Mortal (Book 3)

Chapter 8

I wake up a few hours later, and I decide to sneak out and get something to eat, pulling on one of Ulfric's huge furry robes. Even with the belt tied as tight as it'll go it's too loose, hanging a little too far down my chest. I used to worry about the castle guards seeing my presence in the castle as inappropriate, but at this point they've seen me coming out of Ulfric's room several times. Let them think what they want, I'm not asking for their respect anymore; I'm demanding it.
I pull the leather string from my mess of matted hair, letting it fall over my shoulders. I pass by a mirror on my way down the steps and surprisingly, I almost look elegant. Maybe if you couldn't see my bare legs under the robe, maybe if I cared enough to run a comb through my hair or paint my face like the ladies of the court, maybe if I wore the jagged crown, I would look something like a High Queen. Even then, I'm too short and too baby-faced. I stalk away from the mirror, down the dark steps into the war room.
Galmar, as usual, sits in the dark by the door, nursing a mug of mead. Sometimes I wonder if he ever sleeps.
"Long night?" I ask him, sitting down at the table.
"I could ask you the same." He mumbles without missing a beat.
There's no smile in this, no drunken slur that has always seemed a part of his voice. I look at him, dead eyes trained on the door that leads up into Ulfric's room. I've only just woken up, but I've already pissed him off.
"What do you mean?" I sigh, leaning back in my chair and preparing myself for one of his rants. He looks up, as if admiring the stonework in the ceiling.
"Big, empty castle like this, completely made of stone. Things echo. I hear them." He says, taking another swig from his mug. I cringe, remembering last night. At the time I didn't care who could hear what we were doing, but thinking about the things Galmar could've heard makes me want to run and hide.
"Well... Hopefully whatever you heard won't be too hard to forget, then." I tell him. He grunts and shakes his head.
"You should've at least waited." He grumbles.
"For what, Galmar? Any day now could be my last."
"To be married, that's what. Gods, Nova."
"And how do we know that'll even happen? Alduin must be defeated first." I tell him, crossing my arms. He rubs his face, sighing loudly. When he looks back at me, he laughs and shakes his head.
"Nova, you misunderstand. I just... Don't want something to happen to you, and for you to be another of his mistakes." He admits. I raise an eyebrow.
"Mistakes?" I repeat, leaning toward him over the table. He leans away, puts his hands up in defense.
"Calm down, let me explain. I suppose you wouldn't actually know... In our younger days, Ulfric and I enlisted in the legion to fight in the Great War. We were in the same regiment, and that's how he met Rikke."
"Rikke? You mean that woman that was with Tullius." I begin.
"The one you killed, yes.." Galmar finishes. "They were about the same age, which was rare. Ulfric was only 15, he had to lie about his age to enlist. Rikke was about 17 herself, I believe. Since they were the only whelps there, I guess that's why they so quickly grew attached..."
"So Rikke and Ulfric..."
"Yes, whatever you're about to ask, the answer is yes. I'm the only other person who's ever known, but... They even planned on getting married when the war ended. When it started to seem like the war would never end, they started talking about sneaking out of the camp and running off to one of the temples to have a priest marry them there." Galmar says sadly. I feel my cheeks flush with jealousy, and I shove it down. After everything I told Ulfric last night, what right do I have to be jealous? He's a decent bit older than me; how likely would it be that he's never had another lover in his life?
"How foolish of them. They were children." I grumble despite myself.
"That's just it though; children. Children that threw themselves into a war they didn't understand and had to grow up all too quickly, but still children nevertheless." Galmar sighs with regret as he takes another swig of his drink.
"And how old were you?"
"17, the same as Rikke. What's it matter?" He asks, not seeing my point. I shake my head.
"So what was stopping them then? From running off and getting married." I ask.
"The Bear."
"What?"
"The Bear of Eastmarch; Jarl Hoag Stormcloak, Ulfric's father. Ulfric had written to him to ask his consent for the marriage, and his father sternly told him no of course. What Jarl's son marries in Cyrodiil? He wanted them to marry here, in Windhelm. They planned one night to go anyway, but..." Galmar shakes his drooping head, then lays it back in his chair. He rubs his beard, then his fingertips wander to the rarely seen horizontal scar across his throat. I almost see tears in his eyes.
"But what, Galmar..?"
"But that was the night Ulfric was taken." He sighs. "The bastards. They just snuck in like dirty skeever from the sewer and just..." Galmar's voice cracks, and to my shock, I see tears pour over his drooping eyelids and into the canyons and cracks of his face. "He was only a boy. Not even twenty seasons. He didn't even... He didn't even know anything, Nova. He only knew as much as any auxiliary knew. I knew more of our plans than he did. They should've taken me!" Galmar says, slamming a fist into the table, nearly breaking it. I've never seen him like this before; I wonder if anyone has. In desperation, I stand and hug him tightly. To my surprise, it works. His rage turns into quiet whimpers as he sniffles into my hair.
"They just wanted him because he was the Jarl's son. To teach the rest of 'em a lesson."
"It wasn't your fault, Galmar," I tell him. "You were just a boy, too." I remind him.
"I was supposed to protect him... I swore to Hoag I would protect him..." He mumbles.
"There was nothing you could've done. They almost killed you, Galmar." I comfort him. After a while he calms down, his face still red and puffy.
"After the Battle of Red Ring, the Thalmor let him go. They didn't deliver him back safely or issue an apology to Hoag, they just... Let him walk out of the prison camp. He wandered around, starving and defenseless for Gods know how long. He walked into a village somewhere in his ragged clothes with even more injuries than he left the prison camp with. The village wrote the Jarl and the Legion. And even after all he'd been through, the Legion would only send one soldier to go retrieve him and bring him home safely, since he was no longer fit for duty."
"You..?" I ask softly. Galmar nods slowly.
"We all thought he was dead. Rikke, his father, the whole regiment; even me. I barely recognized him. He didn't even ask for Rikke. He didn't ask for anyone, or say a word to me. He didn't speak for weeks after we finally returned to Windhelm. I think he was... ashamed. Rikke wrote to me, over and over, asking about him. When she was finally released from command I told him she wanted to see him, and... He finally wrote her back himself."
"What did he say?" I ask.
"He told her to stay in Cyrodiil with the rest of the Imperials, and far away from him." Galmar sighs. "That's when I knew it was over. They never spoke again, not until the Battle for Solitude. The day she died." he says. The day I killed her.
I remember Rikke vaguely through the swirling memories of that day. The picture of a strong Nord woman, ruggedly beautiful with broad cheekbones and battle scars. She saw me briefly as I was arrested by the Legion, and knew exactly who I was. Oblivion hath no fury like a woman scorned. I wonder what she thought, looking at this younger woman that had stepped in and taken her place as Ulfric's lover. I wonder if she, like so many other people, thought I did everything I did for the Stormcloaks to impress him and get closer to him. Maybe she pitied me and thought that, just like her, Ulfric would eventually abandon me too. Maybe she didn't care; maybe she knew if she was responsible for my death, Ulfric would never forgive her.
"Galmar, you're supposed to protect Ulfric. I'm supposed to love him. I need your help in order to do both." I tell him. "I promised him he would come with me to face Alduin. I respect him as a warrior, but I can't trust myself to protect him. I can't protect him. I must ask you a favor." Galmar takes a last swig of his drink, finishing it off.
"And that is?"
"In the next coming days, I or Alduin, or even both, will be dead. When I go to face him, you must keep Ulfric here."