There was a heavy mist hanging over the hillside as Frina hurried forward, grumbling to herself, scrambling over the loose rock and trying not to catch her feet in the low shrubs so as to avoid twisting an ankle. The dark rocks of the hillside ahead of and above her slowly took shape as the towers of Fort Sungard, looming over this southernmost part of the Reach. Not long afterward she started hearing the sounds of battle, muffled but increasingly distinctive.
Damn it. Late. Gods damn the stupid saber cats for slowing me down!
They’d been everywhere, leaping out at her from behind rocks and from under junipers. It wasn’t as though Frina wasn’t accustomed to fighting the big beasts, but it took time that she’d have preferred to spend in travel. She was here now, though, and tried to join her allies as quickly as possible.
The largest group of Stormcloaks she could see was already advancing up the steep hillside toward the heavily-barricaded entrance, clearing the way with archery. Imperials emerging from the fortifications slipped around the several layers of barricades, pushing down the slope toward them with blades drawn and shields at the ready.
Frina drew her bow as she caught up to the Stormcloaks and squinted ahead. A ball of fire from the hands of an Imperial mage gave her a first target; the arrow flew, and while she couldn’t see its progress she saw the mage stumble backward when it struck him. She hadn’t killed him, but she was not going to stop trying.
“A pox on the Empire!” she heard just behind her. A pair of Stormcloak archers pushed past on either side and dashed into a knot of three legionnaires in front of them. While she shot several arrows at the Imperials, the battle was close and she was afraid of hitting her own people. She watched in dismay as the Imperials overpowered the Stormcloaks in their flimsy armor and then turned to find the source of the arrows. All three of them ran toward Frina.
She was fumbling to swap her bow for her war pick and axe when the first of them, a woman, reached her and swung wildly with her sword, clipping through Frina’s leather armor and opening a long slash in her side. She shrieked and turned, running downhill and away from the battle, healing herself with one hand and preparing to swing with the other.
Don’t run away! Don’t run away, this is what you came for!
“I think… you’re bleeding!” a voice to her left growled, and she swung around to find a Stormcloak archer picking away at her pursuers, giving her just enough time to heal herself and to find firm footing. The archer beside her took down the woman who had attacked her first, but a dark-haired, growling man bore down on her with his shield.
Frina swiveled and managed to avoid the shield strike; and as he pulled back to attack with his sword she swung her pick in behind the shield, opening a matched set of gashes across his chest. He stumbled backward and down onto one knee; Frina stepped forward to take him down, but the archer was faster and finished him off. Frina caught the archer’s gaze for just a moment and grinned, nodding at him; then as he ran ahead she took a moment to heal herself further.
And I haven’t even made it into the fort yet. This is going to be interesting.
There were arrows clattering down onto the stones all around them as they pushed up the hill. Frina saw what looked like a dozen archers atop various levels of the fortress, but knew she could not reach them from so far back. Just ahead, though, was a wooden watchtower with one archer in it. She fired at him and missed; then again, three times in quick succession until the final arrow caught him in the throat and he dropped backward over the side of his nest. She and the remaining group of Stormcloaks she’d been with rounded the corner and approached the first set of barricades. A lone Imperial swordsman hurtled toward her, snarling; but she was ready for him. Planting her left foot behind her she waited until he was within arm’s reach and then opened his face and his neck with paired attacks from her two weapons.
Frina zigzagged between the staggered barricades, dodging arrows as she went. When she reached the stone archway of the fort’s outer wall she hammered down at the final wooden obstacle.
Bone-Breaker, they said. They should have called me Wood-Chopper instead. This is getting to be a habit.
There was a single archer waiting just beyond the barricade, but she rolled left as soon as the wood splintered and just managed to avoid the arrow. The Imperial was flailing about trying to swap weapons; she was able to dart forward and take him down as he tried to unsheathe his sword. Frina ducked out of the way for a moment, catching her breath as the other Stormcloaks surged past. Then she followed them up a short flight of stone stairs into an open courtyard. She tsk’d.
