And yet, as soon as she opened the gates and stepped through, she found herself walking straight ahead, past Candlehearth Hall and up the broken stairs to the Palace of the Kings.
Ulfric was on his throne, holding papers that he scanned intently, deep in discussions with Jorlief, when she walked in. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face while making her way down the long hall toward him. She had almost reached the end of the enormous feasting table when Ulfric glanced up, sensing movement. He looked back down at the papers without acknowledging her presence and for a moment her heart fell. Then it was as though he suddenly realized who he’d seen. His head came back up, he looked at her, and a soft smile spread across his face.
“Stormblade. You’ve arrived. I trust the journey treated you well.”
Frina couldn’t stop smiling at him in return. “It did, my lord. I stopped at our camps on the way here to tell the injured of our success.” Her smile faded. “There is a lot of work to be done, if the truth be told. Many dead still line the roadways. We should give them a proper Nord burial as soon as we are able.”
“We should, should we?” Ulfric said. Frina was afraid she had crossed some line with that until she realized that his eyes were twinkling.
“Yes, sir. At any rate, I have come, as you asked me to. Is there anything I can do to continue helping?” Please give me something to do. I can’t stand feeling useless.
He surprised her by laughing. “True sons and daughters of Skyrim reign in every city. We’ve crippled the Imperial Legion and cut off its head by killing General Tullius himself. What more could I ask of you, Stormblade? No, you’re free to roam. I suspect the gods have needs for you elsewhere.”
Frina sighed, and looked down at the floor. I was afraid of this. He really doesn’t have any use for me.
“I see.”
“That said,” Ulfric continued, drawing her attention back to his face, “some of the Legion’s staunchest men have doubtless organized themselves to operate out of the Empire’s hidden military camps in the wilderness. If you come across any Imperials in your travels – well, I expect you’ll know what to do.”
Before she could stop herself, Frina started talking. “That’s just it. I don’t know what to do now. I haven’t any particular reason to travel. I don’t have a home any longer – my parents have both passed and, well, you know what happened to Briinda. I can’t very well move in with Roggi and Dardeh. I’m sure they’d be polite and allow me to stay, but…” She trailed off as she realized that the corners of Ulfric’s mouth were twitching upward, and there was a twinkle in his eye.
“And? Do go on.”
“I’m… I’m sorry, sir. I got carried away. I guess I was hoping…”
She looked at him again and saw that the hint of humor she’d seen had become a full grin. He was laughing at her.
Damn it all.
She stomped on the floor. “By the Nine, Ulfric, you told me to come here so we could discuss my future. Here I am. I need a future. Are we going to discuss it, or am I going to have to stand here and grovel in front of the throne like a common peasant?”
There was a moment of complete silence. Jorlief carefully slunk several steps to the side, away from the throne. Frina held her breath.
That was stupid. That was just stupid. You may have fought by his side but he doesn’t owe you anything.
Ulfric leaned back in his throne and began to laugh. At first it was just a chuckle, but the longer it went on the louder it got, until he was actually wiping tears away with the back of his hand. Jorlief slipped a couple of uncomfortable glances her way; he clearly didn’t know what to think about the outburst. Neither did she. She loved hearing that laugh, simply adored the sound of it; but she didn’t know what it meant. Maybe she was about to be led to the headsman’s block. Or to that awful room in the dungeon where Roggi…
… best not to think about that.
Finally, the laughter tapered off.
“Frina,” he said between chuckles. “Thank you for that. I haven’t laughed so in ages.” He stood, groaning slightly as he rotated his shoulders and stretched his arms out behind him. He stepped down off his dais to stand in front of her. His eyes were twinkling.
“You are correct, of course. I did ask you to come to me and here you are. And I have been deep in planning and administering and trying to work out responsibilities for almost every moment since Galmar and I returned to Windhelm. I am in need of a break. Come with me, and we will talk.” He turned to Jorlief, looked at the man’s expression and again burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, my friend. I’m fine. I’m just very tired, and our Stormblade has reminded me that there is more to life than paperwork. Have some food sent up to my quarters, if you would.”
Jorlief relaxed slightly, and nodded. “Right away, my lord.”
Ulfric took Frina’s hand. She nearly jumped; but even though she managed to keep herself from flinching, her heart started to pound. He led her a few steps toward the map room – and the entrance to his private quarters – then paused and called back across the throne room.
“And Jorlief? Clear my schedule. I believe I shall be taking the rest of the day off.” He looked at Frina and smiled again. “Come, my warrior. Keep my company for awhile.”
She looked into his eyes, searching for any clues as to what he might want and found none. It seemed, at least at the moment, as though Ulfric meant exactly what he had said: he was tired and wanted to spend some time in pleasant company.
