Victory or Sovngarde

Chapter Twenty

Since our victory at the main prison camp nearly a week ago, I had been ordering small pockets of men and women to liberate the remaining soldiers still in captivity, and with their hard work, we had cleared a path straight to Windhelm. The next step in the war was to put Ulfric back on his throne, so we would have control of Eastmarch's ports and mines. Once we had that, we would be able to move south, liberate the Rift, and from there, the rest of the eastern provinces.

Three days ago, I had sent a company of soldiers to escort Ulfric to the fort, where he would then ride with me to Windhelm. With me present, the reclamation of his throne might just appear legitimate in the eyes of Skyrim's leaders. Perhaps more of our Nord brothers and sisters would rally behind us.

Seated within my command tent just outside the fort's walls, I rubbed my writing hand until the stiffness went away. I had been writing condolence letters all morning, for the families of all our fallen soldiers. I had discovered that Farister did have someone who would miss him, a niece who had moved to High Rock after her mother—Farister's sister—had passed away. Each letter weighed heavily on my soul; with every word I wrote, my heart sank lower in my chest. I had never met any of these people, and I had to be the one to tell them that their family, their brothers, uncles, fathers, sisters, cousins, had died on the battlefield.

As I dipped my quill into the inkwell, preparing to sign the last letter, the flap to my tent flipped open. I assumed it was Marina, since I had ordered her to tell me when Ulfric's company arrived. I was expecting them any minute now. I turned, seeing that my assumptions were correct, and stood to greet Marina.

"General, there's someone here who wants to see you," she said, her helmet absent from its usual place beneath her arm. "Shall I send him in?"

I nodded. "Of course, Marina. Send him in."

She ducked her head, then turned and left.

While waiting for Ulfric to come see me, I worked to make myself presentable. I knew that Ulfric would not care what state I was in, but I had an image to uphold. I had to appear like I knew what I was doing and not appear like the witless leader I really was.

Back to the tent flap, I combed my fingers through my unruly hair. Gods, why would it never lay flat? I knew I was fighting an uphill battle, but I had to try to at least look halfway decent. As I was tugging my tunic straight for the sixth time, a pair of familiar, warm hands laid on my shoulders, thumbs beginning to knead into the tense knots in my neck. A kiss dropped to the crown of my head, and a soothing voice said, "Hey, you. Working hard?"

I spun around, and instead of seeing Ulfric, I saw my husband. Completely taken aback by his presence, I wasted no time hugging him around his neck. He hugged me back, taking me in his arms and spinning me around.

When he set me down, I kissed him on the lips and caressed his stubbled cheek. "What are you doing here? What about the children?"

"I wanted to be here for the march, Ylva. The children will be fine."

"Who's watching them?"

"Tilma. She was more than happy to babysit for a few days." Vilkas tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "Besides, the children wanted me to come see you. They're worried, just as I am." His hand moved from my cheek so his thumb could swipe over my forehead. "You've got that crease in your brow. What's troubling you?"

"Not now, Vilkas. If you're here, then that means Ulfric's here, and I have to greet him."

"I know, but I was hoping to have some time with you." He kissed my forehead. "You've been so busy. I understand why you've been busy, but...."