#legatexrikke

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When the sound of the door opening reached his ears and the cold breeze from the hallways briefly spread across the room, it took him a second or two to open his eyes. He had not been asleep yet – instead he had been waiting to see whether or not Rikke would join him before he could doze off. Admittedly, he had been half asleep already, for he had underestimated the merciless urge to fall asleep once more.

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Victory. It was said to be one of the sweetest things in mortal existence. Especially when one had invested so much time, spent so much effort, and sacrificed so many things to achieve it. Ulfric had never understood this idealistic view on victory. To him, it always brought along bitterness, despite the relief that predominantly characterised it. This time around, it was no exception. Tullius was dead, Elisif had surrendered, and the Empire had taken a critical -- if not fatal -- blow to its very core. By Talos, he had even managed to spare Rikke's life! There had been at least two feasts to celebrate Stormcloak dominance in the last week, and Ulfric expected no less of his home town. Yes, victory was good from that perspective.

Yet neither Ulfric nor his second-in-command had forgotten about the challenges they were soon to face. From experience they knew the fierce fire that burned in the hearts of the Empire's Legionnaires, and they held no doubt that there would be random attacks from left-over Imperials in the upcoming few weeks. Additional to this inconvenience, Ulfric was well-aware that the Aldmeri Dominion was not going to take kindly to the news that their puppet Empire had fallen to a bunch of obstinate, Talos-worshipping rebels. The Jarl would be surprised if the Altmer did not arrive on Skyrim's doorsteps within the span of a year.

But that was a matter to worry about another time, Ulfric decided as he finally set foot inside the city of Windhelm. The cheers and the congratulations and the chants mostly passed him by without him really taking anything in. He smiled gratefully and he thanked people for their praises, but more so out of habit than anything. His mind was elsewhere. Once he approached the large bronze doors of the Palace of the Kings, he glanced up, wondering in which room they had put her. He had sent off a large band of rebels to escort her here, to the Palace, to be locked up in one of the visitor bedrooms, well looked after. Many had disagreed with his decision, telling him that an Imperial Legate deserved no such merciful treatment. But Ulfric did not see just some Imperial Legate in her; all he could see was the woman he once loved -- and perhaps still did love.

"They arrived a few days ago. She's been locked up in the second room on the left of the Northern Section," Jorleif informed the Jarl once Ulfric had managed to make his way inside, past the guards and the wooden table, out of sight and hearing of the cheerful crowd outside. Ulfric nodded to show he understood, then hesitated visibly. Many wanted to see Rikke beheaded, in public, where they could shout their accusations and insults at her, as if it were a satisfactory way to avenge the deaths of their families.

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