Well, it’s not a life plan, but it’s something for the next few hours. I can do that.
She smiled, and followed him up the stairs.
She once again took the seat opposite him at the small table and sighed gratefully as he offered her a goblet of wine. Her feet hurt from the long walk and she was still more tense than she had expected to be.
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured as she sipped it. “This is good. I didn’t realize how tired I was, either.”
“What did I tell you about ‘my lord,’ Frina?” he said, his eyes twinkling over the top of the goblet as he followed the statement up with a drink.
She smiled.
“Alright. Ulfric. Thank you. So tell me, do I call you High King now? I mean, in public?”
Ulfric chuckled quietly, but shook his head.
“No. Not yet. We’ll wait for the Moot to name me High King; it will be better for all that way as we start to rebuild. And to collect and bury our dead, as you mentioned.” He smiled at her.
“I hope that means the Imperials, too,” Frina murmured. Then she flushed. I just asked the man whether I should call him High King and here I am telling him how to do his job? “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to presume.”
“It’s fine. Many of those Imperial soldiers were people who I fought beside, years ago. They deserve as much respect as our own dead.” Ulfric leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in front of him, then sighed heavily.
“No, you may not call me High King quite yet. But that doesn’t mean I won’t start acting like one. There is far too much work to be done helping the Jarls rebuild and enforce their right to rule. It’s a precarious situation; the Empire may well try to reclaim Skyrim, and we need to be ready for that. There’s also the small matter of the vacancies on the High Council and the absence of an Emperor.”
“But we’re not part of the Empire any more, are we?”
He paused for a moment as a servant knocked and entered the room with a tray of food. This time it was perfectly roasted pheasant and vegetables, and Frina’s mouth started watering as soon as she smelled it. Ulfric waved the servant away and nodded to her that she should begin. He rubbed his eyes; and Frina could see the weariness just under the surface.
Of course he’s tired. I’m tired myself, and I’m … how much younger than he is?
“You’re right, of course,” he said, starting in on his meal. He took a bite and continued talking around the food, as she started in on her own. “We’ve broken away. But there is still trading to consider and, like it or not, Cyrodiil is the seat of power for most of Tamriel. It’s important to us, what happens there.”
He paused for a sip of wine and then continued speaking.
“Not only that. In spite of the Dragonborn’s best efforts we still have dragons about, wreaking havoc. And then there are the vampires. It may take a while for the Moot to convene.”
Frina’s brow wrinkled. “Vampires?”
“Yes. They’re becoming bolder with the uncertainty of the war. There are enclaves of them lurking about but we’ve not had the resources to go after them. You surely noticed the period of time when the sun went dark, some time ago?”
Frina shuddered. “How could I not?”
“Rumor has it that it was a powerful vampire artifact in use that caused that. Praise Talos it has stopped happening; but that still suggests that there is a threat to be dealt with.”
Frina stared down at her plate, suddenly feeling guilty about having insisted on taking Ulfric’s time. He had so much to deal with right now. Things that were far more important than her petty little concerns were all on his shoulders.
“I’m … sorry. Here am I, all concerned about myself, and you have all of these far more important things to think about.”
She jumped, then, as Ulfric reached across the table and gave her hand a brief squeeze.
“Your future is, of course, the most important thing to you, and why would it not be? It is the same for any of us. Well, then, let’s talk about your future.”
Frina started to shake her head but he interrupted her.
“One of the things I can do as High King – can do as Jarl, but even moreso now – is to dispense with forfeited property. I offered you a home in the city once and you have not purchased it.”
Frina flushed. “No, I haven’t. I … can’t afford it, sire.”
He didn’t look directly at her, rather kept eating and talking at the same time. “As it happens, you will not need to purchase a home. There is a place that has just become available. Its former occupant is no longer with us, his efforts working against our cause having been discovered with the help of our friend the Inquisitor. I wish to give it to you. It is a very small home, an apartment really, not even as large as these quarters, but it is yours if you will have it.”
Frina stared at him.
He’s giving me a home? Actually giving me a place to live?
Still he didn’t meet her gaze. “You may get the key from Jorlief. Go through the Gate of Kings and turn left by Olaf One-Eye. It is just to the right, at the base of the stairs.”
Frina took another bite of her meal – it seemed a shame to waste it, and Ulfric was certainly devouring his – and tried to picture the path to this place he was giving her. Out the gate, turn left by the plaque to King Olaf, and…
“But – that’s the Gray Quarter!”
As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted having said them aloud. She felt herself turning red, the heat of her face warming her hand as she brought her goblet to her mouth hoping to cover her own embarrassment. She dared a glance at Ulfric and saw that he hadn’t taken his attention off his own plate, but had a tiny smile on his mouth.
