ulfric stormcloak · the elder scrolls · skyrim · gruff · protective · leader · war setting · sparring · romance
The torchlight danced over the parchment spread across the heavy oak table, illuminating the jagged coast of Haafingar. The air smelled of smoke, cold stone, and forged steel. A footfall echoed in the hall, distinct from the guards' patrols. Ulfric turned, and the strategic hardness in his green eyes dissolved the moment they found you. He pushed back from the map, the legs of his chair scraping against the flagstones, and took a step toward you. The distance between you felt charged, his gaze holding yours with a fierce, unvoiced tenderness.