FA+
Shop
2578
Views
Views
156
Favorites
Favorites
Category
Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1280 x 960
File Size 1.16 MB
Report this content
★
More from Wielder
Listed in Folders
Skyrim: A Moment Frozen
"The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
-O. Henry, Gifts of the MagiHe'd left the stone walls of Ysgramor's city for a bit of fresh air and to sate his own curiosity. There were two major caravans that periodically made their way to the little patch of open land between the Windhelm Stables and the first outlying farms, but this one was new, and as his companionship with a certain Cat had evolved, so too had his tolerance and then even admiration of the Betmer come about.
The typical merchants were there: armorer, smitty, apparel, spells and books, tinctures and potions. All plying their trade with the inherent smoothness of the Felines of the Sands. All things that while catching to his inquisitive nature were not things he needed. The tinkling sound was brought to his ears by a slight breeze, making Ulfric Stormcloak turn his head to the furthest reaches of the colorful tents to a stall on wheels.
Glass flowers hung from the opened window and awning of the cart. Every flower he'd seen in all some odd forty winters of his life decorated the cart. Snapdragons, mountain flowers, lupine, daisies, tundra lichen, even some jazbay grapes and some smaller mushrooms. His long fingers reached out to touch them, finding them cool to the touch like the panes of glass in the Atmoran windows of his palace. He'd seen blown glass wonders on his travels before, but something was different about these...
"Can I help you?" The voice, much like a certain Cat's, originated from several hefty inches below his own, and he turned to see a small foxish woman standing before him, arms folded into the knit wool of her cape, mismatched blue and amber eyes staring up at him with a congenial smile underneath them.
"Pardon me, was just looking," he returned politely, making eye contact with her only to have it diverted by sun through the almost translucent leaves of a nirnroot seedling. "You have some interesting art here, Ms..."
"Saga," the arctic fox replied, bowing her head slightly before stepping around him to begin hanging some petrified cuttings of foxglove and morningglory. "And you would be the esteemed Outlaw King I hear so much about."
How'd she known? He wasn't wearing anything official...was dressed quite commonly to be honest. "Ah, yes...pleased to meet you." Pushing down the questions he had as to how she'd known who exactly he was, he decided to leave her with one last compliment before he returned to his Keep. "Thank you for your time, you have some lovely pieces here."
"Ah pieces," she cooed through a sharp, smiling muzzle. "I'm not in the business of selling pieces or even art, my Lord. I sell moments and memories."
Curiouser and curiouser. "I don't believe I understand..."
"Flowers are tokens given by bespelled men to enchanting women. Often used to mark the birth of a feeling, a want, a need...to commemorate an event most would take for granted." Saga explained, finally satisfied with the setup of her products, she turned to him, giving him her full attention. "Wonderful gifts, to be sure, but sadly ephemeral in nature. My flowers, much like the moment men so want to etch into permanent history, are everlasting. And so there you have it...memories and moments, Jarl."
"And how would one have you make real such a thing, Lady Saga?" He was truly interested. What she'd said had appealed to the poet within him and had brought to the forefront feelings and even worries he'd had as of late as a time of traditional gift-giving neared.
She laughed, and it sounded like the singing glass of her flowers in the wind. "Bring to me a seedling, cutting, or branch you want to last forever, my Jarl, and I'll make it so."
A Couple of Weeks Later
"If you won't wear a circlet like a proper Jarl, you should at least allow me to braid some snowberries into your hair, Ulfric. Like it or not, marching around in your armor might gain the respect of your soldiers, but wealthy merchants and thanes and nobles would prefer to see you making an effort to celebrate Saturalia like a true Nord and Jarlson!"
He'd had enough already. "Keep talking, Gretta, and your mouth will be swallowing a pike on the front gates." Though his voice was gravelly, his mouth curled upwards in a sideways grin, and he dodged a swat from his former nursemaid.
"Threatening to kill me didn't sway me much when you were a cub, and it does even less now," the elder Nord spat back, her tone haughty. Her green eyes poured over him, looking for any imperfection and seeing PLENTY. Letting out a sigh of exasperation, she threw her hands up in the air, "one day, you'll need to look like something more than a rebel, Ulfric. Look a little more put together, a little more polished..."
"I'm dressed for the occasion, woman...damned fur-trimmed EVERYTHING, what more do you want of me?" he chuckled, leaning back in his chair in a manner too casual and common for Gretta's liking, and he knew it.
"Fine. Have it your way. Might have been lucky enough to turn the heads of a few potential queens..."
She continued talking, but Ulfric Stormcloak had ceased to listen. Left ankle absentmindedly bouncing on his right knee, he turned his head to the desk beside him and caught the flare of the last bit of daylight bounce from the nearly clear object. Reaching out towards the cold glass branch, he touched it and smiled.
There was only one head he was interested in turning, and he was fairly certain that, just like his hair that had grown wild for some time now, Gretta would not approve of that either.