“Well, yes. Barely. It is just a few steps into the Quarter. More importantly, it is very close to the palace.” He looked up at her and smiled. “I told you before, Frina, I need to have trusted, loyal people nearby. It would not do for me to move you into the palace right now. But you will be only a few moments away.” He paused for another sip of wine. “As I’ve told you, you are free to roam and engage with any of the enemy you may find. But in the meantime, if you can do anything for the people of Windhelm I would consider it a great service. I’m going to be a very busy man for the foreseeable future.”
She stared at him in awe. A place of my own. He really is giving me a place of my own. And … he wants me nearby.
She rose and walked to his window, staring out.
“I am honored, sir, but I don’t feel as though I…”
She nearly jumped out of her skin as Ulfric’s warm hands came down onto her shoulders and turned her around. She found herself looking into his eyes and saw there a warmth that she had never thought she’d deserve from a man as great as he. Only in her childhood fantasies had she been face to face with a king, being regarded with kindness and, maybe, something more.
“Frina,” he said quietly. “You more than earned any reward I am able to give you. I did not name you Stormblade lightly. Our men rallied around you. You gave them confidence and hope that they did not otherwise possess. When they saw you fighting they were encouraged to continue. Please accept my gift. They will all understand that you deserve it and would wish you to do so.”
Frina found herself fighting her own body’s urge to tremble once more. I won’t. I don’t want to appear weak. Not after those lovely words.
“Very well. In that case, I accept. And thank you, Ulfric. I had no real place to go, not any longer. I will do everything I can to help smooth the path ahead for you.”
He smiled at her and raised one hand to stroke the side of her cheek. Then he sighed, and it seemed to her that his smile grew sad.
“And now,” he said, “I must let you go to inspect your new home.”
“But…”
He shook his head.
“Truly. It is not that I have not enjoyed your company. Again. I would keep you here longer. But I fear that I must send you away now, before I do something that you and I both will regret.”
Frina’s head swam. She didn’t want him to send her away. She wanted to stay right where she was, if not a bit closer.
“I have done things in the past that I have regretted deeply,” he continued, his voice soft, “and I would not have you become one of them. I have no desire to have you hate me.”
“But…” she said again, wishing that something more intelligent and useful would come out of her mouth. But I don’t want to leave.
“No, don’t argue with me. It is not right, not now.” Ulfric dropped his hands and stepped back. “Besides, my dear, I am an old man and you have reminded my mind and body how very tiring this business of rule can be. I would like to be in better form the next time we share an evening.” He smiled warmly. “Go now.”
Frina heard the next words to come out of her mouth as though they came from someone else, and wondered what had possessed her to say them.
“So there will be a next time?”
“Without a doubt,” he said calmly and without any hesitation.
Frina took a deep breath and shook her head to regain her focus. “In that case, I’d best go see Jorlief about a key. Thank you again. I don’t have words for how much.” She smiled at him, hoping he would see how very grateful she was. “I’ll see what I might be able to help with tomorrow and, of course, if you should need me for anything…”
“…I will send for you immediately,” he finished the thought.
Frina smiled at him again and made her slightly unsteady way out the door of Ulfric’s quarters and down the stairs to find Jorlief and retrieve the key to her new home.
There will be a next time.
That thought made her practically giddy.
She was even giddier when she found the space that Ulfric had given her. At first the idea of living in the Gray Quarter had her skin twitching – the very idea of living near Dunmer! But as she walked down the few steps to the door he’d indicated she realized that he had been right. It was only barely in the Gray Quarter and was practically within whistling distance of the palace. And she had to admit that the brightly-colored hanging above the door, threadbare though it might be, was a welcome bit of vibrancy in this otherwise monotone city.
She stepped inside, dropped her pack and weapons beside the door, and gasped. It was, as he had told her, not even as large as his private chambers. It was basically one very tall room with a sleeping loft above half of it. But in that room was everything she could have imagined wanting. There was a kitchen, enchanting and alchemy stations and plenty of storage. The loft had room for two to sleep, one above the other.
Just inside the door was a weapons rack. Frina returned to it after looking around the space and smiled.
“I know just the thing to put here,” she said to the space, and found the elven sword Ulfric had given her in Solitude. She would never use it herself; regardless of anything else, she wanted no more to do with elves than absolutely necessary. But it had been a gift. When she placed it in the center of the rack it gleamed like gold.
Frina walked around the space once more, unpacking the few items she’d carried with her in her backpack, enjoying the experience of finding the perfect place for each thing. When she was done she turned to survey her new home and smiled.
“Thank you, Ulfric,” she murmured. “I’m going to like it here.”
