The Girl with the Voice - Ulfric Stormcloak II

Strategies never came easy anymore. As Ulfric surveyed the large map of Skyrim, the land of the Nords – his land – it quickly became apparent that the Imperial surge had begun. There were more reports of attacks on Stormcloak camps coming in. It was becoming dangerous to live even within the cities whose Jarls supported the rebellion. Not to mention the dragons.

He looked up from the map to his second, Galmar Stone-Fist. The large, battle-worthy Nord stood at the end of the table upon which the map was situated, and he scowled as he examined the progress of their enemy through their own territory.

"Gonnar Oath-Giver has sent word that the Imperials have attacked," he advised Ulfric. "Can you imagine? They attack us within our own hold in the Rift now."

"This does not bode well, Galmar," he replied. "We need the tide to turn for us. We are fighting an uphill battle. One that has made me second guess my own motives."

"Ulfric," the hulking man began, "you do what you believe is right. And I believe it is right as well. We fight for all Nords. We've witnessed what the Thalmor did to Cyrodiil after the Great War. We cannot allow that to happen to Skyrim. Those wretched Mer overstep their boundaries by too great a distance."

Ulfric leaned over the map once more, about to reply to Galmar, but was interrupted by the appearance of Jorleif at the door.

"Beg pardon, my Jarl," he said, to which Ulfric nodded. "The Breton woman, Marieka, has returned to speak with you."

He glanced at Galmar, whose eyes widened at the announcement.

"So the wee girl returns, does she?" the second replied. "Does she still have all her arms and legs?"

Ulfric chuckled as he stood up and addressed his steward. "Have her come in here, would you? I suspect we don't have anything of strategy to hide from her."

Jorleif nodded and immediately exited the room to retrieve her. When he returned with the girl, Ulfric eyed her up and down. She looked no worse for wear, though appeared to be very weary from her journeys.

"Ah, Marieka," he said as she stood across the table from him. "We expected you back a few days ago. Have you succeeded in your test?"

"Yes, well," she began, "Winterhold experienced quite a blizzard. It turned me all around and I ended up in the Pale." She put up her hands in defense. "Don't ask."

"And the wraith?" Galmar interrupted.

She dug into her robes and pulled out a small sack, holding it up for the man to take from her. He retrieved it and emptied its contents into his hand.

"Hmm. Impressive," he said. "I honestly didn't think you'd have made it back."

She looked at Galmar with a frown. "You sent me on a suicide mission then?"

He shook his head. "No. Many we've sent on the mission before simply turned back when it became too difficult of a journey. You are persistent. Or just hard-headed and stubborn. Either way, those are important qualities for our rebellion."

Ulfric nodded in agreement. "I can only assume that your return means that you still wish to become one of us."

"Normally," she began, "I try to avoid involving myself in politics. But, in this case? I'll more than make an exception."

"Your reasons for this intrigue me," he said, as her eyes darted away from his.

"If it would be acceptable, my Jarl," she replied, "I would rather not discuss my reasons. Just know that my decision is based on a rather unpleasant encounter I once had with the Imperial army. And I'll not waver from my stance."

"Of course," he said. "Should you wish it though, you may discuss anything of that nature with me. We'll see that those Imperials pay for any wrongs they have committed against you and yours."

She nodded with a smile. "Thank you," she replied.

"Your blood may say that you're a Breton, but your heart defines you as a Nord," he said, walking around the table towards her. "A true daughter of Skyrim." He took her hands into his. "All those who seek to become a Stormcloak recite an oath of fealty. To declare their allegiance to our cause. Are you willing to do this?"

She looked intently at him. "I am."

"Good." He released her hands and looked towards his second. "Galmar?"

The man nodded, approaching her. She stood before the two men as Galmar began to recite the oath, prompting her to repeat the words as he proceeded. Yet for all she listened to Galmar's words, her attention was focused solely on Ulfric. Their eyes locked together as she recited the words. Her piercing gaze lit a fire in his belly with its intensity. She had passion for the cause. Something that even the coldest-blooded Nord was beginning to lack in this conflict.

He liked this girl, no…this woman… She had already proven herself not to be underestimated. He wondered if perhaps she wouldn't be the turn to the tide he had been hoping for.