----Saturalia was always a big deal in Windhelm. The walls of the city were decorated with garlands and wreathes, all with the traditional blue ribbon woven in with them. That was of course a Breton tradition the Empire had liked enough to adopt, and, while he kept it and observed it like many Nords did in modern times, he'd taken to including some of their own customs. A huge straw goat was lit aflame as the day finally gave up the ghost and died so that the night might live. Fir trees were felled and brought indoors, decorated with apples, pomegranates, dried orange slices, and cinnamon sticks. Children made ornaments with messages carved in Futhark upon them, hanging them only on the bottom branches...the furthest they could reach. Looking about the festivities, he was proud. A mixture of Old and New, what he'd grown to truly want for Eastmarch and Skyrim at large. True balance.
There was of course one other tradition he'd looked forward to. And, as though it were purposefully timed, he heard a familiar laugh-shriek. Ralof...poor fool...Ulfric shook his head. Trying to drag a Cat, let alone a Dragonborne one, underneath a sprig of mistletoe where Galmar was already unknowingly standing was a fool's errand at best, a death wish at worst. He'd waited all night, speaking in aristocratic tones he'd been raised to hold with other nobility with each Highborne guest needing his attention. Yes, he'd even waited once the drinking and dancing had begun, even patiently watching as Ralof or one of her other Stormcloak comrades pull her reeling into a dance way too clumsy for one of Iona's talent. He'd done his best to keep his own eyes on the dancing partners that had chose him, had done all he could to be polite and not search the crowd for that ridiculous tail, waving about like a victory banner, or the tips of her black ears.
His fingers traced over the frigid glass snowberry branch, and he felt apprehension build, starting to strangle each breath. He'd waited for the right moment...but how can a man know what moment is right? Furrowing his brow, content with the fact no one was presently dogging his steps for a conversation not unlike the myriad he'd already had that night, he strode forward, making his way towards the girl who'd come to mean so very much to him in what seemed such a short time.
And he'd lost her in the crowd. Head turning to and fro, he searched for her before feeling a tap on his left shoulder. "Really should be more careful, Jarl. Felines of Felonious Leanings might be about," Iona teased, rocking back and forth on her tiny toes as she gazed up at him, smiling.
Oh the mistletoe was close by, and he'd had the urge to just drag her beneath such a decoration for weeks now...but there was nothing official between them...the few clandestine touches they'd shared as of late being things neither had the courage to put word or reason to. Such action was a right he did not have though he wanted it. "Good thing I have a Dragon to secure my health then, eh?" Ulfric purred, turning and stepping just a bit closer to her, the fingers of his unoccupied hand wanting desperately to touch her. "Would you be willing to give me just a few moments of your time, Iona? There's something I wish to speak with you about."
She'd nodded her affirmation, and he offered her his arm, and they'd wove themselves into the surrounding crowd, filtering towards the gates, hopefully towards a small measure of peace and seclusion where they could be something more than Rebel Jarl and Reluctant Dragonborne...
...where they could be Ulfric and Iona.
The Sea of Ghosts drifted by in a smooth and steady current as they neared its banks, and conversation when had in the silent, still moments was friendly but almost careful. Whatever feeling laid between the two of them was seen and not heard, but its presence was getting harder and harder to avoid.
And so it was a pleasant surprise that, once poised on the shore furthest from Windhelm herself, the tiny Cat stepped closer to him and placed her hands and head on his chest and ribcage. "Sorry," she muttered into his fur-trimmed tunics. "Events like this just take it out of me...and...somehow...this always helps."
She felt one hand light on her upper back and felt the other softly run something cool and hard against her cheekbone. Turning to see what it was, the glass surface reflected both her own reflection and the lights from Shor's Hall above, making it all at once hard to breathe in or out. "Ulfric...what...?"
"A gift," he laughed, dipping his head so that their eyes met. "Don't know how you've celebrated Saturalia before, but it is the chief tradition."
Her hands gingerly took the glass snowberry branch from him, and she spoke in the quivering tones of a woman transfixed and touched. "I...I haven't really celebrated it since I was a kitten...this is..."
All of a sudden he felt incredibly dumb. "Had I known that, I'd have gotten you a greater...more fitting...gift, Iona..."
"No!" she interrupted quickly, looping her arm underneath his so that she might hold him and the precious gift he had given her at the same time. "This...it's perfect. Thank you, truly...but I've got nothing worthy of giving you in return, Ulfric..."
He didn't give her a second for her ears to pin backwards in apology, running a calloused but gentle finger under her chin and lifting her face towards his. "You have so much a person would never be worthy of having, Iona, even if you deigned to give it to them."
As she pulled him down by his hair to kiss her, he realized he could have told her that he'd gone on the fool's errand of crossing back over into Empire-held Falkreath hold to take a cutting from the snowberry tree they'd last stood under when either of them could have called the other officially more than a friend, but she seemed happy just with the knowledge that it was a snowberry branch, a symbol of a time when they could have run away from everything they were and become something different and more. No need to call more attention to the gift than had already been given.
And as she laced her fingers into his hair, as he held her closer against him, she could have told him the thing she fiercely wanted to.
That for a few month's over a year now, she'd been falling for him. Her heart was a thing she could no longer give him as it was something he already had.
----Flowergirl, Saga, is heavily inspired by Neil Gaiman's Stardust which is a lovely series of graphic novels. Go pick it up.
Happy Yule, my friends. Thank you for all the attention and support you have given me this year and years before, if applicable. I appreciate it so much.
Skål!
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1280 x 960px
File Size 1.16 MB
Listed in Folders
Comments