It would be nice to have a Dragonborn with a big voice in the area right about now.
They were everywhere. The Imperial archers she’d seen before were still in their elevated vantage points, raining arrows down on them. But there were also swordsmen, and a few mages, and they kept emerging from every opening both above and below the Stormcloaks, so many of them that it was hard to know where to strike next. In fact, just in front of her were so many soldiers of both colors that she didn’t dare wade in with her axes; instead, she pulled her bow and began picking away at the three archers on the lowest wall beyond them. One of them dropped just as the knot in front of her broke up and the Stormcloaks surged around the corner to her left.
A small, quiet part of Frina’s mind noted how loud it was, with weapons and shields clashing, people shouting insults at each other, screaming as they were hit, thudding or splattering as they hit the ground. As it had been in Whiterun the walls surrounding the battle seemed to amplify the sound until it was a solid, constant, white-hot roar of fright from which individual noises erupted here and there. It was all Frina could do to keep her eyes moving, and her feet moving, and while she struggled to take cues from the sounds it was almost too overwhelming to track.
Frina shot a few more arrows at the array of archers, but they were changing position too rapidly for her to hit. She followed their movements and swung around to look behind her and up to where the rest of her group had gone only to have her heart drop in dismay. There were at least five Imperials against three Stormcloaks, and only the application of a deadly warhammer by one of the Stormcloak men with massive arms was keeping them all alive. Frina managed to drop an archer who was approaching on the outside and hit at least one of the other Imperials, but a sudden burning pain in her arm had her whipping around to look behind her.
She hadn’t been moving enough. She was too open. The archers that had been on the first wall had moved back and one of them had caught her; the arrow had sliced through her sleeve and while the cut wasn’t deep it burned horribly, probably the effect of some mild poison. She took a deep breath and fired back at the man, sending the arrow through his eye. She ran forward as he dropped from the wall onto the ground beneath and took shelter behind some barrels placed next to the stone wall, healing her arm and searching in her pack for an antidote to poisons.
Gods damn it, that was stupid. Just a bit to the left and I’d have been gone.
She wished, suddenly, that Roggi was there. The three of them – she, Roggi, and Dardeh – had made an efficient team, working together with only a glance or a motion between them. The Stormcloaks with her were all fighting hard, and fighting well, but they were a team of which she had never been a part.
Well, they’re not here. Nobody to back me up and I should never have expected anything else. Briinda would be ashamed if I didn’t just go in there. Time to move.
Three Imperial swordsmen rushed past and onto the next stairway, apparently not seeing her next to the barrels. She grinned and ran up behind them.
Her pick caught the leg of the first soldier. He fell face down onto the stones, his head making a ferocious crack as he struck them, and was still. Frina slipped up behind him and slit his throat with her axe, not waiting to see whether he was alive or not. The other two soldiers turned at the sound; she barreled into the nearer of them with both weapons and finished him with a few blows while somewhere behind her and to her right an archer sent the last man stumbling backward. She stepped over the corpse at her feet and brought her pick down into his chest, ending him.
It went on like that for what felt like an eternity. Each time they made a few feet of progress forward another group of Imperials came out from the fort, or down from the towers, or around the next corner. Every few minutes Frina had to fall back for a moment, heal a fresh wound, look around for the next spot to shelter in while trying to pick off archers from the high walls. She would step up behind an Imperial and take him down, saving a Stormcloak from almost certain death, only to have one of them save her a moment later. Her arms were burning; her throat had gone raw from the guttural shouting that had no meaning other than “I will kill you!” Once she clipped a Stormcloak woman who yelled at her, “Watch it!” – but there was no time to check on her sister in arms because yet another Imperial was bearing down on her.
She heard an Imperial yell “Send Ulfric my regards!” and focusing on the sound saw, ahead of her and on the far side of a doorway, a lone archer. She saw red, and sprinted across the distance between them, laying into the man with a fury. “I will!” she screamed. “I’ll send him your head, too!” The archer fell, and she hammered away at him for a few moments until blood splattering into her eyes made her stop. She looked down at what she’d done and shuddered; but there was no time to ponder the situation. There was another Imperial running past her, looking frightened.