"You are yet Unblooded, Marieka," Ulfric said. "But I have no doubt that will change shortly." He looked at Galmar, who gave him a gnarled grin.

While tempted to treat her like any Stormcloak initiate, her actions had spoken volumes of her. He suspected that she would likely not just end up being a normal recruit, and wished to ensure that she stuck around.

"Perhaps you'd like to join us for dinner this eve," he suggested. "There are some developments that have recently come to our attention that we'd like to speak to you about."

"I…you wouldn't prefer to discuss such things now?" she wavered. "I hadn't planned to stay in Windhelm this day. And I have found it difficult to find accommodation in this city before on such short notice."

"Jorleif," Ulfric called. When the man returned to his side, he continued. "Please show Marieka to suitable quarters for the day." Jorleif nodded and Ulfric turned to face her. "You shall stay overnight should you need to. However long you need to."

"Your generosity overwhelms me," she said, looking at the floor.

"Nonsense," he replied. "Your assistance thus far has earned our favour."

She smiled weakly, continuing to look down.

"Come Marieka," Jorleif said. "I will show you to a room."

She nodded towards Ulfric as she followed the steward out of the war room. He watched her leave, pleased that she would stay for the discussions.

"Careful, Ulfric," Galmar warned his friend. "She is still yet truly untested. We have not seen her against an Imperial yet. Facing down a wraith that thinks nothing of killing you is one thing. But what will she do against another man? Or woman? One who she can identify with…who has a family?"

"She passed her test, Galmar," he replied. "And she will pass the next as well."

"Your confidence in her is unwavering then."

Ulfric nodded. "I sense something in this one. Determination, maybe. Perhaps just luck," he said. "But then, couldn't we use a little luck?"

"That we could," he replied. "I am off to meet with a messenger scheduled to arrive this afternoon at the stables. Perhaps we'll receive some good news with this one."

The warrior departed, leaving Ulfric alone with his thoughts. Hardly anyone was taking an interest in the Stormcloak rebellion these days – the fact that an outsider had, and that she was almost excited to join was a positive development. New enthusiasm was always welcome; no matter where it came from.
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Making his way from his own quarters to the throne room, Ulfric passed slowly by the many rooms of the Palace of the Kings. The winding corridors were dimly lit; torch light playing shadows across the stonework walls. So many rooms of this place were empty – barely any servants remained in the Palace. The cook and several caretakers, really; but they barely took up two rooms. Still, it caused Ulfric sadness when he thought about how lively the Palace had been when his father was the Jarl. Though he considered that the profound unhappiness was more due to the loss of his father, rather than his staff. And his father had died when he was imprisoned in Markarth by the damned Forsworn. Bastards! They stole his last moments with the man, preventing him from even saying goodbye. He had been forced to pen his own father's eulogy from a cell in Cidnna Mine…and smuggle it out to deliver it for the funerary rites.

His hatred for the Forsworn did not extend to all Bretons; which was fortunate for his newest recruit. But Marieka was nothing like those lawless bandits and hedge wizards. At least, as far as he could tell she wasn't. She was respectful, despite that she didn't have to be. Gracious. Enthusiastic.

And…standing in the doorway.

He hadn't realized he paused at a crossroad in the corridor – the intersection that led to the room Jorleif had placed her in. But he just barely realized a figure stood to his right; and it just happened to be her.

"Jarl Stormcloak," she said, nodding politely.

"Marieka," he said, returning the nod. "And I have advised you that you may call me—"

"Ulfric," she interrupted. "Yes, I apologize for that. It's a force of habit."

"You deal with Jarls often?" he wondered.

"More often than I'd like to," she sighed. "Present company excluded, of course."

He smiled at her. "Of course."

"On the bright side, if you ever need to discuss anything with the Jarls of Whiterun or Riften, I'm your woman," she said cheerfully, with a hint of sarcasm.

"I'll keep that in mind."

She returned an awkward smile of her own and stepped out of the dim light she stood in. She had changed out of her own armour and into a rather masculine looking combination of a dark blue tunic and brown trousers; a lose set of dark blue robes hanging over her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" he asked.

