The room was silent, but for the crackling of the fire and the howling of the icy wind outside the windows. A large glass of mead in hand, Ulfric's blue eyes were fixated on the wall, lost in thought. From below, there came a crashing sound, followed by the hearty laughter of his men and women, all happily celebrating the anniversary of the Battle for Solitude, when they were finally free from the cruelty of the Empire and the Imperials. Normally, Ulfric would be down there celebrating with them. On this particular night, however, there was a certain heaviness in his heart.

His mind flashed back to this same night, many years ago. It had been the first anniversary of the battle, and he had decided that it should be a night to celebrate and remember. It was a night to honour those lost in battle and to rejoice in the knowledge that they were now free. He had been laughing and drinking with his men when the Dragonborn had arrived.

She had been beautiful, clad in an elegant gown of a deep, rich emerald green with golden embroidery. Her beautiful brown hair hung loose and free in thick, shining waves, and her blue eyes seemed to light up when they met his.

It had been a night he would never forget. Drunk and merry, they had managed to sneak away from the party, making their way up to his room together. With the door locked and barricaded, they had found themselves enthralled in a ferocious night of passion. He seemed to recall at one point, as they basked in the afterglow, joking that she must be more in tune with Dibella than with Talos, which had her laughing comfortably with him and nestling her small figure against his own bulky, muscular one.

He remembered running his hands across her bare body, admiring how soft her skin was, especially for a warrior as fearsome and skillful as she. Even her hands, which spent most hours of the day firmly gripping a sword, were soft and gentle. Her body was slender and her muscles, while defined, were not bulky. As amazed as he had been to first meet her and learn of her skill, he was even more amazed now that he saw the beautiful details of the ferocious warrior's figure. Touching her, she felt delicate, almost breakable – but he knew that, if it ever came to it, she could probably best him in battle easily.

He had awoken the next morning to sunlight streaming in through his window and the beautiful Dragonborn quietly dressing herself. He had begged her to stay a while longer, but she insisted that she had an engagement in Markarth and had to get there as promptly as possible. She promised to return in a couple of weeks, though, which left Ulfric satisfied.

A few weeks passed, and then a month. Ulfric began to worry, sending a courier to Markarth with a letter for Jarl Thongvor Silver-Blood, inquiring as to the Dragonborn's whereabouts. When he was told that she hadn't been in Markarth for quite some time, he began to contact the other Jarls, even going so far as to send couriers to the island of Solstheim. The more time passed, the more worried Ulfric became, as did the rest of the Jarls. They all spoke with the housecarls assigned to the Dragonborn's various homes throughout the province, but none had seen her in weeks.

Ulfric finally gave up hope. All his men saw it the very moment it happened, as a darkness came to his eyes and a certain, permanently pained look on his face. All worried, but none knew what could be done. They were almost certain that the Dragonborn, their beautiful, strong heroine, was dead in some cave somewhere, never to be seen again.

The province mourned the loss of the Dragonborn as rumours began to spread. The merchants, the smiths, the innkeepers, all realized that they hadn't seen her in several months. Flowers were laid at the doorways of her homes, notes pinned to her doors in the hopes that she would come sneaking in one night and see how much the people needed her. If she ever did, though, she certainly never did anything about it.

"My King?" came a voice from the doorway, and Ulfric jumped slightly, pulled harshly from his reverie. His gaze fell upon the steward, Jorleif, who had a frown on his lips.

"What is it?" grunted Ulfric drunkenly, and the steward hesitated a moment before continuing.

"There's a young lady here to see you," he said, and Ulfric found himself perking up slightly.

"A young lady?" he asked slowly, confused.

"Yes. She has a letter, and she says it's very urgent," Jorleif replied, and Ulfric heaved a grumbling sigh.

"Very well," he said, standing and heading to the door. Jorleif turned and headed quickly downstairs, with Ulfric following.

As he made his way through the door and into the throne room of the palace, his soldiers all cheered and greeted him. All were clearly drunk mindless, boisterous and rowdy and singing gleefully. Only Ulfric had his downtrodden demeanour as he followed Jorleif.