He’s running away. Is it over? Have we done it?
She chased after the man and barely dodged an arrow from one of her Stormcloak sisters who also had her eyes on him. He didn’t make it very far.
Frina stopped, and looked around, dazed. The other Stormcloaks were doing the same, healing wounds, checking the dead for valuables, and slowly breaking out into smiles. She walked slowly toward the edge of the wall. One level below her was a smithy, its smelter sending plumes of steam up into the air. Something near it moved. She pulled her weapons once more and dropped down, twisting her ankle a bit, but unwilling to let even one of the enemy get away. Sure enough, a lone Imperial soldier was trying to hide behind the mass of the smelter; at his feet was the body of another Stormcloak soldier who’d been trying to stop him. She grinned and stepped up to him, taking a swing with her axe that cut half through the man’s throat. She lifted his body up and dumped it over the side of the fortress.
She made her way back through the fort and out into the courtyard. There was nobody here to whom she needed to report, that she knew. Her orders had been to get back to Ulfric with news of their success. Galmar hadn’t even wanted to consider any other possibility, a fact that made her grin even as she remembered it. But before she hit the road, she wanted to help, here, as much as she could.
There were so many bodies. So many. Most of them wore Imperial armor, but a good number of them, far too many, were in Stormcloak blue. She quietly helped drag them to a location outside the fortress walls, where they would be burned later. There was really no other choice at this location atop the stony hills, not with this many casualties.
Frina worked until she was so exhausted that her body refused to move any longer. Then she found her way into the fort, and had a bite to eat, and fell onto one of the empty cots in the muster. Before she fell asleep, her mind took her back to the lone archer she had mowed down as though he’d been one of the saber cats that had delayed her passage across the Reach, or a draugr from the depths of Korvanjund. She hadn’t just killed the man; she had splattered him across the walkway on which he stood. And then she thought about the sounds she had heard emanating from the dungeon in Windhelm’s castle.
Is there really anything so much better about what I did today than what Roggi did there? Really?
She was trying to grapple with that question, but the fatigue rose up from within her like a blanket of stones, heavy and unyielding. She closed her eyes and slept like the dead she had just helped to create.
___
She ran the length of the throne room, slowing to a walk only as she neared Ulfric. Galmar had, he was telling Jorlief, once more asked for troops in the Reach to be doubled. Jorlief agreed that it was a reasonable strategy, but when Ulfric pressed him he pointed out that Falkreath Hold was potentially more vulnerable, blocking the only route in from Cyrodiil.
“To be sure, my lord,” he added, “I am not skilled in the arts of war or military tactics.”
And who is, exactly, under this set of circumstances? I’m not sure anyone knows what to expect with dragons adding to the mix.
“But you’re able to see the whole from the parts,” Ulfric said. “And for that, I’m grateful.”
And there’s the difference, Frina thought. Ulfric actually listens to his advisors, no matter how far removed their experience and skills might be from the matter at hand. He’s taken that observation and he’s going to weigh it before he does anything else. Balgruuf just basically overrode the advisors he didn’t immediately agree with. Proventus is a smarmy thing, but he wasn’t entirely wrong in advising caution.
She smiled at Ulfric, admiring him even more than she had before.
“Sir,” she said after waiting carefully to be sure his conversation with Jorlief was over. “We’ve retaken Fort Sungard. We lost some good people, but not near as many as they did. And while Jarl Igmund and his uncle are still in charge of Markarth, we had from them a large cache of weapons and silver. I do believe that Raerek understands that we have something to hold over his head if things go poorly in the future.”
Ulfric didn’t stop staring upwards, toward the ceiling, as though addressing some higher power while still speaking to her. It seemed a bit odd, but Frina decided that he was juggling so many things in his mind that, possibly, not focusing on any one person might help him concentrate.