"Your face suggests you do not approve of my outfit," she replied. "Jorleif strongly suggested that I not wear my armour to dinner. Which I agree with of course, yet everything I have with me is equally unsuitable. The only items I could find were these, and some fancy gowns." A scowl crossed her face. "I don't feel comfortable in gowns. Particularly fancy ones."

Ulfric chuckled heartily at her explanation. "We discuss matters of war and battle, my dear," he said. "Fancy gowns are likely not appropriate either. And I would much rather have you comfortable that squirming under some façade."

She breathed a sigh. "That is a relief," she replied.

"I was headed down to the throne room for dinner," he said. "If you are ready, may I escort you?"

"I would like that," she replied with a smile. "I've already found myself lost within these corridors. Why, I believe I used the wash basin of one of the caretakers here. I hope she doesn't mind."

He offered his arm to her, and she took it. They continued down the long and excessively winding hallway, engaging in small talk as they walked.

"How long have you been in Skyrim?" he asked.

"Not very long," she replied. "It was only about two weeks after I crossed the border from High Rock that the Imperial forces apprehended me. When I had first arrived in the province, I found a merchant who sold me a map. I later discovered that it was counterfeit. Led me all astray. I wanted to head to the College of Winterhold, and ended up near the border with Cyrodiil."

"Damned thieves," Ulfric groaned.

She bit her lip for a moment. "Yes…well, at least we managed to come away from that little adventure relatively unscathed. How did you manage to escape Helgen?"

"With the dragon's attack causing such a disturbance, the Imperial troops didn't know what to do," he replied. "I took advantage of their confusion and escaped with some of the men who had been carted in with us that day. It's a shame we hadn't been able to stick together in our escape. We could have had you alongside us this whole time."

"It was a confusing time," she replied. "I didn't even realize I was running alongside an Imperial sympathizer. But I can't really say anything bad about him. He helped me get to Riverwood at least. To a safe place…away from the troops that tried to kill me."

He looked at her. "We should be grateful for that, then."

She smiled back at him as they arrived at the door to the throne room. He opened it and motioned for her to enter first. As she did, he followed her until they walked side by side again to the massive table in front of them. Several places were set, with an unassuming selection of food placed between the settings. He led her to the head of the table, pulling out a chair next to the head for her. She politely sat down and he pushed her chair in, before sitting at the head of the table himself.

Several moments later, Jorleif and Galmar arrived for dinner, as well as several other soldiers and guests of the Jarl. As they settled in to eat their meals, Ulfric watched Marieka closely. She only partially followed along with the conversation across the table from her, rarely joining in. She seemed to be more interested in taking in her surroundings. She looked at the intricately designed arches and doorways. Her eyes followed the walls, as she scanned across them, noticing the tapestries and stonework. They lingered upon the chandeliers high above the hall, as if she were transfixed by the glow of the flames within them.

Ulfric leaned in her direction, causing her to startle. "I certainly don't mean to interrupt your thoughts, but I'm intrigued by why you are so fascinated by the chandeliers."

"Ah, pardon my staring," she replied sheepishly. "It's just the name of this place. For a palace of kings, it is certainly understated."

"Just because one may reference the kings, does not mean one must be showy," he said. "This is an old building. Some say the oldest in all of Skyrim. It once held Ysgramor himself. He settled this city here."

"I hope I did not offend," she said.

"Not at all," he replied. "To be honest, I've always felt that displaying one's wealth leaves them open to theft. Such an anarchic bunch of criminals, thieves." He couldn't help but notice her shift uneasily. "You've spent time in Riften. Have you had many dealings with the Thieves Guild there?"

"In a manner of speaking," she said. "I know some of the Guild. They are not all without conscience."

"Bah," he growled. "Let them rot in their sewers. Keep them out of Windhelm."

"I'd rather not discuss the Thieves Guild right now, Ulfric," she said. "I recall that you wished me to stay in Windhelm because you had something further to discuss."

"Of course," he said. He looked at those still at the table – they had all but finished their meals. "All of you…leave us."

The others, midway through conversation, promptly rose from their seats and headed off in somewhat of a huff. Galmar did not move, and Jorleif looked to his Jarl for further instruction.

"You may also leave us, Jorleif," he replied. "As soon as you have finished, of course."

