Ulfric x Reader(Male) ~Ready To Fight~

                                    

                                          


                          


                          
Whiterun was going to be one hell of a siege. That was a known fact.
                          
After Balgruuf had no choice but to seek the Empire for support for the winter had been hard on the citizens and the crops meager, Ulfric would waste no more time twiddling his thumbs in fruitless wait. The man had chosen his side. A pity it wasn't the right one, and a pity such a good man would have to be dealt with like this.
                          
The Stormcloaks did not have the advantage of just about anything in this fight other than the fact that Whiterun was built by a coward, and even then, with the Imperial's defense, it was going to be an absolute shit show to breach the walls without destroying the city. There had to be one specific, sly fox to slip past the defenses and get the gate down once the first entry had been breached, and gods knew he didn't want to risk any of his generals and the Dragonborn had been long since missing in action after the announcement of Alduin's defeat that came thundering from the peak of High Hrothgar.
                          
The man likely was living well and lavishly in Sovngarde. Ulfric could not blame him but on the same hand, there was still war in Skyrim and forgive the selfishness but wasn't a part of the duty as Dragonborn to protect Skyrim from ripping herself apart? Either way, no one was getting the mighty legend on their side, and thus everything was just about even between both sides of the war until one side won Whiterun.
                          
Galmar Stone-Fist paced the war tent, the night's crickets making their maddening songs to Oblivion's end as he trampled the grass his boots pressed upon. The housecarl was restless, as he had the right to be, and after one final check of the plan, Ulfric straightened his back and moved his attention away from the map and the charcoal markings on it.
                          
"Ready the men. We attack as soon as the catapults are loaded," he announced. His words would be the demise of many men, and the worst of them, his own men just as much as the Empires'.
                          
The grizzly bastard grinned. "I was getting impatient," he threw as he made his way out of the tent, telling the guard outside the tent to spread the word and that the night was just about to begin.

                          


                          


                          
The Stormcloak forces were ready in no time. Half the men on rest were awake from anxiousness and it was of no surprise that they were more than ready to draw their weapons, even some of the newer recruits. In the midst of night with neither of the two moons out in Skyrim's sky, the army did what they did best- surprise offensive attacks.
                          
In a total of 5 different groups, they carefully situated themselves in the dead of night, waiting on heels and toe for the signal.
                          
And did the signal come.
                          
A single, flaming ball shot from the catapults launched an entire army onto the Whiterun entrance and the waiting bears ripped through the sleep-deprived ranks of front-line guards while the attack bells rang loud in the districts of Whiterun, rousing every soul dead or alive in the hold.
                          
Ulfric, waving the next barrage of catapults to launch, watched the fight with a careful eye. As expected, the reinforcements arrived within breaths, trickling from the inner gate and barely managing to keep footing of their positions. 
                          
Shit. He'd hoped there would be enough chaos that his forces would reach the gate. Standstill. Archers from the top of the walls started to hammer on those who could not pile into the entrance of Whiterun and those with shields were surrounded with those with two-handed blades and the rare cloak-and-dagger. 
                          
Doubt shit. Some gutsy Imperials were jumping the wall and teaming his archers that were trying to focus on other archers. The men were being twisted and turned from one side and the other.
                          
A loud screech echoed in the distance behind him. 
                          
Triple shit. Dragon.
                          
He watched the beast fly overhead, a plume of practice fire erupting from its mouth and reflecting across its bright red scales. The thing was massive, only smaller than the World-Eater he'd had the fortune to meet at Helgen(nasty thing saved his head from rolling). There were scattered swears and short shrieks from the men and women around him, and he clenched his jaw.
                          
And then, the dragon breathed that orange fury again, and it lit up a figure upon it's back that blended with the deep black sky.
                          
The dragon merely flew by the gates, and a small blob of magic-like blue fell from it as it left. Ulfric narrowed his eyes, and moments later, he saw a figure in red go flying, limp, over the wall and crack on the rocks and a voice like thunder ripple across the plains.
                          
He signaled to the soldier at his side and made haste to a horse. The gate was down, and the Stormcloaks were going to be victorious. Quick and easy. The horse took off to the gates and he jumped off and let it run once he reached the first archway, drawing out his ax and finding a full suit of Daedric armor met his eyes, leaning carefreely against the stone of the entrance to Whiterun. The men had likely reached the gildergreen by now, they could sweep the city that fast. Bodies lined the stone street.
                          
"Ah, Ulfric," came the teasing voice, with the slight, crisp and smooth accent of the rift bringing a slick click to his name, "a pleasure to see you again. My apologies for not swearing loyalty, I simply do not give out oaths as such, as tempting as your shoulders are. And do not get me started on your eyes! Ugh, I could breath off of them!"
                          
"Dragonborn," Ulfric raised his brows lightly, "as raunchy as always. My thanks to your alliance with my cause."
                          
"You know I simply adore your descriptions of me, Ulfric," he hummed, taking off his helm to reveal a wide, you-can-fuck-me-over-a-table grin that he resorted to just about every time the jarl was near. The Dragonborn made his tastes abundantly clear, and Galmar often got a kick out of the warrior shamelessly hitting on Ulfric. 

                          
Ulfric didn't really know how to react. He just played along and pretended to be indifferent if not mildly amused. 
                          
"Come, Dragonborn, we-"
                          
"Make me."
                          
Ulfric took a deep breath, tightening his lips and constraining his throat as the Dragonborn once more outplayed him. "You'll be doing it willingly, I assure, now follow."
                          
He prided himself on the quick response as the warrior lit with eagerness and surprise, pushing off the stone. "Oooh, Ulfric, you've upped your game."
                          
"Have I? Or has yours lowered? The question never ceases."
                          
"My bard heartbeats once more! I could swoon!"
                          
"You already are."
                          
"By Dibella, the man has grown out of his shell! Praise the divines, I'm redder than a freshly-spanked maiden! The wonders of such a strong, true Nord!"
                          
Ulfric shouldn't have provoked the Dragonborn further.
                          
Quadruple shit.
                          
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@FirstRangrBenjen      to answer your question, i would like to say mine. jk, you made me laugh really hard so i couldn't help but to get this one up
                          
this was hilarious to me and it's again utter crack and not my best work but it's funny
                          
lol
                          
dani out
                          
Adieu!