“Now that the Imperials have been driven from the Reach,” he said quietly, “we can put a stop to the raping of her silver mines. That silver belongs in Skyrim.” His gaze lowered to her, slowly, and he smiled slightly. “Multitudes of our enemies are buried in an avalanche of pain and retribution delivered by your hands. I shall call you Snow-Hammer now. You show great passion for battle, and compassion for those we fight for. You are becoming indispensable to our cause.”
It seemed to Frina that Ulfric’s eyes glittered with pleasure as he gave her yet another title. Her own excitement rose, and she was certain that she was blushing under the scrutiny of his stare.
“We do what we do out of love for our brothers and sisters,” Ulfric continued. He reached down beside his throne and pulled up a sword, this time one of gleaming ebony. “Here. Take this as a token of such love reciprocated.” He handed it to her, smiling, and Frina felt her throat tighten up and her mouth go dry even as her heart began racing.
I know that’s not how he means it, but there’s something about hearing him say the word “love” – it just… I can’t even…
“Thank you, my lord. My Jarl. Sir,” she stammered, willing herself to stop blushing as his hand brushed against hers. “What’s next?”
Ulfric chuckled. “Well, what’s next is Hjaalmarch. I need you there. There’s much to be done.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be on my way.”
Frina was about to leave, but Ulfric rose and stepped down from his throne, blocking her way, standing so close to her that she could feel the heat radiating from him. She nearly began to tremble.
“Wait. It’s late and I have not yet dined. While you were in the Reach, word arrived that Riften has been retaken, and thus Jarl Laila and her household have returned to the south. Come take a meal with me. I would like your company.”
Frina did start trembling, now. “Sir? Me?”
Ulfric nodded. “It’s altogether too quiet here now and it would be good not to dine alone for once. If you wouldn’t mind, that is. This is hardly an order.”
“Of course, sir,” she said, following him toward the map room. Dinner with Ulfric? Really?
He led her through the war room to a door, which in turn led to a dark and unwelcoming set of stairs that felt almost like a tunnel with its close, arched roof. At the top of the stairwell the passage turned to the left and emptied into a hallway along which many doors were placed.
Where is he leading me? This looks like… bedrooms. Chambers for guests or the rest of his household perhaps. Is he taking me to…?
She hesitated a moment and saw Ulfric’s broad back disappear up a second set of stairs at the far end of the hallway. She scurried to keep up with him.
Sure enough, the stairwell opened onto Ulfric’s private quarters. It was an enormous chamber, finely appointed with blue banners and draperies matching those in the throne room. Ornately carved stone pillars both supported the ceiling and served to highlight the massive fireplace, holding at the moment a roaring blaze that threw heat well out into the stone room. There was an area with a writing desk, several chests, wardrobes and bookcases, and a small, round dining table. Massive arched windows afforded what must be an exceptional view of Windhelm during the day. There was a dark wood inlay that framed the center of the room and called even more attention to its dominant feature – a large bed resting on a triple-tiered platform.
Frina gulped.
He’s brought me to his bedroom. Talos help me. What does he want with me?
Ulfric smiled and waved at the table. “Please, have a seat. I’ll be with you momentarily.” He stepped out the doorway and spoke to one of the guards. She heard the man say “right away, sir;” then Ulfric returned and settled himself in the chair opposite her.
“I’ve asked for them to deliver meals for two,” he said, stretching out his shoulders. “Mealtimes get to be so unpredictable in the middle of a war.” When she didn’t answer, Ulfric cocked his head to the side and gave her a curious glance. “Are you uncomfortable, my Snow-Hammer?”
Am I uncomfortable? What kind of question is that? I’m terrified. I wasn’t this frightened with a mass of Imperial archers firing at me.
“Well, sir, it’s just that…”
He chuckled. “You don’t need to call me ‘sir’ when we’re alone. It’s just the two of us and there’s no need to stand on ceremony. My name is Ulfric.”
“Yes, my… sir….” She stopped, shook her head, and tsk’d. “Gods damn it. Ulfric. Sir.”