The steward nodded, but had finished his meal regardless. When he had left the table and all the guests at the table had vacated the room, Ulfric leaned forward to grab a platter with several pieces of chicken remaining upon it. He offered it to the two left at the table with him. Galmar took two more pieces, but Marieka passed.

"This meal leaves me vulnerable to attack," she said, snickering over how satisfied she was. She patted her belly for emphasis.

Galmar laughed heartily. "We need to fatten you up, girl! Put some meat on your bones like a real Nord!"

She smiled at the warrior. "I'd rather not have it all be the result of one meal! But before we get further off the discussion at hand…" She looked to Ulfric. He nodded in agreement.

"We'll not push this off any further," he said. "When I told you I wished to speak of something at dinner, I'll admit, it wasn't this. But at Galmar's orders, our troops have just this day confirmed the location of something that could potentially become a very important symbol for our cause."

"Oh? What did you find?"

"The location of the Jagged Crown," Galmar advised. "I believe I have found its final resting place – at Korvanjund. A half distance between Whiterun and Winterhold."

"The Jagged Crown?" she asked, looking between the two men. "Should I know what that is?"

"I forget that you likely wouldn't know," Ulfric replied. "It has been worn by many Kings and Queens of Skyrim, but was lost many years ago – apparently before the fortress at Korvanjund fell into ruin. It is the ultimate symbol of leadership here. It would certainly assist in allowing the people to see me as their proper leader over Elisif."

"You wish me to assist in retrieving the crown then?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "You…Galmar…a handful of soldiers. It should be a small contingency. But there are rumours that the Imperials have learned of our discovery. You'll need to be able to defend yourselves against them."

"You've no worries in that regard, Ulfric," Galmar interjected. "I'm bringing some of our best with us."

"Excellent," he replied. "When do you plan to depart?"

"Tomorrow…midday," Galmar advised. "Prepare yourself, girl. We shall see if you're deserving of being more than just Unblooded."

She nodded as Galmar stood and headed towards the war room to prepare himself. When he was out of sight, she turned to Ulfric.

"Were you able to question Wuunferth about the murders?" she asked.

"He denied all accusations. His story has not changed, but he is still being held," Ulfric replied. "And…there has been another murder."

"Another?" she exclaimed. "What…what happened?"

"It is similar to the others," he replied. "Young woman…left in front of Candlehearth Hall, stripped of her belongings."

She sighed loudly. "It couldn't have been Wuunferth then," she said, disappointed that she had falsely accused the man.

He shook his head. "The guards say the wounds are too similar to be unrelated to the previous murders. I'm afraid we have the wrong person."

"Why is he still being held?" she asked. "Your wizard should be freed."

"Don't mind old Wuunferth," he replied. "He is a stubborn man. He has been advised that he may leave the cell, but he just mutters and refuses. Perhaps you'll find some time to speak to him this evening before you depart tomorrow."

"I can't go tomorrow! I must find this murderer," she cried out, her fisted hand slamming on to the table.

He placed his hand atop hers gently. "Marieka, you shall return to your investigation. But we need to retrieve the crown first. This is important for all of Skyrim."

"But the women," she protested.

He shook his head. "The murders have never happened closely together. Whoever is doing this has left at least a fortnight between them. You'll be back within days and you can resume your investigation then."

She frowned at him. He took his hand back from hers.

"If it would make you feel better, I will increase patrols through the streets," he said. "I will have my guards warn the women of the city to be on alert again. We'll make sure no other women are harmed."

"I suppose that will have to be good enough," she replied. "I wouldn't wish to disobey my first direct order as a Stormcloak."

"No," he said. "You wouldn't." She smiled weakly at him. "Now I suggest that you get some rest. Your journey tomorrow will likely be longer than you wish, and I've no doubt you'll face Imperial opposition."

She nodded and stood up. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Ulfric."

"Anything for a daughter of Skyrim," he said.

As she left his presence, he considered the possibilities that the coming days would bring. The Jagged Crown…he could hardly wait to see such a legend.
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When Galmar returned to the Palace less than two days after leaving for Korvanjund – and with the Jagged Crown – Ulfric's heart pounded with excitement. As he held the crown in his hands, he felt more like a leader to his province than he ever had before. Still, he couldn't help but notice the Breton's absence. He had expected her to be present when they returned.

