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Ulfric was familiar with the hustle and bustle of parties. When one was Jarl you often practiced the art of entertaining and being entertained. Though, he will admit, the current party he was attending is very different from the ones he's used to. For starters, the party was planned by a Breton. One could simply tell by the decor and fine wines that were being served. Ulfric had never particularly had any interest in wine, but he trusted the Breton woman's choices. Even when she had come to him nearly a year after the war with a husband at her back and two children at her side. Apparently she was a Companion and (finally) had enough money for the house in Windhelm (despite its darker history). Her husband's name was Farkas; a Nordic man and also a Companion. He could only thank the Nine that she had married a Nord. It would make her life easier considering she could still be seen as an outsider. Together they had a son and daughter, Alesan and Lucia. They both had been orphans living on the streets until the Breton had found them. Ulfric had often noticed how Alessia would often give presents to the children of whatever village they had freed. It made sense to him, she was the naturally mothering type. He supposed Skyrim could use more warmth like her, now that they had rebuilding to do.
It had only been a few months since Alessia moved her family to the city did Ulfric notice her swell with the weight of a child. The next time they spoke she had laughed nervously, stating that this addition wasn't entirely planned. Ulfric hadn't responded much to her statement, he was too busy trying to figure out what the child would look like. He had never seen a half-Breton child before. Would they still have the Elvish features of a Breton or would their Nordic blood enhance the features of men? That's actually partly the reason he accepted the invitation to this party. Alessia had given birth to a healthy baby boy on the morrow of the 5th of Morning Star. As Nordic tradition dictated, the city celebrated the birth of the Dragonborn's son. Free mead was being given out by just about everyone, bard's performed in the streets, and a grand feast was held in the castle courtyard. Ulfric remembered how flustered Alessia had been by the whole thing. The entire time she kept a fur wrapped bundle close to her breast, letting very few women look at the child. That was yesterday, so he hoped he would have a better chance at seeing the babe himself at the party.
He spent some time roaming around the estate. The Breton had an impressive armory, many kinds weapons and armor lining the walls. She also had an enormous amount of books, a good number of them being magical tomes. Several children ran by him as he descended the stairs, the various guests scattered about in the kitchen and dining hall. He had noticed the Shatter-Shields among the others and had already bid them well. It was good to see them out and about in the aftermath of their daughter's death. He scanned the room until his eyes fell upon a head of red hair. He quickly made his way over to her, Alessia turning to him to greet him.
"Hello, Ulfric!" She greeted, shifting the bundle in her arms.
Ulfric nodded. "Good to see you doing well after your delivery. I'm sure it was a battle for the ages."
Alessia laughed lightly. "Indeed it was. Even the most fearless of men quake at the thought of childbirth."
Ulfric couldn't help but smile a bit before glancing down at the bundle. Alessia noticed this and smiled at her friend.
"I almost forgot, you haven't been officially introduced yet." She pulled back a portion of the blankets revealing a tuff of dark hair. "Meet Corbett, son of Farkas the Companion and Alessia the Dragonborn."
The child was much smaller than any Nordic baby he had seen. Their skin was pale, thick dark hair too short to cover the point of his ears. Ulfric couldn't help but wonder if this baby would grow to be as large as other Nordic men or remain small like his mother's people. He also couldn't help but wonder how long this child would live. Breton's lived to as little as 200 years, most making it to their late 400's if they aren't killed. Alessia had once confessed to him that she wondered if her Elven ancestors had felt same pain she felt at the knowledge that they would long outlive the people they loved. Ulfric had never really thought of it that way, only feeling something akin to jealousy at the aspect of living half a millennia. The babe stirred, opening their pale blue eyes to look at Ulfric. Just like his mother's, they reminded the Jarl of the sky on a clear winter day. To Ulfric's surprise, the boy seemed to smile at him.
"He...will be a strong warrior." Ulfric said, not looking away from the child.
"My husband would be inclined to agree."
Ulfric only nodded, still entrapped by the child's gaze. It was so bizarre to think that the savior of Skyrim was showing off her baby to him. Sure, they had a history on the battlefield together but being ankle deep in mud and blood didn't spark many thoughts of the distant future. Don't get him wrong, he was happy for Alessia. If it wasn't for her they never would have won the war. She deserved all the happiness she could gain. He was brought out of his thoughts by a shout of 'ma' from across the house. Alessia sighed and smiled sheepishly.
"I should probably go see what they need. Do you mind taking Corbett to Farkas or Vilkas?"
Ulfric barely had time to say yes before she was handing the infant over to him. He supported the boy's head securely, remembering the lessons given to him by a various number of Stormcloak mothers. She thanked him and hurried off in the direction of her other children. At first he could only stand awkwardly, trying to ignore the stares of the other patrons. He had held babies before, but they had never been son of the Dragonborn (and half werewolf, but very few people knew that). Despite that inherent strength he felt like he was holding a glass sculpture. Cautiously, Ulfric reached his hand up and ran his finger along the edge of the baby's ear. The baby squirmed like one does when tickled, he noted. Huh. Maybe pointed ears weren't so bad after all.
He proceeded to follow the smell of wet dog, knowing he would find either the boy's father or uncle.