He laughed, a big, open, friendly laugh that she’d never heard before, and she found herself breaking into a smile at the sound of it. This was a laugh she could happily hear much more of.
“Ah, don’t worry about it. This room is a bit imposing, I’m afraid, and there’s nothing to be done about the fact that the bed is in a position of…” He shook his head and raised his hands. “I didn’t design the place. Nor did my father before me, or his. We are shackled to the pretensions of the past. But this is also my private and, as I’m sure you can see, rather lonely dining room. Thus, I am happy for your company.”
Frina found herself unable to stop smiling. Instead, she just nodded. A pair of servants arrived with platters of food and goblets of wine; and after waiting for Ulfric to dig in she eagerly attacked the perfectly roasted venison, potatoes, and garlic carrots on her plate. She hadn’t realized quite how tired of trail food she’d been. It was quite a few minutes of silence before she looked up and realized that Ulfric was watching her, quietly, with a small smile playing around his lips.
She swallowed quickly and stammered, “I’m sorry, sir. Ulfric. I don’t mean to be rude, but this is delicious and I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
He laughed again. “It’s quite alright. You’ve been in several battles and marching across the province. Of course you’ve worked up an appetite. But tell me about the Reach. Tell me all about what happened there.”
So Frina launched into the tale. She forgot who she was talking to, really, as she spun the story, waving her hands for emphasis, sometimes standing and miming the sort of blow she’d given an assailant, then sitting back down and continuing.
“I wish you could have seen Raerek’s face when I pulled out that amulet of Talos,” she giggled at one point, enjoying the glimmer of good humor on Ulfric’s face as he sipped his wine and listened. She didn’t stop there, either; at one point she found herself laughing about Ralof, and how Roggi thought he liked her, and…
Ulfric laid one of his massive hands over hers, stopping her short.
“Roggi said that, did he?”
Frina froze, suddenly coming back to herself and realizing to whom exactly she’d been spilling all of these confidences. “Um, yes? Is that a problem? I mean, Roggi was my brother-in-law at one point. I still consider him part of my family even though it’s been many years since we’ve seen each other.”
Ulfric nodded, but didn’t remove his hand from hers.
“Yes, I know that’s the case. I wanted to talk to you about that, a bit. You no doubt have noticed that Roggi and I have a closer relationship than many others.”
Frina wanted to pull away, but didn’t dare, and this question made her suddenly uncomfortable.
“Well, I did sense that. And, well… may I speak frankly?”
Ulfric smiled again and nodded.
“You don’t seem to like each other that much.”
Ulfric laughed again.
I don’t know what I said that was funny, but I’ll do it again if I can hear that laugh more.
“I have the greatest of respect for Roggi, and I would like to think that he does for me, as well. But no, there is no great love lost between us. I suppose I should tell you why that is the case, since I have grown to trust you.” This time he did remove his hand from hers, and used it to raise his cup to his lips as if giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Frina, your sister is the reason that Roggi and I had an unpleasant parting of the ways many years ago. You have noticed that I am not married?”
Frina was caught off-guard by that question.
“Uh. I hadn’t really given it much thought, but now that you mention it…” But what does this have to do with Briinda?
“Well,” he continued slowly, staring at her as if to gauge her reactions, “there is a reason for that. I was truly drawn to your sister. Her fire. Her beauty. I thought I might take her for my bride. I tried to capture her attentions, but she refused me. She had eyes only for Roggi. And I,” he said, standing and walking across the room to glance idly out the window, “was, much to my embarrassment, jealous of that.” He stopped and was quiet for what felt like a very long time.
Frina didn’t dare interrupt him. It seemed as though he was about to tell her something important. Finally he shook his head and turned back to her.
“Roggi is a fierce man. A fine fighter. He has talents that go far beyond those he shows to most. He could have had anyone in the world – he doesn’t believe that, but I assure you it is true – but instead he chose the only woman I had ever truly considered a match. Or, rather, she chose him.” He looked down at the floor and chuckled. “And she made quite certain that I understood that, as well. I was exceptionally angry.”
