Skyrim One-Shots

Ulfric x Reader(Female) ~Mistakes of a Lifetime~

Quietly, a sigh fell through your lips as you watched the Jarl and his housecarl converse with the guests, barely able to restrain a scowl. Mead rested comfortably in their hands, Ulfric doing most of the talking while Galmar did his part drinking, his normal battleaxe traded in for a dull sword at his hip.

Being you were apparently the only one with sense, you put yourself on guard duty, something that was happening increasingly often ever since the war was won. You hadn't a weapon but a dagger in your shoe, but it would work. Ralof had stubbornly demanded you ditch the sword you'd normally have at your back, attempting to make this event less a political bartering ground and more of an actual party for you.

You appreciated his effort, at least.

It seemed that Ulfric had completely forgotten all of what you did for him at this point. You were invited almost as an afterthought, and not even by the Jarl. Ralof had told you about it.

The breaking point was nearing, and Ralof himself was enraged on your part. You had just pinched the bridge of your nose and promptly waved down the innkeeper for another cup of spiced wine (the burn felt like you'd just shouted- it was enjoyable for you) at the information.

Even some of the guardsmen had taken to talking about you, sympathizing and silently giving disapproving glances at Ulfric himself every time he ambled by. 

Everything about the Bear of Markarth was starting to infuriate you more and more as you thought about it.

You laid siege to your own damn city under his order, for gods' sake, and all you got was a new nickname? Ice-Veins?

The fuck kind of name is that? Even then, Snow-Hammer was equally as terrible being you never fought with warhammers save for Helgen. But still, could he not have chosen a name and stuck with it? 

Just ____ Bone-Breaker until you'd gotten the title Stormblade? By the nines, not even the soldiers could keep up with the titles he'd given you!

You took a deep breath, pushing yourself off the wall you'd been leaned on and merging your attention back onto the situation on hand.

A light black tunic with a wide belt around your waist (similar to a corset of sorts) and tight black trousers was what you'd chosen to wear- you'd worn it many times and it never failed. Your trusty long black boots that stopped mid-calf had been earned a glare from Jorlief, the steward, but they saved your feet and gave you a few extra inches of height.

"You look pissed, ____," Ralof chuckled next to you after he'd walked up moments ago. "Can't believe you haven't scared the Jarl to shits by now."

His answer was a quiet shrug from your shoulders, your eyes trained on your two 'superiors'. "He'll figure out the hard way if he has to. I'm not going to become a card he can play in the game he's playing- just waiting my turn to be used. I'll be gone in a week if this keeps up."

He nodded, "I support you, along with most of the guard. Can't treat a woman like you as a tool, you being Dragonborn is an extra bonus compared to your way of thinking. Seriously, you did some major helping in creating battle plans, ____. Galmar and Ulfric were too bold, their offense was good, but they had absolutely not the slightest hint of defense. Plus, you're hot. A fabulous marriage candidate if he wasn't stuck in his head."

"Oh?" you question teasingly, and he grinned, his warm blue tunic accenting his friendly eyes and playful grin as he replied.

"You heard me. He's a right idiot. I'd be seriously trying to impress you if I were him, but I'm beginning to suspect he's blind at this point," the blond muttered, grin distorting into a grimace.