He questioned Galmar about where she was, but the warrior shrugged, saying that their paths had diverged the moment they entered the gates of Windhelm.

"I've missed the battle, Ulfric," Galmar said with a fierce smile. "My blood flows through me with vigour now."

"I also miss the taste of blood," he agreed. "And we shall see more of it sooner than you know."

"I look forward to it," he replied. "Fighting with the girl at our back was…different."

"How do you mean?" Ulfric narrowed his eyes at the warrior, unsure of what he was about to hear.

"She…used a shout," Galmar said, somewhat troubled. "She practices the Way of the Voice."

Ulfric raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you ask her about it?"

Galmar shook his head. "Not my place."

And now he sat – waiting for her to return – wondering how to broach the subject. How did she know the shouts? Had she trained with the Greybeards? She couldn't possibly be the Dragonborn that had been rumoured to have returned to Skyrim…could she?

These questions ran incessantly through his mind – until the moment that evening…the moment she came crashing through the doors of the palace, assisted by two guards. He had been sitting on the throne, leaning heavily on one of the arms when the noise began. He jumped to his feet when he saw them enter and hurried towards the other end of the hall.

"Marieka!" he exclaimed. "By Talos, what happened to you? Where have you been?"

"I found him, Ulfric!" she cried out. "I found him and I killed him!"

"Who?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"It was Calixto," she began. "That son of a bitch was the one killing all those women. Wuunferth suspected another murder would happen soon, and he was right!"

"Slow down, girl," Ulfric said. He motioned for the guards to assist her to a seat. When she sat down, he knelt in front of her, examining the wound on her leg that had been causing her to limp. It wasn't deep; in fact, after cleaning it up and some sort of curative balm, it would heal up within a day or so. He turned to one of the guards. "Fetch Wuunferth from the cells. Advise him we need his assistance. Do not accept no for an answer."

As the guard ran off, he looked up at her. "Calixto killed those women?"

She nodded. "I found him in the middle of another attempt. The woman…he had knocked her unconscious. He was about to cut into her. But I interrupted him and instead he attacked me. These guards found me when he was finally dead."

He looked at the remaining guard. "Thank you for bringing her here." The guard nodded and Ulfric excused him.

"It has to have been him, Ulfric," she said. "Send someone to his…museum. There has to be evidence that he's the murderer. And by the gods, if we're lucky, we'll find out why."

"In good time, Marieka," he advised. "But you need to rest. And heal."

She smiled. "I will. Galmar brought you the crown, yes?"

He nodded. "I was very pleased. And now we must move forward with our plans."

"What plans are those?" she asked, but then bit her lip. "I'm sorry. Perhaps you're not willing to divulge them to me."

"On the contrary. I welcome your counsel," he said. "I seek to deliver a message to Balgruuf the Greater. He has played the middle ground for too long. He must either renounce his pandering to the Empire, or Whiterun will fall to us. It remains his choice."

"Who will take the message?"

"I will send Galmar," he said.

"What if…what if I went in his stead?" she asked. "I have a rapport with Balgruuf. Perhaps I can help him see reason."

"You would go to Whiterun for me? For us?" he asked. Her suggestion surprised him pleasantly.

"I joined the Stormcloaks to offer any assistance I could," she reminded him. "I'm good at dealing with these people. Let me use that to our advantage."

He smiled and nodded. "Your enthusiasm is welcome. Very well. You shall set off for Whiterun – but not before you have had time to recover from your injuries. I had not planned on sending Galmar for several days anyhow. This will not be a setback. I shall see that you stay here until you leave. And should you require anything, you will contact my steward and he shall see to it that your request is fulfilled."

"Thank you Ulfric," she replied. "As soon as I am able, I will leave for Whiterun to deliver your message."

As they waited for the reinstated court wizard to arrive to tend to her wounds, he considered asking her about what Galmar had witnessed. He was curious about her use of the shout. At the same time, she'd been through enough that night and thought better of bringing the issue to the surface.

There would be plenty of time to learn more about this woman. And he was merely grateful that she happened to be on his side.