Frina was suddenly seized by a fit of giggles. “I can just hear Briinda saying so. I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t mean to laugh, but…”
He smiled at her. “Ulfric.”
“Ulfric, then. I can hear it. She never left anything to doubt. You do know she loved Roggi more than anything, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” he nodded. “I did try to change her mind about him. And… his mind, about her. I tried for a long while. It didn’t work. And a certain amount of – resentment, shall we say? Built up between us.” He returned to the table and sat down, sighing heavily. “I never have found anyone else who captured my interest that way. But don’t be deceived. I am so very pleased that both Roggi and his husband have rejoined us, no matter our trivial disagreements over small issues. They are both invaluable. As are you.” He reached out and took her hand again.
At the same time a thrill rose from Frina’s core at his gentle touch, an unpleasant thought pushed into her mind. She couldn’t help but frown.
“What is it?” Ulfric said quietly, his voice a low rumble.
“So you’ve taken an interest in me because I look like my sister. Is that it?” She stared at him, certain that her eyes must be betraying her own disappointment.
Ulfric sighed.
“It was hard not to notice that, truly. I would be lying if I told you otherwise. But you are not Briinda. That’s been hard not to notice, as well. You have a different level of devotion than she did. Every report I have of you is that you are the fiercest of fighters. I watched you dealing with Roggi and the Dragonborn…”
“Dardeh,” she murmured. If I have to call you Ulfric, you can at least call him by his name as well.
Ulfric laughed again, loud and strong. “Yes. You see how it is; once more I have been put in my place. Dardeh,” he continued, grinning. “I watched you with them. I know how complicated things must be among the three of you and yet after your initial surprise, you went about your business without hesitation. You impress me, Frina.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Ulfric stood, and pulled her to her feet.
What’s this?
“I wanted you to share a meal with me because it has been a very lonely existence here in this castle, for a very long time. And I find you very beautiful and very much to my liking. And I was hoping…”
She didn’t dare move. Ulfric reached out a hand and cupped it behind her neck and leaned forward, studying her eyes, and then gently met her lips with his own.
This time there was no mistaking it for anything else; Frina began trembling from top to bottom. She closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of his warmth, the sweet and gentle kiss that was the first she’d ever had, trying to meet his movements with her own. Her head swam, fire burned within her, and then ice, and longing, and fear.
After a moment Ulfric pulled back and studied her face.
“You tremble.”
She felt her face go red. What an embarrassing thing to have to say, but…
“I’ve… my lord Ulfric. You’ve just given me my first kiss. Ever. I’m ashamed to admit that I’m afraid.” She pleaded with him, with her eyes, and wasn’t entirely sure what she was pleading for.
Ulfric’s eyes widened. His hands dropped to her shoulders.
“You are a maid, then? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Frina nodded, miserably, not knowing what he would do next and in part hoping that he would continue doing whatever it was.
He sighed and stood back from her. “And I am old enough to be your father. Or more. I cannot possibly… I am a foolish old man, and I hope you will forgive me my lapse of judgment. My dear Snow-Hammer, I would not dream of asking you for more than you are willing to give. I apologize for having taken liberties that were not mine to take.”
He smiled, though; a genuine smile that warmed his eyes. “I am honored, though, to have shared your first kiss. Truly honored. Thank you for keeping my company this evening. It has been a moment of pleasure the likes of which are few and far between these days. Now I will let you go. I do still need you in Hjaalmarch as soon as you can manage it. Talos guide you, my dear.”
He stepped back and walked to the windows again, leaving Frina completely speechless and utterly confused. It was clear, though, that she’d been dismissed.
She walked down the stairs and made her way out of the castle in a daze, feeling as though a page had turned for her that was as important a page as ever had been written. She would stay at the inn for the rest of the night and leave in the morning. She reached up and touched her lips.
My first kiss. And it was Ulfric. I can’t believe it happened.