Skyrim One-Shots

Ulfric x Reader ~The Night That The Shell Broke~

With a sharp inhale, your tears spotted across your desk, hands clenched in the roots of your hair as you trembled.

You were freezing, but you had not the energy to stand.

Really, you didn't even want to be breathing at this point.

Alduin waited, lurking in both daytime and your nightmares, your duty crushing you whole. 

But you were fine. It was fine. Not a problem. 

The candle at your desk flickered, goosebumps raising on your arms. How long had it been since you'd eaten? You knew your armor didn't fit anymore.

Thin as a blade of grass, you'd become, too drowned in your responsibility to take care of yourself. Too filled with dread to talk about your problems in a palace of men of war, too choked by your tears to scream.

This was bigger than you. Why couldn't you just deal with it? Why couldn't you just be fine? Why... why were you reacting like this?

It wasn't like this at the start.

It wasn't.

But maybe it was.

And how pitiful you'd become, a sobbing, shaking mess. How disgraceful, how idiotic, how-

Two sharp knocks on your heavy wooden door, and the rough voice of Galmar Stone-Fist. 

"Food's out," he barked, muffled by the wood.

"I'll get it later," you respond, forcibly still, like you weren't in the middle of a breakdown.

There was a scoff. "Whatever, kid. Don't know why the fuck you insist on staying in your room all damn day."

You didn't respond.

He walked off, loud footsteps ringing in your ears.

A deep breath later, and you were left to stare at your desk, trembling from your body's inability to fight off the cold.

Contemplating.

Silent.

Weary.

Tired.

You were tired.

So, so tired of this. 

The game you didn't want to play. This responsibility you never wanted to have. It wasn't like you could just abandon Skyrim's people, wasn't like you could just escape it.

No, it was trapping, it caged you down and sneered, it didn't let you go. It didn't let you free. It caught hold of your mind, infected it, and did not let go. This sickness, this disease, this pure agony- it was killing you. 

An illness of the heart, one that brought down havoc on your body and soul, one that ripped you to shreds and forced you to try to fit your puzzle back together.

What would you call it?

This... sickness.

This ache.

Isolation, maybe. A bit of loneliness, a pinch of sorrow. Some regret thrown in for good measure, a constant sense of defeat.

Piled up masks, forced laughs, all the times you never could get it right.

All the jokes that didn't really feel like jokes to you.

What would you call it?

You didn't know.

It didn't have a name.

There was a dull thud at your door.

Galmar at it again?