The girl had been asked to wait in a side room so that none of the soldiers would harass her – an excellent idea on Jorleif's part, Ulfric thought, for which he would have to commend him later. As he entered and saw her, he found himself overwhelmed with a sudden curiosity. She was young, very young – much too young for him to find her attractive, though when he was her age, he certainly would have. Now, though, simply considering her attractiveness made him feel like a monster. She had long blonde hair that fell in loose waves, running down her back. The front portion of her hair was drawn back in two braids, almost like a crown. She wore a rich blue gown with a loose skirt, a slim bodice, and draping sleeves. The style of the gown reminded him of the beautiful green gown worn by the Dragonborn that night, the last night he ever laid eyes on her radiant beauty. He held back a sigh.

"Madam, may I present Ulfric Stormcloak, High King of Skyrim," said Jorleif respectfully, and the woman gave a curtsey, smiling up at Ulfric. She had beautiful blue eyes, which examined him with a curiosity that seemed to match his own towards her.

"My King," said the young girl in a polite voice, "my name is Leola. My mother sent me, she is sick and wants your help. She asked me to give you this." The young girl held out a folded scrap of paper, and Ulfric tentatively took it in his hands. He opened it slowly, and as he read the scrawled words on the paper, his eyes went wider and wider with each passing word.

Ulfric;

I am sorry. I am sorry that I ran off without telling anyone, I am sorry that I disappeared for all this time. If I could change it, I would, but it is too late now.

Leola is your daughter, conceived on the last night we spent together before I left. She is an amazing girl, and I hope that you will be proud of her and accept her as yours.

I am sick, and fearful that my time is running out. After all these years fighting and adventuring, who would think that I should leave the world at the hands of sickness? I am weary and I am weak, and I can barely lift my hand to write this letter. I told Leola that I was sending her to you for help, but I doubt that I will last long enough for you to come here. Tell her to stay with you while you send someone – a courier, perhaps – with the remedy that I need, wait a few days, and then tell her that the courier has returned with news of my death. I do not wish for either of you to see me when I am gone, and I certainly don't want to put either of you through the pain of seeing me as I lay on my deathbed.

Take good care of Leola. She is smart and skillful, though she has very little real combat experience and I should like to keep it that way. I have worked hard to keep her safe from the perils of our world and I hope that you will continue to do so for me when you receive this.

You do not have to tell Leola that you are her father if you don't wish to. I hope that you will, for she has asked about you from the moment she could talk. I have told her very little – that her father is a good man, that he would certainly have loved to have met her, and as she grew older, I have confided in her that I was wrong to leave the way I did. It is of her own will that she has not come to meet you – I have offered to send her many times, but she said that she was afraid of upsetting me.

If you do not wish to take her in, that is okay – all of my possessions have been delivered to Hjerim by a friend of mine, so Leola may live there. I have left her all that I have – armour, weapons, books, gold…

If you will do this for me, care for our daughter and accept her, then thank you. I hope you know that I did love you, Ulfric, and it was always an honour to serve you and fight by your side.

Yours sincerely,
Stormblade

There was a long silence as Ulfric reached the end of the letter. He could feel his hands shaking, and he slowly lifted his gaze towards the girl. She looked expectantly towards him, her lips curled downwards as she waited to hear what he would do to help her mother.

"Have you read this letter?" Ulfric asked her slowly.

"No," she answered, and he could see it in her beautiful blue eyes, she was telling the truth.

"Where is your mother?" he asked next. "We must get to her as quickly as we can."

"At our home outside of Falkreath," answered Leola. "I'll lead you there."

Ulfric gave a nod and the girl left the room. He followed quickly, and Jorleif came after them.

"Are you going with her?" he asked.

"Of course I am," Ulfric snapped. "It's….Stormblade, she's ill and dying."

Jorleif's eyes widened at the mention of the Dragonborn. "Should I get something? A potion, a remedy, something for you to take with you?"

"If there was anything, she would have figured it out herself," answered Ulfric. "I just need to see her."

"Are you coming?" came Leola's voice from the palace doors. A few of the drunken soldiers glanced curiously over, and Ulfric held back a growl at seeing the way the men smirked at seeing the blonde woman. He gave her a nod.

"Yes," he called back, and then looked at Jorleif. "Just handle things until I get back."

With that, he turned and hurried after Leola.